Real

So, I've been out awhile. The cause? A combination of things. The health issues of a child, an upcoming move and simply the fact that I didn't feel like writing.

So, I didn't.

So where am I at?

I am sad.

I am grateful.

I am nervous.

And I am hopeful.

In a few weeks, we'll be moving. Again. And with that move will come a wave of emotions. I'll be unpacking items that I haven't seen in over a year. A crib, a carseat, bins of clothing, bedding and items that were oh-so-special to a precious little blonde, blue-eyed boy. And - in all honesty - I'm scared.

I'm scared of going back to a really raw place. I'm scared that I may not be ready to deal with some very real feelings. I'm scared that I won't want to use the crib my son died in. And yet, I'm scared to get rid of it. And I'm scared of moving on to this new chapter without my son.

I'm grateful for new begginings. I'm grateful for a home that is customized to fit the needs, lifestyle and tastes of our family (particularly me ;0). I'm grateful for a fantastic new neighborhood, congregation and friends that have already blessed my life. And I'm grateful to God who is the Great Giver of all these Gifts.

I am nervous for what's ahead. I am nervous that I will deal with infertility again. I am nervous about the anxiety I will feel when having another baby. I am nervous about my baby sleeping . . . period. I am nervous about what the core of another child's health concerns are. I am nervous about my ability to adapt to even more change. And I am nervous that my children will grow up with a worry wort mother.

But I am hopeful for our future. God loves me - He tells me daily - and has a plan for our family. He has led us this far, guiding us every step of the way, and will not leave us comfortless. We don't have all the answers but we are closely connected with The One who does. Will hard times come? You can count on it. But are there good things ahead? You. Bet. And we'll celebrate it all. The Good AND the Growing.

Because that's who we are. And that is who we will continue to be.

Dear Me

Dear January 2011 Me,

Something is about to happen. You don't know what and - quite frankly - it's best you don't.

Right now, you are just getting the kids back to school, trying to keep the house tidy enough to show at a moment's notice (p.s. it WILL sell) and starting to get into a practice routine for Emma on the harp. So many new beginnings. Though not perfect, Life seems charmed. And you know it.

But soon, something will happen that will shake you to your core. It will make you redefine what Life is about and will make you reevaluate who you are and where you are going.

Because of this, I want to tell you a few things.

First of all, I want you to know that you WILL survive. No. Matter. What. Just keep taking one breath after another and trust that the Lord will provide the next. Believe it or not, there will come a time where you won't have to think about breathing. It will become automatic once more. But - for now - just take it one moment at a time. That's all.

Second, know that there are Angels in Heaven and on Earth that will hold you up. You are about to experience a wave of Love, Compassion and Charity unlike you have ever encountered. People will come out of the woodwork to serve you, weep with you and offer their prayers and support in your family's behalf. And - more importantly - the Heavens will open and encircle you with a Love, Peace and Comfort that is more powerful than you have known. Know from whom these Angels come. You are not alone.

Next, it is entirely up to you what you Become. Period. So much in Life is out of your control. But you CAN control how you act and react. This is your opportunity to show Yourself, your Family and your God who you are and whose you are. That is the real test. Don't forget it.

And lastly, in the depth of your Grief, you will be prompted to do something. Something that you would never consider on your own. When that impression comes, follow it. No matter how scary it may seem. As you follow that impression, you will be blessed beyond your wildest imagination. You will widen your circle of friends, you will find a support system that stretches around the world and - in sharing your story - you will find Healing. In the end, it will save you.

In closing, I just want to wrap my arms around you. I want to encircle you with all the Love, Peace and Perspective you will need to get through the next twelve months. It will be the roughest of your Life, to be sure. But - with the strength of the Lord - you can do ALL things. Even the Thing that may break your heart.

Remember this.

Bless you, Mother Heart -

Love,

The Woman You Will Become

How God Works

It was June 2010. We had scrimped and pinched and had finally invested in a quality camera. The problem? It wasn't working. Every image was coming out blurry.

And so I called a friend.

Many of you know of this woman as the face and talent of the enormously popular The Idea Room. She is indeed as gifted as you think. But she is also very generous of heart and spirit.

I called her, explained my camera malfunctions and she kindly invited me to come over so we could figure out what was wrong.

After getting the girls off to school the following morning, I scooped up my boys in my arms - still sporting their "bed heads" - and headed over to Amy's house.

After fiddling with my camera for a few minutes, we found that the issue was a simple button that I had to switch on my lens. An easy fix. Lucky me.

And then she started clicking.

I can't remember what the purpose was. Maybe we were confirming the "fix" or maybe she felt guided to shoot. Who knows. But what I DO know is that - unexpectedly that morning - our visit turned into a mini photo shoot of Bennett and Mommy.

This is especially unique because I - like many mommies - take all the pictures in our family. I'm AT all the events but you'd never know it looking at the pictures! I'm always behind the camera.

So now, over a year later, I have all these precious pictures to gaze at thanks to a generous friend and a Tender Father in Heaven. A God who KNEW what was coming and KNEW what this Mother Heart would need in the days, months and years ahead.

What a Tender Mercy.

Just how God works.

The Spirit of Giving

'Tis the season of sharing. I have been so blessed by this blog this year that I have decided to give back. Each week of December, I am going to share with you a treasure. Something that is very close to my heart. And I hope that you recognise each gift as such.

