Your Last Day

Dear Haddie Bo Bo,

A lot has been going on.

Today Fitz is 2 days shy of being 10 months. This is how old you were on the day you died. I have dreaded this day since the moment I found out I was pregnant with him. I knew it would come, he would turn 10 months. He will eventually call me Mama, and take his first steps. These milestones make me happy. I love seeing how he has grown. But if I am being honest it also makes me very angry. It is just not fair, you should have called me Mama. You should have taken your first steps. These moments were stolen from us. From you. It hurts. I have no control over it. I can’t fix it or change it. The only option is to live with it. To live with this very heavy burden that sits in the middle of my chest and makes it hard to breath. I saw another bereaved mom post on facebook and she said how must it hurts to look at her child’s pictures. I have felt this on many occasions. I haven’t been able to say it out loud though. It seemed like a crime to think it. There are moments I treasure your photos and I stare at them. There have been several occasions that I sit and watch your videos for hours. But there are also times where I look away. It is too painful to see your face. It get that. I had a “me too” moment. You never think that an image of your child would cause you so much unspeakable pain.

We have decided to move.

We sold the house where we first became parents. I won’t be able to see the places that I remember you in daily. The patio door where you were standing, and then crawled over to me on your last morning. I won’t be able to sit on the floor of your room, holding you teddy bear, and trying to inhale the last of your scent off your blankets. But I know this is the right move for our family. I am so glad we did not bury you. I would not be able to leave you here. But when we do pack up and move you will ride with us in our car. I will not pack you into a box, ever. You will have a room in our new house. When we were looking I made sure that you would have a room. Your Daddy and I were discussing what we would do with your ashes down the road. I said maybe I would bury you someday if Eloise didn’t want the responsibility of having your ashes. Then your Daddy said that when I die, you could be buried with me. I haven’t thought about this until now. I immediately started to cry. I know my time here is not done, Eloise and Fitz need me. But I will tell you that the thought of us being together again is so comforting. I look forward to it everyday. I long for that moment. There are no words for the ache I feel for you. I think that is why I haven’t been writing to you so much these last few months. I sometimes feel like I have said all there is to say and those words are not enough. They do not describe the utter sorrow that I feel. The emptiness that is a constant, and the unexplained loneliness.

I haven’t been able to figure out how I feel about leaving the town where you died. I won’t have to drive past the rode where you passed away. I have done that and imagined what the scene looked like that day. It is a surreal feeling to know that police and paramedics raced to get to you with lights flashing and sirens blaring. Whenever I pull over to let an ambulance pass I always think of you and that day. I always wonder what is happening inside that ambulance. What is that story, and how will it change their lives? Will they survive? Why couldn’t you have survived? Why couldn’t that have been our story?

I love you so very much. That never changes.

Love,

Mama

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Unexpected Moments

Dear Haddie,

Last night I was putting your sister to bed.  She asked for chocolate milk.  When I say asked it was more of a whine, cry, and on the verge of loosing it over chocolate milk.  So I did what any parent on the top of their parenting game does…I gave in.  I headed down stairs and I could hear Elo crying.  I came up the stairs and I followed the sounds of her cry.  I found her in your room.  She was on the floor, in the middle of the room, holding the bear that Grammy made you.

She had big crocodile tears streaming down her face as she said, “Haddie forgot to take her teddy bear! She is going to be so sad without her teddy bear.  I miss her so much!”

I froze.  Then I slowly walked over to her and got on the floor and wrapped her in my arms as she continued to sob and say, “I miss Haddie!”  We sobbed together on the floor of your room.

After a few minutes she asked if we could pray about you.  She also asked me to talk about you.  So I told her the story about how she fed you ice cream until she thought you had enough and said, “Here Mama, Haddie no more.”  I told her about how you bit her bottom and left a huge red mark.  I told her about how she would read you her books in her bed.  I told her about how you would pull her hair just like Fitz does.

Elo fell asleep clutching your bear.  When she woke up this morning she showed Fitz the bear and said, “Fitz this bear is special it’s Haddie’s bear.”

My heart went from shattered to melted.

