Grateful and Grieving: A Message for Mother's Day

It's impossible to miss or avoid this time of year.

Radio and television advertisements selling the perfect gift for mom.  Cards, flowers, balloons, and gifts in every store with "Mom" splashed across practically everything.  Facebook posts from businesses with contests for Mom, more advertisements for gifts for mom, and moms posting about their children.

And for those who may find Mother's Day one of the most painful days of the year... it's like having salt poured into an open wound over and over and over again.

Yet, it's not always just black and white when it comes to whether or not you grieve on Mother's Day. There's a lot of complexities involved.  I'll get to that in a moment.

One of my favorite fertility blogger, author, and speaker, Justine Froelker, talks about what she calls the "permission of the And".  You can learn more about Justine and her work here (I definitely recommend following her if you're an infertility warrior).  Justine's concept of the permission of the "And" is what has inspired this post.


Many of us DO in fact have a reason to celebrate Mother's Day in some way, shape, or form.  Whether that means having a mom, being a mom, or being an expecting mom.  That doesn't mean that behind your reasons for still being able to celebrate that there isn't some level of grief associated with Mother's Day.  In fact, I'm willing to bet if you're reading this, you have a reason you hurt when this day filled for many with cards, flowers, and a special breakfast rolls around.

I often have a lot of friends and family on my heart when I think of Mother's Day and the others who may also be enduring a difficult day, or even weeks leading up to and following, Mother's Day.

So, this is for you... whether you're a family member, close friend, acquaintance, or stranger.

To the one who has a mom no longer in this earthly realm... I'm sorry you're grieving on this day.  I know you're grateful for your memories and the time you got to spend with your mother.  Yet, you grieve that she is not here to celebrate and shower with love.

To the one who has a mom who is still living but not in your life anymore, for whatever reason... I'm sorry you're grieving on this day.  You may still long for that relationship you never had or the relationship that fell apart.  You, too, have suffered loss.  And, even if you have babies of your own now, that doesn't mean you can't still feel the heartache of feeling terribly hurt and alone.

To the one who has a mom who you have a relationship with but lives far away or who you can't see on Mother's Day... I'm sorry you're grieving on this day.  Even though you are grateful and happy your mom is still in your life, it doesn't mean you're not allowed to feel that ache of not being able to hug your mom today or that you miss out on celebrating with her.

To the one who IS a momma, but you cannot be with your children for whatever reason on Mother's Day... I'm sorry you're grieving.  It's ok to be grateful for the children you have while simultaneously feeling empty because you cannot hold them in your arms - no matter how young or old.

To the moms who are empty-nesters... who perhaps have been told you are no longer really a mom because you're done raising your children, I'm sorry you're grieving on this day.  You will ALWAYS be a mom, whether your children are independent or not.  But, you're allowed to feel grateful for the time you got to spend with your children and raise them while also feeling a sense of loss that comes from no longer doing those mom things you did when they were young.

To the moms who have children, but have also have babies in heaven... I cannot even imagine how torn you feel.  And, I'm sorry you're grieving on this day.  While I know you are grateful to have your child or children to celebrate with, to shower you with love, cards, and burnt toast... there's that part of you that aches for the babies that should also be here celebrating this day with you.

To the moms who are holding your foster babies or adopted babies... Today your emotions are probably mixed.  You know the sacrifice another mother made so you could hold your sweet child.  Or maybe you know the horrendous conditions your sweet angel has endured and you want nothing more than to know for certain you can protect him or her forever.  So, though you may celebrate with the traditional Mother's Day cards and flowers, as you sit there feeling blessed and love, part of you aches for the birth mother, and I'm sorry that brings you grief on this day. 

To the adoptees, whether you knew your birth mother briefly or not at all... I understand what you're feeling.  I hope that, like me, you grew up in an amazing, loving, and supportive home.  And while you celebrate your mom - the one who raised you, dried your tears, taught you to believe in yourself, and loved you unconditionally... a part of you feels anger, hurt, loss, or all three when thinking about your biological mother.  And, I'm sorry you, too, are grieving on this day.