The first is something few of you have seen. I posted it on my blog for a day awhile back and - after some derogatory comments found online - I removed it. It was too sacred to me to be cast before swine. But time has past and I think my readership has changed as well. No longer is it a blog someone found via a large or popular blog. But - more often - my readers come via word of mouth. They or someone they love have experienced a loss. A poignant loss. And they come to share, to grieve and to understand. In that way, I am so fortunate. I have the best blog readers in the world.

So here is my first gift to you. I hold it sacred. This video documents some of our final moments with Bennett. Moments that - as you know - I now ache for. Longingly.

But this also documents the Hope, Faith and Gratitude our family feels. Our relationship with a Kind and Loving God has made ALL the difference in the world. Is it still tough? HECK YEAH! I wouldn't recommend this experience to anyone. But sometimes I wonder if I could learn the lessons I'm learning without experiencing the heartbreak I feel. Heaven only knows.

And I think It does.

So as you watch this short documentary of my heart, please remember this Mother. Remember my story and my faith. And remember that - with the strength of the Lord - YOU can do ALL things.



*If you are interested in having this gifted photographer document your most precious life moments, you can contact her here.

A Mother's Love

I am home from church with the Little Guy today. We both have been having some health issues of late that have prevented us from going to church the day of the Primary Program. Blast.

I have been thinking about my last days with Bennett this morning. As in, my last days with his body. We were blessed to have a lot of time with him after his passing. That was a gift. Simply a gift.

After we learned that Bennett had passed away hours before we found him, we were told that the medical examiner would be arriving shortly and that we would have 15 minutes to spend with our boy before he was taken away for an autopsy.

That was simply not okay with me.

I immediately pulled our Investigator aside and told him that though I knew I couldn't do anything to bring my son back, I knew that I HAD to handle this in the a way that would promote healing for my family.

And so, I asked for Time.

Time to hold him, time to caress him, time to bring his siblings in and tell them what had happened. And time for David to give him a final Father's blessing. The investigator heard this Mother's plea and kindly relented.

What happened in the next four hours was heartbreaking, harrowing and nothing short of sacred. I wrapped him in the blankie I had made for him before he was born. I held his body close to mine. I kissed his sweet little cheeks. I ran my fingers through his hair. I gently pushed back his eyelids to once again see his lovely baby blues. And I told his brother and sisters that Bennett was called Home. That is, to his Heavenly Home. And that - though at times we would feel him close - he wouldn't be living in our house anymore. That is one of the hardest things I have ever done. E V E R. No mother should ever have to have that conversation with her children.

After four beautiful hours together, the medical examiner arrived and I was told it was time to take Bennett away. I refused to put him in a body bag so instead I opted to wrap him in a beautiful white blanket and personally "tuck him in" the car. Fastening him on the gurney was one of the most surreal moments of my life. I experienced firsthand what it feels like to have your heart break. Literally. Break. As they closed the door, I stood outside the vehicle with my mother. My nose pressied against the glass as I took one last look at my boy. I couldn't get enough. I just needed more. More time, more kisses, more cuddles, more giggles. More bedtime stories, more holidays, more birthdays, more memories. Just. More.

I received a call from the mortuary Monday night notifying me that Bennett's body had been received. They needed time to prepare him to be seen. I don't know if I was prepared for the trauma of an autopsy. Even though I could feel no life in my child, no mother wants to see their child in that condition. That said, the Spirit fell on us and we were able to see him as our son. We held him, touched him, kissed him, dressed him and whispered sweet sentiments in his ear. I knew he heard every word because I knew he was with us. There is no where else he'd rather be.

In the next few days, we spent every moment possible at the mortuary. In fact, it was on the couch holding Bennett that David and I penned our joint funeral address. Our children LOVE story time - Bennett included - and so we decided to share our thoughts in the format of a story. I'm sure it was Bennett's idea. ;0)

During one of our visits at the mortuary, our tender mortician asked us if we would like Bennett to spend his last evening before burial in our home. We tearfully replied yes. We thought it would be a perfect opportunity for our little family to say our final "see you laters."

After our first viewing Thursday night (that was five hours long . . .), we retreated to our home and Bennett followed us shortly. With tender love, the funeral directors carried his little casket in our home and asked us where we wanted him to be. The Family Room, of course. For the next hour, we held him, caressed him, did our family cheer, had a family prayer and sang some of Bennett's favorite songs. While we did so, a gifted photographer that kindly offered her services to us captured every moment. During our time, Ashton (who had been quite reluctant to see his brother's body) took his car and kept driving it up and down Bennett's chest. "Wake up, Bennett! Wake up! Let's play cahs!" he kept saying. My heart smiled and broke all at once.

As time quickly passed, we soon realized that we had to get at least a few hours of sleep before the viewing and funeral the following day. And so we sang Bennett's song (a tradition every night before he went to bed), tucked him in, and even left a light on in the hallway for him. Just because. And I couldn't help but steal an extra kiss or two from my boy. Time was short. I knew it. And I had to take advantage of each moment.

I awoke hours later, unable to sleep. I snuck downstairs and picked up my boy, trying to take in every moment in the quiet hours of the morning. With the dawn would come new realities. Like burying my boy. While each moment spent with him confirmed that he was not with us, each second was a treasured gift. My heart took a picture. I knew it would not last forever. And I knew that I would look back on these moments for years to come, trying to remember every. little. detail.

