Leo,

I was just talking with a coworker who was kind enough to pray with me today. I told him how a piece of me died the day that you died. After he left my office, a picture of you, your sisters, and your dad in my bed, looks so happy. And that’s when I realized how I’m getting through this difficult time.

A piece of my heart was given to you when you were born. And when you died, it died too. But I also gave pieces of my heart to your dad when we got married, and to Aly and Lily when they were born. Even though my heart is broken over the loss of your life, I have these pieces of my heart living on in your sisters and dad. It is because of and for them that I too live on.

I love you my sweet son.

Always and forever,
Mom

Leo,
Alyssa told me about a dream she had of you. After a really long and difficult day, this story was like a cold drink of water…refreshing and quenching. She said that she dreamed of you and that you said, “Don’t worry about me Alyssa, I’m with God now. And also, a new baby is on the way in 1 month. ”

I know she isn’t making that stuff up she’s only 3 years old and she speaks with such conviction.

I love you! Thank you for looking out for your sisters.
Love,
Mom

Leo,
Today is one of the hardest days I’ve had. I woke up this morning and your dad was questioning himself all over again; “Was it my fault? Could I have been responsible for your death? Was it “overlay”? I know I wasn’t on top of the baby, but I doubt myself.“ God, that is so heartbreaking. It’s been almost 2 months since your beautiful soul left your sweet little body. Every single minute of every single day has been riddled with sadness, confusion, paralysis, and a lot fear. We have moments when we can bring ourselves to smile so that the rest of the world to have a little peace. Inside though, I’m broken. Sometimes my sleepless nights are replaced by nightmare-filled nights. What’s worse: no sleep at all or nightmares? I’d rather stay awake, I think.

I called the Medical Examiner’s Office today to check the status of your Autopsy. After 60 days, we are still waiting. After 60 days, we are still left with more questions than answers. I know that your Autopsy Report will probably only bring us more questions and no answers, however, we cannot begin to think about resting until this case has been closed.

The night you passed away, your dad and I were treated like cold-blooded murders. “It’s protocol; they were just doing their job.” I GET IT! But if another person tells me that, as if that would bring me peace somehow, I might kick them right in their shins. Do you want to know the truth? When the police man’s job intersects with my life, protocol can kiss my you know what. I am not a murderer, your dad is not a murderer, and for anyone to think that it is excusable to treat us that way because of “protocol” is sadly disconnected from compassion and empathy.

I’m back at work now, as you know, and I’m really struggling. People here are robots. They treat me like I didn’t just lose my son. They treat me like I’m just fine and like I’ve moved on in life. I just don’t know how I’m supposed to do this. How I’m supposed to spend the majority of my day, every day, in a workplace full of people who do not care about me.

Leo, I miss you immensely. My sweet baby son, I am so sorry you died. And if I could have done something differently, I so would have.

I pray that God can fill my brokenness with love, trust, and grace. God, please help me get through today with my hands lifted in faith to you. Amen.

I love you son.

Mom

Leo,
Sometimes I’ll be doing something totally ordinary, like making breakfast, and I’m reminded that I used to hold you while I got the ingredients prepared…and I start to miss you all over again.

You were such a bright ray of sunshine in my life and I miss you and love you in a way I’ve never felt before. This incessant longing and waiting for you to return to my arms is so damaging to my heart. My head and my heart are at war over this loss. My head understands what sids is. My head understands death. My head knows you’re gone. But my heart? My heart can’t understand why you’re gone, it can’t understand death or sids, and it doesn’t want to accept that you’re gone forever. Every minute of every day feels like a losing battle for my head. More often than not, my heart wins and I’m left standing in the valley of shadows.

Thank you for helping me accept God and Jesus the very week before you passed away. I know that God is walking alongside me and I know that you are too. It doesn’t make me miss you any less, but I can find solace in knowing that you’re still present in some way. I will hold onto any memory of you or hope of seeing you, sensing you, feeling you, that I can; because its all I’ve got.

I love you so very much Leo. Words cannot express my infinite love for you.

