Raisinglittlegrays

“Aww, did she hit herself?”   the clerk asked Chad, as Annestyne’s massive facial bruise unveiled itself. She had bopped her head on the swing that’s hanging from the tree at the beach house, and it was nearly impossible to miss.  “Mommy, can you get this off for me?” Hasting asked, as he handed me his new cool pair of shades.  And then it happened. The one question parents for some reason can’t seem to escape, no matter how many kids you have in your family. Except it cuts you like a knife when you’ve recently lost a child.  “Are you going to have anymore kids?”.  I guess he thought I didn’t hear her, so I never brought it back up. I didn’t even hear what his response was.  I carry around a physical scar, but no one sees it.  We have another child, but no stranger knows it.  Strangers don't even know he existed, unless we bring him up. Escaping reality is next to impossible.  Every time Sadler isn’t acknowledged it stings, more now than it ever will. 

"Above all, show your love. Show up. Say something. Do something. Be willing to stand beside the gaping hole that has opened in your friend’s life, without flinching or turning away. Be willing to not have any answers. Listen. Be there. Be present. Be a friend. Be love. Love is the thing that lasts." When I first learnt that I was pregnant with Sadler I needed someone other than my husband to express my heart-racing "holy crap, I'm pregnant and scared" worries with. It was you. You had your own worries. Your own pregnancy. Your own scares.  But you were there. From one hospital to another you came and sat by my side to confirm our little 8 week 2 day old baby with his tiny beating heart. We began these pregnancies together. We walked hand in hand. We grew closer than we had ever been in the almost 4 years of knowing one another. You became my Christina Yang, and I your Meredith Grey. Every day it was normal for us to call each other and as

"Oh I'm in pieces, it's tearing me up, but I know a heart thats broke is a heart that's been loved"..."When God takes you back he'll sing hallelujah you're home". Today we went to church, for the first time since I'm not even sure when. It's also where we had the funeral of our son. We got in the car, and I wasn't sure how I was going to handle pulling back in to that church. I think it's partially why I was secretly hoping that when we DID return back to church it would be elsewhere. But, in all fairness, I've grown very fond of Pastor Daniel and the whole congregation of that church. So I decided not to speak up to my husband about visiting a different church, because I knew once we got inside I would be happy I chose to come back to one of the places we said our final goodbyes to our son. We pulled in, and my eyes did swell with tears, but I held them back. Flashbacks from the funeral just kept creeping up

3 days before you arrived. I think Thursday will haunt me forever. This is the last photo I have from a bump day with you. Every Thursday we would celebrate a new "bumpiversary" together. One more week that we could celebrate the life you lived inside of me. One more day that I could take another bump photo with you.  Now those are gone. Every Thursday since the passing of Sadler, a little bit of guilt sets in. I feel like I took advantage of the days that we had together; like I should have done more. I know that guilt came come with grief. I only hope that as I continue to heal, it's something that will quickly surpass. Deep down, I want to be happy. Grief sucks. Guilt sucks. It eats you alive, and is completely impossible to ignore. Each day, my mind struggles to comprehend all of the different feelings and emotions that come with the loss of a child. I find myself overthinking everything. It will get better Lindsay. This is a part