How right I was.

Awhile later, David stumbled downstairs. He too wanted to share some quiet moments with our son. Within minutes, the girls joined us, each wanting to cuddle, hold and create "a moment" with their little brother. Their ease and affection amazed me. They loved him in death as they did in life. It was such a lesson to me. How blessed I am to be their Mother.

Around 7 or 8, the funeral directors arrived. When they walked in the home, we both knew that my time with Bennett's body was nearing an end. Though I could touch and caress him in his casket at his viewing, I knew my moments to hold him in my arms were over. I held him close one last time, cupped his fingers in my hand, kissed his sweet little face and whispered tender reassurances in his ear. And then I tucked him in and they took him away.

The viewing that morning was far different than the one the night before. The previous evening, I had our time with Bennett at home to look forward to. We were strong, we were comforted and we wanted to share our peace with others. But the morning of his burial, all I could feel was loss intermingled with heavy doses of God's love and peace. A chapter in our family book was closing. One that's story had just begun. And one I was not ready to finish.

After emotionally greeting many loved ones at the viewing, family and close friends gathered as the doors to the room closed. My Father offered a beautiful blessing on Bennett and on our family that gave me the strength I needed to do what was ahead. When his prayer was over, one by one, family members approached his casket to say their final goodbyes. Many members of my family had written love notes to Bennett that would surround him with love until we were reunited. I loved that.

And then it was our turn.

As I approached the casket, I longed to hold my baby again. In hindsight, I wish I had. That perhaps is my only regret. But instead, I caressed his hair, I covered his face with my tears and kisses and I even took off his socks to kiss his sweet "toesies" (something he loved) once more. David joined me and did the same. Together we stood, learning over the body of our son, holding each other up. We would make it through. We would tread this path together. And - with the Lord - we would do whatever was required to be together again. THAT was for certain.

And then, we closed the casket.

Why am I writing about this now? Because my arms have been aching - ACHING - to hold my little man this week. And though it would be ideal to hold him in life, I would even settle for holding him in death. Though not the same, it was so precious to be with him. To hold him, caress him and shower him with all the love and adoration we have for him. He was adored. And he knew it. And I pray that after looking down on how we continued to care for him after his passing, he knows that more than ever.

So for now, I reach my arms heavenward. Whenever they are feeling extra empty, I ask God to fill them with Love - His Love - for me. Sometimes that comes in holding one of Bennett's siblings. Sometimes that comes in holding another little child. And often it occurs in the form of putting my arms around another who is in need of peace, love and comfort.

Because as I help other's feel God's love and grace, I feel a little bit of Heaven in my home. In other words, I feel my Bennett. And I'm one step closer to being with him again.

And heaven knows there's no where else I'd rather be.

Aching

Missing my Little Man tonight. What I wouldn't give to hold and caress his little body again.

Someday. Someday.

Love you, Sunshine Boy. To the moon and back.

(Bennett @ 4 months)

The Flower Bush

So, our extended weekend away was really quite wonderful. Just what the doctor ordered.

Here's a summary of our favorite things:

• The girls pampered ourselves with an afternoon of mani/pedis.
• We laughed as we splashed and played at the Aquatic Center.
• We cuddled up on a FABULOUSLY comfy sectional for family naps everyday.
• We thoroughly enjoyed Tuacahn's production of "Little Mermaid" (seriously love it).
• We made many memories at Snow Canyon hiking and playing trucks in the "big dirts" (aka Sand Dunes).
• And we savored creamy frozen frozen custard at one of our favorite shops. Delish.

All in all, the rest, relaxation, and recreation refueled and refreshed our souls. It. Was. Divine.

While playing in the "dirts" Saturday afternoon, I was taught a lesson by The Great Teacher. As I watched my children play in the sand with their adoring Daddy, my heart ached. I just. felt. empty. We weren't complete! Someone was missing! Ashton wasn't supposed to be playing cars by himself. Granted David and I were by his side but - let's face it - a parent is just NOT a brother. Period.

Anyhoo, as my kids were building sandcastles and I circled around snapping pictures, I literally stumbled upon this Flower Bush. Small, tender and budding yellow, it was quite the surprise juxaposed against the red desert sand. Where did it come from? How did it get there? How did it sustain life? It was quite the mystery.

And yet there it was, standing tall, acting as reminder of Life amid the toughest conditions. As beautiful as the red rocky landscape was, the contrast of the yellow made it all the more breathtaking.

Curious.

I thought about our Sunshine Boy. I remembered all the bright, sweet, joyful times that we shared. I remembered all the laughs, giggles, snuggles and songs.

And then I thought about the last 9 months. The Desert of our lives.

We have been nourished by the rain. We have learned to build sandcastles in the most arid conditions. And - through it all - our Little Flower Bush has stood by, looking all the more beautiful against the harshness of the conditions. How grateful we are for his immortality.

And so I will remember. I will rememeber all the "fun things" but - above all - I will remember the dramatic beauty of the desert. I will remember playing in the sand. And I will remember the sweet, unexpected Flower Bush that brought so much meaning on a tender afternoon.

Tender Mercies. Tender mercies.