Last weekend I went on a girls trip with some friend from high school.  It was a great time.  We shared memories, laughs, and advice.  Then it happened.  I don’t know exactly what happened but all of a sudden I was sad.  I was quiet.  My friends would ask, “Are you ok.”  I would say “yes.”  Then the next time they asked I just shrugged.  I shrugged because I didn’t know if I was ok.  Nothing really happened to make me sad.  I just know that I felt it and all of a sudden I was.  This happens sometimes and I am used to it.  But I felt horrible that people noticed and I hope it didn’t effect them negatively.  Just because I am sad I don’t expect people to be sad too, or change what they are doing.  I know it’s me.

All in all we are all missing you around here.  We miss you in the big things and in the small things.

 

I love you,

Mama

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The Other Life

Haddie Bo Bo,

Today my mind keeps going there.

I feel the lump in my throat rising and I try to swallow it.

I feel the tears forming…they are seconds away.

I am irritable.  I snap easily.

I have the “mean” face, as Eloise calls it.

I know if I just let it go I can’t go back.

I struggle to keep it together.

I still can’t believe that this is my reality.

Some days I hate to admit it but I can pretend this didn’t happen.

I can live an almost normal life on the outside.

There is nothing new to say that I haven’t already said.

I do dream of the other life I was supposed to have.

I dream of the other life my kids should have.

I dream of the other marriage I should have.

“Which cloud is Haddie’s cloud, Mama?” Eloise asked me this today.  Usually I can appreciate her sweet innocence, and smile.  Today I couldn’t answer.

“What was I doing when Haddie died, Mama?”  Eloise asked me this a few days ago.

“I think you were sleeping, baby.”

I know you are worth every tear I have to shed.  You deserve them all.  I love you so much.  I miss you so much and I will always dream of “the other life we were supposed to have, the one where you didn’t die.”

 

Love,

Mama

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Growing Pains

Haddie,

 

Eloise is the only child that has called me Mama.  She is the only one that I have seen stand on her own, take her first steps, etc.  Fitz is getting older and he is starting to pass some key milestones.  He is now sitting up and getting up on his hands and knees.  I remember these moments so well with you.  I have a video of you up on your hands and knees rocking back and forth.  So as Fitz is learning to do all of these new things it reminds me of you.  So far he hasn’t done any of the things you didn’t do…but I know someday he will.  Someday he will call me Mama.  Someday he will stand up and take his first steps.  He will be potty trained.  I have 3 children and only 1 has done these things.  It blows my mind to think that Fitz will do these things.  By the time you have your 3rd child you think, “I will be an expert at such and such because I have done it twice before.”  But that is not the case here.  There is so much that I didn’t get to see you do.  There is a lifetime of things that you won’t do.  Memories you will be absent from. Fitz is 6 months and he is now bigger than you when you died.  He is a big boy!  Sometimes when he is sleeping in my arms I think of you and the last time I held you.  This is how big you were.

The other day I was at Aunt Alisa’s gym and she was telling someone about Crew going to 3’s preschool this fall.  I froze.  I held my breath as the thought entered my mind.  You would be going to preschool this fall.  HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE.  As quick as the thought came…I wanted it to leave.  It is not fair.  I just miss you so much. I feel like I am having growing pains.  It pains me that you are not growing and doing the things you should be.  As excited as I am to see Fitz grow and do new things it also pains me to know he will soon pass you and do the things that you didn’t get a chance to do.

 

I have a friend that struggles with infertility.  She has been waiting so well with so much grace.  She has every reason to be bitter, and angry with the cards she has been dealt.  She has faced disappointment after disappointment on this journey and yet she still has hope.  She still clings to her faith and trusts God’s will for her life even when she fiercely disagrees.  She truly puts me to shame.   I know that most of the time I am not waiting well.  I love my children.  But there are far more moments that I am angry, and bitter, and just want to throw in the towel.  I find myself wanting to pack up my family and run away.  There is something so appealing to moving away, far away.  So many days I wake up and there is a huge list of things I need to do or should do, but instead I sit on my couch in my robe surrounded by the chaos that is in my house.  Or I wake up and pack up the kids and run away from the house to a new adventure.  It’s a roller coaster with the highest highes, and the lowest lows.  I am hopeful that someday my “hope” will come back.  Or maybe I do hope but I’m to scared to embrace it, and just flat out reject it.

 

here is a video of you on your hands and knees:

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here is Fitz!

Go Fitz!

We love you to loves Haddie!

