Leo,

Yesterday a new friend joined you in Heaven. His family, friends, and community, including your dad and I, are mourning the loss of another vibrant soul taken from us too soon. We just can’t understand why you, Levi, and so many others go home before we do. But we know that particular understanding is for another day.

When I got the message that Levi went to be with the Lord, I burst into tears. I cried for his mom and dad, I cried for his brother, I cried for you, for me, for our families and communities.  My soul cried out in a way that I can only describe as a deep longing for Heaven.  I called your dad and he cried too. Your sisters spoke fondly of Levi and his big brother Elijah and reminded us of the times they made Levi giggle in his stroller at church.

Our hearts break for our friends. Being on the other side of a SIDS loss, having suffered one ourselves, is complicated. As our friends were going through their investigation, meeting with the Medical Examiner, and saying goodbye to Levi, I was vividly remembering what that felt like for us. I prayed incessantly that their experience be showered in God’s light and that it was better than what we went through. I heard, later that day, that my prayers were answered. This sweet family was treated with the love, respect, and dignity that all grieving parents deserve.

I felt and still feel so helpless.  I’ve been in their situation before.  I should know what to do, what to say, how to feel…but I don’t.  All I know is what your dad and I needed at the time, what we appreciated at the time, but this isn’t about us, it’s about them, it’s about their loss.

Last night at the prayer circle dedicated to this family I watched as God’s heart beat in the flesh.  Each hand that lifted, each foot that stepped, each mouth that spoke and sang out in praise was God manifesting himself in us.  If people don’t believe in God or don’t believe that God is good, I would implore them to watch what God has already done and is going to do for the Fiskewold’s.  They would see kindness, love, and compassion that they never knew existed.  They might tell themselves that these things only happen to families like ours or the Fiskewold’s, but they would be wrong.  God is for all of us!

God is calling out to us, the friends, family, and community of Bill, Ami, and Elijah to help them pick up the pieces of their shattered hearts, to show them that God is so good, to allow them to see God in us!

I learned so much when you died, Leo.  Watching the Fiskewold’s go through this reminds me of things that I thought I had healed from.  It brings up old feelings and I knew, the moment I started remembering the night you died, that God has given me the chance to put my grief in perspective and to move some things that I had put away in the wrong places.  But this isn’t about me…it’s about them.

Love you forever and ever,

Mom

Friends of Bill, Ami, and Elijah,

So many of you have reached out to Zach and I for guidance and we are so honored that you have done that.  It is a true testament to how far we have come in our grief journey.  We have such a long way to go but are happy to share what worked for us, not knowing if it would help Bill & Ami.

We would lay down almost anything to help out the Fiskewold’s.  Our hearts break with theirs for their loss and for ours too.  Watching you all come together the way you did yesterday and the way I know you will in the next few weeks, reminds me of how super blessed we all are to call Journey our home.

Be gentle, friends.  At this time, Zach and I were feeling like life was utterly impossible.  We knew God had his hands on us, but the weight of the sorrow of losing our boy felt like a million pounds.  Having friends constantly coming by to pray with us, to speak our son’s name, to remind us that he will never EVER be forgotten, to bring us meals, to help with picture boards for the funeral, to bring by cards, to make donations to the funeral, all of this brought us great joy and allowed us to share our million pound weight with our friends so that we could survive another hour without our son.

We cried a sea of tears for our son and our friends, family, and community never let our tears hit the floor.  We were always being lifted up by you and by God.

Let’s continue lifting these guys up.  Let’s cry with them, let’s help them, let’s listen without speaking, without judgement, let’s forgive them when their hearts are too heavy to carry our burdens, let’s walk through the valley of shadows with them.  Their faith is rock solid, but when a heart is broken open the way ours was, the way that theirs has been, darkness has its way of trying to creep in.  Let’s shine so brightly that nary a shadow could be cast on the wall.