Fall Break

My babes have their fall break this weekend so we're heading off to a lovely place for a long weekend together. We'll swim, hike, visit historical sites, play at the park, watch a play under the stars and eat really yummy food.

But - most of all - we'll just be together.

It will be perfect.

Have a great week. xoxoxoxo

P.S.

Here's a favorite recipe we're making for the road. ENJOY!

Road Trip Trail Mix

Ingredients

• 4 cups assorted cereal and crackers; Cherrios, Chex, Corn Flakes, goldfish, pretzels, etc.
• 2 cups assorted nuts; almonds, pecans, walnuts, pistachios, etc.
• ½ cup coconut
• ½ cup butter, melted
• ¼ cup corn syrup
• 1 Tb Cinnamon
• ¼ cup brown sugar
• 1 cup dried cranberries
• ½ chocolate chips

Instructions

1. Preheat oven to 300 degrees. In a large bowl, combine cereals, nuts, Cinnamon, coconut and brown sugar.
2. Mix in melted butter and corn syrup making sure all pieces are lightly coated.
3. Lay on a large sheet pan and bake for 35 minutes, tossing periodically.
4. Let cool completely before tossing in chocolate chips and cranberries. ENJOY!

Remember

It has been said that the most important word in the English language is the word Remember. Because if we all Remembered, a lot more marriages would stay together, more parents would spend quality time with their children, humans would treat one other with more dignity and mankind in general would reflect on the Hand of God in their lives.

O, what a world that would be.

The word Remember will forever be different to me. Bennett's entire existence is held together by our memories. The sweet smell of the back of his neck, the softness of his velvety ivory skin, how his petite little body fit so perfectly in my arms, his magical, infectious giggle, the way his smile could light up the room, his "keeses" attacks on my face and neck, the way he'd blow bubbles on my not-so-tight tummy (loved that!), the way his little body would scoot across the floor as he swept the floor for his Mommy and the way he would wave his little hand while saying "nigh nigh" to me as I tucked him in . . . ahhhh, it's the stuff dreams are made of.

Particularly Mine.

So we've tried to create family traditions that help our family REMEMBER.

• After every family prayer, we immediately follow our "Amen" by blowing a kiss to Heaven. It's our little way of continually sending our love to our Sunshine Boy.
• After Bennett's death, Ashton refused to sleep in the room they shared for a few months. When I had had enough, I prayed to the Lord for guidance in how to handle this fragile little boy. I was immediately prompted to sing this song to him every night before bed. It worked like magic and has become part of our nightly ritual. And - P.S. - he's been sleeping in his bed ever since. Just another Tender Mercy.
• We have been blessed to have two very special friends offer to take some of Bennett clothes and make Healing Quilts for our family. Each quilt is individual and oh-so-different. But each is PERFECT. When one member of our family is feeling particularly tender, they are gifted a cuddle session or a night's sleep with one of the quilts. As we wrap them up in our arms, Bennett's memory and God's love, they are reminded that - no matter how tough this road is - we are in it together. And that - in the end - it's going to be okay. God's grace will make us whole.
• More recently, the girls have really been aching for Bennett. I have turned - once again - to the power of music for healing. I have begun singing this song to them as they lay cuddled up in our Healing Quilts. It reminds us that God is in control of all things and that He has a specific timeline and plan for each of us. Including our little Bennett.
• Whenever we visit Bennett's grave (which is quite often), we always write him a note or color a picture in a journal that was so lovingly left in a water tight container at his grave by a friend. This journal has become priceless. It documents the road to healing for our family. It is real, tender, tough and divine. We love it.
• Another tradition we have when visiting Bennett's grave is to hold hands and circle round his memorial (ring around the rosies style) while singing His Song and our own version of You Are My Sunshine. These songs remind us of our Little Sunshine Boy. Oh, how we adore him.
• For Bennett's birthday, we released yellow balloons laden with love notes to Heaven. For his "Angel Day" (the day of his passing), I think we'll send off Chinese Lanterns (like the ones seen in here) reminiscent of his Journey Toward Light. What an adventure he's on. What an adventure.
• As I was looking through our Halloween pictures from last year, I saw the above pictures. As a last minute thrown together costume, Bennett was dressed as one of the army men from Toy Story. He was so dang cute.
  In this picture, I was reminded how much he LOVED the chocolate dipped pretzels we had at the extended family Halloween Party. So from now on, chocolate covered pretzels will be a regular at our Halloween Day celebrations. All in memory of our Bennett.
• For Christmas, we will use Bennett's Christmas stocking as a Service Stocking. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, we will fill Bennett's stocking with pieces of paper documenting ways we have brought Joy into other's lives in remembrance of the Joy Bennett brought to us. And then, on Christmas morning when we may be missing him extra much, we can go through his Christmas stocking and feel all the Joy that was brought about out of our Love and Remembrance of Bennett. I think it will be very, very tender.
• We will also create a Bennett Christmas tree in our home every holiday season. On it will hang pictures of Bennett with items that remind us of his sweet little life. And perhaps we'll include miracles that have occurred in our hearts and others since his death.
  Hmmm . . .
• Another seemingly small tradition we have is that - when asked how many children we have - we ALWAYS include Bennett. This has been happening quite a bit since our recent move. We are in an area that did not know our boy and - therefore - only sees us as a family of five. THAT we are NOT. Sometimes it's hard retelling our story time and time again, but it's important for us to have our new neighborhood and congregation know of our Bennett. He IS one of us and will always be considered as an integral member of our Eternal Family unit.
• Most importantly, we continually REMEMBER the covenants - or two-way promises - that we made with God in His Holy House that make it possible for our family to be together. Forever. And when our hearts are aching and we are feeling his loss most poignantly, we cling to one another, remembering a Loving Heavenly Father's Reassurances and Love. And that helps us keep putting one foot in front of another.