To the stepmoms out there... who know that no matter what you do, sacrifice, give, care, and love your stepchild or children like you would or do your own, you are not your stepchild's mother...  It's a tough role to play, especially if your stepchildren don't care for you and make a point to show that.  Or, if you're lucky, your stepchildren love you right back and you get to see a glimpse of Mother's Day through your role as a stepmom.  It's having one foot in the door and the other out - you may get to celebrate, but having the feeling that you don't deserve this celebration, as you're not truly mom. I'm sorry you're grieving on this day.

To the women who wish desperately they got to celebrate this day as a mom... boy, do I feel your pain.  There's honestly no happy side to this one.  You thought you'd be celebrating your first Mother's Day... or maybe you're remember that this should be your second Mother's Day... maybe 3rd... 4th... and so it goes on.  For years, you've held out hope, told yourself, "maybe next year", only for this day to roll around again.  And although you may have your mom in your life that you celebrate or mother-in-laws to celebrate... the emptiness you feel today is magnified.  I'm sorry you're grieving on this day.

Whether you're 90% happy / 10 % grieving, 50% happy / 50% grieving, or 100% grieving... remember to do something for yourself today.  Step away for five minutes.  Take a long shower.  Go completely off social media.  And while I know it's not always possible, and maybe you can't accomplish it today, but promise me you'll do something within the week to take care of yourself.  Allow that grief to wash over you in waves.  Don't fight it.  And while those waves aren't crashing so hard, take that time to focus on steps towards finding a place of relief.  Trust me when I say ignoring self-care lands you in a place much deeper and darker than if you were to take 15 minutes to find your sanity.

I hope this Mother's Day you're able to allow yourself to grieve while being grateful... not allowing those two feelings to spend the entire time fighting inside of you, against one another. 

Consider this your permission slip to feel ALL of the feelings, without the guilt.  Because I can promise you I'll be doing exactly that.

Love,

Kristy

I See You

A couple of nights ago, I spent probably three hours tossing and turning in bed. I had something on my mind that was keeping me awake. I realize now that I have had a few days to think and collect my thoughts, that it’s not actually a THING I have in my mind and heart - it’s you. 

I don’t blog as often as I’d like. Part of it is the perfectionist in me. But most of it is trying to put together the thoughts and words on a topic that is so emotionally-charged. 

This is National Infertility Week 2019. And this post is for my fellow warriors - all of you. 

To the women who are holding your rainbow babies - I see you. I see pictures of you holding your beautiful child. I see your smile, your updates on how life as a mommy are going, I see your new family pictures. My heart is so full and happy for you. Your dream has finally been realized. 

But, I also see the wounds left behind. You see, I know that even though you have the child you longed for, you suffered unimaginable loss first. I sense that you are so torn - torn between feeling grateful for the new addition to your family and the grief you feel over the babies you never met. I know you think about those babies the same way I think about mine that never graced this world. You  remember the milestones those sweet angels should be hitting. You remember the plans you had. Perhaps you even remember the name you had picked. And maybe you even held your angel in your arms for all to short of a time. 

Those battle scars will remain with you. You are still a warrior. You are allowed to feel blessed for what you have while simultaneously aching to your core for the older brother or sister your rainbow baby should have had. 

You may have survivor’s guilt. So here is my message to you, beautiful warrior. I know you still understand. You lived what I’m living now. Just because you have a baby now and I do not does NOT mean you have forgotten your journey. You’re still an infertility warrior. 

To the mommas who have never been diagnosed officially with infertility, but suffered a miscarriage - I see you. If I know you or know your story - know that I think about your angel or angels in heaven. I can’t imagine the pain you felt when you heard the doctor tell you they’re sorry, but your baby is not going to live. I also see you with your beautiful child or children, but I know that you hurt. You are still a warrior in my book. 

To the mom with a child or children who is struggling to add to your family - I see you. You’re family isn’t complete. You feel that in your heart. You think about it daily. You may be shamed for “not being grateful”. You may even shame yourself. But, you still hurt. You still long to hold another child in your arms. Here is my message to you, my sweet warrior - your pain is just as valid as mine. Just because you have had a child or children and I haven’t doesn’t make your pain any less valid than mine. 

