We have been gone from this space for over a year. The truth is that our grief consumes us less these days, thank God. Our hearts are filled with much joy as our second daughter nears her second birthday. She is full of life and giggles.

This summer after a difficult pregnancy, we welcomed a healthy baby boy. And now our little family is complete - as complete as it can be with one of us missing. We are so thankful for all our children, for the life, love and joy they have brought.

Pregnancy after Loss

Before Molly was born, I scoured blogs looking for women who had a child after a loss. I specifically wanted to find mothers who had lost their first child and went on to have other children. Unfortunately the first time mothers whose blogs I was reading had not yet birthed a second child. (Many of them have since, praise God!)

I wanted to know what that experience was like, giving birth to and loving another child. All I knew was deep, deep sadness as a mother. From my perspective (and it's the only one I know intimately) having your first child born stillborn is extremely difficult. We didn't know the prize at the end of a pregnancy for a year and a half. Our house sat quiet for too long. We didn't have another child to love on, to make us smile through our tears.

It was never our intention to wait so long for Molly. We tried to get pregnant right away, and tried, and tried, and succeeded, then failed, and tried, and tried, and tried. In that time of trying and failing, what happened was Cara took up residence in our lives. We were forced to confront our grief and make space in our lives for our daughter. Looking back, I'm thankful for that time, because the work we did was important. Cara, in that time, found her place as our daughter. She wove herself into our thoughts, traditions and words.

By February of last year, we were pregnant with Molly. During those 9 months of pregnancy, I studied everything I could about gestating. I told Tim recently that it felt like a bit of a hobby. In all that time, I never really allowed myself to connect with Molly fully. I just couldn't believe that she would really be born alive.

If I could back to that time, I would tell myself to grieve Cara as much as I possibly could even up until the moment Molly was born. Because in October when Molly emerged from my womb, perfect in every way, joy burst into my life again. God gave us the most beautiful little girl. She is super laid back and easy going. She smiles frequently and has the ability to literally draw strangers across restaurants and stores. She has eased us into parenting a living child and made the transition a healing process.

I'm thankful for our story of hope after loss for some are not so lucky. We are two years and almost 4 months into our grieving process. The grief still remains as think of Cara daily, but our household is also filled with a lot of laughter and smiles, something we never believed possible until Molly found her way into our lives.

Mother's Day 2010

My morning started with my adorable (hungry) little girl handing me the sweetest card. She then started to cry, because while we were celebrating mommy, baby still needed to eat! Daddy made us a delicious breakfast complete with lattes.

This was my first Mother's Day at church since losing Cara. It was a gentle ease back in. I ended up having to leave with Molly half way through the service because of her inability to settle, but it was a good time for me to reconnect with the church and my motherhood while still caring for my little one.

We went to visit Cara and that was a difficult part of the day for me. I lay one hand on the foot of my sleeping Molly and the other on the ground. Two babies connected by one mother filled with emotions and love for each.

We spent the rest of the afternoon in the backyard. My parents came from a brief visit and then A and Ra drove through town with the boys. It was a fun, whirlwind day. I was able to take a few minutes to reflect quietly as I nursed Molly in the nursery late in the afternoon. No real thoughts, just being present in my grief and not hiding from it.

The boys loved meeting Molly and she delighted in them. In fact, she hasn't been the same since they left. Mommy is clearly not cutting it on the entertainment factor. It has made me realize how much I'm missing out on not seeing my two girls interact together. It's the first time I have really felt that Molly would enjoy having a big sister and a reminder of what she doesn't yet understand, what one day we will have to explain to her.

3 Years in Photos

My laptop is on the fritz. Actually it's beyond that. We have had a love hate relationship the past couple of weeks. I love it, but it hates me. There is another laptop in the mail, which can't arrive soon enough.

In preparation for my new beloved's arrival, I have spent the past week deciding what to trash and what to keep. In doing so, I backed up all my pictures. Twice. I decided that I should go through every picture beforehand, so I only backed up those that were most treasured and purged all the blurry, out of focus, pictures I took 10 times to get one good shot.