These traditions have helped our family Remember. We may add traditions. We may redefine the traditions we've created. And that's okay. The point? We will do the things that feel right for our family, promote healing and that help us remember the Joy, Sunshine and Happiness that our Little Man brings to us.

And now, O man, remember, and perish not. (Mosiah 4:30).

Inseparably Connected

They say that "the spirit and body are the soul of man" (Doctrine and Covenants 88:15). I couldn't agree more. What affects one affects the other. They ARE inseparably connected.

There are only two times in my life when my body has gone into shock: 1) When I was eight months pregnant with our third child and was told that our three year old daughter was critically ill and might not make it, and 2) After Bennett passed away.

For those who have not experienced physical shock, it is interesting to find out just how your body responds. Some throw up, some scream, yell and throw things and others may faint. For me? My whole body went into convulsions.

After Bennett's death, bedtime seemed to be a trigger for me. Both when I went to bed at night and when I awoke in the morning. For a moment I would forget. Then I'd look across the hall into his empty crib.

Where was my baby? Why was his crib empty? Why wasn't he calling for me in the morning?

And then it would all come back to me. My body would begin to shake as my teeth chattered.

And then the sobs came.

All the trauma, emotion and shock would hit me like a crashing wave all over again. I was reminded what that empty crib meant to my heart and how that changed our family. And my sweet husband would just hold me until the shaking subsided.

The shaking stopped just in enough time for the investigation to begin. For nearly three months, there was an open investigation into Bennett's death. During that time, we were questioned while awaiting the test results conducted during Bennett's autopsy. When they DID come, we were told they found no physical reason for Bennett's death. I asked the State Medical examiner how often this happened. His answer? Less than 1% of the time.

Lucky us.

I thought the worst was over. Then one day, nearly three months after Bennett's passing, I received a knock at the door. It was the investigator assigned to our case.

"I just wanted to stop by and give you some good news."

Okay. Maybe they found the cause of death? Maybe they had found something amiss in our home (i.e. carbon monoxide)? I don't know . . . not a lot of good news in this situation.

"I just spoke with the County Prosecuting Attorney and he feels comfortable not press charges against you and your husband."

No words. No words.

Then the self talk.

Keep your mouth shut, Amanda. Keep your mouth shut. He means well and it won't change anything.

Now time has marched on. Nearly 9 months, in fact. SO many things have happened. Both related and unrelated to Bennett's death. But - in the end - it has ALL taken its toll.

A few weeks ago, I decided to see a Doctor. I wasn't feeling right. Something was just "off." So I made an appointment.

After a TON of blood work was drawn, the results came back. The circumstances had waged a war on my spirit and body. My soul was a wreck.

As my spirit suffered, my body responded. They were, indeed, connected. As shock and grief hit, hormones reacted, deficiencies resulted and body systems quit doing their job. What my doctor suggested? It was time to simplify and chill out.

Now, one thing that is DANG HARD for this lady is simplification. I love to give my children lots of building opportunities. I love to attend fun events. I love to say Yes. I love to help those I love. I love to serve in my church. And I love to write and maintain this little blog. But - for the sake of Myself and My Family - I needed to take care of Me.

So we made a list. What were the nonnegotiables? School. Family Scripture Study and Prayer. Family Dinners. Harp. Piano. Then date night, Family Home Evening, weekly church attendance . . . And - hey - we might as well finish up the soccer season. But that about sums it up. Everything else became Negotiable.

So we withdrew from tennis. We didn't sign up for dance this fall. I pushed the pause button on a new demanding church calling. We canceled a family group therapy session that would be taxing on our time, emotions and resources. And we are just Being. Can we remove all the stresses of life? Heck no! But in simplifying, we have made them manageable.

Because we all know that every life situation is an opportunity to learn, what have I learned from this experience?

• I have learned that when Mommy suffers, the whole family suffers.
• I have learned to take care of Myself like I take care of others.
• I have learned that it's okay to say "Not right now."
• I have learned that life can be very rich with very few things.
• And I have learned that the most important things in life are not items listed on a calendar or to do list. They are relationships to be made, strengthened and cherished.

And that my Spirit and Body ARE Inseparably Connected.

This Time Last Year . . .

This time last year, I took four little kiddos to the pumpkin patch for our annual Cousins Pumpkin Picking.

This time last year, Bennett couldn't get enough of the little red wagon.

This time last year, Bennett went from one pumpkin pile to another, trying to find the pumpkin seat that was just the "right fit."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

This afternoon, I'll be taking three kiddos to the Cousins Pumpkin Picking.

This afternoon, I think I'll feel a little melancholy as I pull around the little red wagon.

And this afternoon, I think I'll be looking around the Pumpkin Patch for that little blond boy that so loved being part of the Fall Festivities with his siblings, cousins, aunts and Grammie Lu.

