The breeze is cool this morning, but the sun is shining and the snow is melting. Today was the first day in months I was able to get to Koen's grave at the cemetery. His stone has been covered by a deep blanket of snow. There is something about physically being able to touch the place where his little body lays. His tiny casket rests directly under his headstone. I lovingly rub my hand over his name, it's as close as I can get to touching him. I have missed that.

Today the clouds were spectacular and the sun shined so bright over the cemetery covered with tall trees, something that doesn't happen once everything begins to bloom.  I love it there.  It is peaceful.  The tears that I often bottle up, seem to flow easier. When I am there, I feel close to Koen.  Sometimes I find it hard to leave him, so I drive around the cemetery roads like I did this morning.  In the distance is the little chapel where we had his funeral, where I last touched his tiny blue casket.  I am 35-years-old and I have buried a child.  At times, that is so difficult to fully comprehend.

I am not alone in losing my baby to stillbirth.  Last night I was watching "Alaska: The Last Frontier" (just discovered it and quickly became obsessed - even more so when I learned it is Jewel's family).  On the show a cow gave birth to a baby, and Otto, who seems to be able to do anything, could not breathe life into the baby that was born still.  I grieved with that mama cow.  It hurt to watch.

I am reading a book about a mother who lost her daughter to stillbirth.  One line has stuck with me all week.  She describes that she able to slowly leave that dark place of grief once she came to terms that her baby no longer needed her, and when that happened she was to admit that she no longer needed to hold on so tightly to her baby.  It is so true.  Koen is safe in Jesus arms, he is not longing for his mommy, in the same way I ache for him.  I find myself needing that reminder, because at my core my motherly instincts scream something different.  I am slowly learning that it is not a betrayal to use phrases like "there is all my boys", even though it is difficult for me, knowing that one of my boys is not present.  

Some days and moments are hard.  But I found reason to rejoice when looking at the wonder in the clouds and the sun shining, knowing that Jesus and Koen are watching over me.

My two big guys are at the district championship game (just got the text that we WON - love those girls), and my little guy is sleeping soundly in his crib.  It's quiet, no one needs me, and I am reflecting on my day.  I witnessed a simple and precious moment today that touched my heart and spirit.  It happened while I was at the school watching Hackett and his second grade classmates read their own published writing piece to a small audience of parents.  One sweet little guy climbed the steps to the stage, holding his lip as he approached the podium, he was visibly terrified.  He then quietly said into the microphone, "I'm scared".  His teacher reassured him and asked another boy to go up and stand alongside him.  As I watched what was happening I had tears well up in my eyes.  It happened so seamlessly, so gently.  As they stood together, it gave him the courage to read his written piece.  He felt the presence of someone coming alongside him and he was able to cautiously proceed forward.  

I sent a text to some of my girlfriends today thanking them for standing next to me at the podium.  I realized that I want to send that same text to all of you.  So many people, SO MANY PEOPLE have come alongside me and just stood.  You have given me the courage to go on, endure what seemed so scary and impossible, and helped to give me a voice.  Thank you for standing with me and my family these last two years, we needed you, I needed you.  

"God has given each of you a gift.  Use it to help each other.  This will show God's loving-favor".  1 Peter 4:10.

Two years ago we sat at the Breslin Center at MSU cheering on our Bullock Creek Lady Lancers in the girls basketball state quarterfinals. It was so exciting to be part of this new wonderful community and watch two of the girls from our neighborhood play their hearts out. My belly was starting to get big, we were a few weeks away from learning if our Little Muffin was a boy or girl. I had been feeling him move around, but nothing like I did that night. The noise, vibrations, and excitement made Koen want to dance. I even remarked on Facebook about it. I have proof of his life, a memory he made with our family documented. I remember how much life I felt that night with such great fondness, and tears. My heart aches for all the life that I've lost with him.

Last year this amazing team did it again. They made it all the way to the state semi-final game. I had an even stronger attachment to these girls, after seeing them in the halls and a few special ones in my classroom while teaching at the high school. I was elated for them, and sat on the edge of my lazy boy watching them play online. Last year my boys went to the games at the Breslin without me because I was on bedrest with Tobin. Another year, a different pregnancy.

Last night the Lady Lancers fought hard for a win in districts against a tough team. These girls, they inspire me. They were down, but never gave up the fight. They were victorious by one point in overtime, and that's all it takes, just one point to claim a victory. What a good life lesson! Hackett was sick so we listened to the game at home. As we listened I rocked a crying Tobin who was fighting to stay awake (I'm sure he was anxious about the game).

Kevin and I recounted the last few years after the boys were tucked in bed. Talking about how much we have been through, and overcome. We made it. We fought hard, even when we were losing. We went into overtime. We will always be missing one of our starting five, but our little family claimed a victory when Tobin safely entered this world.

Two years ago.

Today.