To the warriors who are still waiting for your first child - I see you. I know your hurt all too well. The failed months of trying to conceive naturally. The negative pregnancy test. The medicines, the scans, the procedures - all followed by a phone call telling you that your journey this time is over - it hits you like a ton of bricks. All of that time. All of that money. All of those resources. All of those emotions. All to come up with an empty belly and empty arms. I see you struggle with the decisions to come. Try again? Give up? Donor eggs? Donor speed? Embryo adoption? Fostering? Adoption? You grapple with which decision is “right”. And my message to you tonight is I am right there with you. I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do. I feel adrift. Lost at sea. Standing alone in the middle of a desert. 

But, I’m not alone. I am 1 in 8. While the pain we experience, our timelines, our losses, and our stories may vary, the bottom line is we are fighters. And, pain is pain. Loss is loss. Grief is grief. 

And no matter where you are or where you have been during this crazy experience that is infertility and/or pregnancy and infant loss - I see you. Zero judgement. Zero resentment. Just a heart full of love, compassion, and empathy for you. And - if you or someone you know needs someone to talk to - I am here. 

Love,

Kristy

When It Isn't Different This Year

Lately, I seem to be stumbling upon past posts of mine - either blogs or posts on our Facebook page.

The common theme?

Hope. Faith. Positivity.

Perhaps that is why my latest blog was in April.

Honestly - I have grappled with whether or not to even DO blog post...especially this close to the holidays. I fear that people think I should have moved on by now. I am afraid people just see me as "the infertile woman who just won't move on". And...because my entire being feels a complete and utter void of the three things I tried to maintain.

Hope. Faith. Positivity.

I have put a lot of thought into my decision to say YES. Yes - I am going to share. I am no longer going to continue to hide behind the shame I have buried myself under for what feels like eternity. The reason? I know I'm not alone in my feelings. And perhaps I can help someone feel a little less alone.

The past three years have been a whirlwind. Career changes. Moving to a new house. Three IVF cycles - two of which involved 6 hour round trip travels. Four surgeries for my endometriosis. Multiple hospitalizations prior to the surgeries due to pain. A health scare where I had to see a neurologist briefly. There were more things that happened, but you get the point.

It was nonstop. Until about a year ago when everything quieted down. 

The final surgeries were successful...I was no longer in excruciating, chronic pain. Additional cycles were off the table - financially, physically, and emotionally.

Chaos and distractions? Gone. So naturally, the brain does what it's designed to do. The floodgates opened.

As hard as I tried (when I chose to), I couldn't process what happened. Part of it was that I simply didn't have the time or energy. Now I am forced to do just that.

I'm staring it in the face. The loss. The confusion. The hurt. The anger. The resentment. The financial burden incurred during all of it. The numbness. The depression. The "what-ifs". The "what nexts". 

There are moments I feel everything...yet nothing...at the same time.

So, where does the shame factor into the equation?

I've completely lost faith, hope, and positivity. 

I feel like I have been beaten down. I no longer want to have faith or hope, because so far, I have been told "no". This year, I haven't even really attempted to get pregnant. Why? Fear and lack of faith and hope. I couldn't and can't bear the thought of trying and failing. Again. And again. And again. And again.

"But you won't know unless you try.". True. But if I try and fail again? I simply cannot even stomach the thought. So I quit. I gave up. I decided I couldn't keep holding onto hope and faith, because if those two things were all that was required? There would be three additional children to celebrate Christmas with.

You know what I fear? Being told the reason is because I lacked faith. 

If anyone tells you that? It's nonsense. From a Biblical standpoint, I'm sure this will can be refuted. But a lack of faith doesn't cause the sudden death of a loved one. A lack of faith doesn't cause cancer. A lack of faith doesn't cause illness. I'm not going to sit here and tell you that your heartache is because you lacked faith.

So why would we tell that to ourselves?

I'm not saying that continuing to lack faith is the answer. I know it's not. I am saying that if you are where I am right now? It's ok. Give yourself permission to grieve...and to grieve fully. Timelines for grief? No. Such. Thing. I'm a firm believer that we all process our hardships on our own terms and our own time. No amount of encouragement, shaming, or well-meaning conversations and messages can force us to face our grief or losses head-on. I also believe that our losses will forever remain in our hearts and on our minds. Over time? It will evolve. But it's never going to go away.

So here's my honest, fully transparent, "I-don't-know-if-I-should-share-this" moment.

