17 Years, Still Missing You

It's strange. I'm always hyper-aware of the date. I've thought about it many times in recent weeks. Heck, I thought about it yesterday! And yet, somehow, it took me until 6:30 tonight, while making dinner, to realize. I saw the expiration date on a package of chicken and gasped: It's April 26.

Seventeen years have passed since Jeremy died. And this is, to my recollection, the first time I almost forgot the day we lost him. Of course I could never actually forget the date, but I nearly missed recognizing the date today.

When we visited Southern California earlier this month, we stopped by the cemetery with Delilah so she could "meet" her uncle. I know he isn't there and I truly believe he saw her — celebrated her — the moment she was born. Yet I still felt a desire to stop by his grave. But I kept it quick. I had mascara on! We had places to be, people to see, and I knew if I lingered too long or spoke the words in my heart that the tears would start and they'd be hard to stop. 

It goes without saying but I'll say it anyway. Jeremy, I miss you. Even when I almost forget to stop and think about how much I miss you, I miss you. (I blame today on mom brain, for real.) You were a wonderful son, brother, friend... And I know you would have been an amazing uncle if given the chance. That's what hurts the most sometimes, that those joys were stolen from you, from us, from Delilah. Life isn't fair and there's no good reason for you to be gone... and yet life goes on, just as you would want it I suppose. When Delilah is older, she will hear about her Uncle Jeremy, because grief has not silenced your name or memory. You are still living in the hearts and minds of those who loved you and that will never change, no matter how many years pass ... or how busy our days get. Love you always. 

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(P.S. Last year's post.)

Thankfulness & Infertility

This day, this season, compels us to stop and think about gratitude. What are you thankful for? What blessings abound in your life? I've long believed that, even in challenging times, there is always so much to be grateful for, if you just take a moment to pause and reflect. And, believe it or not, it is actually possible to be thankful for the hard things, like infertility, because oftentimes those hard things teach you more than easy times ever could… You learn and you grow and you’re led somewhere new. 

This time last year, Greg and I had recently started seeing a new reproductive endocrinologist at our second fertility clinic. We were beginning to tackle the list of to-do’s that we needed to complete before embarking on our first IVF cycle. We’d already experienced many ups and downs on our journey to baby, and even with our decision to try in vitro fertilization, the road ahead was uncertain. There were no guarantees.

Fast forward one year and I am holding my precious daughter in my arms. It’s amazing what can happen in a year. It’s no surprise what I am thankful for this Thanksgiving. I am so grateful for my sweet miracle baby, Delilah, conceived with the help of science and a whole lot of love. I am thankful that, although born more than three weeks early, she is healthy and thriving — celebrating one month of life today! I am appreciative of the doctors and nurses at John Muir Medical Center in Walnut Creek who took care of Delilah following her rocky entrance into the world, and I am likewise indebted to the medical team at Reproductive Science Center that helped Greg and I fulfill our dream of parenthood. How immensely glad I am that technology like IVF exists! Without it — and the power of God, no doubt — our girl wouldn’t be here. And I would be remiss if I didn’t give thanks for the community of friends and family who encouraged and supported us throughout the IVF process, during my pregnancy and in the weeks since Delilah arrived. But I am most grateful for my husband, my rock. The eternal optimist, he never gave up on our shared desire to create a family. Even when my faith faltered, he always believed that we would be right where we are now. Greg has been and continues to be an incredible partner, and he is the very best dad to Delilah.

So, am I thankful for infertility? In some ways, yes. As taxing as it has been mentally, emotionally, and physically, and as much as it has cost us financially, this journey has brought Greg and I even closer and made us stronger. Nothing like injecting your wife with hormones to forge increased trust and intimacy! (The "quirks" of pregnancy have a way of further bonding couples, too.) But seriously, infertility was also an effective teacher of patience and powerful cultivator of faith. Faced with the potential of my dream of motherhood never being realized, I was suddenly and surprisingly forced to find the positives wherever I could — to keep my sanity as well as my will to keep moving forward. As a result, I was able to more clearly see all the small, everyday blessings in my life, and to more fully appreciate the people who are a blessing to me.

This time last year, the road was uncertain, but it did lead somewhere new and wonderful. Despite the challenges, I cherish our story, because it had the happiest of endings.

From our little family to yours, Happy Thanksgiving!

My first Turkey Day! Thank you, great grandma, for the cute holiday outfit!

Give me turkey!!! Actually, this is what happens when you take Delilah's pacifier away. 

What Difference A Year Can Make

Greg and I spent May 18, 2016, our second wedding anniversary, at a surgical center. I was having a laparoscopy to definitively diagnose (after months of other tests) the cause of my fertility struggles. There was no fancy dinner, no fun adventure ... not even a shot at baby-making! Nope. Greg had a groggy and sore wife on his hands. Fast-forward a year and we're celebrating three years of marriage yesterday out in the sunshine, hand in hand, with so much joy in our hearts — for the hard road has led us somewhere wonderful, and where we always dreamed to be. So much can change in a year. In three years. We've experienced the lowest of lows and the highest of highs, and I know there will be many more twists and turns in the future -- that's married life, after all! But I wouldn't want to be on this journey with anyone else but my partner, my protector, my supporter, the love of my life and father of our baby-to-be.

P.S. Lovely wedding photos by heidi-o-photo

P.P.S. Today I am officially in my second trimester! I was hearing different things from various sources. When I hit 12 weeks my best friend, who has a baby, congratulated me on entering the second trimester. And I said, "well, thank you but I think I have to complete 12 weeks," because a few apps told me the start of 13 weeks was the beginning of the second trimester. And yet, I then found other apps/sources said 14 weeks. So confusing! But today marks 14 weeks so I am definitely, for sure, out of the first and into my second trimester.

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16 Years, Still Missing You

Last week, while driving home from work, I was singing along to a song on the radio when my mind began to wander. The lyrics streaming out of the car speakers and the thoughts running through my mind were incompatible. Irrelevant. It didn't make any sense. And yet, I suddenly began to cry. (I've always been a crier, but pregnancy hormones have seemingly kicked in and my emotions can swing like a pendulum.) What brought on the tears? I was thinking of the anniversary coming up, the one that is today. The anniversary of my brother's death. Usually, I spend most of April hyper-aware of the date. Like a ticking clock, a countdown until the 26th. I didn't do it on purpose, but I could never escape the feeling. This year, however, with everything going on and so much on my mind, I haven't been counting the days as usual. I didn't forget, of course. But, as grief has a tendency to do, the reminder — the memories, the sadness — hit at the most unexpected of times.

Jeremy died in a car accident when I was 16. And 2017 marks 16 years since his death. He has been gone as long as I knew him. That's a hard pill to swallow: Knowing that as my life continues to go on I will get farther and farther away from him. That's what it feels like, anyway. And while time has softened the pain of losing my brother, milestone moments bring back its sharp sting. He wasn't there for my high school graduation, my college graduation, my wedding. He never met my husband. And he will never meet my baby. That's what brought on the tears on that car ride home, and that thought is what is causing my eyes to flood now. I wish Jeremy could be here with us to celebrate, to be the (fun!) uncle he should have gotten the chance to be. I know he would be so happy for us. And I know he would want me to keep on living my life and not wallow in sadness. But I give myself the permission, and grace, to do a little bit of that today. Because I miss him. No matter how many years pass, that fact never changes.