You are in my Heart today, My Boy. Your Mommy loves you.

To the Moon and back. xoxoxoxo

Just Because

I am really missing my little buddy this week. Like, achingly so. So I thought I'd post some pictures of him. It's a cheap alternative to cuddling him but - for now - it will have to do.

Mommy loves you, sweet Bennett. More than you'll ever know.

Hugs and Keeses . . .

A Day of Contrasts

Ten years ago today, America experienced a tragedy that took too many of its own.
Ten years ago today, I married my best friend.

Ten years ago, the world stood around televisions, staring wide-eyed, not believing the tragedy that was unfolding before them while I waiting in the Bride's room in the Salt Lake Temple, waiting to hear if they would keep the Temple open for our wedding.

Ten years ago, nearly 3,000 lives tragically ended.
Ten years ago, our family's life had just begun.

When we were married, the clergy that married us (called a "Sealer" in our faith) referred to the day as "a day of contrasts." He reminded us that - in the future - when we experience turmoil, loss, stress or tragedy, we could should return to the promises made that day and remember where we can turn to receive true peace.

And, oh, have we experienced those kinds of days.

But this year I feel the loss differently. I ache in a whole different way with these families because I too have experienced a bone-chilling loss. I HAVE become "well acquainted with grief" and I know what it's like to have your life change in an instant. To have the wind literally knocked out of you and have to literally labor through every breath.

The good news? There is Hope. There is Goodness. There is Light. And there is Joy. Though there will be moments of Darkness and - at times - they can feel suffocating. But the Morning will come. It will. The Sun will continue to rise and it will continue to warm, nourish and feed your soul. Will things ever be "normal"? No. But that can be a good thing. You are changed forever. Heaven is in your Home because part of your Home is in Heaven. And that is a very lovely thing.

In a 1864 letter to a Mrs. Bixby, a Mother who lost 5 of her sons in the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln penned these words:

"I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom."

May I add my prayers to that of that wonderful, inspired man. May our prayers penetrate the Heavens in behalf of all the heartbroken and those looking for hope.

It will come. It will come.

Broken Record

When I was a girl, my mom would put me on her lap, hold my hands and "giddy up" like a pony. While I bounced up and down on her knee, she would chant this phrase to the rhythm of the clopping:

Smoooooothe Road, Smoooooothe Road,

Bumpy Road, Bumpy Road,

HOOOOOOOLE in the Road! (as she dipped me)

Right now, I feel like I am living this childhood chant. One moment I am doing fine. Healing, even. And then there is a bump. Sometimes expected and sometimes not. And then - right as I am regaining my footing - I get broadsided. And back I am at square one.

This week has been interesting. This afternoon, I retrieved the mail to find a reminder from our Medical Coverage Company reminding me that it was time to immunize Bennett. Ouch. Sucker punch to the stomach. All at once, I missed him all over again.

And then the girls started at their new school this week. I was so excited for them. They were so ready for it. But - after they left, donning their new threads - Ashton and I were left. Alone. Ashton starts preschool in 1.5 weeks and - to tell you the truth - I am not looking forward to it. If I didn't think he needed the socialization so much (Mommy just is not as fun to play with as a fellow child), I would keep him home. But it's the CHILDREN'S needs we're trying to address right now. Not just keeping Mommy in her comfort zone.

Some try to kindly reassure me that it will be so nice to have a few hours a week to myself. I guess that would be true under "normal" circumstances. But mine is not. Seven months ago, I wasn't expecting to have all my kids out of the house - for any period of time - any time soon. I had a little guy. Then not even two. He was my little shadow and would follow me anywhere I went. Whenever Ashton would have a play date with Grandma or play trucks with a friend, Bennett would happily stay with me, never drifting more than a few feet away. I wasn't planning on being alone anytime soon. And - quite frankly - I'm not ready for it.

So my Mom has advised me to hyper plan my "free time." Run errands, work out, have lunch with a friend or peacefully peruse the library. Anything to keep my mind off the emptiness, the "should have beens" or the obvious void in my day.

Do I sound like a broken record? Let's hope tomorrow's a smoothe road . . .

Your Perspective, Please . . .

Tonight I am missing Bennett so very, very much. In my aching, I decided to pull up his obituary. As I read through the words I wrote six months ago, sitting alongside his painfully empty crib, a fresh wave of anguish washed over me. I felt all those overwhelmingly raw sensations all over again.

Here's part of what I read:

On Saturday, January 22, 2011, a Loving Father in Heaven tenderly took home one of His own. Bennett, born May 31, 2009, brought more joy, light and love to the world in a mere 20 months than many experience in a lifetime. It was a privilege to call him our son.

Bennett spread love and laughter wherever he went whether it was smothering his mommy with kisses, falling asleep on his daddy's chest for a nap, calling out to his sisters, Emma and Gracelyn, for morning bath time or playing "cahs" with his best friend and brother, Ashton. He was eager to smile, anxious to love, quick to laugh and ready to forgive. We will smile whenever we remember his obsession with all-things handles and the way his little body shuffled around the kitchen trying to sweep the floor for mommy. He was a gift. Simply a gift.

We will forever cherish the scribbles left on our walls, the handprints placed on our windows and the etching he engraved on our hearts. He was here but a moment but will be ours forever. And with Bennett, forever won't be long enough . . .