I'm not ok. I haven't been ok for some time now. I don't know when I'll be ok. I don't know how my healing process is going to look. I don't know how long it will take. I'm completely, utterly lost, confused, and hurting to the point where every fiber of my being aches. I'm angry at God. I'm angry at God to the point where I have pushed Him away and I want nothing to do with Him, even though it's almost Christmas - the day on which God gave the world its greatest gift. I don't feel like "sucking it up" and smiling and acting like I'm enjoying the holiday season. I'm not. I don't want to pretend. I just want to be. But society and self-inflicted shame push me to do just that - show up, pretend I'm ok, interact as normally as I can, and not bring down everyone else during my massive grief spell I seem to be experiencing.

This year, I'm not saying, "maybe next year". I'm so sick of telling myself "maybe next year".

I can't tie this post up in a neat little bow, so I will end with this.

You are loved. Your feelings are valid. And if you need me...I am here for you.

Love,

Kristy

When God Finally Gives You His Why

I remember the exact booth I was sitting in.  Across from me was one of my most valued former colleague and mentor, Garry Moore.  During our time as coworkers, Garry and I would sometimes discuss psychology, as it was an shared interest.  I told him about our struggle to conceive and the possibility of needing treatment.  What he said next upset me - he told me that I was young and the baby could wait, and I should go back to school.

As I look back now - four or so years later - I realize that Garry's advice was actually very sound.

So how did I get here?

Without boring you with too much detail, here are the little road signs God created for me without me even realizing it.

In July 2017, I left my job at the Red Cross.

For a short time after, I was employed by David's Bridal.  They were only scheduling me for 4 hours every two weeks, so I quit.

My husband and I were struggling to make end's meet.  I was having an identity crisis not having a job.  One day, as I was driving, I called out to God for the first time in forever - out loud.

I begged him to show me my path.  To take away my pain.

That same day, I walked into Bergner's.  I was dropping of something for a friend, and decided to drop by the Lancome counter to visit a dear friend from my former church, Sally.  Since I was scheduled for surgery right in the middle of the holiday season, I wanted her opinion on whether or not I should apply for seasonal work.  She directed me to the Assistant Store Manager - and I left that day with a job.  They hired me despite the fact I would be gone for at least three weeks in December.  I couldn't believe it.  I was grateful and felt as though God heard my prayers.  That day, I felt like God led me on that path and that for some reason, I was meant to be at Bergner's.

I worked in handbags and accessories during the holidays.  Once the holidays were over, I had hoped to move over to Lancome with Sally.  No openings, but Estee Lauder was hiring.  I got hired for Estee Lauder full time.

A couple of weeks ago, a woman walked in for a foundation match.  During our conversation, I found out she was the Interim Chancellor and President of Methodist College of Nursing.  I told her I had thought about nursing in the past, and she encouraged me to apply and told me about their programs.  

She gave me her card, and the next day I emailed her.  The following week I had appointments with a faculty member and a recruiter.

Fast forward to today - I found out Bon Ton, the parent company of Bergner's, is liquidating.

I feel like everything that has happened since last July has been leading up to this moment.  I wanted to work at David's Bridal - it didn't work out.  I got hired for a job I didn't expect to get hired for due to my medical condition.  I didn't get hired for the counter I wanted.  But, I believe with all of my heart that God intended for me to meet Dr. Garrison that day.  You want to know what drew her to me?  My cross necklace my mom gave me a few years ago for Christmas.

I feel like God said no to my prayers for a baby because He knew I wasn't where I'm called to be in my career.  That Garry's advice years ago was likely the same thing God was trying to tell me, but I kept ignoring Him out of fear.  Fear of failing.

For the first time in forever, I feel like I can clearly see what's ahead.  It wasn't a coincidence that I am where I am today.  For the first time in forever, I feel at peace with our infertility.  Am I still sad some days?  Absolutely.  But, I know now that God has plans for me that are bigger than my small world.  They're bigger than I can imagine, and I can't wait to see what He has planned next.

I finally see the WHY.  It took me awhile, but it has clicked for me.  Sometimes we get the WHY quickly.  Sometimes it takes weeks.  Months.  Years.  Sometimes we may never understand the WHY. And as hard as that is to swallow sometimes, it's important to step back and try to see the whole picture (advice from my mother).

If you're struggling to find your WHY, to understand your WHY, please reach out to me so I can pray for you.  I pray you find peace in your heart.  I pray that something in your heart will shift and you have enough strength to cry out to God, even when it feels like He is not listening.  I promise you, you are not forgotten.

