My Current Journey

For those of you who do not follow me on social media, you may not know that I am still writing, just in a very different space. This journey has led me to other avenues to process and explore my grief and focus on finding joy and healing.

I will still post here occasionally, but it will not be often at all.

Please come follow me at my new site~

http://www.luminouslightstudio.com

I am now creating art for other bereaved families and you can find it at Luminous Light Studio.

I am also writing for a wonder blog that supports families carrying to birth despite a fatal diagnoisis.
You can find that here~

http://allthatlovecando.blogspot.com


Thank you to all who have followed my journey this far. I couldn't have made it without you!

-Jessi

Dear Silas ~

Dear Silas,

My sweet boy, it has been 5 months since you left us. I'm not sure where all the time has gone. It seems as yesterday I held you in my arms. I did not know it was possible, but my love for you only continues to grow. It never dwindles or fades. My heart still aches, my lungs still struggle to help me breath, and my foundation is still unstable most of the time, but that's not important. These things are just the price I pay for loving you as much as I do and I'm okay with that. In fact, I would relive every single moment of the last five months just to hold you one more time. However, I have accepted that I can't. You, my love, have left us for a place that is better. A place that is kind, beautiful, and perfect in every way. A place I can only dream about right now.

I dreamt about you last night. You were still my precious babe and you were healthy and happy. We laid on my bed, just you and I, on a warm summers day. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the summer breeze filled the air. You woke me from our nap with your gentle cooing and squirming. I looked at you and smiled as my heart was flooded with joy. I leaned over to kiss you and I whispered, "As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be." I felt complete and I my heart felt as though I never had experienced a single moment of heartbreak. I had the chance to know what it must be like where you are, on the other side of this life. An ancient Chinese philosopher, Lao Tzu, once wrote, "life and death are one thread, the same line viewed from different sides." I never understood what that meant until now.

I like to think that time works differently where you are. I imagine you running ahead of me in the most beautiful place imaginable, and you don't even notice we haven't caught up yet. By the time you turn around to see if we are there, we will be. I will wait patiently for that day. I will search for you in my dreams from now until we meet again. My love for you will only continue to grow as it continues to shape and change who I am. My love for you is endless. My only wish now is that my love finds its way to you always.

I love and miss you aimlessly,

-Mom

"Blood from your body

has pulsed through my heart, my veins

of course I am changed."

-Stephanie Page Cole

Tis the Season {to face the holidays}

It's almost been 3 months since I last held my son. I unconsciously keep a very detailed track of time. If I wanted to be precise, I could say... 12 weeks, 4 days, and 9 hours. I do not intentionally keep track of the time, but it is just something that happens when I look at the clock.

The autumn leaves have all disappeared and the snow has begun to fall. It is difficult for me to think that in just 10 days we will be celebrating Thanksgiving. It's a time to break bread and proclaim our thankfulness and a time to rejoice with family and reflect on the things that really matter. 

I must admit... I'm not excited and I don't feel up for much celebration. I used to be one who would become giddy as the holidays would draw near, but this year is different. Last Thanksgiving was such a sad time for my husband and I, as just weeks before I miscarried for the second time. Yet, I remained thankful... sad, but thankful. This year my pain just seems to have magnified. I am not exactly sure how I plan to navigate the holidays this year. 

I know when we sit down for Thanksgiving dinner... there will be someone missing. When we decorate our tree, hang our stockings, as we travel to visit family, eat our quiche and Christmas ham, and all of our other holiday traditions... there will be someone missing. Missing from our dinner table and our circle around the tree. Missing from our arms, but not our hearts. It is going to be difficult. 

I wanted to have my sweet boy here for the holidays. I wanted to share the warmth and joy of the holiday season with Silas. I pictured us lying by our tree and watching the lights twinkle, singing Christmas carols to him, and reading him stories about the holiday. I wanted to snuggle on the couch with him in the lights of our tree for midnight feedings. I wanted to keep him warm while the snow fell outside. I wanted to see my two sons loving each other's company and I wanted to relish in both of their smiling faces. 