Always,
Mom

Leo,
I still have trouble accepting what happened to you…to us. It breaks my heart so painfully to think that you would, could, should be here with me…with us. I miss kissing your sweet baby cheeks. And every time I remember my last moments with you, and your two last sweet little sounds, the remains of my broken heart are crushed into a million pieces. I am just so sad that you’re gone.

The pain of losing you has changed. Sometimes I wonder if I should still be laying in bed crying, but then something reminds me that you wouldn’t want that. You want me to take good care of your dad and big sisters. You want me to be happy and to let my spirit complete its earthly mission.

I promise you, my sweet son, my guardian angel, that I will allow God to do his work through me.

Yesterday I received my necklace from the funeral home. It’s so beautiful! It has an imprint of your hand and in the back it says “our guardian angel”. I truly believe you’re with me always and this necklace is a visual reminder that your hand is on my heart. My therapist looked at it today and let it dangle from her fingers. The necklace started moving in circles and she told me that it had energy and a strong presence. I was so happy to know that you were there with me.

I love you Leo. And I wish you were still here with me.

Xoxo,
Mom

May 28, 2013
4:38 pm

Leo,
I cannot believe that I have made it this far without you. You inspire my faith in God, and in turn, my faith gives me strength. I am a different person than the mom that you left behind a month and a half ago. I am more loving, kind, compassionate, honest, positive, generous and faithful. I have this new vigor for life…for meaningful life. I know that is what you would have wanted for me. And by being a better person and sharing all i have with the world, I honor your memory in the most awesome way.
Thank you for showing me that god has bigger plans for me.
I love and miss you so so so much.
Love you always,
Mom

Leo,
Your dad and I took a walk along the beach this morning. It was so peaceful and uplifting. As we were walking, I noticed a little white shorebird that looked a lot like a small white crane. There were three of them, which is awesome because you seem to have this theme with the number 3. You were born in march, the third month of the year; you are my third child; your name has only 3 letters, the cord was wrapped around your neck three times, and you died at three weeks old.

Anyway, as we were walking, I started to notice that I was watching my feet walk through the sand. Every now and again, when I looked up toward the parking lot, our destination, I realized I was a little bit off track and I started walking toward the car again, still watching my feet at each step. I noticed that others were doing the same thing. It was one of those moments when I felt like God was making a grand analogy about life.

Too often, we only watch our destination and are careless about the steps it took us to get there. In order to reach our destination, it’s important to be mindful of each step you take, trying to avoid glass in the sand, or seaweed, or God knows what else is in that sand! But also to know that, now and again, you have to look up and check to see if you’re still going the right way or not. This is how we should live our lives. Taking small mindful steps in trust that you’re going where you originally intended but also looking up now and again to realize exactly where you are. Life is supposed to be lived intentionally, in love and trust, in growth and harmony. Walking along the beach and thinking about you reminded me of that.

My son, you make me so proud. I love and miss you dearly.

Love always,
Mom

Leo,
Today a new sids study was published and it states that babies who sleep with their moms and dads are 5x more likely to die of sids even if they are breast feed and the parents don’t smoke or do drugs.

At first I thought, okay cool, new info. After I read the study, however, I realized that it doesn’t help me at all. It doesn’t change the fact that you’re gone. It doesn’t change the fact that you died doing the same thing your sisters did, the same thing our parents did with us, the same thing every animal does with their baby; sleep with your parents. All that article does is make me want to blame and regret and leave my mind open for evil and temptation.

What I want to know, scientifically, is why you were more fragile, why sleeping in our bed was more dangerous for you, why you didn’t last. Telling me that we increased your risk factor does not explain why you were at risk to begin with. It also doesn’t explain the quality of life or challenges that you might have had later in life. Why not? Because they don’t know. Because science is trying to fill in the blanks with random explanations.

I will tell you why you were more fragile. It’s because God made you that way. Your purpose in life was fulfilled in death. If God meant for you to be with us longer than 26 days, you would be. Does that mean that, if I could, I wouldn’t take it all back and make you cry yourself to sleep in your crib? No, it doesn’t. I would do anything for you, even now, and even long after you’ve gone. It only means that researchers are scrounging for answers that will only be revealed to us through God when he is ready for us to know. In the meantime, all of these clinical studies are just hurtful and imply that we didn’t do the right thing.

