Below is a quick synopsis of pending legislation for stillbirth & SIDS. If you click on the link below it, then on "Take Action" on the next page, "New Users click here", you can complete a quick form which generates an email to your representatives and senator. It's quick - less than 1 minute - and let's your voice be heard! First Candle started circulating this campaign in case you are interested.
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Every year, there are more than 25,000 stillbirths in the United States. Many of these deaths are the result of birth defects, infections, umbilical cord problems, and chronic conditions of the mother. However, there is no known cause for as many as half of all stillbirths, leaving many parents without answers to the reasons for these deaths. This bill would expand current activities related to stillbirth and increase education and awareness among health care providers and families.
In addition, there are more than 4,600 sudden unexpected infant deaths each year and another 200 children between the ages 1 and 4 die without any obvious cause for their death. Many such tragedies could be prevented if there were a better understanding of the reasons why these infants and children died. The Act encourages states to complete scene investigations to better understand why these children died and establishes a national database to track these deaths and identify risk factors to prevent them in the future.
The Stillbirth and SUID Prevention, Education, and Awareness Act is the single largest movement towards the end of these tragedies that our country has ever seen. Please "take action" below by using our form to email your federal representatives and urge them to support and co-sponsor this important act of legislation today!
This is democracy in action- let them hear us! This opportunity is too great to pass up. Thank you again for your unfaltering support!
Click the link below to take action on this issue:
http://www.votervoice.net/groups/sids
Monday, March 22, 2010
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Daffodils
In the fall I'm planting daffodils, hundreds and hundreds of daffodil bulbs. (Ok, probably tens of tens, but hundreds of hundreds sounded more dramatic.)
Daffodils and cherry blossoms are in bloom right now, and they are beautiful. Interestingly, the Bradford Pear which has been in bloom this day the past two year is not in bloom. I'm somewhat thankful.
But the daffodils, they are a welcomed surprise and life I have not remembered from this time in years past.
Daffodils and cherry blossoms are in bloom right now, and they are beautiful. Interestingly, the Bradford Pear which has been in bloom this day the past two year is not in bloom. I'm somewhat thankful.
But the daffodils, they are a welcomed surprise and life I have not remembered from this time in years past.
Monday, March 1, 2010
Please Vote
These are friends of my cousin. Please watch their video and vote for their cause.
Vote here to help another grieving mother: http://www.refresheverything.com/ErinsDream
Vote here to help another grieving mother: http://www.refresheverything.com/ErinsDream
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Are you there?
Last night your daddy walked past the nursery 45 minutes after I put Molly to sleep and heard the lamb mobile playing. Molly woke up at 3:30 this morning for a bottle. As I sat feeding her, the mobile once again came on.
I just have to wonder if it was you in there. Playing with your sister.
The mobile has been giving us quite a bit of trouble. Frankly, we can't get it to play. These are the only two times that it has played on its own, coincidentally when we are very close to Molly and the nursery. We would have heard it on the monitor if it played any other time.
So it just makes me wonder. Are you in there with Molly? Are you watching out for her and playing your little sister sweet lullabies?
I just have to wonder if it was you in there. Playing with your sister.
The mobile has been giving us quite a bit of trouble. Frankly, we can't get it to play. These are the only two times that it has played on its own, coincidentally when we are very close to Molly and the nursery. We would have heard it on the monitor if it played any other time.
So it just makes me wonder. Are you in there with Molly? Are you watching out for her and playing your little sister sweet lullabies?
Friday, January 22, 2010
Every baby is a miracle.
Every baby is a miracle.
Our friend was leading the children's message at church. He was talking about how ordinary people perform miracles and how lots of miracles were happening in Haiti. Somewhere in the midst of his message one line struck a cord with me. "Every baby is a miracle."
A woman my parents age, who I look to as the 'church mom', reached over and squeezed Molly's foot. My heart instantly went to not the one in my arms, but the one I held only once, who our church knows of only figuratively. What does it mean for a baby to be a miracle? Was Cara a miracle? Even though she didn't make it here breathing, alive? Of course I believe she was a miracle, for it was my body not hers that failed. She, she was perfect.
What is so intoxicating about a (living) baby? I watch how people respond to Molly and how enthralled they are with her. When does all of this change? When do they (we) become less innocent, more infiltrated by the hurt and brokenness of the world?
I smile at Molly's innocence. How big her smile gets when I look at her. How desperately she wants to talk to me, I just have to glance her way. The ease with which her life takes. It must be so fun to be her right now.
Tim and I sense an unspoken message when people communicate with Molly. There is tons of attention heaped on her, but behind it, although rarely spoken we hear something else, their love for Cara and regard for the beauty of her life and death. It is tender and it is appreciated. ::thank you::
Our friend was leading the children's message at church. He was talking about how ordinary people perform miracles and how lots of miracles were happening in Haiti. Somewhere in the midst of his message one line struck a cord with me. "Every baby is a miracle."