I had envisioned the holidays so differently than what it will be and who knows... maybe it will be easier than I think or maybe far worse. I will face that as it comes and embrace it as much as I can. Nonetheless, I am still thankful. I have so much to be grateful for and I will not lose sight of that. Just because I am not excited doesn't mean I am bitter, angry, not thankful, or being a Scrooge. No. It just means that I am missing someone dear to my heart and it hurts that he isn't here to experience the things that I have always enjoyed about the holiday. It saddens me that his brother and father will also be missing him. Our family will not be complete this year, or the next and it never will be again. 

There will always be someone missing. 

We will hang his stocking and his ornaments; we will talk about him, remember him, and give thanks because of him. I appreciate my life so much more these days. My heart is filled with a deep gratitude that I am not sure I would have if it wasn't for Silas. He reminds me to be thankful under all circumstance.

Even this one. 

My heart becomes incredibly heavy when I think about all the other parents, grandparents, and siblings who are missing someone dear to their hearts. Everyone has their own way of coping and getting through times like these. Maybe you are angry, bitter, or avoidant and this makes getting through the holiday easier for you. Maybe you open yourself up and let peace and love fill your heart. Maybe you allow yourself to feel all the joy this season brings or maybe you don't and skip the holidays altogether. Maybe you painstakingly force a smile and inwardly pray for this season to be over. Whatever you need to do in order to navigate through this season... do it!  

When you have a gaping hole in your heart it can be hard to see the things that we should be thankful for, but there are many. I hope that no matter what this Thanksgiving may bring you, you will count your many blessings and give thanks. 

If you are missing a loved one this holiday season, my heart goes out to you. I hope that you can find a way to fill your heart with gratitude even when it seems difficult to proclaim thanks. 

If your family is complete and in good health... I hope you count your blessings twice. Even when things may not be going exactly the way you had intended or you are facing challenges that seem overwhelming...

There is still so much to be thankful for.

Do NOT lose sight of that. 

“Be thankful for what you have. 

Your life, no matter how bad you think it is, is someone else's fairy tale.” 

― Testy McTesterson

Birth Part 3~ The Kidnapper With The Moses Basket

I have been struggling to write this post. I knew I had to do it when the time was right and I felt ready to share it. Today my heart is filled with an immense amount of peace, but sorrow still lingers. When I actually have a good day I question if it's okay and if I am moving on too quickly. However, I let these good days triumph over the days where I feel like I want to crawl into a deep dark hole and slowly rot. It's okay to have good days just as much as it's okay to have days that are dark. It doesn't mean I am moving on or I don't miss my son constantly. It means that I am still alive despite having my soul ripped to pieces. It means I am able to rise from the ashes of what once was my perfectly figured out life. It means that I am able to find pieces of myself when most of me is lost in the sea of melancholia.

After Karl and I took our time with Silas, we welcomed our family to come and meet him. It was a beautiful thing to share him with others who loved him. Knowing that he was loved and that he touched the lives of others is a blessing. Sharing our time with him just validated the importance of his fleeting life.

Ezra came marching into our room with a huge smile on his face because he was ready to take on his big-brotherly duties. He was ready and excited to meet his little brother in person. They had already been getting acquainted for several months as Ezra would read, sing, talk, and tell jokes to his baby brother. Silas would kick and squirm in response. Ezra loved to snuggle up to my belly, tell Silas a secret or a joke, and listen for his response... usually a few kicks to Ezra's ear. That was Ezra's favorite and always prompted laughter. Ezra knew that it was unlikely his baby brother would live, but he remained hopeful. We had so many discussions, read several books, and tried our best to prepare him. He remained hopeful that Silas would be coming home with us. We were all hopeful. I knew when he marched into the room, gleaming with excitement that he was completely unaware his brother didn't survive. Just when I thought every piece of my heart had already crumbled... the last few pieces hit the floor. I had to tell my first-born that his beloved baby brother had died. In a split second, his excitement slipped away and I could see his heartbreak. His heart laid in pieces with mine.  As parents, we want to protect our children from immense emotional and physical pain. When we can't protect them from it, we feel it with them and it hurts us just as much.