Let us surround this family with love today, in a month, in a year, forever.  This pain will never go away.   They will never “move on” as people would come to expect in the next years.  The pain becomes part of who they are, part of their new normal.  It will become tolerable, but it will never go away.  A piece of their heart, their hopes, their dreams, their plan…it’s gone.  Let’s help them build a foundation upon which they can build anew, a revised life that includes Levi’s memory, that includes their pain and heartbreak, and encompasses God’s love in every molecule of its structure.

So when the meal train is over and their refrigerator is empty, when the funeral has passed, when they move to a new home, a new job, a new whatever, let’s always be there to pray with them or for them, to remind them that Levi was not just a beautiful dream.  He touched our lives and changed our world for the better.

Prayers for peace for the Fiskewold family,

Angela

Leo,

Today I shed a fresh blanket of tears for you. I felt washed over by sadness, hopelessness, and impatience. I couldn’t escape wondering how many New Years I’d have to ring in before we finally meet again.

It didn’t take long before I realized that those feelings were just road blocks. God has amazing things in store for my family and me this 2015.

I resolve to never lose faith but to lose my insecurities that keep me from fulfilling God’s will. I am a Unique expression of Christ and I have a purpose. Hopelessness has no place on my path.

I still miss you every moment that I live and breathe. And each time I visit your grave, I dig up a few more hopes and dreams that I buried when you left us.

I don’t know how I’ll make it another year and I don’t know what this year has in store for me. All I do know is that I will continue surviving and that the God I believe in is good.

Happy new year my son. I wish you were here with me. I would still trade my breath for yours if ever given that chance.

All my love,
Mom

Hi leo,

I am sitting here with all three of your sisters napping. Amazing, right? I’m pretty impressed with my skills, if I do say so myself.

Holidays are especially hard for us since you aren’t here to celebrate with us. I try to avoid any conversation or thought that involves imagining what you would be doing if you were still here. Those are “twist the knife” moments that just add insult to injury. I try to focus on making new memories with your spirit nearby.

I finally had a moment to write to you (see paragraph 1 and reference my 3 sleeping daughters). As I began conceptualizing my letter to you, my automatic thought is sadness that you aren’t here. I’m so amazed that there is another feeling overshadowing my sadness. How did that happen? I remember a time not too long ago when I couldn’t imagine living another day without you. And now, here I am…happy.

The thought makes me want to cry. How did I get here? What does it mean? I still feel terribly sad and I haven’t “moved on”, but I also feel happy.

Happiness after a loss is so tricky. If I express this feeling, will people think I’ve moved on and stop taking about you? Will they try to tell me, once again, that I need to “move forward”? I don’t want to hear any of that. I don’t want to hear what people think I should do or allow them to put labels or mile markers on my grief.

What I’ve discovered during this journey, my truth if you will, is that I have to share it with anyone and everyone no matter the consequences. I share my sad times and my happy times, the moments of clarity and confusion, and celebrate each moment of my life in public. I leave myself open to judgement, to well wishers and ill wishers, to God and to darkness. What have I got to lose?

I know for certain that God is with me at all times and I know that I have been called to share our story. It’s not a story of loss, it’s a story of hope rising from the dust of your grave. It’s about bringing people to Jesus because his father did something I could never do. I live without my son because I have no choice, He gave His son freely to us, for us.

As this year steamrolls to an end, I wish everyone in my life “Joy in the good times, peace in the hard times, and love at all times.”

Merry Christmas baby boy. I love you endlessly.

Always and forever,
Mom

Leo,

I wanted to stop for a moment and say hi to you. Life has been so busy and even though I haven’t written to you in a month I think of you all the time. There are so many times that I’d like to stop and write, but the demands of having a baby and two preschoolers doesn’t really leave me any free moments.

I just wanted to say that I love you.

Always,
Mom

Leo,

Zoe made it into day 26. Sadly, but blessedly, she is older than you. This morning as I was nursing her, I couldn’t help but relate the experience to you. Since the moment you died I longed to hug you, kiss you, nurse you, wake you from your sleep with a tickle. I didn’t have the chance to do that…I didn’t even get to hug you goodbye; we barely got to say goodbye.

