It's a Small World

Miranda goes to school three days a week. Her school is literally down the street from Gary's office, so he normally brings her in and picks her up. Except for Wednesday's. I take those days to drop her off so that he can have a non-rushed morning and I normally head to the YMCA after to get in a workout, so it's a win-win.

Why mention the Y? Well, because yesterday at drop-off, in my sports bra, workout clothes, and frizzy hair splendor, I held the door open for a mom who looked right at me and said, "Are you Samantha?"

I stared directly into her face. I searched my brain for who this person could be. Nothing. Blank. Nada.

"Yes," I replied tentatively. I think I said that word as more of a question than a statement as I had no idea where this conversation was going. I know many of the parents at Miranda's school, but they either know me as "Miranda's mom" or they know my name. Usually, I know theirs as well. I was stumped.

The mom looked at me and smiled. "We were in an Adoptions from the Heart class together."

I then looked down and noticed that she had the most adorable little girl in her car seat carrier and my heart burst inside of my chest.

I love seeing families being made. I especially love seeing families being formed through adoption. 

So we started to chat. Four years ago, we first met. We were in the same course together, with our husbands, talking about our Profile Book. The Profile Book is a tool you use to market yourself to prospective birth parents. She remembered me from all that time ago and said I was so excited about our book and had told our social worker we would have our book done right away.

I must have been super annoying. But I wanted a baby, and nothing was getting in my way!

The new mom and I parted ways after catching up for about 15 minutes. We connected on Facebook and are going to make plans for our girls to play together. We had a short wait to get Miranda. They had a longer wait to get placed. However, it's always nice to connect with people that are on the same journey as you.

What are the odds that our paths would cross? The adoption agency that we used is a good 45 minutes from our house. One day a week for about ten minutes, I am in Miranda's school. That's it! We both must have hit the same traffic patterns and the stars somehow aligned for us to run into each other. There are many many child care facilities in our area, and yet we both chose the same one.

I smiled all day yesterday. I love new connections. Now my daughter will know another friend who is adopted which is super cool to me. Gary and I will have another couple that we can share stories with and even look to or share advice. Open adoption is wonderful for the child, but it can be a bit tricky for both the birth parents and the adoptive parents. It will be nice to have each other.

It really is a small world.

We Remember

This past Friday, heaven gained another angel.

I only met this sweet girl once, back in August of last year. She was just three months old. It never dawned on me as I cooed at her and made silly faces that I would never see her again.

She lived in Canada so it's not like I thought I would see her often. But her mom and dad and her older sister were not against road trips and I knew the would make the trip to PA at least once a year or once other year.

We met because there is a group of us that have lost our babies and connected as a way to stay sane / share stories / commiserate / yell / laugh / brag...and the list goes on.

Miss Chelsea died before she even had her first birthday. She spent more time in SickKids (comparable to our CHOP) than she did in her nursery at home. She had a genetic disease that no matter how hard she tried to fight (and fight she did), she simply could not win.

Her mom and dad and sister knew that the end was coming. Originally, they had hope and optimism but as the days turned to weeks and then months, they had to face the inevitable.

Burying a child is unnatural. Everyone in our group has done it. Burying two children is barbaric.

Chelsea's mom and dad had to say hello and goodbye to their first daughter, too. They did not get the time they had with Chelsea and I am not sure if that is a blessing or a curse. Do you want it to be fast and quick or do you want it to be slow and drawn-out? There is no correct answer.

This couple, who has been though thick and thin, have created and delivered three precious daughters. They are now raising one.

What am I to do with that?

I wrote a blog about Chelsea's story at the end of last year. As a group, a support group, we found comfort in collecting stuffed unicorns and taking pictures of them and posting them on our shared Facebook page. 

Individually, we are all floundering. Canada is simply too far for many of us to go and so we have to pay our respects from afar. We wanted to send flowers and trinkets and buckets of whatever we could to make our feelings known, but in the end, we are doing something that is right for her and right for us. 