Ezra held his brother and asked questions about what happened, but he needed time to process. The last time he saw me, Silas was alive and now he wasn't. That is a lot for a little boy to grasp. He stopped holding Silas and was just taking everything in. After a few minutes he wanted to hold Silas again and we talked about how much his baby brother looked like him. He was still a proud big brother and he still loved Silas. Ezra made sure to give Silas the heartbeat teddy bear that he had made for him. The conversation I had with him is very foggy. All I remember is that he asked questions and I did my best to answer them, but mostly I was lost in my thoughts about how unfair it was that this had to happen to my boys. Neither one of them deserved this outcome. Silas didn't deserve to die and miss out on a lifetime of experiences, and Ezra didn't deserve to lose his brother and feel such sorrow. My children did not deserve this.  In fact, none of us deserved this, yet here we are.

Eventually, everyone went home and left Karl and I to be alone with Silas for the rest of the evening. We were going to be discharged from the hospital that night so we wanted all the alone time we could get. Part of me wanted to just run out of the hospital and head straight for home. The other part knew I couldn't take Silas with me and wanted to stay confined to the hospital bed forever. The hospital staff continued to be great and made sure we had all the time we needed. At one point, a nurse came in and went over a plethora of information that I just couldn't bring myself to pay attention to. She went over it swiftly and then gave me a teddy bear. "It by no means replaces your son, but once you get home it's nice to have something to hold onto when you cry." She handed me two books to read and a packet of information on recovery and grief. While the mom next door received information on how to properly breastfeed and care for her newborn... I received an education on how to stop milk production and what grieving the death of a baby might be like while your hormones crash. This was useful information because I will have all the signs of having just given birth, but with no baby to show for it. This is just salt on large open wounds.

The last thing the nurse gave me was a small blue memory box. It already had a few contents inside of it, which she briefly showed to me. With my permission, she cut a lock of Silas' hair and placed it in a tiny zip baggy. She nestled it safely in the memory box. By this point, it has started to dawn on me that I never really prepared myself for letting go of Silas' physical form. Is it even possible for a mother to prepare to let go of her child? I decided to pull myself out of bed and get out of the oversized hospital gown. I wanted to be ready to go home right after we said our goodbyes, because I didn't want to stay longer than I had to. Karl sat and had his alone time with his son. He rocked him in the rocking chair until I was finished. We had worked it all out so that we would leave directly after someone from the funeral home picked up Silas. This was the last bit of mothering I could do for him. I wanted to make sure he got to where he was going. I wanted to see him off.

I put on a light house robe to keep from getting chilly. Karl gave up his seat in the rocking chair so that I could rock Silas until it was time to say goodbye. I held Silas against my chest and wrapped my robe around him because I didn't want him to lose any more of his warmth. This was both the first and last time I would ever rock my son. I continued to love on him while I could, but we felt it was time to say goodbye. We had the nurse call the funeral home to let them know we were ready. It was well past 8 in the evening when a skinny elderly man cautiously entered our room. It was the owner of the funeral home. He was gentle, kind, and soft-spoken. He did his best to be as comforting as possible, but my heart ached more than ever. He started to tell us that he was going to put Silas in a beautiful basket that was sitting right outside our door. It was a special basket that the Amish helped him make and he was going to carry our son out of the hospital in it. I wasn't quite sure what he was saying... this was so unreal. This couldn't possibly be our life. It had to be a nightmare! It was here in this moment that I could feel myself starting to lose grip. I started to slide down into this dark pit of anguish and despair and I was grasping at whatever I could in order to keep myself from reaching the bottom.

With tears running down our faces, we said goodbye to our son. We kissed him one last time and whispered our final words to him. I brought his cheek to mine and told him, "Mommy will always love you, Silas." I handed Silas to the kind old man. That was the last time I would ever hold my son.

The man sat while he held Silas. He talked to us for a few more minutes... I think to make us more comfortable before he left with our son. He stood up and headed for the door and Karl walked out to see Silas off. I could not bring myself to stand. There was nothing left for me to grasp. I slammed down to the bottom of that deep dark pit; the place I tried so hard to avoid. I wept loudly and ferociously. All I could do was weep and cry out, "He's taking my baby!" Just like he had kidnapped my child right out of my arms. It felt like Silas had been ripped away from me and I wanted so badly to chase that man down the hall and tell him to give me back my baby. All I knew in that moment was that I would never see Silas again and I wanted him back with every ounce of my being. My world was shattered.

