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Showing posts from December, 2015

Blargle

On Wednesday last week Tiri told me that she had a sore throat when she got home from school. Later on she denied it, but the handbook says they need to stay out of school 24 hours after they are symptom free. Kept her home on Wednesday, everything seemed to be fine Thursday so she went to school. As evening approached, she seemed to be dragging.

Friday, you could tell she was getting sick. Much as I tried, she so helpfully got into Fritz's face and by Saturday he was also sick. Yesterday, it got me.


Except this is me:


Oh well.

In Loving Memory of Jerek Alfred (Freddy)

I mentioned in a previous post that I was working on a donation in memory of Freddy. The name evolved a few times, but ended up being The Freddy Project Memorial Donation 2015.

On December 10th, Jerek and I went to Eau Claire, WI and I delivered 72 hats to two hospitals and a crisis pregnancy care clinic. 72 hats, divided by 3, equals 24 hats per place. Each place for 24 because Freddy would be 24 months.

Sacred Heart Hospital got this set:



Luther Middelfort Hospital, part of Mayo Clinic Heath System, got this set:



And Apple Pregnancy Care Clinic got this set:



72 babies will wear my hats in Freddy's place. I hope their mothers love them as much as I love Freddy.

Dads Hurt Too

Today's post is dedicated to my husband, Jerek, and to all the other dads who have had to lay a child to rest. 

There is much out there for mothers (relatively) who have lost babies. Support groups, jewelry, etc etc. The same cannot be said for dads. Most dads cry in secret, trying to hide their pain while being the rock for their partners. Men don't talk about it very much. But make no mistake, dads hurt too.



I'll share a story of my husband's. It illustrates something that should never be said to a grieving father.

After our son's funeral, some friends put on a little snack lunch. My midwife was hovering over me since I was still weak from the blood loss after Freddy's birth. My husband was moving around, talking to people. One of the folks who was attending (unmarried and childless, I might add) told him that loss did not affect fathers.

It is probably a very good thing I did not hear that first hand. I was out of tact, grace, and manners. It would have been…

In 3 Days...

You should be 2 years old. We would not be marking the occasion in any spectacular way, other than your mommy and daddy looking back on how you had changed in that amount of time. You would probably be walking and even trying to run. Talking, chasing your sister, getting into her things. I wonder if you would still be breastfeeding? Probably. Getting to the 2 year old picky eater stage? I wouldn't be a bit surprised.

But.

You are not here with us. You are sleeping in a small white box with your grandmother on a hill outside of Nelson. You're wrapped in a blanket, wearing pajamas, and the only mama-mades that I was able to put on you. I'm glad you're wearing them. It made it easier for me to let them put you up there when it was snowing. I knew you wouldn't feel it, my baby, but still I didn't want you to be cold. I cared for you for as long as I could.



Instead I sit here, writing this and hoping that someday Jehovah will resurrect you, as he promised he will. I…