Yesterday, I was contacted by an old friend that wanted to ask a sensitive question of me.  I'd like to think that I'm an open book and I said yes without hesitation, just interest. 
The friend wanted to know about my stillborn Caleb because she'd just learned that her niece had miscarried twins.  She wanted to know what my advice was on walking through that experience and if I had any tips or regrets on things to do.

I can't have those conversations without tears, but it's not painful in the way you might think.  

When driving away from the hospital after Caleb had been released to the funeral home, I was broken, but a couple things were clear... 
....telling my husband that this event wasn't allowed to tear us up because I wasn't willing to lose any part of a relationship after losing a baby.
.... feeling completely empty because you spend months carrying a baby and then it's just gone.  In late-term pregnancy, everyone can tell you're expecting.  After delivering, you just look fat.  People don't see the loss.  No one knew the baby so it's not like they can be expected to know what you're going through or even that there's loss. It's just gone and I felt like no one could feel that like I did.  Here today, gone tomorrow. No impact made.  What was destroying me was invisible to everyone else.
....gifts were dumb.  They were kind, they were appreciated, but they were nothing more than a poor substitution for what I was supposed to be holding.  Don't get me wrong, if you know a mother going through this, take something, take anything, but don't be offended if they don't look happy.
....an overwhelming, all-encompassing pain because this life wouldn't matter... at least that's what I thought at the time.  Lives matter.  Humans impact other humans. My baby was gone and I felt completely choked by the concern that his life would mean no one to anyone but me. 

My tips were easy: take lots of pictures, hire a photographer you like, have a service for the baby, take your own blankets, clothing, ect., buy duplicates of what you bury baby in.

After the conversation, I cried and cried and cried.  Not because I can't talk about it, but because it's real and raw and painful. 

But talking about it is healing.  What I wanted more than anything was for his life to matter and it does.  It does.  Here I am, 9 years later, with him still being thought of.  He matters to me. 

He was stillborn, but he was Still Born. Likely the most lovely thing I could've given him. 

Time is funny, funny thing. Seven years ago, I started a website because I knew I was supposed to be writing.  Today, for the the 900th time, I'm committing to do it. 
Here's the deal, homies.  What has stopped me is that I feared I didn't have a singular focus and that was required of a writer.  That I had to pick a topic and stick to that.  Despite the evidence, I don't want to write about being a widow all the time.  I don't want my only words to be life after loss.  I'm more than that.  Stick with it.... I'm going to sound quite full of myself for a hot second.
I'm snarky.  
I'm witty.  
I'm creative.  
I'm sensitive.  
I'm a fun parent.  
I'm smart.  
I'm a traveler.
I'm a brat.
I'm super human.  
I'm more than a sum of my past experiences.  
And, frankly, I need an outlet.  I need an outlet even if I'm the only one reading it. 
So, today, April 53rd (we're quarantined; no one knows what day it is), I commit to writing once a week or more. It'll be a train wreck at times.  It'll be beautiful at others.  I'm going to spill all the tea.  I'll try to be classy about it. I'm going to purpose my thoughts. My Hart is on my sleeve for eternity. I'm just gonna start showing it off. 

