Thursday, August 14, 2014

Happy 3rd Birthday, My Sweet Angel!

Oh my sweet boy, Happy Birthday! 

I hope you have a wonderful birthday up in Heaven today! I know your great grandparents, and great uncles are spoiling you without any doubt in my mind.

I'm trying not to be sad today, because I know you wouldn't want that.  But I miss you. The longing to have you here with me and daddy has never gone away, nor will it ever. I still get angry with God that you are gone, even though I know it's not His fault.  But I know He can handle my anger and still love and forgive me.

We have our 3 balloons ready to send up to you, I found an Elmo one! Thought you might like that one.  Mommy and Daddy are of course going out for your favorite meal tonight, pizza with extra sauce. For dessert we found an Oreo birthday cake! I think since both mommy and daddy love oreos, you would have loved them too!

So many things show me how you continue to live on in so many people's hearts. 

You probably remember me talking about the Bumpies (aka September Sweet Peas) before, 
if not go here.

Most of the ladies have been very supportive of all of our efforts to the March of Dimes by raising money on their own, or by simply joining our team and walking in their own hometowns.  I know you see the sea of green and I hope you realize just what an impact you have made on so many families.

And you will continue to live on in the hearts of many sweetie, just look at the picture below of your fellow peas :) I know they all know of you, and wear your name proudly <3 

You received a special delivery yesterday, a balloon bouquet was delivered for a Dylan McGraw <3 from some very special friends.  We will send those up to you as well so be on the look out for 
A LOT of balloons baby :) 

You are so loved.

I love you so much, I wish I could have just one second to hug and kiss you and breathe you in 
just one more time. 

Happy Birthday my sweet boy!

John 15:13 Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.

Hebrews 11:1 - Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

Update: Received an email this morning that was very touching.  Here's a little snippet:

"3 years ago you received a very special gift one you have shared with all of us and our world is brighter because of that so I want to Thank You for continuing to let his legacy & life have the impact it does on us all."
Makes my heart full :)

Thursday, August 7, 2014

In one week

In one week, Dylan would be turing 3.  I still can't wrap my mind around the fact that he's gone, and the pain has never gone away.

This was shared recently in one of my groups, I read it today. 

Taken from

The heartbreak of infant loss

Did you know that October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month? I'll bet not. Despite the infant mortality crisis that's been at the forefront of Milwaukee's public health news for months, the only people who have more than a cursory comprehension of what it means to lose a baby are those who've lived it.
Infant loss is nature's cruelest practical joke. It's investing all of the required time and effort into pregnancy, only to be robbed of the result. It's cradling a body that grew within your own and trying to reconcile the cold, lifeless form in your arms with your memory of the baby who turned double flips in your womb.
It's worrying that you'll forget what your child looked like and snapping an album's worth of photos that no one will ever ask to see. It's sobbing so hard you can't breathe and wondering if it's possible to cry yourself to death.
Infant loss is handing off a Moses basket to the nurse who's drawn the unfortunate duty of delivering your pride and joy to the morgue and walking out of a hospital with empty arms.
It's boxing up brand new baby clothes and buying a 24-inch casket. It's sifting through sympathy cards, willing your foolish body to stop lactating, clutching your baby's blanket to your chest in hopes of soothing the piercing ache in your heart.
It's resisting the urge to smack the clueless individuals who compare your situation to the death of their dog or who tell you you'll have another baby, as if children are somehow replaceable.
Infant loss is explaining to your 7-year-old that sometimes babies die and being stumped into silence when she asks you why. It's watching other families live out your happy ending and fighting a fresh round of grief with every milestone you miss.
It's being shut out of play groups for perpetuity. It's skipping social events with expectant and newly minted mothers because, as a walking worst-case scenario, you don't want to put a damper on the party.
It's listening to other women gripe about motherhood and realizing that you no longer relate to their petty parental complaints because, frankly, when you've buried a baby, a sleepless night with a vomiting toddler sounds something like a gift.
Infant loss is pruning from your life the friends and relatives who ignore or minimize your loss. It's recognizing that, while they may not mean to be hurtful, the fact that they don't know any better doesn't make their utter lack of empathy one whit easier to bear.
My baby girl would have been 5 years old this month. I don't know what she'd look like, what her favorite food would be. I've never had the privilege of tucking her into bed, taking her to the zoo or kissing her boo-boos. I will never watch her graduate or walk down the aisle.
Infant loss is more than an empty cradle. It's a life sentence.