My baby! He's taking my baby! 

Those were the only words that fell out of my mouth. I sobbed uncontrollably and Karl did his best to hold and comfort me. Joy had finally been completely smothered out of my heart and desolation overcame me. This moment, the moment I let go of my son, was the worst moment of my life. Never have I felt such anguish. I just wanted my baby back in my arms. I wanted to rewind time so that I could go back to the previous weekend when my family was complete and I felt whole. Rewind to a time where there was still hope and Silas was still thriving. I was completely empty from the inside out. There was no longer a baby in my womb and no longer a baby in my arms. He was with me for every moment of his life and now he was gone.

A nurse came in to our room to give me my final Rhogam shot so that we could go home. Karl decided to take our bags out and bring the car to the front of the hospital. The nurse grabbed a wheelchair for me and we proceeded to leave the room. I had the heartbeat teddy bear in one hand and the hospital teddy bear in the other. As she pushed me down the hall, there was a group of cheerful people gathered right outside of a delivery room. Clearly, they were there to welcome a new addition to their family. They stopped their lighthearted conversation and stared at me as I rolled past them. Their eyes filled with pity and they just watched me cry for a few seconds before returning to their happiness. Their life carried on while mine was burning and fading away into ashes.

When we reached the car, the nurse helped me stand and asked if she could give me a hug. She embraced me and shared a few kind words even though she knew it would never be enough to ease my pain. I got in the car and we left. On the drive home, we drove passed the funeral home. Karl and I saw a car and a small elderly man. We were sure that it was the owner of the funeral home. It brought us a little comfort to think that Silas' body made it safely there with him. After a short car ride we were home. With broken hearts and empty arms.

Our story doesn't end here... We are continuously trying to figure out how to live without our son.
Yesterday, I found myself dancing and singing with Ezra in the kitchen while dinner was on the stove. We had the music turned all the way up and we both were enjoying ourselves. We laughed at our ridiculous dance moves. Eventually, the timer for the stove beeped and our dance session was over. The heaviness in my heart quickly returned as I got lost in thought. It's moments like this that I wanted to share with Silas. He should be here to laugh along with us and to dance with us, but we will not get to share these moments with him. It is a painful realization, but I know that should he have survived, he would have a very difficult life and he would always have to fight to beat the odds.

I have lost such a huge part of myself. I lost it when I lost Silas, and I am trying to rediscover who I am because most days... I just don't know anymore. I am trying to rediscover my path in life because I have temporarily lost my way. I don't quite know how I will go about the rest of my life missing such a large piece of myself and constantly missing my son. However, I do know that I am alive, still standing, still breathing, and I am climbing my way out of the dark pit I fell into that night. I know I am a mother to two beautiful sons, one on earth and one in heaven. I know that I am blessed in so many ways and these blessings keep me going. I know I am a better person because of Silas, and I know that his brief life holds within it so much meaning and purpose. I know that I will always live my life for the both of us and through me his life will change this world for the better. This much I know to be true.

Silas Edison Gast

August 20, 2014

"I'll love you forever
I'll like you for always
As long as I'm living...
My baby you'll be."

Read Part 1 here and Part 2 here

Birth Part 2~ Joy & Sorrow

Today has officially been 4 weeks to the day that Silas came and left. It was important to me to add this part of his birth story today.  

