I have so many things to blog about-- a recent camping trip, Father's Day, a music class I'll be teaching in the fall, recent books I've read and loved, summer fun, and how cute and wonderful my boys are, but tonight, like most nights, I'm thinking of my baby.  Adam.

On July 3rd it will have been six months since I last felt him kick.  Six months since they hooked me up to a monitor and searched for a heartbeat and couldn't find it.  Six months since I sat there in shock and felt like my heart stopped beating right along with his, and wondered how I would ever face the world again.  Six months since I held him in my arms for the first and last time.

I still cry at some point every day over the loss.  Most of the time it is when I'm alone-- those rare moments when I'm driving by myself, or late at night when the house has fallen into sleep and I can sink into my thoughts and memories.  There are parts of the loss that are extremely hard to talk about still.  My mind combs over the details of the labor and loss and his sweet and perfect face, his fingers and toes, the last movements I felt him make.  Over and over the same details, the same memories.

When my heart is the heaviest, and I feel like I almost can't breathe, I sometimes go into my boys' room while they are sleeping.  I'll sit on the edges of their bed and pat their sweet heads and watch them breathe.  I'll think of the ways that they played during the day and the funny things they said.  Sometimes I'll look outside at the moon and the few planets and stars we can see, and I'll think of the beautiful world, our comfortable home, and Rick who works so hard for it and is such a good husband to me, and my tears will change to ones of gratitude.

I've been given so much.  I'm so lucky, so blessed.

There are parts of the loss that haven't been hard to me, that I know other women who have lost babies struggle with.  I haven't ever (even days after) had a hard time being around or seeing other babies or pregnant women.  I have the opposite reaction.  I want to steal the babies out of their mother's arms and hold them for a while.  I want to sing to them and talk to them and kiss their little heads.  It brings me joy that there is life and beauty, and that others who I know are such good mothers are taking care of their babies.  I love babies even more.  It makes me happy to see mothers who are pregnant and full and beautiful, and to think of the life and movement that they are experiencing inside of them.  I wonder what their babies will be like, and hope that everything will go well for them in their pregnancies and deliveries.

I haven't struggled with Rick in this loss.  I was talking to another mom who lost a baby years ago and she told me that a huge number of marriages fail within five years of losing a baby.  I was shocked by her statistic and a little scared at first-- was my marriage in jeopardy because Rick and I had lost a baby together?  But then I thought about the two of us-- those first moments together after we knew he had died, and how absolutely loving Rick was to me, and has been every moment since.  There hasn't been a time when I've cried that he hasn't stopped whatever he was doing and came to love me better and to share in my tears.  He has been amazingly supportive and loving to me, and it has only deepened our love for each other, and strengthened our marriage.

I don't think of Adam in terms of how old he would be now.  I can only think of him when he was alive and moving inside of me.  Those months and months of me singing to him, and feeling so much love for him and from him.  I think I accepted very early on that he was dead and that I couldn't undo what had happened.  I think of him as a mature spirit who is beyond my view and is teaching me so much every day.  I know he loves me and I hope he knows how much I love him and how sorry I am.  So so sorry.

It is still hard though.  That overwhelming desire to show him how much I love him, and not being able to. It makes me so sad.

I still keep thinking of that first day back from the hospital and the scriptures on my nightstand that I picked up to find some comfort in, and the words they opened up exactly to "Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give ye rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls." Matthew 11:28-29  Those words filled me with such hope and comfort.  They have helped carry me through the months since losing our baby.

I'm so grateful for the support I've been given.  From above.  From my incredible husband and boys.  From my amazing family and my amazing friends.  You have all helped me so much-- even those who I can't see or don't know well.  I feel your love and prayers, and it's helped me more than I can ever thank you for.

I love you.