These days are so long. When you spend a good portion of your day carefully examining ceiling tile, latex glove boxes, and the plastic bag blowing in a tree, it's safe to say you have surpassed your threshold. I cannot process on more thing.

Yesterday, we went for a routine ultrasound appointment with our specialist. Something we had to do at 24 weeks. I was anxious about something coming up prior to us going. Even the waiting room makes me nervous, it's so small, with crazy wallpaper on two sides, and I can almost feel the walls crashing in on me. Not Kevin, he sits next to me belting out the oldies for the "entertainment" of the others waiting. Secretly, I realize he is trying to take my focus off the wall crashing in, he wants me to laugh or at least focus my energies on telling him to be quiet.

We go into yet another tiny room for the ultrasound with the doctor. He reviewed his notes verbally from our last appointment and began to take measurements via ultrasound. All is well, everything looks great. All we hear is good, good, good! He just wants Tobin in a different position to get a better look at his heart. He had me lay on my side for 5 minutes, in hopes of him changing position, and left Kevin and I. We were giddy. Relieved. All great news. Kevin shared with me about a current Tech co-op in his building, which propels us back to funny stories about our days as Huskies. We were laughing, feeling pure joy. Doctor came back in for a few more measurements. I had referenced my desire to get my cervix measurement at least four times at this point. It was on his do to list to. When he got to that point he said from his top view it looked fine, but he cannot give us an accurate measurement without doing a vaginal ultrasound. He said, it's completely up to you if you want that done. Yes, I want that done, I was feeling bubbly joy and was looking forward to a great measurement that would send my happiness even higher. I got all set up to feel this continued relief, but his first words were "uhhhh ... I am so glad we checked this." The joy and laughter was complelty stolen from our bodies. We then learned that my cervix which was previously below the normal 3cm range a month ago at a 2.8cm, had now shrunk to the dangerously low level of 1cm. His mind was moving fast and saying scary and hopeful things, tears were pouring from my cheeks, and Kevin was in shock but maintained his role as my rock as we found ourselves driving across the street to be admitted to labor and delivery.

On our way home from errands we wanted to take Hackett to the cemetery.  We didn't want his first exposure to be at the funeral on Friday.  We now knew where Koen would be buried and needed to show him.  Showing our son where his brother would be buried is not something I ever planned on doing in my lifetime, yet here we were.  We did it with brave faces, our desire was to give him reassurance.  Death was a new event for Hackett, something he had never had to deal with.  Three days before Koen's birth, my mom had to put her dog to sleep.  She brought him to be buried at our house.  That was Hackett's first taste of death, and he was very emotional.  I was more than concerned for his little head and heart that needed to process death on a much deeper scale.

My first funeral experience was for a distant relative.  An elderly woman who I never recalled even meeting when she was alive.  I think I was about 10 years old when I went with my parents to the viewing.  It was traumatic for me.  I still remember what the room looked like and where the casket was.  The room was full of people.  The adults were standing around and laughing.  I recall being so frustrated and confused.  I wanted to scream that there was a dead body in the room, because to me it seemed that no one noticed.  It was too much for my 10-year-old mind to comprehend.  My fear was that this would be far to much for Hackett's 6-year-old sensitive and tenderhearted mind.  As we drove home from the cemetery we explained to him the plans for Friday, which included everyone gathering at our house after the service.  I told him that tears would be flowing at the cemetery, but that conversation and laughter may occur at our house after.  Assuring him that was okay, and natural.  My very insightful, old-souled, Hackett replied "so we will kind of being celebrating the sadness?".  Exactly buddy, we would be celebrating the sadness.  Tears and such great sadness would not be present without such a strong love for our Koen.  The ripping out of our hearts would be celebrated that day.  Our love and loss would be celebrated.  My hope is that someday we can help other families celebrate their sadness too.