My hubs and I made a promise to each other in our early days of dating that we would share what we were thinking, when we were thinking it.  I kinda love rules {minus the "kinda"}. I love clear guidelines.  I love predictability.  Norms.  It's no surprise to me how I got here.  My reaction to a cancer diagnosis was to nail down everything that I could control.  Diet.  Schedules.  Shopping.  Organization.  Etc... Cancer changes you.  You can't see it.  You don't know if what you're doing is helping.  You don't know if it's worth it.  All I knew was that my days were suddenly so precious.  If I could only not think about it.  If I could focus on what my hands touched then I didn't have the mental space to ponder what was coming.  
Not everyone is a freak like me, but I have always done a lot of mental math when it comes to age.  "Half my life ago I was here," "If this is the halfway point of my life, I'll see 78," "If I live to be 100, I'm 40% done."  That kind of thing.  Aaron never would've thought when he was 16 that life was half lived.  I never dreamed when we had our first baby that we'd only have seven more years.  I never would've thought that was true.  These thoughts were just a thing I did, now they're a constant.  
Today, my husband is picking up my baby for me because I'm stuck at work and I'm blowing his phone up with the types of messages I know he doesn't read {the long ones} because I'm so overcome by this chore.  I'm so blessed with a flexible life.  I was completely overcome with how blessed I am that I can lean on him some.  Aaron was an incredible husband.  He carried me.  We worked together.  He was my helper, and I was his.  Even in his sickness, he did his absolute best.  My parents have been my helpers.  They show up when I can and when I can't.  They run kids.  They keep them overnight.  They make it possible for me to have a life.  Brandon is getting there too.  His job doesn't allow him the mental space to be at my beck and call, but today he's helping me.  I was so overwhelmed by how good it feels to sigh and know that he's helping me.  He's getting our kid.  He's being Dad today.  My kids needed that.  I needed that.  
People can do this solo.  They can.  But, if they're anything like me, they might've never wanted to. 
I don't feel the need to remind people how long I was a single mom.  I had Aaron for three years after sickness came, but I didn't always have him.  He wasn't always capable.  In many ways, I became a single mom in 2011.  I started experiencing it in 2009, but we were easily into 2012 before it was all me.  I'm not mad about it.  I'm not trashing Aaron.  He did his BEST.  He really did.  I hate that there were days that I had to choose between caring for my children and caring for my husband.  These were realities though.  I was a full on single mom from 2012 to 2018.  I now have a partner to share some responsibilities with and I'm grateful.  
You know the things that we just think life will bring us? That's been a conversation in our house recently.  What did you just expect life to have for you?  What did you chase?  Education? Career? Travel? A great apartment? Partying? Family? Friends?  
Mine was family.  I got the education.  I got a job, but what I was doing was always secondary.  I wanted a family.  I got a family.  I got the great husband, the dog, the house, the cute kids... it all looked great.  It died.  I mourned.  I put one foot in front of the other.  I put on a face for my kids.  I built a house.  I held down a job.  I spent years in a healing, depressive state, constantly sleeping when the kids couldn't see my funk.  I made myself keep talking to humans.  I met a couple weirdos.  I met the ultimate weirdo.  A weirdo from my past.  A weirdo who literally laid all his cards on the table and pursued me.  I weirdo who told me he loved me after a month.  A weirdo that I had 100 reasons to say no to, but my soul said yes.  
He came after me.  
​I'm so thankful that I can lean today. 

Guys, I'm totally a step mom.  I say that with such a twinkle in my eye because I don't think of myself as a step mom until parties start trying to draw lines.  It's hilarious.  Personally, I get it, but I think it's so completely stupid because possessiveness of your children against me only hurts them.  I can't rectify in my brain the person that the birth mom tries to project herself as with the person that I'm exposed to.  Here's the deal: I love these little people.  We joke about me being the, "evil stepmother," but it's only funny because I'm not evil to them.  I love them.  I cherish them.  I protect them.  I provide for them.  I treat them as good {or better} than I treat my biological children.  I rarely raise my voice with them.  I don't physically punish them.  I'm too concerned with doing something that can be turned around on me like a weapon with them.  My biological children don't get that luxury. 
Over the holidays, my bonus daughters reported to us about the ways they were cursed at.  About being called a, "f----n brat."  They defended their mother with bogus statements about how it was okay because she curses all the time anyway.  Nope.  Never okay.  My first thought is what storm she would attempt to rain down on my household if I acted in such a manner.  Whatever.  Let it go, right?  
​I understand that, just as they report to us, they report to her.  
Back to my point though, I so enjoy my bonus babies.  I'm thankful for them.  I pray circles around them.  I claim so much good for their lives.  I'm blessed to get the window that I do into who they are and have an influence in them... to just be a piece of their childhoods.  I'm hopeful that I'm a bright spot to them.  So much effort is made to treat them with fairness, kindness, and love.  I don't take my responsibility to them lightly.  
I planned a family with Aaron.  Those hopes were dashed.  I investigated adoption and fostering and even considered the possibility of having more biological children, but God had other plans.  Plans that I don't believe I've seen the fullness of yet, but I believe that I will.  I'm so blessed with a fullness that was hard won.  The battle isn't over.  I covet your prayers.  