In the last week, I have relived the last three years of life. Watching friends get pregnant. Beach trips. Sharing the news we were pregnant with Cara. Baby showers for friends and then our own. Her birth day. Life after her. A rich marriage, but two very broken hearts. Holding children, loved but not my own. My body, which told the story of a pregnancy but didn't bear the fruit of its efforts. Pregnancy. Miscarriage. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Planning for adoption. One last try. First birthday. Babies, babies, babies, still not my own. Months of gestating. One glorious day in October. Finding a part of myself again. A second birthday without our first little one. Six months of wonder.

Life. Not what I imagined, yet still sweet in its own bitter way.

Stillbirth & SUID Prevention, Education, & Awareness Act (S 1445/HR 3212)

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

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.

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

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?

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::

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.

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.

A Service of Lessons and Carols

I found a new love this morning. The Methodist service of Lessons and Carols. Our church brought in a professional storyteller to weave the journey of Christ's coming to the world. The congregation sang hymns between the passages of scripture from the Old Testament Prophets to the Good News of the New Testament.

As I sat rocking Molly singing one of the hymns, Tim and I caught eyes. He smiled at both of us and tears welled up in my eyes. I could have just as easily been rocking Cara. It made me miss her so much. The finality of her absence still hits me at times.

As the service continued, a beautiful member of our congregation stood to sing Breath of Heaven, Mary's voice in Jesus's coming. The woman is one of those refreshing untrained voices, who simply listens to the song and hears the notes. Even more beautiful was knowing she carries a son, and that as she placed her hand on her belly, her 20-week old baby was likely bouncing inside.

It was a completely divine moment until I heard soft sniffles beside me. How could I have forgotten? My dear, dear friend should be just as pregnant, their due dates days apart. She should know the joy of a new life growing within her womb. And she did until two months ago when it all came to a painful end.

I held my little Molly close with one arm and wrapped the other around my friend. I heard the sniffles become louder, the shakes more violent, and in that moment I learned what it meant to be in the shoes of those who sat next to me so many Sundays. The friends who sat there as I cried through sermons, as babies were baptized into the church, as pregnant women were celebrated around me. So many times I had the gentle touch of a friend's hand on my shoulder as I sat and wept.

Today I felt completely and utterly helpless. I wanted to take my friend's pain away. I longed to absorb all the pain from her, to take it as my own. I knew my friend was hurting, and in that moment I was also hurting so desperately for her. It made me realize what my friends must have felt all those months.

I suppose this is what it means to be body of Christ, to share in one another's brokenness and desperately pray for redemption. This world is broken, but I'm eternally thankful for family, friends and church, who have walked this painful journey with us as we seek to find healing.

Post Traumatic Stress

"Do you check to see if she's breathing," they ask me. Then before I can even answer, they say, "of course you do, every parent does."

True, but does every parent convince themselves that their child is dead? Does every parent look across the room at someone else holding their baby and believe the child isn't breathing? Or look in the bassinet and only see an ashen-colored baby when really there are rosy cheeks?

I recently told Tim about these experiences. It was a few short days later that he saw one play out. I was holding Molly in public when I felt I couldn't hear her soft breathing in my ear. I tried moving her and she felt limp. (Of course she was, she was completely asleep.) But nearly paralyzing fear played out for me as I tried to rouse her, to see some movement of life.

Tim looked at me and said, "It just happened, didn't it?" In the car on the way home, I asked what he saw. He said it was evident I was scared and fearful.

I guess it's post traumatic stress. I suppose it comes with the territory. I just wish it didn't have to be my reality.

21 Months Later, A New Season

"This is going to be the best Christmas of your life," they tell me. Do they say this because it is a line society delivers to every parent of a living child that first Christmas? Or do they say it because we just lived through the worst Christmas of our lives?

As we have taken Molly to various holiday parties and introduced her to friends and family for the first time, Cara is drawn to my mind more and more. As people ooh and aah over Molly I find myself wanting to talk about Cara. Do they wonder what she looked like? Yes, Molly looks exactly like me, but I long to share how Cara was clearly her father's with Tim's dark, silky hair and distinctive nose.