I looked into Zoe’s 26 day old eyes, a luxury I didn’t have with you, and I savored my stolen moment with her. Something about it was restorative. God gifts us these magical moments and I’m so thankful that I was in a mind space to enjoy it. I even took a picture…of me nursing my baby. It’s such a sacred act and to capture that moment, which is seared into my heart forever, seemed only natural…maybe even necessary. You and Zoe are linked together in my heart and I’m so thankful to have her.

She absolutely does not replace you; no one will…ever. But, she does heal a bit of my broken heart and each time I kiss her, hold her, just mother her they way I longed to mother you, I feel connected to you. I feel like your heart beats through Zoe. She is such a beautiful blessing and I can’t wait to continue getting to know her.

Thank you for sending us such a special girl.

Love you,
Mom

Leo,

I’ve been wondering if 26 days would be a milestone for Zoe. 26 days marks your age on the day you passed away, but since you died of SIDS, and there are no symptoms, I originally thought that it wouldn’t be. Furthermore, since there is no real “safe” timeframe, what does 26 days really mean anyway?

As Zoe creeps up on her 26th day in 3 hours, I have found that it is a milestone. I don’t anticipate that I will feel a lot better after she survives the night tonight, but it’s one less thing for me to worry about. What happens next? I don’t know. How do I raise my rainbow baby after losing you? I have no idea.

Today I found myself religiously trying to do things distinctly different than I did on your 25th day. My mind and my heart are flooded with reminders of your life. I miss you terribly! I’m not gonna lie, it took some restraint for me to not put your hat on Zoe, swaddle her in your blanket, and give her the kiss goodbye that I wish I had given you.

I know, it’s weird! It’s not normal. It’s creepy and wrong. But you know, what’s normal anymore? My heart is broken beyond imagination. The heart wants strange things sometimes. But rest assured, I did no such thing. I said a prayer over her and your sisters, gave her a huge kiss, thought of you, and laid her in bed. We will keep an extra watchful eye on her tonight, please do the same.

I love you so much. See you at the Dia de Los Muertos celebration tomorrow.

Yours,
Mom

Leo,

You’re a big brother now! It both makes me happy and breaks my heart to say that to you. Baby Zoe was born 10 days ago and she looks just like you. Your dad, sisters, and I are over the moon. We absolutely love this baby girl and feel so blessed to have her as a part of our family. We wish, more than anything, that you were here with us too.

In my heart, I know that you sent her to us, that you spent time with her before she arrived into this world; and that is comforting. She knows you, you know her, we are one family even though we are apart.

I have so many fears to overcome but the surprising part has been that I don’t struggle with the things I worried about before Zoe arrived. I don’t struggle with breastfeeding and wondering why it couldn’t be you and I don’t kiss her little feet and wish they were yours. My heart understood, the moment I laid eyes on Zoe, that you two are your own individual people. My heart understood that having Zoe didn’t make you any less mine.

I still long for the chance to nurse you to sleep, to kiss your tiny feet and your sweet face, to hold you just once more. Those feelings didn’t go away just because I am doing these things with Zoe. I actually feel closer to you. Zoe is this amazingly beautiful gift from God that you ushered into our lives. I feel lucky to have had 10 days with her so far and I pray that I get many many more decades with her and her sisters.

I said a prayer for Zoe the other night while I nursed her back to sleep. I prayed that she could live her life remembering Heaven. I know she was there with you before she came to us and I want that to be in the center of her heart. I want others to see God and love in her. I prayed that, if she died, or was supposed to die young, that God would take me or your dad instead. I prayed that she be kept safe and healthy for the duration of her life so that she may fulfill whatever it is that she was sent here to do. I prayed that God help me stay out of her way and allow her to be her own beautiful person, despite my fears and anxieties.

I can’t tell you how much I wish I had 4 living children, but since that isn’t my reality, I have to thank you for watching over your sisters the way I know you have been. Someday we will be together again. Until then, I have three crazy girls to bring up!

I love you my sweet baby Leo!