What do you control? Husband tells me all the time how amazed he is by the way that I subtly control all the pieces around me.  That I can juggle so many things and still know where they all are and keep everything in order.  He's so silly.  I love how he loves me.  I have so little control and I hate sharing.  I'm the worst.  I can be PC and kind enough, but I lose my mind, just like everyone else.  
Aidan is my challenge baby.  His self-control is lacking.  He might've gotten that from his momma. 
Contol.  I don't want to share.  I don't want outside factors.  It's all so hard.  I chose this, but I didn't choose this.  I had a plan.  One would think I'd get used to the fact that I'm on a new path... Evidently, I ignore realities also.  
Control.  Even knowing that control will be seized back at any given moment, without notice, doesn't help me accept the lack of control I have.
The other piece of this is that I can't control what people think about me.  By and large, it doesn't matter.  Usually, I don't care.  I share kids now though.  I do care how I'm perceived.  I do want to be a good momma for them. I don't want to replace their mom, but I don't want to do things that will cause them to feel even more fractured in their family life.  Control.  I only have so much.  

Seriously.  Every month I set a goal to write weekly (whether I post it or not); every month I mentally pen all day and only get snippets actually out of my mind and into print.  
In the past six-ish months, I have lived beyond the 5th anniversary of my husband's passing, bought a house {a super nice one too!}, celebrated the holidays as a budding new family, planned an impromptu wedding, took the family on a magical Hawaiian vacation, had a second wedding {you read that right}, sold aformentioned super-nice house, moved the entire family into the house I built in my hometown after my first husband's passing, and much much more.  Six months will change a girl.  
In the past six-ish months, I have created a home of stability and consistency {within my means of control} for some precious babes that I want to help grow into kind, thoughtful, capable, wise adults who walk in truth.  
In the past six months, I have reached out to new widows that I have met in person as well as widows who I've never laid eyes on, offering to be a resource or a source of support to in the wake of the new club they just joined.  The way God led me to the ones I had yet to meet was incredible and undeniably Him.  I pray that I can actually be a help and I'm not operating in a disillusioned world where I think they need support, but I'm actually just another nosy person {fairly certain that's the devil talking}.  
In the past six months, I was hit with a guilt and a fear that I wasn't expecting.  In the days after marrying my new Mr., I was overwhelmed with a sad heart and feelings of guilt that I thought I would've worked through years ago.  No, I didn't date a lot after Aaron died, but I did date some.  Yes, Brandon was the only man I invested any real time in, but I saw that as another way God shepherded me.  I expected and experienced the guilt during that time, but not really at all when we got engaged.  Yes, I walked through moments of doubt and sadness, but never guilt.  Thankfully, it has passed.  I can't be certain it won't come and go {since it swooped in without warning before}, but at least I've seen the monster once and I'm confident I'll get better every time.
In six months, I've stretched myself in ways I sought out, but didn't fully grasp the realities of.  I've become a wife again.  I've gone all-in to two additional children that need a stable force in their lives.  I've started sharing my space in ways I thought I was going to avoid by having two homes {hey, I promised to be honest!}.  I've added permanent fixtures to my biological children's lives and forced them into, yet another, new reality.  
In six months, I've become even more thankful, even more gushy, even more eyes-wide-open about blessings, even more like a girl about this second love, second life, second chapter.  I'm fairly certain Brandon thinks I'm nuts when he catches me staring at him.  I'm positive I make him uncomfortable when I'm debriefing each night on what I'm thankful for.  I don't care.  He doesn't fully grasp what wound I have.  He doesn't understand the gratitude and wonder that move into my head.  The way tears rush in when I think about how thankful I am to not be where I once was.  The magnitude of having someone else that I answer to in some way.  The knowledge that opening myself up to love again means that I'm increasing the number of places I can get hurt.  A widow knows pain that is unique and most that I speak to wouldn't wish it on their worst enemy and hesitate to sign up for anything that would bring it to them again.  Control becomes the name of the game.  "I can't fix this, but I can tie this other thing up and keep it at bay."
In six months, I watched God do something so incredibly funny.  I watched Him release us to find a home.  I watched Him offer Brandon an opportunity.  I watched Him do a change in Brandon that allowed Brandon to demonstrate his love for us.  I watched Him sell our new home in under 15 hours.  I watched Him merge two families, not in the way we had planned, but in the way He would, bringing us together in marriage in our home church with only a few witnesses as a precursor our planned, beach wedding.  I watched Him create a completely loving family relationship between the children and the parents, right down to the names they call us.  My ears don't immediately know Kennedy is talking to me when she says, "Mommy!," and I get just a bit confused every time Aidan asks, "Is Daddy at work?," but it's beautiful and completely melt-worthy.  The purchase of the home gave me pause of His intentions... "Why would He allow us to buy a home only to move us less than three months later?"  The answer is persistent.  He pushed me.  I showed I was all in and committed before He came with His answers and He blessed the transaction abundantly, as only God can. 
In six months, I gained a new identity, new responsibilities, new life.
Six months. Six people.  One family.  
There is a void still that requires prayer and, likely, fasting, but it too has been consistently prayed for since 2011 and with a renewed vigor since 2015.  I am confident that God will move on my behalf and perfect those things that concern me, bringing restoration and healing while knocking off pride.  I haven't received a release to act yet, but He goes before me.  
​Six months at a time is a vast improvement over the one day at a time.

