Friday, July 30, 2010

BitterSweet. But not in that order

We discovered tonight that Erik's mom had two pictures of Sawyer on her camera. Grandma Carolyn and Aunt Sarah had come to the hospital the day after Sawyer was born to meet the first grandson of the family.

At the time, Erik was home - grabbing a quick shower and picking up some essentials that I needed for the hospital stay. I had just told my nurses to put a sign on my door to direct visitors elsewhere because I was beyond exhausted and hadn't sleep in over two days at this point.

So there were Carolyn and Sarah.

They went to the NICU to meet Sawyer for the first and last time. And they took two pictures.

Two pictures of Sawyer I never knew existed. Two pictures of my baby getting a test done - that within an hour - told us we were going to lose our beautiful son.

Thank you God for this. I didn't know they were doing an echo of Sawyer's heart when I decided sleep was the best thing for me at that moment in time.

And now I have these pictures. I can be there in that moment, and cry.

A million pieces

I met with a good friend for dinner tonight. And the entire time, I struggled to be "normal."

And by normal, I mean the old me. I don't know who I'm trying to fool more - myself? Or my family and friends?

The moment Sawyer died, it was all different. In an instant, we were blindsided with our new existence. We had no choice but to take it upon ourselves to carry this grief, and all the change that comes with it, upon our backs.

Now I'm left with the remnants. Trying to pick up the pieces of my life that broke into a million shards of glass. Each one is sharp and jagged, bringing with it pain while leaving a new scar on my heart.

And the pieces...

They never fit back together again the way they're supposed to.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010


I've cried every day for eight weeks. It's not that I keep track, I just know there hasn't been one day that I haven't broke down. When did you have that first "tear-free" day? I want mine.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Eight more weeks

On Tuesday, I would have been 36 weeks pregnant with Sawyer.

My doctor said she would have brought me in tomorrow to start an induction. I anguished over this day and that number for such a long time - even before Sawyer was born. Looking back on my blogs from May, my goal was to make it to 28 weeks. The actual day he came into the world.

I knew I was never going to make it this far. I talked to my nurse early last week and she said that she's "been doing this for 23 years, and there are the women we remember. The women like you who tell us the entire pregnancy that they know something is wrong. And they're always right."

I wish I realized it in my mind sooner. When I went to all those appointments week after week I would say the same thing over and over again - I didn't feel right.

I guess it wouldn't have mattered if Sawyer was born on June 1 or July 27 or August 24 (his actual due date). I know what the neonatologist said, "Even if he was full-term, the outcome may not have been much different."

But, to me the past eight weeks have been a blurry, painful nighmare. I could have had him eight more weeks. That would have been eight more weeks to get to know my baby. Eight more weeks to pinpoint what Sawyer's favorite food was. Eight more weeks that he would have felt my pure love and heard my heartbeat as we both waited, unknowingly, for the same end.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

More questions, never any answers

I've recently started doing a dangerous thing.

I can't sleep at night, so I stay up, bargaining with God. Maybe he'll give me my baby back if I rewind my life and do things differently. Please God, I'll die. Take me instead, not my own child.

Then the crying starts. Followed by the sobbing. Finally, I'm so drained that my body has no choice but to sleep.

I don't know why my mind and heart play these games. I know Sawyer is never coming home. He'll never lay in his cherry wood crib. I'll never hold him in my arms.

Visiting the hospital and talking to his neonatologist made it all so real. And final.

As hard as it is to accept what happened, I can't help but search my soul for him and for answers.

Babies aren't supposed to die. I don't even know what the hell a "normal" birth is anymore. All I know is pain, suffering, heartache, grief. My babies rushed away, tubes shoved down their throats, tiny bruised hands. Sadness painted on their tiny faces. Where is our joy?

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Sawyer's Heart

Today we met with Sawyer's neonatologist to get a better understanding on his short life and the heart defect that took our baby too soon.

A healthy heart has four chambers. Between two of those four chambers, the left and right ventricles, there is a wall that separates the blood. In Sawyer's heart there was a "large subaortic anteriorly malaligned VSD" - simply put - a large hole where there was supposed to be a wall.

The American Heart Association defines a VSD as "A ventricular septal defect (VSD) is a defect in the septum between the right and left ventricle. The septum is a wall that separates the heart’s left and right sides. Septal defects are sometimes called a “hole” in the heart. It’s the most common congenital heart defect in the newborn."