When they tell me how perfect Molly is, I wonder to myself if they think Cara was any less. It was not her fault she died, I long to tell them. It was me, my body failed her.

I even struggle with my own inner battle as I deliver lines to Molly like, "You are the most beautiful baby in the world." She is, but her sister was too. I end up feeling guilty as though I have forgotten Cara's beauty, because I am not face to face with it every day.

The reality is we still continue to learn how to navigate this unexpected life of losing a child. We lived through many firsts in the last year and a half but there are still many more to come.

How do you sign your Christmas card? At first it was just our last name, but then we opted for our three names with Cara's absent. We hope the nature of the card we chose draws to mind the one who is missing.

Does Santa only come for the living children? Yes, but we have chosen to donate to First Candle in Cara's memory the same amount of money we spend on Molly.

As these new life scenarios play out, we pray we are being faithful to both our daughters and our little family of four.

Here Comes The Sun

This time last year was a very dark place for us. It was our first Christmas without Cara, we had just suffered a miscarriage, and months of infertility followed both of our losses. The holiday was cancelled. No celebrating. We desperately longed for our ray of hope to shine through again.

Music is a crucial part of our lives, so we were intentional about what albums we listened to as the holiday swirled around us. Yo-Yo Ma offered a sweet gift to our battered souls with his Songs of Joy & Peace album.

There was one song, Here Comes the Sun, that resonated deep within my soul. I longed to fast forward to this year, to have a Little Darling to sing this song to. I wanted out of the proverbial winter we were living in. I drove around town, I sat in my kitchen working, I listened and I cried.

The moment I dreamed of is finally here. I have my Little Darling. I can rock her and sing to her about the sun coming on these cold winter days, but the tears don't come like they used to. There is far too much joy in her life. The tears that were once of indescribable pain and longing are now full of thanks and praise to the Giver of Life.


Here Comes the Sun

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
and I say it's all right

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes...

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
and I say it's all right
It's all right



To those longing for a Little Darling, I pray this time next year you too can join our song.

Advent Reflections

Today marks the beginning of Advent. As we got ready for church today, I realized that I love the Advent season. I love it for many reasons - the build up as we all wait together for Christmas, the advent wreath and candles, the blue and purple liturgical colors, the songs. Memories of advent in the Methodist church I grew up in came rushing back this morning.

It was exciting to take Molly to church today for her first Sunday of Advent. We had her dressed up in a purple flowery outfit making it seem like she picked out her outfit on purpose to blend in with the Advent colors (I wish I could say Cynthia and I did this on purpose...it was in the back of my mind but it really coincidentally happened). She was passed out for the better part of the service and it was hard for me to stop smiling as I looked down at her in my arms. I was trying to be reflective and reserved as I listened to the Pastor's message, but I couldn't hold the smile back. It was so good to have Molly there in church today.

But it struck me earlier this morning how different the Advent season is this year. In fact, Cynthia and I have talked about this quite a bit over the weekend as we've been decorating our house.

We were in a very difficult place last Advent. We didn't have to reflect on what it was like to wait for the good news of Christ's birth, we were smack in the middle of a period of longing and waiting for any sign of hope. Last year Thanksgiving, Advent, Christmas and even the New Year were all painful seasons to try to navigate through.

This all came to head on Friday when we started decorating our tree. Suddenly flashbacks of decorating our tree two years, when Cynthia was pregnant with Cara, came rushing back. Back then there was an innocent exuberance about the Advent and Christmas seasons. We had just started attending our new church and we were experiencing these seasons all for the first time with a baby in mind.

"Next year it will be so great to have Cara here at Christmas."

"Can you imagine how big Cara will be at Christmas next year?"

"It will be so fun to experience the holiday seasons with Cara next year."

Next year and next year...

Cynthia and I shared memories and tears as we decorated our tree this year and thought back to two years ago. We looked at some pictures of Cynthia over the holiday season when she was carrying Cara. Both her and Cara were so beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.

So we enter this Advent season with more hope than we've had in our hearts since that terrible day when hope was taken away from us and our worlds were completely flipped upside down. But we still enter this season desperately missing Cara. Wishing that she was here. Wishing that all our dreams for "next year" would have come true. We will always carry a grief with us that wishes she was physically here. One day, Cara, we'll see you soon. We can't wait for that day.