Jeremiah 29:11 New International Version (NIV)

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

Love,

Kristy

Love, The Unapologetic Pet Mom

Awhile back I saw an article aimed at "pet parents".  Apparently, some parents of humans, or "human parents" are offended/taken aback when us "pet parents" do silly things like celebrate Mother's Day.

Now, don't get me wrong - this article made some VERY valid points, and I can see where the author was coming from.  But can I level with you here???  Are people SERIOUSLY so... LITERAL and upset by this?

Please know this is written with nothing but love.  I'm not angry.  Appalled, maybe.  But not angry.  Hear me out.

1.  We KNOW we aren't "parents" (in the conventional sense).  Obviously I didn't carry around my cat/dog/rabbit in my belly for 9 months.  My blood and body did not nourish these tiny beings.  I did not experience morning sickness, swollen ankles, gestational diabetes, bedrest, or labor.  No, my pets - or "children" - came to me as youngsters.  I can thank the two dogs, two bunnies, and two sets of cats for going through the tough part of giving birth to their respective litters.  I'm not delusional.  Obviously you giving birth to your 6 pound, 8 ounce bundle of joy was a much tougher task than adopting my pets.  And before you jump down my throat about comparing adopting children to adopting pets... you know what? Let's not even go there because - well, see my previous statement.  For some of us, these animals ARE our children because we (a) are having trouble conceiving on our own or (b) choose to live a human child-free life.

2.  No, we aren't kept up all night by a newborn.  BUT - sometimes the kitten decides to pee on the bed, the dog decides to vomit on the carpet, the rabbit chooses this moment to bang around in her cage, presumably attempting to escape. So, don't you go thinking we get a full night of beauty rest EVERY night.  I've lost count of the number of times we have had to strip down our bed and take it to the washing machine because our kitten had a UTI. 

3.  No, we don't have to change dirty diapers.  But - see point two.  I've had to change my bed sheets.  Not only that, I have to make sure I'm home by certain times to let out the dog.  I have to clean out litter boxes and rabbit bedding.  I have to carry around a baggy when the dog goes for walks.  Do you see where I'm going here?  And here's the kicker, folks.  THEY DON'T OUTGROW THIS!  Similar to you (but, not EXACTLY like, because if I were to say that, someone would get their parent panties in a bunch), I have to clean the waste my "children" deposit.  And I will for the rest of their lives.  Heck, when they're old enough, I'm sure I'll be cleaning pee and poop off of my nice area rugs and hardwood floors. Oh, and we potty train here, too.  Except... you know... eventually your little bundle of joy will learn how to use a toilet and clean up after his or her self.  I don't have that luxury.  I also don't care, because let's face it, I love these four-legged weirdos.

4.  No, we don't deal with back talk like you do.  We do, however, deal with behavior issues like leg humping, digging in the yard, ignoring our calls, eating clothes or cords, territory marking, furniture scratching, arm/leg/face scratching, begging, etc.  But I know - that's not the same and you, in all reality, have it worse.  I won't have to deal with any teen angst from any of my pets/pet children.

5.  No, we... wait, yes we do.  Guess what?  MY PETS GO TO THE VETERINARIAN!  Look up veterinarian.  I betcha it says something along the lines of "pet doctor".  You take yours to the doctor for routine shots and exams?  So do we!  Did we just become best friends?!?  Sure, my bills may be less expensive.  But it all depends on the baby/tiny human/growing human and the pet. Some pets have conditions for which they need upkeep.  I just spent more than $300 on my kitten who is likely prone to UTI's and will need special food.  But I, like you, love my baby as much as you love yours, so I'll do what I have to for her.  I also once spent more than $100 on my pet mouse that cost me $5 at the pet store.  Why?  Because OUR PETS ARE OUR FAMILY!  If you're really concerned about comparing medical bills, don't get me wrong - you win.

6.  No, we don't have to educate our pets like you have to with your children.  But some people choose to put their pooches through obedience training.  Don't get me wrong, as much as I'd like to teach my dog Spanish, my cats how to multiply and divide, and my rabbit the colors of the rainbow, I can't.  Does this bother me?  Not really. But part of me wishes I could because I like to teach and last time I checked, TEACHING YOUR CHILDREN IS PART OF BEING A PARENT.  It's not something us pet parents signed up for.