Sawyer's VSD, the doctor explained, was large (between 5.6 to 6.0 mm).

Healthy hearts also have two main arteries that take blood to different parts of the body. The aorta, which takes oxygen-rich blood to all parts of the body - and the pulmonary valve (which branches into two arteries), which carries oxygen-poor blood to the lungs to become oxygenated.

The doctor went on to explain that Sawyer had "Pulmonary Atresia" - sadly, this meant that his pulmonary artery/valve was completely missing.

The American Heart Association defines Pulmonary Atresia as "a congenital malformation of the pulmonary valve in which the valve orifice fails to develop. The valve is completely closed thereby obstructing the outflow of blood from the heart to the lungs."

To make up for this catostrophic defect, Sawyer's heart formed several small "MAPCA's" which are small arteries that develop to supply blood to the lungs when pulmonary circulation is underdeveloped (Pulmonary Atresia in Sawyer's case).

His official diagnosis was "Tetrology of Fallot (Pulmonary Atresia) Truncus Type IV". Again, here is a better definition to help you understand the severity of Sawyer's heart defects.

"Tetralogy of Fallot with pulmonary atresia is a severe variant in which there is complete obstruction (atresia) of the right ventricular outflow tract, causing an absence of the pulmonary trunk during embryonic development. In these individuals, blood shunts completely from the right ventricle to the left where it is pumped only through the aorta. The lungs are perfused via extensive collaterals from the systemic arteries, and sometimes also via the ductus arteriosus."

All of this put together, meant that Sawyer's little heart - as hard as it was working and even with the maximum amount of help that the doctors and nurses could give him - would never function well enough to survive. If he had been full-term, there may have been surgical options for him, but this would have been if he could ever have gotten stable enough to handle open-heart surgery - to which the neonatologist explained "the outcome may have not been much different."

Sawyer was a very sick baby. With his prematurity and heart condition combined, there weren't any options for our son.

Over the past few weeks, I have felt immense guilt over the choice that we made to take Sawyer off of life support. Today, his doctor explained to us that it was only a matter of time before his body gave out. They were doing everything possible to keep him stable, and even then - his stats continued to drop rapidly.

The doctor told us something today that I will never forget as a mother. She said "There was only so much we could do and what he really needed was you."

And that was it. Erik and I quietly cried as the realization of what happened to our baby boy was finally understood.

No parent should ever have to sit there and hear the things we were told today. It was painful and heartwrenching to fully understand and comprehend just how serious and fatal his congenital heart defect was.

Our journey is just beginning. And as we begin this walk down a new road in our lives, our hope is to honor Sawyer's memory by working to fund research on all congenital heart defects and premature birth.

Again, thank you all for the continued love, prayers and support. We need them now more than ever.

Love - Erik, Michelle and Sadie Williams

Sunday, July 18, 2010

"I will always be there for you"

I light a candle every night for you next to all of your beautiful pictures. I pray to you to come to my heart when I'm sad. I hope you aren't lonely, and know that I am a part of you and that I am always with you wherever you go.

I love you so much Sawyer that my arms hurt. They are so empty without you in them. My chest is so heavy with grief, that when I cry, it hurts. I can hardly catch my breath when I think of you, and that is almost always.

The little things remind me of you. I notice so much more than I ever did before. The dew twinkling on the grass in the morning sunlight, beautiful clouds floating across the horizon and all of the beautiful summer sunsets. Everywhere I look, I find beauty - and in that beauty - I see your face.

Your big sister asks about you a lot. I spend so much time wondering what the two of you would have been like together. It breaks my heart to see Sadie playing alone in the park or here at home. I know you're watching over her now - but my heart aches to know that the two of you would have been the best of friends.

Daddy thinks of you just as much as I do. He wanted to do so much with you - camping, fishing and cub scouts. He had so many hopes and dreams for your life. He wanted to be there for you because his dad wasn't there for him. He loves you so much Sawyer. When you died, he held you in his arms, looking out the big hospital windows - talking to you about the construction workers down below, singing "You Are My Sunshine" into your tiny ears.

Every day we go on. And it looks like everything is the same - yet everything is so different and so sad.

I am going to sleep now. I will close my eyes like I do every single night and pray to you, hoping for dreams together. Know that I will always be here for you Sawyer. I love you.

"No matter where or how far you wander - For a thousand years or longer - I will always be there for you - Right here with you."

Sawyer's fight

When I was pregnant, Sawyer was sick.

I knew he was sick in my heart, but I think it took a while until it caught up to my head.