My Leo Terrance, I love and miss you with every beat of my heart. If I could’ve done more to save you, I most certainly would have.

Always,
Mom

Leo,
Happy two month old birthday. I thought I would share the story of how your dad and I chose your burial site. Maybe one day my words will help another grieving family.

After you died and we had to leave the hospital without you, your dad and I were devastated and so confused. We understood that you were gone but couldn’t grasp the idea of burying you. We had never discussed burial plans for our children; you were supposed to outlive us.
Driving home, I think we both knew that we wanted to bury you. Cremation seemed so cruel. Which is funny because we both wanted to be cremated. Go figure.

On 4/13, two days after you passed, your dad and I decided to go to a cemetery and find out what the funeral process was and begin planning. We were staring up from the bottom of a huge mountain, so to speak. We had no idea how to plan your funeral and we didn’t know if we had the strength to do it.

We came to La Vista cemetery in national city where several of your relatives on the Riggs side of the family are buried. It is also the cemetery where your dad began to teach Alyssa what death was. It felt like a comfortable place to start.

We went to the office and met with this man named Ed. He was so helpful, considerate, and friendly. We discussed all of our options, including cremation. We decided on a burial. We had the choice of having you buried with us or burying you in the Garden of Angels with all the other babies. We ended up burning you in the Garden of Angels and purchasing a spot for us nearby. That felt more comforting than moving your body each time one of us passed away. I wanted to lay you in your final resting place, not keep you waiting around for us.

When Ed took us to see the spots that were available, we hadn’t yet decided which choice we wanted for you. At the Garden of Angels, I was overwhelmed by this comforting feeling. The garden faces south, towards our home and it looks onto the big white cross that we can see from the freeway. For the first time since you died, I felt like I could someday heal from this deep wound. It was so amazing to be filled with a glimpse of hope during my darkest hours. And there was a spot available for your dad and I immediately next to the garden. It felt so good.

Then, we went to check out the other garden where we had the option to be buried with you. Your dad immediately said he loved it, but I felt sad. It was facing west, you couldn’t see the cross, and I just felt like you’d be lost in his sea of adults who had fulfilled their lives. Your life was so brief and I was afraid that you would be forgotten.

After a short deliberation, we decided to go with option 1 and bury you in the garden and buy our plot near yours. At this time, I was living by the wise words of Dr Mary Neal. She said that if you feel like you’re swimming upstream and things are difficult, then you probably aren’t doing gods will. If things seem to come together and feel good then you probably are doing gods will. Since the garden felt right, we went with that. Your whole funeral was planned based on that piece of advice.

As we were leaving la vista, we were discussing “shopping around”. We both felt like it was silly to do so, but were advised that we should do it so we knew we were actually making the right choice. We were leaving la vista and out on one of the lawns we saw a tall gray crane. I thought it was part of someone’s headstone and your dad told me he had never seen it before. We stopped the car and the crane looked right at us. It was incredible. I knew it had to be some kind of a sign, so I googled the meaning of a crane. Turns out, he represents eternal youth and happiness and he doubles as the stork. We both knew you had confirmed that you wanted to be buried here.

We drive to Glen Abbey in Bonita, for good measure. Driving through there, I realized how comfortable I felt at la vista. It didn’t matter the price (which was actually extremely reasonable), we were going off of feelings. Could we feel comfortable hanging out with you? Letting our kids run around the property? Having a picnic? Could we see you from the freeway?

We realized the importance of selecting a cemetery that evokes feelings of peace, happiness, and healing. A place where you can come to cry, be in solitude, or even have a noisy group of family and friends. Your gravesite is a place for us to both grieve and to heal. Choosing a cemetery is so important and we were just taking a shot in the dark. But in the end, we made the right choice because we followed our hearts and Gods promptings.

I love you son, and I know you are happy with the choice we made. I can’t wait to be laid to rest near you and meet you again, this time I heaven. I love you.

With all that I am,
Mom