Love,

Mama

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Preceded in death by

Haddie Bo Bo,

Yesterday we said goodbye to Daddy’s Grandpa Bromley.  We found out about his death on New Years Eve.  He lived a long and happy life.  We sat and listened to story after story of how he helped others, loved others, and loved God.  He set an amazing example for his family of how to live life well.  Grandpa Bromley was 89 when he died.  He had accomplished many things in his life.  As I sat in the church I was very conscious of the fact that although we are sad we can’t see Grandpa anymore, we rejoice that he no longer suffers and that he is made whole again.  He is home.  He is at peace.

There was a bittersweetness to the day. Although there were sad moments there was a sense of peace and joy.  This made me think of your funeral.  It’s strange how death is death but the circumstances around death can be so different.  There wasn’t joyful moments at your funeral like there was at Grandpa’s.  It was just plain sad.  “She is at peace, or no longer suffering” statements didn’t apply.  I would be shocked if 95% of people didn’t cry at your funeral.  It was just tragic and as I remember it traumatic.

A few days before the funeral the obituary was being shared around.  I hadn’t read it yet and I asked your Daddy if he read it.  He said, “Yes.”

I asked him if it made him sad.  He said, “Yes. But mostly because it was hard to see my daughter’s name.”  At first I didn’t understand.  Why would our daughter be in the obituary.  Seeing my confusion your daddy said, “You know preceded in death by…”

Oh. Yea.

Then I found myself tearing up.  I didn’t really think about seeing your name in another obituary.  You preceded your 89 year old Great Grandpa in death.  That is not how it’s supposed to be.  Don’t get me wrong it means so much to us that they remembered you. Even though it was sad to read your name we wouldn’t want it any other way.

At the visitation I asked Grandma Arlene, “Do you think Grandpa is holding Haddie.”

She responded, “Of course he is.  I know it.”

I felt a little bit of comfort.  The thought of this great man now up in heaven taking care of you really does bring a little bit of peace.

I wish I could feel as sure as Grandma Arlene is about you and Grandpa being in heaven.  My whole life I believed in heaven and with confidence I would tell others that they would see their loved ones again.  I am not saying that I don’t believe in heaven anymore.  But when I lost you it made me question every single belief I have ever had.

I ask myself a lot, “Do I really believe you are in heaven?”

“Do I really believe I will see you again?”

“Do I really believe that God is for my good?”

I know these statements are true in my head.  I would tell them to my children and to others.  My heart just isn’t connecting with them yet.

I hope you and Grandpa Bromley are having a great time.  I am sure he is giving you lots of chocolate treats and making you smile your big toothy grin.

I hope that I can live a life as great and full as Grandpa Bromley and I can’t wait to see you both again.

https://clockfuneralhome.com/obituaries/donald-w-bromley.115152

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love you Hads,

Mama

 

 

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In This Burning House

Haddie Bo Bo,

I have heard this song “In This Burning House” before but today it struck me.  I doubt that it is about greiving the loss of a child, but I identified with many of the lyrics.

 