We'll love you forever, We'll like you for always Forever and Always Our baby you'll be. No goodbyes, just see-you-laters . . .xoxoxoxo

In reading this, I am reminded why I haven't listened to his funeral recording in awhile. I am reminded why I haven't watched video of him. I am reminded why I don't go through his hope chest on a regular basis.

Because I cannot.

The pain and the loss are still too fresh. My heartache is right at the surface. It doesn't take much for me to melt into a puddle of tears. And things that bring back remembrances of that freshness remind me of the gaping hole in my heart and family. In a moment, I can be transported to a very painful time. A time that - even now - seems like a dream.

For those that have walked the path of Profound Grief, what has been your experience with Time? I know that it - paired with Divine Mercy - can heal if I allow it to do so. But does the passing of time distance you from the pain? Or do you just learn how to better cope with it? I am new on this path so there are still soooooo many questions I do not have the answers to.

So share, friends. Please share. This tired heart needs some perspective.

Just Singin' in the Rain

Sunday was a beautiful day. The weather was hot and muggy. But then - in the middle of the day - a sudden rainstorm. The raindrops and puddles seemed to call out to my kids to come and splash.

And so they did.

Out they went - donning their Sunday clothes - running through the streets and puddles while the rain fell on their faces. They danced, they sang and they held hands, spinning around in circles. It. Was. Magical.

On days such as these, I am reminded of all the Joy there still is to experience in Life. Yes, we have experienced loss and Yes, the longing for our sweet Bennett will never go away. But I have three precious children here with me. Three children to laugh with, play with, cuddle, caress and sing lullabies to. What a Gift that is.

And somehow, on days such as this, it is almost like I can see a little toe head boy giggling and galloping behind his siblings.

I wouldn't be surprised. I wouldn't be surprised.

Stop and Smell the Roses

This summer has flown by for our family. We have been so busy selling, moving and resettling in our temporary abode that the routine "fun things" have been put on hold. Sure there have been tennis, harp, dance and swimming lessons, but the spontaneous adventures that bring us so much joy have not been possible. So - with three weeks before school starts - I thought we'd start our "summer."

Yesterday, we piled seven children in our car - 5 girls and 2 boys - for our own little summer outing. We picked up lunch at McDonalds (not a place we frequent often) and headed up to Bennett's grave for a little picnic. Of the friends we brought, three of them did not know Bennett. In fact, they did not even know that we had a brother pass away. I thought this would be a good way to introduce them to our Sunshine Boy.

As we sat underneath the shady oak tree, we told stories of our sweet little brother. They asked questions and we answered them openly and comfortably. While I ate my salad and the kids chomped on their hamburgers and fries, we covered everything from his favorite games and foods to the events surrounding his death. During our conversation, they kept analyzing his pictures engraved on his headstone. I love those pictures. They remind all who see his memorial how REAL he is. That this is a REAL person whose loss is very poignant and significant to another.

"I have a two year old sister and I would be so sad if she died," one said.

That comment ushered in the perfect opportunity to talk about where we are as a family. How we too feel sad sometimes as we cope with the loss of our little boy.

As we tidied the area, we invited them to join us for our tradition of singing "You Are My Sunshine" before we leave. One of the children suggested we circle the grave while singing, ring-around-the-rosie style. So as our chorus of young voices - 7 children under the age of 9 - sang Bennett's precious anthem, we circled his grave, singing his song with our whole hearts.

As I looked at each one of their precious faces, my heart took a picture. I was so grateful for all our blessings. Grateful for a beautiful place to memorialize my son. Grateful that we can visit him so often. Grateful for wonderful little friends from choice families. And grateful for the tenderness and strength my own children exhibit. They are amazing human beings.

We finished our outing romping around the park. The playground, tennis courts, raquetball courts and fields all echoed the laughter and play of children. It was music to my ears! It. Was. Perfect.

And so today, I am grateful for perfect summer afternoons. Moments when time stands still and you just take it all in. Can you feel it when your soul experiences that? I can. I love it.

So make today a day to remember. Live with no regrets and make as many wonderful memories as you can. As James Barrie once said, "God gave us memories so we might have June roses in the December of our lives."

So stop and smell the roses.

Ode to Sunset View Drive

It was May 2008. David had just graduated from Purdue and our family was getting ready to relocate after one of the most trying years of our life. Grace (our then 4 year old) had been fighting a rare form of pneumonia that nearly took her life. After a month in the Children's Hospital (most of the time spent in the ICU) and after 6 months of quarantine and treatments at home, we were ready for a change of scenery. And nothing says change like a move!

We arrived at our "dream home" worn out, exhausted yet full of hope and promise. It had been a tough year. A year we didn't want to relive. But we had made it. The best was yet to come.

With a new babe in arms, we started to put down roots in our new home, neighborhood and congregation with our three little ones. This was it. We were here for the long haul.

Four months later, we learned we were expecting. A shock, to say the least. Ashton was just 7 months old and we were still leery of our daughter's health condition. But a baby was on its way. And - after we wrapped our minds around the unexpected gift - we were thrilled.

Months later, we learned it was a Boy. Two girls and two boys! YAY! We were thrilled. What a gift to have a little brother and playmate for Ashton. As Mary Poppins says, this was going to be "practically perfect in every way."