I will never get used to death. I will never accept that sometimes "it is what it is" or "it's better this way". There is a family grieving the saddest possible grief for the second time in under a decade. There is a sister who now has a big sister and a baby sister in heaven. There are aunts and uncles and grandparents and friends who were robbed of the chance to get to know, really know, both girls.

So. Not. Fair.

The takeaway from all of this mess? Love hard. Love often. Love with your whole heart. I am not embarrassed to pick up my daughter in the middle of a store and shower her with kisses. I am not worried about putting her in time out or taking away a favorite toy for a day or night if it will teach her discipline and respect. I am not afraid to speak my first daughter's name and share with the world how much I loved her (and still do!).

Fly high, sweet unicorn Chelsea. Tell your sister and all her many friends that we love them all so and we might just see them again some day. 

We can't do it all, but we can remember. And we remember you all.

Our Chelsea-corn at the local comic book store

Mom Code

There is a code that applies to all people with the name mom. Young, old, natural, adopted, step, foster...it doesn't matter. If you have ever been called mom, you know the code.

When you see another mom struggling in the parking lot, trying to unfold her bulky stroller while a baby wails in her arms, you go over to help. When you see a mom trying to walk her tray of Chick-Fil-A nuggets over to her table with a toddler in tow, you go over and offer assistance. When you hear a baby screaming in a store and see the mom look flustered and maybe even embarrassed, you look at her with compassion and not frustration.
 
When Miranda was teeny tiny, I remember taking her to meet Gary for lunch. It was pouring and I was soaked, trying to block the water from our infant. A mom walked by and said to me, "I remember those days all too well!" and kept walking. 

I do not know what I expected her to do, but that was not it. Sleep deprived, cold and now drenched, all I wanted to do was burst into tears. That was maybe the day I learned the code.

I would NOT be that woman. I would not let any other mom every feel that way if I could help it.

Now that my child is not longer an infant, I have less control over her when we are out. She is often testing the limits and running away or trying to jump in place or generally just being silly. It's not as easy to walk over to another mom and obey the code when my kid is already half way down the escalator and may or may not be holding on tight. But I vow that when I can, if I can, I will be the compassionate mom and not the one too busy to help other moms.

We have to stick together. For the sake of our kids and ourselves, we must!

I rely on these same moms to help me when I am struggling. Often I turn to friends or family, but sometimes I find myself talking to a complete stranger because she is there, I am there, and our kids are in the same vicinity. There is a bond in our code and I love it. 

I hope that I am not the only one that has experienced the mom code. I also hope more and more moms learn to honor and follow it! That's the beauty of the unspoken code - you can join or adhere to the code at any time and any place. #time2momup 

The Rainbow Connection

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon with a bunch of moms just like me. Moms that talk about their babies in terms of weeks that we had them growing inside of us because that is all we  had with them.

37 weeks...42 weeks...39 weeks... 

It does not get any easier to hear the tales of loss. In fact, it gets harder. How can it be that this many people have had babies born still? And how can it be that we are just a fraction of the parents out there?

Many of us are in the "5 Year Club". Our children should be begging us for new backpacks and pencils and other back-to-school items and yet they are not here. It just so unfair.

There is a silver lining, though. We are not alone. While many of us have terrific spouses and support systems, there is something almost poetic about talking to other mothers who know the agony of a delivery room that echoes silence. Who don't hate the stretch marks on our bodies because they are a sign that our child was in fact once here. 

We are alive. The rainbow babies that came after them are alive (and loud!). As long as we are around, so too will our friendships be. It's too important to not have these women in my life.

It's also important for Miranda. She needs to know these kids are just like her in some ways. They have siblings that they cannot play with but still very much love. They have parents that get sad from time to time but can't really express why.

I am so grateful for what I have. I am so grateful for what I am. To the other moms out there (and dads!) thank you for helping us break the silence, stand together, and live our lives. #time2momup