I had a dream about a burning house
You were stuck inside
I couldn’t get you out
I lay beside you and pulled you close
And the two of us went up in smoke
I didn’t physically die that day that you did, but in so many ways I feel as I have.  So much of my days I spend trying to “pull you close”, keep you close, keep you present.  By doing this I feel like both of us “went up in smoke”.  I am stuck there with you.
I’ve been sleepwalking
Been wondering all night
Trying to take what’s lost and broke
And make it right
I’ve been sleepwalking
Too close to the fire
But it’s the only place that I can hold you tight
In this burning house
Sometimes I really feel like I am “sleepwalking” through this life.  Or I am “wondering all night” trying to find you, glimpses of you, any sign that you are still with us.  I use so much energy trying to “take what’s lost and broke and make it right”.  That is what Haddie’s Calling is all about.  Trying to make good come out of this tragedy.  There seems to be no happy medium.  Even in the highest high I feel and recognize the lowest low.  Doing things like looking at your police pictures could be described as being “too close to the fire”.  But I do feel like that is ONE of the “only places that I can hold you tight”.
Today I realized that I haven’t taken a video of Fitz in awhile.  So I took one.  My thought process was I need to have videos of him incase he dies.  I will need them to remember him like I do you.  How messed up is that?  I take videos of my kids incase they die.  Truth. Reality.
We have been back at church pretty consistently this past month and a half.  It’s still hard.  I am forcing myself to go.  Worship is still painful for me.  It’s too personal.  I am going through the motions in hopes that someday my heart will follow.
Haddie I love you.  I will always be your Mama.  I am still trying to figure out how to be a Mama to you while you aren’t here. (below are the full lyrics to this song)
Love,
Mama
In this Burning House By CAM
I had a dream about a burning house
You were stuck inside
I couldn’t get you out
I lay beside you and pulled you close
And the two of us went up in smoke
Love isn’t all that it seems
I did you wrong
I’ll stay here with you
Until this dream is gone
I’ve been sleepwalking
Been wondering all night
Trying to take what’s lost and broke
And make it right
I’ve been sleepwalking
Too close to the fire
But it’s the only place that I can hold you tight
In this burning house
I see you at a party and you look the same
I could take you back
But people don’t really change
Wish that we could go back in time
I’d be the one you thought you’d find
Love isn’t all that it seems
I did you wrong
I’ll stay here with you
Till this dream is gone
I’ve been sleepwalking
Been wondering all night
Trying to take what’s lost and broke
And make it right
I’ve been sleepwalking
Too close to the fire
But it’s the only place that I can hold you tight
In this burning house
Flames are getting bigger now
In this burning house
I can hold on to you somehow
In this burning house
Oh and I don’t wanna wake up
In this burning house
And I been sleepwalking
Been wandering all night
Trying to take what’s lost and broke
And make it right
I’ve been sleep walking
Too close to the fire
But it’s the only place that I can hold you tight
In this burning house
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Police Pictures

Haddie,

Last week I received a disc of pictures in the mail.  These pictures are from the day you died.  I have not seen this pictures.  I had put the disc in the cupboard with the intentions of giving the disc to Aunt Alisa to hold for me.  I didn’t think I was going to look at them.

Monday.  Your Daddy left for work.  Elo was eating breakfast in the living room and watching a tv show.  I went to the cupboard, grabbed the disc, and put it in the computer.  I could hear the computer reading the disc and I could feel my heart beat in my ears.  I could feel my body temperature rising.  My stomach started to turn.  I double clicked on the disc icon.  I started to scroll through the pictures.  I saw pictures of bedrooms, phones, the kitchen.  They took pictures of everything.  There was a picture of the pack and play with your paci laying inside. Then I started to see pictures of a doll in the pack and play.  They had reenacted what happened.    The doll was face down, wrapped in a large comforter.  This was news to me.  I had always assumed it was a baby quilt blanket. This blanket was like a blanket I use on my bed.  They showed how the comforter was draped over the crib next to the pack and play.  It was basically hanging into your pack and play.  Clearly you would be able to reach it.

I continued to scroll, I held my breath.  Then there you were.  You looked fake.  I didn’t believe it was you at first.  I recognized the clothes you were wearing.  I remember distinctly the moment when, Dave, the funeral director handed me back the outfit you had been wearing. You were purple and pale.  Blood had pooled in your body.  Your eyelashes were matted down.  Your hair was stuck to your head like you had been sweating and then it dried. Your eyes were open but not all the way.  Your arms were stiff and your fists clenched.  Your mouth was blue and purple and I could see your teeth. There seemed to be blood on your tongue, like maybe you had bit it?  You were laying on top of a dresser that was used for a changing table.  The pads were still attached to your body from where they hooked up a machine.  You looked alone.  I didn’t cry. I took it all in.

I had always questioned whether or not the first responders really tried to save you and gave it their best effort.  Now I know that you couldn’t be saved.  You were gone.  Really gone.  So in that respect I have peace.  I can let that question go.  I had always wanted to see you the way I dropped you off.  Because I only got to see you at the funeral home after your autopsy.  At that point you had  been cut up.  I always imagined that you would have looked like you were sleeping in these pictures.  I was wrong.  You looked horrible.  It is amazing that they were able to make you look so good after that.

I sat there with the picture of your face filling the screen of my computer, staring into your beautiful blue eyes.  I couldn’t stop looking into your eyes.  I have looked at these pictures everyday this week.  As your mom I felt I had to see them.  I had to see everything that you went through.  It was weird to me that these pictures were out there and I hadn’t seen them.  You are my daughter.  I gave birth to you.  I nursed you and cared for you. I needed to see them.