Adapt or die.  Bob and weave.  Roll with the punches.  However you want to say it, the sand is always shifting and we have to keep up or we'll be buried.  In continuing down the merry path to a new life, we've made progress in the way of finding a home to call ours.  Since my tall drink of water did not secure a job close to the place I call home, we've been watching real estate  for a long time, looking for a house closer to his work {since I'm totally going to transition to housewife again}.  It looks like we found one.  That certainly makes things more real.  I'm so excited AND so nervous.  All those maybes are now getting some solid ground under them and that means that real transitions are in view.  Several I'm over the moon about: moving forward with this guy I adore, building a home and family with a partner again, finding a normal with him and my babies, building beauty with all our littles; and several that I'm dreading: moving my littles to a new school, leaving the home I've built by the security of my parents, leaving a job that gives me income to call my own.  I know this is something I want to do, but I'm definitely hating that I'm switching up my children's lives and I know that my parents don't want me to leave.  There is zero denying that I want this though.  No, I don't want to leave the home I've built since the loss of my husband, but I definitively want a partner.  I want this life.  I want to move forward.  I do not want to stand stagnant.  I want my children to witness first hand a loving relationship.  I want a house of laughter that includes a man and a woman.  I want what I felt family would be.  And I'm well aware that I have a family.  My children are enough.  I adore them.  I love this life, but others don't get to determine what I want anymore than I get to tell them what's important to them.  So often when I've felt like someone is judging my decisions, I've paused to look at their life that they have built with their partner and I've thought that they really have no right or perspective to tell me what I should or shouldn't want.  Seriously, while you sit in your cozy house with your husband or wife, you shouldn't look at my, albeit lovely, single-mother home with two kids and a dog life and decide for me that I just need to be happy as I am.  Yes, we should all enjoy the journey at all stages, but the answer is in the statement.  It's a journey.  It's meant to be walked through.  Changes will come.  What's best for you isn't what's best for another and it's their right to choose.  
I lost a friend, it seems.  Making choices, making changes, stepping out... In that, I lost a friend and it's particularly painful because it's a friend I had through Aaron.  Oh the fit I'd like to throw.  That would do no good though.  In one breath I'm saying, "live and let live!," in the next I'm mad because people aren't doing what I've deemed "right."  I told you I'd contradict myself.  What I want to say to all these people that I gained through Aaron?  Show up.  Show the heck up.  You can't be Aaron.  You can continue to show up and represent him to his children.  To me.  I am downright indignant for the lack of showing up.  Make no mistake, Aaron would be livid.  He would be hurt.  He would prioritize his family and protect their feelings from your lack of interest.  He would continue to be there for you though.  He would continue to show up and participate in your life and check on you and root for you and he would be hurt the entire time, but he would not step back from you the way that you have stepped back from us.  What would you like the loved ones in your life to do for you, in your honor, if you were gone too soon?  I wanted these people to show up for Aaron.  Share stories of the man he was.  Stand in the gap some and be strong, faithful, supportive men to our children.  Come to birthday parties and beam at them.  I wanted them to come randomly and show an interest in these lives.  To give hugs.  To listen to them tell about their day.  See, that's who I am as the mom.  That's who I'll always be.  My parents have stood in that gap.  My siblings have stood in that gap.  My church family has stood in that gap.  A smattering of friends of Aaron's (Cory & Brian & Tyler) have stood in that gap.  One-time strangers have come to the table and reached out to my children to provide a man-figure of interest for my children.  And my Chapter Two.  He's stepped in slowly and steadily, recognizing who he is and the position he fills for them, even when it's been scary.  
And kids... they're trying my patience.  I'm human. <3 

