Jude's First Angelversary

Today we remember my sweet baby boy, and I reminisce the moment that our souls collided when his left this earth and mine stayed behind to continue living for him and our beautiful surviving children. It suddenly seems strange that a life growing inside of you can die and not take you right along with it.

Today marks the first anniversary of Jude's passing, the anniversary of the morning that we last saw his heart beat, and then not, within 15 precious minutes. I didn't know it when it happened, but I'm fairly certain that I felt the exact moment that he left me. I was in an ultrasound and on my back and was suddenly so ill. I assumed it was because I was on my back, so I rolled over, but it kept getting worse. I turned ghost white, felt green, my heart was racing and I was sweating profusely while trying so hard to stay conscious and act like it wasn't a big deal although the ultrasound tech said I was looking awful and offered to get me something. Then, in an instant, my colour returned and all was well again. I rolled again to my back to continue my ultrasound, and a few minutes later we went back to our Baby B and he was gone. I think back and feel that it was like my soul was refusing to let him go, hanging on to him for dear life, already knowing the suffering we would endure without him and trying to spare me from it all by stretching out over my body like an impermeable membrane, thinking that surely it would be enough to keep him from leaving us. But he was so strong, and he had a plan and knew that he couldn't stay. I am thankful that I have that moment, as painful as it is, to remember when our souls collided and he took his journey to heaven. I pray that I will always remember as clearly this day as it happened exactly one year ago, but that time will allow the hurt and devastation to ease up a little bit. Today that hasn't happened yet, it still feels just like it did a year ago.

But today, though full of pain and heartache, there is something different. The sickening worry that we had for our surviving babies still in my tummy is gone. They are here, in front of me, playing and cooing. Learning, giggling and growing, perfect and…HERE. I can touch them and feel them, kiss them and talk to them, smile and receive smiles in return playing endless games of peek-a-boo, for the 23rd time and it still never gets old.

Today I am trying to stay focused on renewing my wonder as I stare upon them, all of my living children, in awe that they are here when so easily they could not be. Being so painfully aware of how fleeting life is often feels like a curse. But it's a blessing too, if you can spin it that way amidst the muddle of sorrow that such a loss brings to your life. My appreciation for their life is beyond comprehension. I am so grateful that they are here.

Once we've spent the morning and afternoon loving on each other, we're all going out with papa, just us, to release some balloons. We are going to attach notes and messages to the string and send them to heaven at sunset, watching them as they journey there. There are notes from us and Jude's family and friends here on earth that we've collected over the last year, mostly from his brothers' baptism where we set up a memory table and 'prayer flags' that we left for our guests to contribute if they wished.

Today, I pray that this brings some healing to our broken hearts.