Right before we discovered that my amniotic fluid was low, I started to share with Erik my thoughts on Sawyer's movement. How he didn't move right. I know that every pregnancy is different, and that's what everyone kept telling me. Reassuring my frantic brain that Sawyer wasn't like his big sister.

I wasn't trying to scare Erik or myself, but something wasn't right. Even after my doctor told me he wouldn't move much with the low fluid, I knew he wasn't okay. He hardly kicked, and instead squirmed. That's the only way I can describe it.

Sawyer was breech the entire time too, always seeming to try and climb up as high as he could. I like to think that he was just trying to get close to my heart.

Some days, after I went on bedrest and was home all alone while Sadie was at my mom's house, I would wake up in a sweat. Sawyer wasn't moving. At all. I never told anyone about any of this. Not even Erik. I just didn't want people to think I was complaining or worrying about nothing because that's all I had time to do.

I would go straight to the kitchen and drink a tall glass of juice, that always got Sadie moving so fast it felt like she was dancing inside of me. And even after 20 or 30 minutes, still nothing from Sawyer. Then when I was about to think the worst, he would slide a leg or his arm across the front of my stomach. It almost felt like a wave to let me know he was okay.

The time when he would move the most was when I would take a bath. So I took them almost twice a day, every day. Just to be reassured that he was happy and healthy in there.

On May 27th, for the first time ever, he woke me up. It took me a few minutes to realize, that he had the hiccups! That was the first and last time Sawyer had them. I was so excited that I texted Erik to tell him. I felt - at that moment - that Sawyer might just be okay. And maybe it was just taking him longer to adjust to life inside of mommy.

Five days later - and after one trip to L&D triage because I just didn't "feel right," Sawyer was born. Not even a day and a half after his birth, Sawyer died in my arms.

People don't realize that Sawyer fought his entire life. The heart is formed within the first five weeks and it was then that Sawyer began his fight to survive. Knowing everything we know now, it's amazing to me that Sawyer lived as long as he did. And that he wasn't born until 28 weeks.

He held on. So tiny yet so strong.

Saturday, July 17, 2010

Walking through a nightmare

I swear to God, I've lost my mind.

Last week, Sadie and I took a nap together and the next thing I know, my neighbor is standing next to my bed, letting me know that "They found Sadie."

She wriggled out of my bed, opened my bedroom door then opened the sliding glass door and was found outside in the street. Yeah, you read that right. In the street.

I was so exhausted, so drained, so done with everything. I didn't even know she had snuck away. I didn't even hear the doorbell. Or hear my phone ringing - and it was right next to my head.

Taking care of Sadie, some tend to think, is a welcome distraction. It is in some ways, but most of the time, it isn't. Taking care of a two-year-old is nonstop. And when you have to put someone else ahead of yourself - you can't get better.

I feel like Erik's the lucky one. He gets to leave every day and go to work. He has three hours to himself on the train. I have no hours to myself. Ever.

Don't get me wrong, I don't want people to think I don't care about Sadie, because I do. But, I can't be the best mom for her when I'm a complete wreck. And that's an understatement.

I'm calling a counselor on Monday to set up my first appointment. I need this. I never thought I'd understand what it would be like to be insane. But I get it now. I know insanity.

My head and my heart are doing these things that I can't control. I'm alive - but the world is rushing right past me. And I'm left alone to walk through this nightmare.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

My baby

Last night, I couldn't sleep. Tuesday was a difficult day and the reality of what happened really didn't sink in until yesterday. My arms were heavy, aching for Sawyer. The massive migraine that I had the week Erik went back to work, suddenly came back with full force. I was instantly brought back to the pain I had felt nearly a month ago. One step forward, one hundred steps back.

I came to bed late. Erik was already asleep and I had just spent the last hour standing in front of Sawyer's pictures, crying. Searching for any sign that he was with me. Wanting him in a way only a mother who has lost a child can understand.

Feeling so overwhelmed with sadness, I crept into Sadie's room to hold her as she was sleeping. Stroking her cheek and laying my head on her chest. Listening to her heartbeat.

My headache at this point was at its worst, so I climbed into bed and asked Erik to get me a compress to alleviate the pain. When he came back, I lost it. I couldn't stop crying. Over and over again I kept saying "My baby, my baby..." and thru the tears I prayed to Sawyer. Sometime after that I fell asleep.

