Life as we know it

I am a better mother because I lost Rip.

Let me be very clear here, the price was way too high.

Let me also be very clear that I said better, not perfect.

But I know I am better than I would have been.  It's something I think about every day, almost as often as I miss my son.

Patience is not something I was given, I am not someone who knows how to naturally "stop and smell the roses".

And yet, with Gracie, I do.

I almost always have an extra five, ten, thirty minutes to stop and smell roses or read a book five million times or rock her back to sleep for the tenth time.

Sometimes I am so tired when I get home from work that I would do anything just to lie down for five minutes but instead I have a dance party in the kitchen because all I can think is that there is a mother somewhere who would literally give ANYTHING to be having a dance party with her baby right that moment.  I am that mom.

 I am also that mom who is so thankful for the crazy baby rocking out right in front of her.

The baby whose happiest moments in the world are when she gets home from school and eats fruit snacks and dances in the kitchen with her mama.

Life is so hard and yet so very good.

He Really Did

I was just sitting at my desk this morning at work, you know, working, and half listening to some Pandora in the background.

By the way, Pandora is such a great invention, isn't it?

Anyway, it suddenly came into my consciousness that Rascal Flatt's Bless the Broken Road was on the radio.  All of the sudden I am sitting here with tears just leaking down my face.

This was Rip and my song while I was in the hospital.  I have the clearest memory of listening to this song while I was pumping breast milk at the Medical University after he was born.  It's funny how music can bring back all of those feelings, bring you right back to those moments.

But the thing is, even though I am sitting here missing that baby and would do anything to go back to that room and change the outcome, God really did bless the road that led me there and here.  I have been blessed, and continue to be blessed.  And I think that is part of what brings those stinging tears to my eyes, because the words are true.

That God blessed the broken road that led me straight to you, Rip Harris.

Those Summer Nights

The past weekend was as close to perfect for an eighteen month old as it gets in my books.

Friday night, Gracie went out to dinner at one of her favorite restaurants (it has real, live fish!) with her parents, grandmother, and uncle.  Afterwards, she got ice cream and got to run around with chocolate all over her face until well past her bedtime.

Saturday, her daddy took her to the beach with friends in the morning while her mama attended a baby shower.  Later, she went on a trip to get a new car seat with her mama and her daddy.  She then took a two and a half hour nap in her old car seat (in the cool, air conditioned house) while her mama and daddy sweated themselves to death installing her new car seat.  Rested and fresh as a daisy, off she went to a cookout at her best buds house where she ran around in the warm summer night with other laughing, screaming kids until they could literally no longer keep their eyes open.

Sunday morning brought doughnuts (Publix rivals Krispy Kreme y'all, no joke) and another trip to the beach with just Mama and Daddy.  Another nap, a walk around the neighborhood, some bubbles in the front yard and a dinner that involved mac and cheese rounded out the day.

This all just makes me so, so happy on many levels.  Getting to the deepest one, when we lost Rip and I got pregnant with Gracie I was so worried about what kind of childhood she would have...would she grow up in a house of sadness?  Moving up a level, as a working mom, I always wonder if Gracie is missing something by my not being with her all day every day. On the surface level, what about all those worries we have as adults...the bills to pay, the doctors appointments to book, the little things that take up waaay too much head space, are they somehow going to take away from the carefree childhood  that Gracie deserves?

But looking back on this weekend, I realized that I can stop (or at least try to stop) worrying about those things.  All of those great memories I have from my childhood, those summer nights where I stayed up too late shrieking with laughter in somebody's backyard, those are the same memories that Gracie will have, too. I'm sure of it.

And what's more, despite the fact that as an adult you don't have quite the same carefree-ness you did as a child...well, you get to drink wine and laugh with your friends while your kids run around in the backyard.  I woke up with a smile on my face Monday morning, wishing I could bottle up the whole weekend.  It's not always this good, but when it is... it can be pretty great.

Worth the Wait

I may have had to wait 18 months...three years...a lifetime, to hear it...

But it was sooooo worth the wait.

Ba-Ba and Gee-Gee forever.

(Also please excuse my nasty shoes and nasty bathroom)

For this child...

I prayed.

Holy or Human

I read a book this week that I would HIGHLY recommend.  It's called What Happy People Know by Dan Baker (Ph.D)...the author just so happened to have lost an infant son, which of course made it more relatable to me, but regardless the whole book was one of those where I had my pen out the whole time and ended up underlining half of every page.

There was one quote that got me good.

"Sometimes when our minds and bodies are shattered by life, it's only the spirit that can knit us whole and keep us alive."

As soon as I ready those words I got a huge lump in my throat and and had to blink back tears for the better part of a minute.  I just knew what he was talking about.

The other day, I was with my friend Sarah.  Sarah has been through more in the past few years than most people go through in a lifetime.  She lost her mom, lost her daughter, had another pregnancy loss...so the other day, when Sarah casually said, "I think I am a fairly resilient person", I busted out laughing.  I would say that is the understatement of the century.  Sarah has more spirit in her pinkie finger than some have in their whole bodies.  In fact, that is true of most of the Baby Loss Mamas that I've met.

The image that quote brought back to me was just a flash.  A flash of standing in the shower, water streaming down on a broken body with a baby no longer inside of it and no baby to hold on to.  A flash of a mind blank with grief.  A flash of a girl whose happy life had been shattered.  And yet, in that flash  there was a little curl of fight.  That little something that kept her holding on.  That told her it was time to start again.

Whether it be holy or human, thank God for the spirit.

A Gift

As time moves on, and I meet more and more new people, I find that telling them Rip's story becomes  a gift I can choose to give someone.

When I first moved into this phase of life, this phase where I wasn't so recently "that girl who", I felt unsettled.  I could have people in my life who would never know about my first born child-but if they didn't know him then they would never truly know me.

Recently, I've realized that this choice is a gift.  I get to choose who I allow to know the most precious parts of me.  Now, some of them may think, "hey-this is the worst gift ever, I would rather have an itchy sweater than this gift!", but that's okay, it just means we won't hang out and drink wine together, which is clearly their loss.

For the most part, I've waited until I was sure I wanted to bestow my gift on the new people in my life, and they have received him graciously.  They see the gift of Rip's life as what it has always been to me, something to be treasured and loved.