And so it was. Our little boy joined our family May 31, 2009 and was named Bennett. From the moment he was put in our arms, everything felt so right. Our combined love for him filled our home with joy. Everyone LOVED Bennett.

During the next 20 months, many milestones took place on Sunset View Drive. Bennett's first smile, his first giggle, his first crawl, his first traverse down the staircase, his first steps, his first words (debated if it was Mama or Dada), his first true love (my sister Katie), his favorite discovered hobby (sweeping the floor), his favorite game (hide and go seek), his favorite song (HIS song), his favorite cheer (YOU ROCK!), his favorite bath time and bedtime rituals and his first best friend (his brother Ashton). So many sweet things happened in those short 20 months. So. Many. Things.

And then came the morning of January 22, 2011. Those same walls that had reverberated with giggles and song seemed to be suffocating and stifling with the tragic events of the day. Where we had gently tucked him in the night before, caressed by Mommy's kisses and lullabies, we found him lifeless. Taken to his Heavenly Home by Angels hours before. It was too much to take in. Just. Too. Much.

And yet, the edifice stood. The Home held its ground and bore the weight of the Grief we were heaving. It seemed to feel the extremities we were facing and even seemed to breath in and out with us. It was a place of Grief, a place of Healing, a place of Safety, a place of Love and a place of Peace.

What a Gift.

In the coming weeks, we discussed whether we should continue to sell our Sunset View Drive home (it had been on the market since late fall). After much contemplation, discussion and prayer, we decided that the reasons for selling our home last fall still existed and that it would be in the best interest of our family to continue our quest to move.

Since then, some - not knowing the needs of our family - have questioned our decision to sell. A few have thought we were running away from our grief and that ours was a rash decision. To that I reply, there is no where that far. Our reality is our reality no matter where we go. We are not running from our memories, we are going with them. Our love, our loss, our gratitude and our grief will follow us no matter where we go. They are a part of us and we are a part of them. And that's the way it should be.

That said, the last few months have been grueling. Going through cupboards and drawers and moving furniture unearthed a lot of triggers. A sock of Bennett's there, a tiny shoe found underneath the couch, his Tow Mater truck found in a drawer (where he surely was playing) and - the biggest - a previously undiscovered crayon drawing of his in back of the giant armoire (his favorite hiding place). All of these findings echoed that he lived and that he was. There's not enough of those reminders in our world, let me tell ya.

Monday night, we took our family to the home one last time. We recorded the kids climbing their favorite tree in the backyard, playing four square in the now-bare front room, recalling favorite memories in our kitchen and sharing tender feelings of their little brother in the nursery. It so reflected the spectrum of our experience. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" . . . It was perfect.

So now we go forward. In Life, I have learned many things. But I have learned more in the last six months than my previous thirty four years combined. The tuition has been high, but we have received quite the education. Here is what I have learned on Sunset View Drive.

I have learned that People and not Things are what is truly important.

I have learned that it is not the size of your dwelling but the people you live with that truly make a Home.

I have learned that you can never say "I love you" too many times.

I have learned that blogging is great, but living in the moment is better.

I have learned to never take things for granted.

I have learned to never put off a dream because tomorrow is not a guarantee.

I have learned that God sends angels - both from Heaven and Earth - to bear you up when you feel like you just can't do it anymore.

I have learned that I need to be one of His Angels.

I have learned that the little things make a difference.

I have learned that you never can take too many pictures.

I have learned for myself that Death has no effect on family ties and relationships. They continue beyond the grave. I. Know. That.

I have learned that I have a Heavenly Father who loves me - truly loves me - and is involved with the details of my Life.

And - last of all - I have learned that I may not understand or choose everything that happens in my Life, but I do have absolute control of what I do with those things. And that makes all the difference.

And so goodbye, Sunset View Drive. We won't go far. You will always be just a memory away and will always hold a special place in our hearts.

Hello Again

Remember Me? Remember how I used to blog? Yeah. Well, I'm back.

We closed on our home on Monday and we've been settling into our rental this week. We'll be here for 6-8 months while we build our next (and hopefully FINAL) home and then we'll move. Again.

This has been a BIG change for our little family. We're living in 1/4 of the space we were living in, my girls are registered at a new elementary school, Emma was cleared to skip a grade (hallelujah!) next year and we have started to attend a new congregation who mostly know nothing of our current situation. It is strange and sad to think that they'll know nothing of our Sunshine Boy. That our stories of him will be just stories, that a face will not come to mind when I mention his name and that - to many - he will be just "that new family's boy who died."

They have no idea what they are missing.

But we feel good about this change and we feel that the Lord is guiding and helping us every step of the way. And - for now - we are enjoying the "simple life." No yard work, less space to clean, no home remodeling projects and - above all - no showings. It's a good life, I tell ya. A good life.

Tomorrow, I will pay tribute to our little home on Sunset View Drive. It is the only home we ever shared with Bennett. We lived there for 38 months and he was with us - either in my tummy or in our arms - for the majority of it. Those walls hold so many beautiful memories. It will always hold a special place in our hearts.

So, hello again. Thank you for sharing our journey. It is tender, it is tough, it is sweet and it is gripping. But it is ours. And we are deciding what to make of it.

One step at at time.