A woman my parents age, who I look to as the 'church mom', reached over and squeezed Molly's foot. My heart instantly went to not the one in my arms, but the one I held only once, who our church knows of only figuratively. What does it mean for a baby to be a miracle? Was Cara a miracle? Even though she didn't make it here breathing, alive? Of course I believe she was a miracle, for it was my body not hers that failed. She, she was perfect.
What is so intoxicating about a (living) baby? I watch how people respond to Molly and how enthralled they are with her. When does all of this change? When do they (we) become less innocent, more infiltrated by the hurt and brokenness of the world?
I smile at Molly's innocence. How big her smile gets when I look at her. How desperately she wants to talk to me, I just have to glance her way. The ease with which her life takes. It must be so fun to be her right now.
Tim and I sense an unspoken message when people communicate with Molly. There is tons of attention heaped on her, but behind it, although rarely spoken we hear something else, their love for Cara and regard for the beauty of her life and death. It is tender and it is appreciated. ::thank you::
Friday, January 8, 2010
Another Year
Flip. The page turned on the calendar and thus we find ourselves in a new year.
All I have been able to think about is we are nearing Cara's birthday. The day two years ago that my life blew up into a million pieces. Months later I stood there most of the pieces having flown away, trying to grasp at the few still swirling around me.
This week has been particularly draining for me and Tim. We have started the daunting process of interviewing nannies. Besides the fact that it is every night of having someone come into our home, it's also choosing who is going to take care of Molly, a decision we do not make lightly.
We had the absolute pleasure of interviewing a lovely British nanny last night. I say 'lovely' because she says lovely. And 'what is your Christian name?' And 'I once offered care to a Lord and Lady.' In our effort towards full disclosure, I shared with her that we lost our first little girl. In turn, she shared that they had lost their first son at 5 years old to cancer. It was not what I expected to hear at all, but instantly felt that she understood us. She also talked about going to Compassionate Friends meetings in the UK. (CF actually started in England 40 years ago.)
This woman shared with us how her last job was for a mother who had just given birth to twins. She told of how the woman had to stay in the hospital for quite some time and that when she came home she stayed in bed all day. The nanny eventually shared with us what I was already suspecting, the mother suffered from postpartum depression.
I just couldn't help but think how sad. Here this woman has two healthy children who need her and love her and need to be loved by her, and depression has stolen that very special time from all of them. I couldn't help but think about my own situation two years ago. How I would have loved to get out of bed and take care of a child, but there physically wasn't a child to care for.
January brings for me a lot of sadness. Many would say it does for them as well. We come down off the holiday high to find ourselves in houses that darken early without the magical twinkle of lights and enchanting smell of pine. Tim and I reflected numerous times during the holiday season how this year it felt a little less magical for us. We loved having Molly with us and making Christmas special for her (although she was completely unaware.) But the entire season just felt a little 'off'. As Tim finally put it one night, "the innocence is lost." Exactly the words that my incongruent emotions were longing for.
And so back to where I started, we find Cara's second birthday looming in just the near future. I'm again faced with how to celebrate (is it even called celebrating?) another birthday. Another year without her.
All I have been able to think about is we are nearing Cara's birthday. The day two years ago that my life blew up into a million pieces. Months later I stood there most of the pieces having flown away, trying to grasp at the few still swirling around me.
This week has been particularly draining for me and Tim. We have started the daunting process of interviewing nannies. Besides the fact that it is every night of having someone come into our home, it's also choosing who is going to take care of Molly, a decision we do not make lightly.
We had the absolute pleasure of interviewing a lovely British nanny last night. I say 'lovely' because she says lovely. And 'what is your Christian name?' And 'I once offered care to a Lord and Lady.' In our effort towards full disclosure, I shared with her that we lost our first little girl. In turn, she shared that they had lost their first son at 5 years old to cancer. It was not what I expected to hear at all, but instantly felt that she understood us. She also talked about going to Compassionate Friends meetings in the UK. (CF actually started in England 40 years ago.)
This woman shared with us how her last job was for a mother who had just given birth to twins. She told of how the woman had to stay in the hospital for quite some time and that when she came home she stayed in bed all day. The nanny eventually shared with us what I was already suspecting, the mother suffered from postpartum depression.
I just couldn't help but think how sad. Here this woman has two healthy children who need her and love her and need to be loved by her, and depression has stolen that very special time from all of them. I couldn't help but think about my own situation two years ago. How I would have loved to get out of bed and take care of a child, but there physically wasn't a child to care for.
