This memory popped up today. I didn't post until a little after midnight about Koen's sudden and shocking arrival. Kevin was laying on a cot, after not being able to eat or drink all day I was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and sipping on a slurpee that my nurse went out to get for me after I requested one during delivery. As I sat in my hospital bed I had to focus on chewing, consciously moving my jar up and down. I was in such a state of shock. My baby who I thought was safe that morning, was now at the funeral home cold and alone. My time with Koen was gone, it slipped through my fingers in just a day. We had given word to some friends and family via text, but I wanted inform our world of friends and family. I didn't want his life to disappear, I wanted his tragically brief life to be acknowledged and remembered.

This weekend we are camping with friends, because even though I am on the verge of tears during this week, life goes on, as it should. While Kevin is off with the big kids I am watching this angel, gift, and miracle sleep.

Yesterday, before we left, we went to pick out balloons to send to Koen for his birthday. Tobin picked an owl that said "look who's graduating", Hackett a balloon covered with sports balls, and from mom and dad a white heart. We went to his gravesite where his tiny little body is laid to rest and let them go, and they floated up to the heavens just as quickly as Koen did three years ago.

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I am away from home, good wifi and my laptop, and am having trouble uploading pictures to my blog that I reference, so I will add them in the comments below and fix in a few days.

The memory is my announcement of Koen's birth and death.

As I rocked Tobin on Sunday night, he was in tears and so was I. I didn't know that he would chew the tip off of one of his beloved wubbies (pacifiers) during the night on Saturday. I had no warning that I would not be able to snuggle up my baby anymore, that he would catapult into toddler-hood in one night. He was sobbing in shock with the disappearance of his wubs, and tears fell down my face in the shock of the disappearance of my baby.  Not only has my baby disappeared but also my ability to make everything better.  For Tobin, the combination of mom and a wubby, healed all.  One of the very hardest things as a mom is to see your child broken in sorrow and not have the ability to fix it.  

As Hackett is preparing to say goodbye to all that is familiar and safe in our current home and community, I wish more than anything, that I could snuggle him on my lap, sing him a song, give him his favorite lovey and make it all better.  But that magical power that mommies hold for the first few years of life is long gone for my Hackett.  I can help ease pain, soothe his spirit, and encourage, but I cannot take away his sorrow and make it all better, no matter how hard I try.  He has to learn to navigate an uncertain path on his own, something so necessary for him to become the man I dream he will be someday. 

I wish I could turn back time, even for an instant, to hold all three of my babies again.  Two of them I was able to hold, soothe, stare at their lips as they slept, have them wrap their little arms around my neck and bury their faces in the nook of my neck during the first few years of their lives.  And it went so fast, too fast.  It wasn't enough, even two years of baby-hood wasn't enough.  I planted some flowers and took them to Koen today.  I only had an hour with him.  I wasn't able to make anything better for him.  I never was able to smell the sunshine in his curly hair after playing in the sandbox all afternoon.  He was never in the nook in my neck.  He never called me mom and I never heard him giggle.  I had to say goodbye without warning, or preparation, just like that my baby was gone.  It has almost been three years, I get more used to him being gone, but it never gets easier.  My heart never longs for him any less.  He would be three, and an extreme curly top like his daddy, but the rest of his appearance and personality I will never know during this earthly life.  I miss him every single day.  I never wanted to say goodbye.