Always,
Mom

Leo,

Yesterday I was feeling a lot of anxiety. I hadn’t packed my bag for the hospital, I still needed to buy some odds and ends to prepare for Zoe’s first weeks, and all of this just added up to me missing you and resenting that 26 days after Zoe is born, she will be older than you. I’m so excited to meet her, but I wish it was under different circumstances. I wish you were still here.

I was expressing my feelings to your dad and he, in his oh so subtle manner (insert sarcasm here), grabbed my hand, pulled me out of the rocking chair, grabbed my purse, told your sisters to tell me “mom, we don’t need you, we want you. We will be okay without you”, and sent me out the door alone to go shopping for the odds and ends I needed. I was amused and thankful to have some time alone to shop and get myself ready for labor and post-partum care.

It wasn’t until I was about 5 minutes down the road that the amusement wore off and turned into realization. I began to realize that I hadn’t once stepped foot in babies r us this entire pregnancy. In fact, every single thing I had gotten for Zoe was off the internet. I had been avoiding going to the same shops where I prepared for you. I had been avoiding seeing baby boy clothes, newborns, carefree pregnant ladies, and everything that comes along with these types of stores. I began to cry as I was driving down the road. I cried tears of sadness, guilt, loneliness, and grief. I stopped in my tracks when the song “Lead me to the Cross” came on. I felt like your grandpa Augie was with me and was reminding me to include God in this journey. I was physically going to Babies R Us, but in my heart, I needed to place Jesus in the center and remember what a blessing this whole experience really is.

I arrived at the store armed with renewed strength and hope. I began shopping for some nursing supplies, carefully avoiding eye contact with anything blue. I did really well, until I got to the bedding section. I felt myself becoming unglued. I quickly went into the receiving blanket section and focused on the girl section. I made the grave mistake of turning around only to notice that they still sold the same blanket you died in. It was time to finish shopping but my brain was getting mushy. I had forgotten what I was there for. I went to the infant clothes section to buy some newborn size pants for Zoe. I noticed the infant gowns which sent a chill down my spine. I turned away only to be faced with racks of boy clothes; clothes I would have bought for you if you had lived long enough. And then, there it was, the thing I had no idea I would be afraid of…the gown that you died in. It was there, hanging on the rack, waiting for some nice mom, dad, or grandma to buy it for their son or grandson, the same way yours had been purchased. We never thought you would die in any of these clothes because we never thought you’d die! For a split second, I wondered which outfit Zoe would die in. I almost lost it completely. The people at the store probably thought I was very strange.

I wandered my way through the rest of the shopping trip, my head in the clouds, my heart in my stomach, my mind on you and Zoe. How in the world am I going to reconcile doing things for her when I was robbed of the chance to do them for you? How am I going to be able to look her in the eyes while she’s nursing the way that we used to? How am I going to kiss her warm little feet without wishing they were yours? It’s not fair…for me or for Zoe.

I had a bible verse in my heart at that moment, which is strange for me because I’m not one of those scripture people who answer questions with answers like ” well, remember what John 14 says!” I actually despise that just a little bit, but that’s another post for another blog for another day. My heart was singing lyrics from another song, “If God’s with us we know that Nothing’s gonna stop us. No height, no depth, Could ever keep us from the love of God, I know, I know; No life, no death could ever separate us from the love of God, I’m sure”. Again, I’m not a big scripture person, but I knew it was a Sidewalk Prophets song derived from Romans 8:38.

I paid for my merchandise and sat in the safety of my car, isolated from the baby land-mines that checkered the floors of Babies R Us and I began to recite a mantra that had just come to me.

I am strong.
I am capable.
I can do this.
I’m not alone.
My story isn’t over.
I am everything that Jesus says I am.
I am a unique expression of Christ and I will be happy, not by might but by grace.

I have been so filled with self doubt and fear which leaves my heart vulnerable to attack. But if God is with me, who could be against me? I finally feel ready to bring Zoe into this world. I know I’m strong enough to face any challenge as long as I keep God in the center of my heart. In fact, he is the only one that can fill the Leo shaped hole in my heart, and for that ( and so much more), I will remember to rejoice always.

I love you son.

Always,
Mom