January brings for me a lot of sadness. Many would say it does for them as well. We come down off the holiday high to find ourselves in houses that darken early without the magical twinkle of lights and enchanting smell of pine. Tim and I reflected numerous times during the holiday season how this year it felt a little less magical for us. We loved having Molly with us and making Christmas special for her (although she was completely unaware.) But the entire season just felt a little 'off'. As Tim finally put it one night, "the innocence is lost." Exactly the words that my incongruent emotions were longing for.
And so back to where I started, we find Cara's second birthday looming in just the near future. I'm again faced with how to celebrate (is it even called celebrating?) another birthday. Another year without her.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Christmas Eve 2009
This morning, I keep thinking back to the past two Christmases we've shared as a family.
In Christmas 2007, Cynthia was just going into her third trimester with Cara, and carrying her so beautifully. It was a really nice Christmas together. And while we enjoyed that Christmas together, we spent most of our time dreaming about next year's Christmas and what it would be like to share all our traditions with Cara. I can still here all the "next year with Cara's" when I think back to that Christmas. One special memory for me was the Christmas Eve service. As some of you might know, our church has its Christmas Eve service outside. This year, we were out in the middle of a field, next to a few farm animals and a tiny manger. I was up in front of the congregation playing guitar for the service while Cynthia with Cara in her belly was out in the crowd. I know it wouldn't seem like a special memory for everyone, but for me, playing guitar at such a beautiful service with Cynthia and Cara there meant a lot. It was one of those memories of sharing music and the miracle of Christmas with Cara that I'll never forget.
Last Christmas, we were pretty much in a completely opposite place. Instead of experiencing joy, hope and peace through the holidays we were finding deep despair. Just a few months ago we had lost hope from the miscarriage, and at the time we were hoping that we'd get pregnant very soon. The one bright spot of the season came through our trip to the mountains. We knew we had to do something different to take care of ourselves over the holidays and getting away for a couple days to the mountains was the perfect fit.
This Christmas again seems almost like a complete reversal. With Molly here, there is more hope and joy in our lives than there's been since our pregnancy with Cara. As we've written before, Molly is a gift to our family, and in a way a gift from Cara, and with her here there is a physical, tangible sign of life and hope in our family again. But this Christmas season isn't all roses. Very often as we've put up the tree or gone to Grandma's house for cookie day we've grieved Cara's physical absence from those traditions. It's heartbreaking to think that Cara should be here, and if she was she'd be a beautiful little one and a half year old getting into all kinds of trouble.
Tonight, we'll gather with our church again outside in a barn. It will be quiet, dark and cold. I'll be up there again playing guitar, thinking about Cara and looking out into the congregation for my beautiful wife and daughter.
We miss you so much, Cara. We wish you could physically be here. You would be a beautiful, dark-haired little toddler by now and it would be so fun if you were here. Help us feel you close to us this Christmas season. You are our angel. We love you always.
In Christmas 2007, Cynthia was just going into her third trimester with Cara, and carrying her so beautifully. It was a really nice Christmas together. And while we enjoyed that Christmas together, we spent most of our time dreaming about next year's Christmas and what it would be like to share all our traditions with Cara. I can still here all the "next year with Cara's" when I think back to that Christmas. One special memory for me was the Christmas Eve service. As some of you might know, our church has its Christmas Eve service outside. This year, we were out in the middle of a field, next to a few farm animals and a tiny manger. I was up in front of the congregation playing guitar for the service while Cynthia with Cara in her belly was out in the crowd. I know it wouldn't seem like a special memory for everyone, but for me, playing guitar at such a beautiful service with Cynthia and Cara there meant a lot. It was one of those memories of sharing music and the miracle of Christmas with Cara that I'll never forget.
Last Christmas, we were pretty much in a completely opposite place. Instead of experiencing joy, hope and peace through the holidays we were finding deep despair. Just a few months ago we had lost hope from the miscarriage, and at the time we were hoping that we'd get pregnant very soon. The one bright spot of the season came through our trip to the mountains. We knew we had to do something different to take care of ourselves over the holidays and getting away for a couple days to the mountains was the perfect fit.
This Christmas again seems almost like a complete reversal. With Molly here, there is more hope and joy in our lives than there's been since our pregnancy with Cara. As we've written before, Molly is a gift to our family, and in a way a gift from Cara, and with her here there is a physical, tangible sign of life and hope in our family again. But this Christmas season isn't all roses. Very often as we've put up the tree or gone to Grandma's house for cookie day we've grieved Cara's physical absence from those traditions. It's heartbreaking to think that Cara should be here, and if she was she'd be a beautiful little one and a half year old getting into all kinds of trouble.
Tonight, we'll gather with our church again outside in a barn. It will be quiet, dark and cold. I'll be up there again playing guitar, thinking about Cara and looking out into the congregation for my beautiful wife and daughter.
We miss you so much, Cara. We wish you could physically be here. You would be a beautiful, dark-haired little toddler by now and it would be so fun if you were here. Help us feel you close to us this Christmas season. You are our angel. We love you always.
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