So much has happened and we've kicked the stone down the road again.  I got engaged... on my favorite beach... in my favorite land. :)  My sweet chapter two surprised the ba-jeebies out of me with a  morning proposal in our favorite spot in Maui.  That man totally had me fooled because we had done multiple days in Oahu and I didn't suspect that he had a ring at all.  Truth be told, I had thought before we went that Hawaii might be a perfect opportunity to propose to the love of his life {my words, not his!! :)}, but he wasn't protective of any luggage so I figured it wasn't happening.  Needless to say, I was completely blown away.  The guy did good.  So what if I thought he was kidding at first? So what if I asked him to do it again so I could listen with my guard down instead of trying to spot the joke early?  It was thoughtful and new and oh so perfect.  It took days and days to adapt to the idea that a new life was going to be forged.  The shock that an engagement ring was to my life didn't happen this time like it did when I got engaged before.  The slow, slow mental awakening that we were really going to move forward in a life together definitely took place though.  I think Brandon thought I was nuts because it was like I mentally processed it a bit more each day.  I'm a bit of a dork, apparently.  I guess I might be a freak in that I wait to make sure things are locked in before I assume the deal is done.  We've talked for months about getting engaged.  We've discussed what life will be like together from the get-go.  We've been throwing kids together like siblings for a year.  We've looked at property.  We've done vacations.  We've discussed big purchases and how each of us operate.  Talking about and doing are two different things though and somehow the true realities of what things can be and the real steps that we'd have to take to get there were much more hypothetical than I was sharing outwardly.  I could be wrong, but I think this is me me, not me post loss.  I can see it either way though.  See, when you lose your person, your future, your plans, everything you knew, you start to see the way things can fall apart so much easier.  Where you might've once just made plans and assumed things would be fine and easy, now you {or at least I} see so much more as a "maybe".  There is no real, sure, solid ground.  That's not to say that I don't make plans, but I have that dose of gross reality instead of that euphoria of certainty.  What's so completely sad about it is that most things are going to work out.  Most paths are going to be safe.  Most plans are going to come to completion, but now I almost wait to see instead of banking on the good.  I almost reserve the excitement and the joy until the good is directly in front of me instead of dwelling in that happiness early.  It's like I'm preparing myself for the possibility that the floor will fall out instead of stepping out sure.  Big breath.  I don't want to be that girl.  I'm not sure I can choose to just turn that off.  I wonder if the real of it all will hit me before I'm standing there, prepping to say vows.  Gosh, I hope so because that might feel like it all springs on me at once then.  Everything feels very real and possible and easy when we're together, but I'm definitely straddling two lives right now. Either way, I totally said yes and we're totally planning a beach wedding and usually I'm getting pretty into a book by the second chapter so there's really real hope.