7.  No, pets aren't as expensive as children.  Duh.  We know you spend way more taking care of your babies than we do caring for our pets.  But we do have to buy food, medicines as necessary, toys, treats, and other things to keep fido, kitten mittens, and bunny butts healthy and happy.

Bottom line - we KNOW pet parenting is NOT the same as human parenting.  None of us are that stupid.  But, to our credit, we - like you - WOULD GO TO THE ENDS OF THE EARTH AND BACK to care for our pets.  

I wish I had the luxury of having a tiny human to care for.  But I don't.  Instead I have four animals, all of which have ridiculously long names.  I talk to them.  I hold them.  I pet them, feed them, take them to the vet.  Sure, compared to parenting in "real life" it may seem like nothing.  But for me it's all I have - and for others, it's all they have and/or all they want. (Disclaimer - I have a beautiful, wonderful bonus daughter I get to help raise, and I know I'm an important part of her life/upbringing - but that's an entirely different post).

So PLEASE... just let Pet Parents be Pet Parents.  Let us celebrate the fun of Mother's Day and Father's Day.  We care for and love our pets like they were our children and for people like me wish desperately the celebration was with our own babies we got to hold in our arms.  I would LOVE a hand-drawn card from a child who looks like his/her daddy and me.  I would trade nearly anything in this world for that experience.  But for now, I'm grateful for what I do have - and for me it's my husband, bonus daughter, and my fur babies - King Louie Mallowmar Yodle Whitman, III, Boggle Macaroni Nahdle Whitman, PhD; Duchess Kira Macadamia Bliss Whitman, and Countess Willow Irene Nutella-Waffle Whitman.

From pet mom to pet mom or pet mom to human mom, keep on rocking what you're doing.

Love,

Kristy

To My Embabies in Heaven

We are nearing the anniversary of our second unsuccessful cycle.  Honestly, life happened so fast and I had so much going on after that cycle that I never took the time to process the loss.  If I were to be even more honest, I doubt I have fully comprehended the impact of our first unsuccessful cycle.  Throw in our third unsuccessful cycle in February/March of this year, and let's just say my brain did me a huge favor and shut itself down for a bit.

But the thing about grief is you can't ignore it forever.  You can try to shove it into a back corner of your brain, stacking other things on top of it, like worrying about others or busying yourself with work.  Eventually, things start clearing out and you're left staring at that box.

And this is where I stand now.  Staring at that box.  I can feel barriers breaking down as I frantically try to fix them by distracting myself.  Unfortunately, one can only keep this up for so long before the deterioration starts to outpace what you can do make repairs.

I wrote something similar to this in a past blog post.  But, I don't think I was 100% honest with how I felt.  It was more of a hopeful approach.  More of an approach of pride and wonder.  There was sadness, but I tried to keep it upbeat.  I focused on the embryos we lost.  Not on how I actually felt.

I hand wrote this letter to my embabies we lost.  I debated whether or not it would be just mine - even considered not sharing it with my husband.  My original intent was to just let it be mine.  Especially because I feel like people are telling me to just get over it and move on.  That at this point, I should just move on to the next thing.  That I should stop crying about it.  That I should have processed this by now.  That it's in the past and I can't change it, so it's time to quit the sob stories.

I feel like because of these notions that I should just "move on", you need to see a more raw side of what infertility and loss looks like.

So here it is, unfiltered.  I know I'm not the only one who has been there.  Even couples going through treatment who had a successful cycle can likely relate - because chances are during their process, they, too, felt loss.

To My Embabies in Heaven,

Hi there.  I know we have never met, but I am your mommy.  And while I never had you in my belly, a part of me was a part of you.  Some doctors and people will say you never existed because you wouldn't have survived.  I respectfully disagree.

From the moment I knew you existed, you were mine.  You had a future.  You had a family waiting to meet you.

I'm sorry.  I'm sorry if there was something more I should have or could have done differently that would have allowed you to be in this world with us.

Even though you existed for a very short period of time, I still feel "mom guilt".  I question what I did wrong.  I secretly blame myself for your death.

I think about you every day.  I wonder what my life would be like if you were here.

I don't know how I can miss, love, and grieve someone I never saw.  Never felt in my belly.  Never held in my arms.