I remember watching the ultrasound like it was yesterday. In fact, this entire pregnancy and every moment that I had with Silas still feels like it happened yesterday. They are moments in time that have been exquisitely carved into my heart. They are now a deep part of me that I will never lose or let go of. I remember how calm and at peace I felt as we were waiting for the ultrasound machine to warm up. I wasn't afraid because I could still feel Silas squirming and occasionally pushing himself up into my ribs. He was alive and for now, he was safe. The sonographer took her time and carefully looked at Silas, and so did I. As I watched, I inwardly prayed that this wouldn't be the last time I would see him alive. She took several pictures of his numerous medical issues. We were finally going to see what he would look like in person and that brought excitement along with anxiety. I never knew that it was possible to experience such joy and sorrow simultaneously. There is an eagerness that comes with knowing you will soon meet your child, and with that eagerness joyfulness follows. Hand in hand, joy and excitement skip through your heart and together they ignite a mother's love even more than what was already there. Lingering closely behind them is a dark, heavy sorrow just lurking and waiting for the opportune time to attack and smother all the excitement and light out of joy. Joy knows it is there, stalking her and wanting to smother her, but she doesn't care. She knows her time will be over soon... She accepts it. She doesn't know that sorrow is quickly leading the way for desolation to take over.

When the ultrasound was over the doctor told us all we had to do now was wait. So, we did just that. I made a decision early on that I would opt out of having any fetal monitoring. If I had to listen to his poor little heart rate drop or even stop during labor, well, I'm not sure I would have been able to live through that. It turned out to be one of the best decisions I made because I became so focused on Silas and his movements that I didn't need a monitor to tell me how he was doing. Everything around me slowly disappeared and it was just him and I trying to live through this difficult moment, together as one. As long as I could feel him, we were okay.

Again, we found ourselves surrounded by our loved ones and we sat around and waited. I wish I remembered more about this time, but I was in a fog. I was just focusing on my precious boy and his movements. Somewhere in the midst of  the conversation around me, my water broke. That was the cue for everyone to leave the room. Karl scurried out behind them to grab the nurse and when they walked back in, I was slightly panicking. Mostly I was just in shock at the amount of fluid there was. It was significantly more than I had anticipated and I could finally understand why my body couldn't handle it. I understood why my body had let me down. Immediately after the nurse came in, my doctor followed. I wasn't ready to push yet so he sat next to me on the small couch and just waited with us and didn't leave my side. Everyone around me was quiet and patient. Our room was filled with a calmness that you wouldn't expect in a situation like ours, yet there it was. The lights where kept fairly dim and the room was relatively quiet, only occupied by a handful of people. I looked over at my doctor and calmly told him that I was ready. He came around my bed and sat on the edge next to me and our nurse came to my other side. I remember watching Karl start to pace a little bit and his nerves seemed to be getting the best of him. He quickly ended up at my side to hold my hand, and there we all were focused on Silas, and only Silas.

I still felt Silas moving right before I started pushing. It was the last bit of encouragement I needed to get through this. I took a few deep breathes before my next contraction hit. As I started to push, my doctor was encouraging and guiding me, but eventually I had stopped listening. I couldn't feel Silas anymore. Just like that... from one moment in time to the next, I couldn't feel him. Again, I found myself inwardly begging and pleading to God... Please don't let this be it. Please God. Please let Silas be okay. I need my baby, my son, to be okay. This was the sorrow trying to stifle out my joy. Before I could beg or plead one last time Silas was born into this world. Not kicking and screaming like the other babies at the hospital that day, but silent, still, and peaceful. It took the doctor a second to figure out how to cut his very unique umbilical cord and then he gently placed Silas in my arms. He respectfully pointed out a few of the issues that had been visible on the ultrasound and he laid his hand over Silas's chest to check his heartbeat. While this was happening, everything around me faded away and all I could do in that moment was focus on Silas.

Breathe, baby breathe, please baby breathe... Please just one breath, Mommy loves you and needs you to breathe! PLEASE...

There I was, holding this beautiful human being, and the rest of the world ceased to exist. There I was, inwardly begging again. There he was, more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. There he was, in my arms without ever taking a single breath. There was sorrow, running hand in hand with desolation through my heart. There was death, making itself ever so present. There was nothing I could do and yet so much I wanted to do. I would have given my last breath to see Silas take his first. I wanted to save him from death, but there was not a single thing I could have done to help him escape it. Despite the overwhelming sorrow, joy still remained. Joy stayed because I knew I was blessed to be his mother and I mothered him the best I could in the small time I was given. Joy stayed in my heart because in the end we got what we wanted... Silas never suffered, he never knew pain, and all he ever knew was love. Love will never fail us; it always prevails. That love is what allowed joy to remain in my heart.