In the past few weeks I have made new friends. Mothers like me who have lost a baby. Friends that I am grateful for. Megan is one friend I have connected with very well. We both lost our babies around the same time and have found much comfort in knowing that we aren't alone in a world that seems to go on when we are so stuck in our suffering.

She sent me this today:

Everyday, I question myself of what heaven is like for children. My mom asked me the other day "do you think there is a playground in heaven?" I didn't respond as I only tried to imagine what it would look like. After she asked me that, I began thinking of who Wyatt would play with, and I thought about Sawyer and Whittney's son, Owen. All day on Tuesday, I continued to imagine the three of them hanging out together and playing on the playground of heaven.

All of this is probably why I dreamed what I did. But my dream was about this woman who came to visit (I never saw her face), but she had this little baby boy with her. He was in his car seat and she put him up on the counter so I could see him. The dream is basically a blur from there, but I remember this baby like it was real. The little boy was probably about 2 months old, he had a perfectly shaped head, and green eyes. I remember asking the mother if I could hold the child and she said I could. As I was picking him up out of the car seat, she told me his name was "Sawyer".

My baby.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Will I ever understand

Today is a bad day.

Everything is swirling around in my head. I think visiting the hospital yesterday brought so much back to the surface, even brought back that feeling of hope before Sawyer was born - that I feel that he's almost with me still.

At night, when I lay in bed, I try to hold my tummy the same way I did every night when I was pregnant with Sawyer. But there is nothing there. Even though I can still feel him kicking inside of me, he's gone.

I just feel so sick to my stomach, knowing he struggled, even before he was born. The only comfort I have is knowing that he had to have felt me holding and cradling him each night.

How can a baby made with so much love have a broken heart?

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

"Our story"

Today was my post-partum visit with my MFM doctor. We learned more about Sawyer and a lot more about what also happened to me during the pregnancy and delivery.

First things first - "Dr. Digi" sat down and went over Sawyer's brief life in the NICU and we were informed that he had a severe form of Tetralogy of Fallot - Truncus Arteriosis Type 4. We are going to get a much more detailed explanation from Sawyer's doctor when I meet with her next week - but from what we were told, his condition was not only rare, but fatal.

Dr. Digi also explained to us that Sawyer's heart defect and the issues with the pregnancy (premature rupturing of the membranes, low amniotic fluid, placental abruption) were two completely separate things. The fact that both these things occured simultaneously was extremely rare. Basically, we had a better chance of winning the lottery.

So, to try and figure out why I had such premature labor, Dr. Digi is doing a full thrombophilia work-up to determine if there were any underlying causes that we aren't aware of. I'm hoping that this bloodwork finds something because at least we could have an answer and know what we were up against if I get pregnant again.

What does all of this mean for the future? A lot.

I'm at a much higher risk of having premature labor and having a baby with congenital heart defects. But, my doctor and I are going to meet again after more testing over the next few months to determine a plan of action for the next pregnancy.

At the very least, today's visit was the furthest thing from the nightmare I envisioned it to be. I was so nervous when we arrived and was shaking so bad that I could barely sign my name when we first arrived.

My doctor's receptionist - Karla - stood up, reached over and hugged me and said how sorry she was. And we cried together.

It was at that moment that I felt "home" - My nurse, my doctor, the residents - everyone in the Maternal Fetal Medicine department have been there since the beginning - and all of them were here for me in the end.

Monday, July 12, 2010

The dream

Nearly three years ago, when I was pregnant with Sadie, I had a dream - that is actually more of a nightmare. It was so vivid and realistic, I remember waking up my husband and calling my sister to tell them about it because it had shaken me up so terribly.

There isn't much to it...

Erik and I were in a room with dark paneling on the walls, wood floors that creaked under our feet every time we took a step. It was an older house but we were in a quiet, office-like setting and a man was leading us around the room.

The man was a funeral director. And Erik and I were there to pick out a casket for our baby that died. We picked a white one.

Sawyer's casket was white too.

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Sawyer, everywhere

I appreciate when people tell me they feel Sawyer near them. I truly believe his spirit has touched so many, and I love when friends and family share their moments.

My sister, about a week after he died, said she saw a beautiful hawk by her home and it kept flying all around her as she went on a walk. She called and told me it reminded her of Sawyer.

Karlene told me about a beautiful sunset, and another friend said a rainbow that appeared out-of-the-blue instantly made her think of our beautiful baby.

I love whenever someone shares these moments with me and Erik. I hope it never stops.