But I held you in my heart.  And I think that's where I feel the loss of you the most.

I would have given my life for you to live.  I would have given up my wordly possessions just to see your face for a minute.

There are moments I wish I were dead because the loss of you is unbearable.

I feel like I have failed you.  I'm so sorry.  I'm sorry I'm here and you're not.  You would love your sister and daddy as much as I do.

My sweet angels - I love you.  I miss you.  I long to meet you.  For those brief moments I knew you existed, you were already my world.

I hope one day I get to meet you in heaven.  I feel like that is the only time and way I will feel at peace.

There is an empty place in my heart where you once were.  Nothing can fill that hole. 

I will try to be a person on this earth you can look down on and be proud of.  I am already proud of you.

All my love,

Your Mommy

An Open Letter to My Husband This Father's Day

Mother's Day often brings up posts about infertility... how we shouldn't forget about certain groups of women - those with infertility past or present, those who have endured infant or pregnancy loss, those who have lost their mothers, and those who have complicated relationships with their mothers.  But on Father's Day the usually rally for morale boosting or recognition and caution to protect those who may be hurting is rarely heard.

The fact of the matter is - whether they want to admit it or not - the men in our lives hurt, too.  They may not have physically gone through what the woman has... but that doesn't make the pain and hurt any less valid.  It doesn't mean that on this day that we shouldn't exercise the same amount of respect for boundaries or care that we do on Mother's Day.

So, with that in mind, here is an open letter to my amazing husband, Branson, for Father's Day.

Dear Husba,

Happy Father's Day.  Today is about you.  To celebrate you and how amazing of a father you are to your daughter.  I see how much she loves you.  How you make her laugh.  I see your caring heart and giving ways in her - those qualities were instilled by you.  She loves you so much, and you have earned that love.  I am so lucky to be with a man who is so loving, giving, yet sets the necessary boundaries to make sure she grows up to be the wonderful young woman we know she will be.

It's a little awkward for me to wish you a Happy Father's Day.  In fact, it kind of hurts.  Because I'm not the one who made you a father.  I'm the woman who was lucky enough to be brought into your daughter's life and get to play a role in helping take care of her and raise her with you.

At the same time... you and I have embabies in heaven.  Five little angels that God called home very, very early.  I know you would have been just as amazing of a father to them as you are to your daughter.  They would have been lucky to have you as a dad, and one day I know they'll be excited to meet you.  For now, I know they're watching you with pride.

Thank you.  Thank you for being my rock during the rough times.  I know that you often felt completely left out of the process during our IVF cycles.  I know you felt like a bystander - helpless when all you wanted to do was help.  And you need to know that you just being by my side was exactly what I needed.

I'm sorry.  I'm sorry that I often invalidated your feelings.  This process wasn't just about me.  It was about us.  But, because it was my body, a lot of the focus fell on me when in reality, I should have been focusing on you, too.  I'm sorry I didn't ask you more how you were doing.  I'm sorry you felt like you had to hide your tears to protect me when you were dying on the inside just like I was.  

Thank you for allowing yourself to be vulnerable at times.  I know you didn't like it - that you preferred for me to think everything was fine.  But I could see you hurting, and when you express to me when and how you hurt, it makes me feel closer to you and like together we can heal.

You were always there to remind me it's about us.  That while you wanted a baby, me making you a father wasn't the reason you married me.  I know I'm stubborn and my brain hasn't fully processed this, but I know that you feel and believe this with 110% of your being.  I know you didn't marry me just so I could carry future children.

I am lucky.  I am lucky to call you my husband.  My best friend.   An incredible father to a beautiful child.  And who knows... maybe one day the father to a child of our own.

In the meantime, I promise to think about you more.  To check in with you and ask you how you're feeling about our infertility journey.  I know you're not going to come out and say how you feel, so I'm going to ask.  And it's your job to answer, because I'm you're wife, and I'll ask you a million times if you don't answer.  You've seen me do it.  You know I will keep pestering you.

Oh, the animals are lucky to have you, too.  Those 4-5am wake up calls to feed the cat I insisted on adopting while we were going through our October 2016 cycle.  I blame the hormones running through my body.

I love you with all of my heart.  Happy Father's Day, my love. 

Love,

Kristy