After the nurse took his measurements and footprints, she offered to clean him up. I politely declined and told her that I wanted to do it myself. I would never have another chance to bathe my child so I needed to do this. Together Karl and I bathed him, slowly and methodically. It was beautiful. We dressed him and swaddled him in a special blanket. The nurse offered a tiny knit preemie hat to put on him, but again I politely declined. I had made a tiny gray hat for him and it fit perfectly. We took turns holding Silas and loving him before inviting our family back in the room.

My eyes were fixated on him and only him. I tried to absorb every possible detail about his physical appearance that I could because I knew I would never see him again once this day was gone. Silas looked so much like his big brother did when he was born; he had a button nose and full head of hair. I kept caressing his cheeks. His skin was warm and soft and I kissed him ever so gently. I kept telling him that I loved him. I never wanted to let him go. The world may have thought he was imperfect, and I heard a lot about the things wrong with him while I carried him, but no one ever told me how beautiful he was going to be. To me, he was perfect. No one told me that his birth would turn out to be the most beautiful birth I could have imagined. No one told me he was going to change my life forever. No one told me that there could be immense beauty in moments such as these. 

To be continued... 

The last part of Silas's birth story is about saying goodbye. 

This is the most difficult part to write and talk about and deserves a post of its own.

Birth Part 3    Birth Part 1

Birth Part 1 ~ Every thing is going to be all right

The morning of August 19th is one I will never forget. I woke up from a dream that left me feeling vulnerable and scared. I told my husband that I needed his affection as he was getting ready to head to work. He came over, hugged me longer than usual, and kissed me goodbye. I needed to know that his love was there when I felt shaken and scared. I kept repeating to myself, it was a silly dream... let it go. So I pulled myself out of bed and got ready to face another day.

Call it intuition or what have you, something just didn't feel right...

I had my first contraction around 8:30 in the morning, but it was weak and I tried to tell myself it's not a labor contraction... you are fine! This is not how it happens... not today!  So, I drove Ezra to school and kissed him goodbye and squeezed him extra tight, because somehow I knew... I was in denial, but a part of me knew. I knew this would be the day that all we have been preparing and waiting for would be put to the test. Nevertheless, no matter how much you think you can prepare yourself... you cannot be prepared for the death of your child. You can read every book and every blog, you can read every medical journal, and you can talk to every parent that has been down this road to try to prepare yourself for what is about to happen, but how can you prepare to say hello and goodbye to your child at the same time?

I came home and decided to shower and try to relax because I could feel my anxiety rising as another contraction hit, and another. I was so scared and my strength was being put to the ultimate test. I took a moment to calm myself and talk to Silas. I told him I loved him and I was lucky to be his Momma. I told him that everything was going to be okay. "Everything is going to be all right"... this became our mantra. I sang him a happy song, "Three Little Birds" by Bob Marley. "Don't worry about a thing; 'Cause every little thing is gonna be all right."

Contractions kept coming, but were still weak, irregular, and would subside when I was relaxing so I thought it was just false labor. I decided to make sure we were ready and had everything we needed should it be time. I made sure Ezra had clean clothes, the kitchen was clean, and our hospital bag was packed with the things we needed for Silas. This was my last effort to remain in control over what was happening because a part of me knew, while the other part remained in denial. There had been many "signs" (or maybe they were all crazy coincidences) that day that I tried not to ignore. I wanted to be ready, I wanted to listen to these signs, but I was still incredibly scared of all the unknown. Would we be meeting Silas soon? Would he live minutes, hours, months... if at all? Would he suffer or be in pain? Would he beat the odds? How will I get through this? How will my family get through this? 

I picked up my son from school, I called my husband, I called the doctor, I called my father-in-law who came to get Ezra, and before we knew it... Karl and I were headed to the hospital. A place we had just been the previous Friday. We had our meeting with the OB director to get an idea of what we could expect on Silas's birthday and what we wanted to happen when the time came. This meeting was one that brought us much comfort. Knowing that we would all be well taken care of and that those caring for us were compassionate and ready to stand by us as we braced ourselves for the unknown. This meeting was difficult but lightened my heavy heart. When it was over, the OB director gave us a warm hug and we parted ways hoping not to see each other again until October 17th.