Mary Todd

We're in Sprinfield on a weekend trip and visited the Abe Lincoln Museum with Sadie. This is the second time Erik and I have gone together and on our first trip here, I was pregnant with Sadie.

The one thing I remembered most from that trip, and not just in light of recent events, was Mary Todd.

She lost her three-year-old son when she and Abe lived here in Springfield, followed by another son while they lived in the White House. And then another son after all of that.

Mary Todd had one living son left after all of that grief. All of that unimaginable heartache and pain. And her only living son had her committed, called her an insane, crazy woman. Well can you blame her?

To me, Mary Todd was a woman of unimaginable strength in the face of adversity that almost no one could ever imagine in a lifetime.

So there we were, looking at a figure of Mary Todd - adorned all in black, sitting next to a dark window - raindrops reflecting off her grief-stricken face.

And I wept quietly.

Friday, July 9, 2010

The last time...

When you lose a child, the little things you do can sometimes become ritual. You have to do these things in order to go on, to survive your ordeal.

Almost everything in the house is a "last time."

We're about to head down to Springfield for a weekend trip and as I grabbed the camera and the charger I thought to myself, "The last time I used the charger, was in the hospital with Sawyer."

It happens almost constantly. The last time I wore this shirt I was pregnant. The last time we ate here I was pregnant. The last time I heard that song I was pregnant.

And it goes on and on. Every day.

Madison's swing

I can't escape it.

Sadie wanted to ride the swings at Lion's Park, and I notice something as I begin to put her in the swing. A green sign, screwed into the front of it that says,

"In memory of baby Madison. September 27th, 2009 - January 9th, 2010"

Are. You. Kidding. Me?

Whoever baby Madison is, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for her mommy and her daddy. And, I'm also sorry for myself.

In a way, it's a beautiful little tribute. Every time a new baby rides that swing, and the wind blows through their hair, maybe baby Madison's spirit is right there with them. That's what I hope.

Thursday, July 8, 2010


I want to scream. I want to pull my hair out. I want to dig my nails into my skin until I bleed.

My baby died. He's gone. My beautiful Sawyer is forever an angel. And there's nothing I can do about it. I feel like the world should stop and can't understand how life can go on when I'm so stuck in this pain and in this place.

Empty Arms

Erik and I went to our first support group meeting last night. We were the only ones there (July is a big vacation month. Completely slipped my mind) but it was still a very positive, but difficult, experience.

The woman who runs the class is a certified bereavement counselor and tragically lost her son in an ATV accident 20 years ago. He was only 7 years old.

After leaving group, I realized one thing. I'm that woman now. The woman that people avoid, the woman that people don't want to hear talking about her dead baby. I know this because, although it's only been 5 weeks, I've already experienced it firsthand, even from family.

The nurse who runs the program, Mary, reassured me that I wasn't going crazy. That was a surprise to me, because I've been fairly certain that one of these days Erik was going to have to call an ambulance to take me away and have me committed. That's how crazy I've felt about my life.

Next month, more girls will be there to share their story and their grief. I'm glad the first session was a "warm-up" for us, and I'm very fortunate to have such a supportive husband that wants to learn from the pain too. There's no right way to grieve, but I'm learning that my way is okay.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Wings like butterflies

As the sun was setting and the lightning bugs began their early-evening show - Erik, Sadie and I visited our favorite park in downtown Morris. We love going there to play in the shade of the tall oak trees. A true park reminding us of our own happy childhoods.

We walked to the park after dinner and found ourselves among the buzz of cicadas as Sadie hopped along from the swings to the slide. I asked Erik if he remembered the conversation we had around the same time at the park last summer...

As we watched Sadie clumsily learning how to climb and play at the same time just one year ago, we put our arms around each other - my head on his shoulder - and I quietly said to Erik, "It's not going to be like this forever." Sadie was going to grow up, and soon she would be a big sister just like we had planned.

And here we were. One year later. Our lives changed more than we ever could have imagined. Yet, one thing hadn't changed - It was still just the three of us.

As Erik and I thought back to the memory that for some reason, won't fade, a butterfly started to flutter about all around me. I stood up and said to Erik as he was helping Sadie down a slide, "Did you see that?!"

The little black and orange butterfly didn't stop. For the next ten minutes it fluttered about so quickly, swooping in right at my face then flying away into the sky. As Sadie roamed the park, the butterfly kept following me everywhere I went. I have never seen anything like it in my life.