Finding Space

I try to make sense of it. Molly living, Cara not. I want to rationalize it, analyze it. "Molly wouldn't be here if Cara was alive. There might have been another Molly, but not this one," my mind wants me to believe. My heart is filled with so much love for this little girl. In some way I want to make sense of it all, and I can't.

I have heard other parents do it. "I wouldn't have had this child." And true I wouldn't. But it doesn't lead me towards acceptance of Cara's death. It doesn't erase that painful year and a half while we waited for this glimmer of hope to be born into our lives. Those were dark, dark days as we struggled with grieving our daughter, infertility as we tried to conceive our second and fear as the days of an anxious pregnancy unfolded. Still I want to justify my daughter's death as I have heard others do in the past, and I can't.

It's hard losing your first. There are so many hopes and dreams wrapped up in the second. I'm finding Molly is just a regular baby with demanding baby needs. Regardless, I believe Tim and I love Molly differently than we would have Cara. Our lives are certainly different. We have made more space and time to enjoy Molly. We love her with a thankfulness that would not have been had we not lost Cara.

In the recent days, I struggle to connect with Cara. I'm giving so much to Molly that I can't cling to the past like I have. I'm learning I do need to make space in the present though. I just sat nursing Molly and reading these words from a dear friend. Tears poured down my face as I recalled those early days after losing Cara. I used a burp cloth, the only thing around, to dry my tears.

Yes, it's important for me to connect with my girls, I just have to make the space for both of them in my life.

How First Candle is Fighting SIDS

This is a really good article that describes some of the great work First Candle is doing to help reduce SIDS and stillbirth. Please click on the link below and check out this article:

How First Candle is Fighting SIDS

As First Candle continues to do its great work, I hope that less and less parents will have to go through losing their baby to SIDS or stillbirth. If you haven't heard about First Candle, please take a moment to check out their website (http://www.sidsalliance.org/) or post a link to their site from your blog.

October 15th

Remembering our sweet Cara Grace and all the babies who flew to heaven too soon...

Why we cry for the silent.

Her birth was silent, and we wept. As the days passed, the quiet weeping turned to deep sobs and later passionate yells as tears poured down our faces.

Tim and I started this blog, Cries for the Silent, shortly after we lost Cara. Initially we intended to use this blog to advocate for stillbirth legislation and awareness. At times it has been that place for us. However, we also use it to remember, to cry and to validate the presence of our first daughter. Her picture is right there. How could she not be a part of our lives?

Now we have our second daughter Molly in our lives. We love her completely, wholly but in a way that is very different from Cara. Does that mean we love Cara less? Absolutely not. We love her differently, with longing, brokenness and pain, but with hope for restored life at the end of our journey.

Two painful experiences reverberate throughout the past 11 days. First, since I delivered Molly people think that NOW we are parents. I suspect if Cara had lived for even a minute her life would be validated by society, but since she was stillborn it was as if she was never here. However, we are and have been parents. We were parents when Cara was conceived. We were parents when I pushed her lifeless yet perfect body into this world. We were parents when that same precious little body was lowered into the ground. And each time we cried.

The second painful experience is the comments that now our happiness has been made complete because Molly is in our lives. Molly NEVER replaces Cara. Never, ever. Molly is wonderful and loved so, so deeply, but she does not take away the grief. We will ALWAYS miss Cara and years from now there will be tears to shed, because we will not send her to school or watch her walk down the aisle at her wedding or deliver our first grandchild. Parents do not 'get over' losing their child. The burden of the grief walk will lessen, but the grief will forever remain present.

With Molly we learn what we missed with Cara. I spend a lot of time smiling at my precious baby girl, kissing her cheeks, and nibbling her fingers. Once a day though I hold her close and weep for Cara. So we cry for our little one who came silently into this world. We cry for the other little ones who never had a voice in this world, for Aidan, for Hope, for Christian, for the many blogs we read of other parents battling through this journey. Their voices are forever heard in our lives.