Her face was the first that we saw as we entered the birthing center that Tuesday. I was relieved to see her, a familiar face. She was not relieved to see us, but as promised, she was ready for us. We were quickly put in an exam room and the nurse manager came in to take care of us. She simply was the best person for this job and little did I know then that she would become someone I will never forget. It was a little after 3 in the afternoon and by this time contractions were regular and slightly stronger than they had been in the morning. I was 4 cm dilated and almost completely effaced. We were staying. This was it. It was happening now.

They moved us to a small room and I remember just praying that it would stop and we could all go home the same way we came. Silas in the safety of my womb and Karl by my side, holding my hand. Inwardly I begged and pleaded. It was still too early for Silas. I could still feel him moving and I knew, like me, he wasn't ready either. I wasn't in labor because he was ready, I was in labor because my body mistakenly thought it was time. There was so much extra amniotic fluid that my body thought it was time. My worst nightmare was coming true, the thing I had feared the most since the diagnosis was happening.

As the afternoon faded to evening, we had some wonderful company. Karl's parents and my pseudo parents along with our first miracle, Ezra, helped pass the time and reminded us that we weren't alone in this. We were surrounded by love and warmth, and I am eternally grateful to those who were at our side.

It wasn't until around 10 pm that Karl and I were alone. After everyone had gone, I told Karl I needed to get out of bed for a minute because the contractions were making me uncomfortable. I put both feet on the ground and stood. Then it hit me...contractions so strong and painful that I had to relinquish any hope that this wasn't really happening. They hit like a tidal wave quickly and forcefully knocking me off my feet, harshly reminding me that I was not in control. I couldn't stop what was happening. So again, just like when we got the diagnosis, I took a deep breath and... Let go. We were about to meet our precious baby boy. I wasn't afraid anymore because with the wave of reality came a wave of strength. I just rubbed my tummy and swayed while repeating our mantra "everything is going to be all right."

We were moved into a large birthing room and my contractions were 2 minutes apart and very strong. Our nighttime nurse, who I also will never forget, was sure that with any contraction my water was going to break and we would soon hold our second born son in our arms. I was in full-blown labor. I was in a lot of pain, I was shaking uncontrollably, and I was vomiting. This was not the beauty you think of when people talk about giving birth. This was ugly, it was chaotic, and I wanted the world around me to stop so I could catch my breath. Finally, relief came with a small injection of local anesthetic into my back, followed by another needle to feed a catheter into the area around my spinal cord. Again, I could breathe and repeat everything is going to be all right...

It was past 1 o'clock in the morning and we called our family to let them know that they needed to come back. The pediatrician came in and talked with us about what Karl and I wanted for Silas and he was kind enough to sit and answer a few questions that our family had. He expressed how he agreed with our decisions and supported us 100%. It felt good to know that our doctors thought we were doing the right thing and we weren't making decisions we would later question and regret. He also told us that Silas's odds of survival were very low when we took into account all of his issues and him being 32 weeks gestation. The thing we wanted more than anything was that Silas wouldn't suffer or be in pain. We realized a while back that there was no medical intervention that would save him and as his parents we just wanted to love him no matter how brief his life. That wasn't about to change.

After the pediatrician left, I had lost track of time and was calming down from the relief of the epidural. The nurse checked me to see if there was any progression. Completely effaced, 6 cm dilated, but my water still had not broken and the amount of fluid  was causing Silas to float up and he could not put himself in the right position that would cause my water to break. She decided she wasn't going to check me anymore because she was very concerned that she was going to break my water if she did. So we waited through the night. 