Your eyes were still as bright as the last time I saw you alive.  That is really the only thing that looked like you in these pictures.  I hurts me that other people saw you like this.  It hurts that someone found you like this.

Yes these picture haunt me.  Now I see them in my head and at night when I wake up.  But I don’t regret looking at them.  I know some people won’t and don’t understand why I did.  I just can’t believe this happened to you.

I try to remember that I will see your bright blue eyes again.  But somehow that thought is not comforting to me right now.  Maybe someday it will be.

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I love you Haddie.  I am sorry.

Love,

Mama

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Did you struggle?

Haddie Bo Bo,

This morning your brother woke me up.  I made him a bottle and fed him in bed while watching a Hallmark Christmas movie.  When he was done and changed his diaper and got him dressed in his Michigan gear for the big game.  Daddy was still asleep beside us.  I then decided I was going to put away the clothes I brought up in the laundry basket last night.  I took my blankets off the side of my bed and pushed the pillows away.  We have a king size bed so there is a lot of room.  I laid Fitz there in the middle so he could watch the fan and me as a walked around the room.  The only blankets I use for Fitz is a Aden and Anais breathable blanket.  The only way I use it for him is for tummy time or as a burp cloth.  I had two towels in my basket that I needed to put away.  So I left my bedroom and went into the bathroom that is next door.  I put the towels in the closet.  I noticed in the bathroom that Elo had left some food wrappers and other stuff that needed to be thrown away.  So I threw them away and put some other things back in their places in the bathroom next to my room.  It had only been about 60-90 seconds that I had left the room.  Fitz start to fuss, then started to make this gulping, gasping sound.  I went back into the bedroom and his head was completely covered by the smaller blanket I use when I sleep.  It’s technically a baby blanket.  I ran over and pulled the blanket off his head.  His face was red.  He was scared.  He was struggling to get this blanket off his head.

I felt immediate guilt.

Although I had cleaned off the bed and put everything out of his reach (or so I thought) he was still able to move and cover himself.  This happened so quickly.  Your Daddy was still asleep he didn’t hear him.  Which I do not blame him.  I wouldn’t expect him too.  It just shows how quickly these moments can happen.  I had no intentions of leaving him on the bed alone.  I just left the room for a “quick second”.  I was in the room with him the whole time beside that one moment.  That’s all it took.

I picked him up and said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”  Over and over with tears in my eyes.  It’s my job to make sure he is safe to protect him from these moments.  Even with everything I know about #safesleep I still made a mistake.  So many parents think what happened to us, to you, won’t happen to them.  Well this moment proves that it can.

How many parents have these near misses during the day?

How many times are we one moment away from a tragedy?

My mind can’t go there.  At least I try to not let it.  Did you struggle?  Did you gasp for air?  Did you gulp?  Did you cry and scream?  I picture you laying there just like Fitz was and struggling.  But no one came to your rescue that day.  No one pulled the blanket off you, picked you up, and told you, “I”m sorry.”

I’m so sorry Haddie.  So sorry that you were robbed of this life.  That no one rescued you.  That we failed you.

Now I feel haunted today.  These images in my head.

I will go take a Xanax now.

Please forgive us Haddie.

Mama

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I feel you slipping away from me

Haddie Bo Bo,

I feel it.  I feel you slipping away from me every day.  Sometimes I don’t realize it.  Other moments it slaps me in the face and I am consumed with guilt, hate, and sadness.  Life does go on and sometimes I despise it for that reason.  In many ways I am still with you.  Back when you were here.  I am still in those horrifying moments after I heard those words, “Your daughter has passed away.”

The other day I drove past that road.  The road where you took your last breath.  I looked down that road.  The road that I turned down twice a day for over a year.  I haven’t gone back.  I wish I was still going down that road twice a day.

I also drove past the “Island Express” or something like that.  It’s a convenience store in Zeeland.  This is where your Daddy had pulled over when he found out that you died.  Images were flashing through my head as I drove by in what seemed like slow motion.  What he must have looked like sitting there in his car.  How excruciating the pain must have been.  How helpless he must of felt.  He was alone.  He could only hear me screaming on the phone.  He was powerless to help me…to help you.  He was only 15 minutes away from picking you up…

I just don’t understand this thing called life.  Nothing makes sense really.  I wish my only problems in life where the bigger better house to buy.  Or what my family will wear for family pictures.  Why do some families go through life with no tragedies while others live in the storm day in and day out.  I have two really good friends that constantly struggle with infertility.  They deserve a child yet after years and years of trying…nothing.  While others have an “oops”.  A big “oops” like still on birth control “oops”.  Or the teenage girl that has sex for the first time and gets pregnant.