As I stopped again trying to keep an eye on this tiny, yet quick, butterfly - it suddenly started to flutter right in front of me then landed on my hand. The butterfly landed on my hand!

My jaw dropped as my eyes filled with tears, I blinked them away as Erik and I stood in amazement at this beautiful butterfly, poised so perfectly on my right hand.

It was Sawyer.

As fast as it landed on my hand, within just a few seconds the butterfly flew off into the sky and didn't come back.

But I knew it was my Sawyer.

Erik told me that he knew it was him too. He said that he came down to tell me that he's alright and that he loves me very much. And I know that's why he was here. The past few days have been so extremely difficult for me and when I almost gave up the ltitle bit of hope for happiness I had left - A beautiful butterfly comes into my life, lands on my hand and touches my heart.

Mommy loves you too Sawyer. Every moment that goes by, is one moment closer to us being together again. I love you.
Yesterday was one of the worst of my life. Erik and I continue to keep trying as hard as we possibly can to make Sadie happy - to make each other happy. Except the thing is, we're not. I don't know who we're trying to kid more. Our friends and family? Or ourselves?

I'm at the point where I'm scared for myself. I don't care about anything. The reality of our lives is too much to carry. Too much to understand.

I want my baby. I need Sawyer.

Every night I pray to him. I tell Sawyer that I need him to come to my heart. That there is such a huge part of it that's missing and the only way to piece it together again is to feel the love and spirit of him inside of it. I love you Sawyer. I love you and think about you at every moment. I hope you're thinking of me too.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Sunshine in my heart

Right now, I'm glad it's summer.

If this had all happened in the dark and cold of those long winter months, I really think my progress emotionally would be significantly slowed.

For my daughter, I have to go on. She's a fiesty two-year-old and she deserves the best I can possibly give her right now. I love her as much as I love Sawyer, so why would I deny her the joy of the summer sun or her first trip to the beach?

I'm glad the warm weather has forced us out of the house, not only for Sadie's sake, but for all of us. I know Sawyer is with me everywhere I go. He is part of me and I am part of him - that will never change. I'm forever his mother and the bond I had with him will never end, only change.

I'm glad we got to the beach today. Sadie really loved it, so did her mommy and daddy. Even though I never stopped thinking about Sawyer, I was happy. And I'll take what I can get right now.


I am full of pain.

So full of it that my legs hurt, my arms hurt. The space between the bones in my fingers hurt.

I literally know what a broken heart feels like because mine aches with every beat.

I constantly think about Sawyer. What life should be right know, what life would be. It's a cruel cycle. And it never stops.

I want to be dead. I want to die. These are the things I think. This is my life.

Thursday, July 1, 2010

My waves

Today was hard. Saying that almost makes what I experienced today a huge understatement. Everywhere I looked around the house, every single time I looked into my daughter's beautiful eyes - Sawyer was there.

It was one of the first times since we've been back at the house that I didn't force myself to go out and "keep busy." My arms and legs were like rubber, my heart was aching and I felt sick to my stomach all day.

It was probably one of the most beautiful days of the summer, and I couldn't drag myself out of the house and I feel terrible for keeping Sadie so cooped up.

I tried to keep busy in different ways. Researching again all morning long - trying over and over to find another family who has experienced our heartbreak and pain. I have yet to find another mother or father who has dealt with the same type of Truncus Arteriosis that Sawyer had. I just need to know I'm not alone.

After looking for leads, Sadie and I had lunch. Just like we used to before our lives changed. Sitting at the kitchen table, the sunshine pouring in through the windows - we eat our lunch. But the banter is different. I lose myself in almost every moment, thinking of how things could have been. A single tear rolls down my face. Sadie stops her playful talk, looks at me seriously and asks "You okay Mommy?"

No. I'm not. I'm not okay. I miss my baby and I'm just so sad. It's such a small word and it consumes me at almost every moment. Sad.

The grief is just like my mom said it would be. She lost her second baby too, a son. The pain, she assured me, comes in waves. And that's how it's been. Big waves, small waves. There are never days where there are no waves at all. Just like a calm day at the beach, there's always the tiniest wave lapping at the shoreline. Making its presence known, not letting you ever forget.

And that was my day. Huge waves. One right after the other.

No tears at bedtime

Last night was the first time in over four weeks that Erik and I went to bed without crying.

Part of me wonders how bad this is...

Am I a horrible mother for not continuing to mourn the death of my baby until the day I die? Because that's how I feel this morning.