Karl slept on the pull out couch next to my bed and my mother-in-law sat in the rocking chair in front of me all night. We tried to rest and sleep, but it was impossible. I was so exhausted from the events of the day that I would have been able to sleep if it wasn't for the horrific screams of a fellow mother in labor four rooms down. Screams of someone being tortured by the birth of a perfectly healthy baby. One that will be born into this world screaming just as loud as her mother. There would be no screaming mother in our room, no screaming baby either... just the keening of a bereaved mother. Our nurse was apologetic when I jokingly asked if L&D was always this loud at night, but she matched my sense of humor with her wit. "You know what they say... the way you sound during labor is the way you sound at conception!" I couldn't help but laugh. 

Morning crept in through the window as the sun rose. I remember looking out and thinking, this is the last sunrise before my world will forever change... no sunrise will ever be the same. Around 8 in the morning my doctor came in and ordered an ultrasound to check what position Silas was in. He was concerned that if he wasn't in the right position when my water broke it would cause a lot of problems, especially for me. An hour later, we were watching our sweet boy one last time. He was still hanging on and still fighting. The sonographer kindly printed out a few pictures for us to keep.
Silas wasn't in the best position, but his position was good enough that we didn't need to worry about him trying to come out sideways and having to have a C-section. It was only a matter of time now and again I repeated,

"Everything is going to be all right."

... To be continued.

 Click here to read Part 2

***All the photos here were taken by our NILMDTS photographer Melissa Jordan. She has given us a gift that we will cherish for a lifetime.

30 Week Doctor Appointment & Ultrasound Update

I want to start by saying thank you to all of our prayer warriors, well-wishers, and those who have simply kept us in your thoughts and close to your hearts. I know so many of you have prayed hard for Silas and for us, and today we really felt it. I wasn't really expecting anything new to report from today's appointment, but nothing really goes exactly as planned (another thing Silas has taught me).

The doctor we typically see was at a delivery so we ended up seeing a different doctor. One who is very familiar with our current situation, but we do not see regularly. I was not super excited about this, but what a blessing it turned out to be. 

We are still measuring at 32 weeks, which means that fluid levels are the same as they were 2 weeks ago. This is such positive news for us! However, I was warned that levels can rise very rapidly so I need to be aware and on the lookout for any rapid growth. 

It gets better... 

We had a spur of the moment ultrasound today so we got to see our precious boy! The doctor wanted to check fluid levels and see how Silas was doing. I am so incredibly thankful that we were able to see Silas today. The Doctor says I have mild Polyhydramnios (almost moderate), but better than he would expect. However, the doctor did express concern about the umbilical cord. There seems to be large knots and loops that weren't there before. The best way to describe it is that it looks like a large, very fat, pretzel close to where it attaches to Silas. A while back the perinatologist said that the umbilical cord was interesting, but nothing to worry about. It since has gotten bigger and changed some, but it doesn't really change anything so we aren't going to worry about it. 

I mentioned to some of you that Silas was not able to bend his right arm and it was fixed in a fully extended position. I could often tell when he would move his right arm because it was a very stiff/stretching movement and sometimes a little painful if I was in a certain position. I haven't felt that for the past couple weeks.  So, I asked the Doctor to look at his right arm and tell me if it was still fully extended... to our surprise, it's not! Silas was bending and flexing his little arm for us! This news in no way changes the diagnosis/prognosis for Silas, but it is wonderful to know that he is able to do this. It feels so good to see he has made some positive progress and I got to have a proud mama moment. After receiving what feels like nothing but negative news for the past 12 weeks, this little bit of positive news feels pretty darn good! 

The doctor also mentioned that Silas looks really good compared to other T18 babies he has seen. A little on the small side, but good. I don't know if he was saying that to make me feel better or if he really meant it, but it made my heart very happy and very grateful. I didn't expect today to be so emotional. I feel so happy to have received good news today, but also very heavy hearted because it doesn't really change anything. 

After the appointment, Ezra and I went for a walk and he expressed how glad he was that Silas could move his arm now, but was curious about how and why that had changed. He also said that seeing his baby brother today made him feel jealous that Silas has T18 and other babies don't. Even at his young age, he goes through many of the same emotions Karl and I do. I am trying my best to guide and carry my family through this, to stay strong, and relinquish control. It hasn't been easy, and I have had to learn a lot along the way, but every day I try. 

“Learning is a gift. Even when pain is your teacher.” - Maya Watson