I found a quote that really describes my reality these days.  I found it on instagram and it is by a mother who has also lost a child.  “My biggest challenge is while everyone else is here, I”m still there with you.” -afterchloe

My body is here in the moment.  Sometimes I am here in the moment.  But many times I am there with you.  In THOSE moments.  But I feel like ever so gradually I am more here than there…and I feel you slipping away from me.

Come back to me Haddie…please.

 

Love you forever.  I will fight for you.

Mama

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The good moments

Haddie Bo Bo,

This morning I was laying in my bed holding your brother.  He was smiling and laughing at me, warming my heart.  It was a special moment just me and him.  It was a good moment.  I look in his eyes and I see you.  I was holding his little hands and thinking about how I used to do this with you.  I play a lot of the same games with him as I did with you.  What will I do when he turns 10 months?  When he walks?  When he says “Mama”?  These are things that I never got to do with you.  What about when he turns 1 and we celebrate his 1st birthday?  How will that feel?

Yesterday we celebrated your sister’s birthday.  The gym was filled with so many friends and family that love us and support us.  People that love you and remember you.  It was so amazing to see all these little people running around with super capes and masks having the time of their life!  This moment was good.  It felt good.  Great Grandma came to the birthday party and we got a picture of the great grandkids with her.  It happened so fast that I forgot to include you somehow in this picture and I am sorry.  Life moves so fast and sometimes I forget to include you.  As I write these words I am overcome with emotions and guilt.  I don’t want to live in a world that I am slowly forgetting you.  I know that I will NEVER forget.  But its strange how these moments happen and if you were here I would never in a million years forget to put you in the picture.

After the party your Daddy and I went out to celebrate our anniversary.  We went to see the Dierks Bentley concert.  It was truly a country party and I loved it.  This moment was good.  After the concert we were driving home and your Daddy said, “We have been married for 6 years.  Elo is 4.”  That’s pretty much all we said about that.  I can’t say that these 6 years of marriage has been easy.  We have had many many “good” moments.  I can absolutely recognized the blessings we have in our lives.  But these 6 years have had many sorrowful moments.  But when we dedicated you at church I wrote you a letter.  I read you this letter and it was full of love, full of our hopes and dreams for you, but it was also honest.  Now when I read this letter its a challenge to me and as your Aunt Rachel said at your funeral it is like you are now reading it to me….

1 Peter 1:3-5

“Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade-kept in heaven for you.”

Exodus 14:14

“The Lord will fight for you; you only need to be still.”

To our bright-eyed Hadley Sue:

Never in a million years did we think we would have a bright blue-eyed baby girl! If Mama didn’t pull you out herself we wouldn’t think you were ours. In this short time that you have blessed our family you have brought us incredible happiness.   You have a sweet spirit that compliments your sister’s sassy spiciness in a way that only God could have planned.

As your parents we want to give you the world and the moon too! Although no matter how hard we work we will probably fall short on that wish for you. One thing that we can give you and will spend every day trying is a loving, God centered family. We aren’t perfect and we will make mistakes. We can promise you a life of experiences, adventures, love, laughs, and sadly sometimes tears.

We have prayed for you since before we even knew there was going to be a “you”. We will breath our last breaths praying for you. Our first prayer for you is always that you will grow up falling in love with our Savior and choosing to fearlessly follow Him. We hate the thought of you experiencing hurt, and if we could remove that from your life we would in a second.

One thing I can guarantee you is that there will be moments in life that you will hurt. You will suffer. You will ask God why. We pray that during those times you cling to the promises that God has given you. Claim them. No matter what your hurt is God’s plan is always sweeter than you could have imagined. No matter what happens in your life remember that it’s your story. God gave it to you and He wants you to tell it!

We love you sweet baby girl. You and your sister are so very special to us. Living life with you is our greatest joy.

Living life with you was our greatest joy…living life without you is truly our greatest sorrow.  I try everyday to live that line, “No matter what happens in your life remember that it’s your story.  God gave it to you and He wants you to tell it!”

Love you baby,

Mama

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