There's this cute little thing that's been getting up in my face for the last couple weeks and about the fortieth time I see something popping up, I can't help but stop and pay attention.  Consultations... who do you consult with, who do you listen to, who gets a say in what you do?  A fellow widow {fun term!} and I have been swapping progress lately and talking through the considerations we're having at this stage in the game.  It's just so stinkin' bizarre.  See, if you marry young, the vast majority of your decisions were made with your spouse.  You had to agree with them, run ideas by them, decide together, and you really didn't have to consult outside of that person.  THEN, you become a single again and all of a sudden {maybe due to the nature of becoming single}, the people in {and OUTSIDE} of your circle have an opinion on all the things you're doing.  Sometimes not even just an opinion... they feel like they have a stake in it.  I'm not certain how I feel about that.  See, I went through something in 2012.  Something huge.  This choking need to run away and not look back took hold of me in an undeniable way.  The urge to run away and tell no one.  To literally disappear with my children and just be gone.  This involves no consultation.  Another weird thing happened.  In order to not be a psycho, I leaned on people.  I learned to allow others in my life to help me, help my kids, be our support and so much more.  I'm crazy thankful for that.  Not everyone gets that wanted support.  I still benefit in a huge way from it.  My fellow widow has benefitted from that same thing. She's also felt that familiar pull to run.  Here's the thing... where is the line?  Where is the consultation line? We've invited people who love and care for us to come in and help and lend and hold us up, but where is the line of what they don't have a say in?  Can you take the help, but not ask for the advice?  I'm not positive I've done a poor thing here.  I rarely ask for advice; I ask for help; I use people as a sounding board, but I am cautious to make my own decisions, ultimately.  Same for my fellow widow.  Does that mean we won't make mistakes?  Absolutely not.  But I'm opening my eyes and feeling much more like an early 20s person who's not earned the street-cred to stand on her own instead of the mid 30s woman who was forged in flippin' fire and has walked down hallways solo in realities that you haven't even pictured.  You haven't pulled your lifeless spouse's eyelids back because you had to see for yourself that the person you loved and build life on was no longer in that body.  You haven't cried on a bed and decided to labor for a child that you knew you'd never raise.  You haven't picked out caskets.  You haven't had to make a drive home to children, formulating the whole time how to tell them that their parent is dead and knowing that it's you who has to do it.  You haven't sat in rooms with all of your family coupled up and happy and felt that choking burn because you have to keep a happy face and stay thankful.  You haven't examined life from every angle on your couch, by yourself, and wondered what cost you are paying by focusing on your children instead of on beginning to build again.  I could go on and on and on because these moments that I wouldn't wish on anyone happened and I relive them all the time.  
See, it's my life.  And I feel a tremendous amount of weight to do it right.  To not screw up my children.  To not press pause on me because I know how quickly normal can disappear.  To not make rash decisions, but to squeeze the day.  I feel all of those things and I'm so sad right now because I'm not sure that the judgement-free support is intact at the moment.  There's the bottom line truth.  I have written on it before.  The moment I became a widow, I got a momentary free pass.  Upside.  What I'm hoping/wondering right now is if that free pass wasn't really momentary.  I don't want the judgement.  I know me.  I don't act rashly.  I don't make decisions without thoughtful consideration.  I act quickly, but I don't decide quickly.  I operate in wisdom.  That doesn't mean that I don't make mistakes, but trust me.  Trust me.  My life is not your life.  My decisions are ones I have to live with.   
Getting off the widow track, lunch with a lovely friend yesterday drove all these points home.  This lovely friend woke up and realized that she had lovingly invited her family to take part in her life.  It was beautiful.  Living together, vacationing together, helping each other.... it felt so familiar.  Then the shoe fell and she realized that she may have invited them into too many decisions.  Too many pieces.  What was actually hers?  I can't comprehend the painful separation that had to take place to disentangle from the place where too many pieces were connected... into the marriage, into the properties, into the children, into the schedule.  I, thankfully, got to look at this and seek out what I need to do differently.  Who do I consult?  Who gets a say?  Where do I draw the lines and begin standing on my own? 
I am thankful.  Let that be clear in all of this.  I couldn't do the things I do without the tremendous help that I am given.  My children couldn't lead the full, active lives that they do without the help I'm given.  I am thankful and blessed.  My thoughts are limited to the singular piece: where do I begin and the support beams function as support alone?