Mondays

Mondays seem to be the worst days for me, Luke.

Today I decided that I needed to scan everything we have that's a memory of you--Mostly pictures from the hospital.  It's not much, but the thought of losing any of that, to a fire or a burglar, or whatever...makes me want to throw up. 

Plus, I'm going back to work next week.  I feel like I need something, anything, on my phone to remind me that you were real.  So often lately, you don't feel like you were real. 

I find that when I'm distracted, it gets easy to feel that way.  And I hate that.  I hate that the only time you seem real to me is when I'm looking back at your things and reminiscing about everything I thought was going to be for us.  I should just be able to come home and see you.  But all I have right now is one folder on my computer--that holds all of the pictures from your entire life.  And a bassinet that holds a teddy bear , your memory box, and all of the sympathy cards we've received since you left.

Everyone keeps saying that things have to get better.  I have a really hard time thinking that.  But I do know that there's no way things could possibly get any worse.  I'm having a bad case of the "Why me?"s today.  These past few years have been...a struggle for us.  The struggle with this house alone has been enough of a headache to cause most people to go crazy.  But I was strong.  I got through it.  Daddy was done with school this year. I'm not gonna lie.  When I found out we were gonna have you, I FINALLY felt like things were finally going to fall into place with us.  That things were going to STOP being completely shitty, at least for a little while.  Because we'd have our own family.  And yes, crappy things come up when you have kids, but at least you have each other.

And we don't even have that right now.  I have your Daddy.  And our families.  But you're missing, and you complete our little family.  The weight of thinking about how you're never going to physically be in our family makes my brain ache.  I am going to struggle with missing you for my entire life.  And the farther away from September 10, 2012 that we get, the farther from real you become.

So going back to work next week is going to be the next step that I'm forcing myself to take to being farther away from you.  I hate that this is what I'm forced to be doing.  I hate that it's not that I'm forced to be going back to work so that I can afford to take care of you.  I hate that I'm taking this step because it's helping me move forward with my life.

And those are all things I'm going to have to get good at living with, I suppose.

Now you know how you really feel about it

I've watched my fair share of Friends reruns in the past 6 weeks.  It was always one of my favorite shows, and something about it makes me feel...comfortable.  Maybe it's comfort in my past?  I don't know.

For obvious reasons, I find myself turning the channel whenever the show I'm watching deals with someone having a baby.  Or tons of parents and babies (thanks a lot, Project Runway--for making an episode that dealt entirely with making BABY CLOTHES for the first time EVER this season).  It's painful for me to watch.  Knowing that was me--Not that long ago.  I identify with those feelings, but then I have a whole load of other feelings that came from everything that happened after losing Luke.  And now I'm different.

So on at least two occasions these past few weeks, I've seen The One After "I Do."   That episode--I can't not watch it.  It's the one where Rachel found out she's pregnant, but didn't tell anyone, as it was right before Chandler and Monica's wedding, and she wasn't sure what she was going to do.  The episode ends with Monica finding out about it, and Rachel takes another pregnancy test just to be sure.  Phoebe lies and tells her that the new test was negative.  And Rachel comes to realize that she's upset it's NOT positive this time..."How can I be upset over something I never had?"

And Phoebe says "I'm just kidding, it's positive. Now you know how you really feel about it!"

I can't even say how hard that part hits me.

It took me a long time to understand that I wanted to have kids.  I'm 33.  Most people just fall into parenthood way sooner.  I'm...a control freak, and I went through most of my 20s knowing that I wasn't ready to become a parent.  It wasn't that I didn't trust my relationship with Jeff.  Or that I thought I couldn't do it.  It was more that I liked my life how it was, and I wanted  to continue on that path.  And also that  I wanted to be in the best  possible place to have a kid.  But we both knew that we wanted to have a family together...someday.  That was always in our plans.

I'll admit that even when we started trying to get pregnant last December, I'm not sure I completely knew how I felt about becoming a parent.  And it happened so fast.  But when I figured out that it was time to take a test, deep down inside, I knew we were ready for it.  If that test had come back as negative, I surely would have said the same exact thing--"How can I be upset over something I never had?"

I found myself saying the same thing when I found out that we were having a boy.  I'd always wanted a girl, and it was sort of a blow to me at first when we found out.  I got over that, though.  I really did.

It's horrible how this is all turned around on me now.

Now I know how I really feel about it.  I wanted to be Luke's Mom.  And now here I am, crushed about the life I'm never going to have with him.  I would do anything to change the way it is.  Anything.  But there's nothing that can change this.  

It's like a cruel joke that life is playing on me--"Now you know how you really feel about it."

I do.  And I hate that there's nothing I can do to change it.

#captureyourgrief--Day 22

Place of Birth

Luke was born at 5:23am on September 10, 2012 at St. Jude Medical Center in Fullerton, California.  When we went in that Sunday afternoon, we got nothing but amazing care from the staff at the medical center.  We had quite possibly the best nurse in the world...Sheri, if you're reading this, we couldn't have gotten through that day without you. 

Inevitable.

Today, I had to call 6pm to return some shoes that I'd ordered online.  Of course, I had to call them because when I tried to file the return on their website, for some reason, my account was down.  The woman on the phone today had never seen this "in her entire career" there, so of course, there was that.

So I'm reading off my order information to her.  First I give her my email address.  Fakeplasticlove at gmail dot com.  She tells me she loves it.  That it's totally one-of-a-kind.  I agree with her and say thanks.  Then she asks what nationality my last name is.  I tell her that my husband is half Japanese, but I'm actually mostly German. 

And then there it was.  "Do you guys have kids!? Mixed ethnicity kids are so gorgeous!"

I had actually thought about how I'd answer that question before.  It was maybe sometime last week.  And I'd told myself that I wanted to answer YES to that question...because we DID have a child.  Luke was real.

But I...lost my strength to care and go through making the conversation awkward.  And I told her "No, we don't."

She then apologized because I probably sounded like I got hit by a truck when I answered.  She said she was sorry if that was too much questioning.

The truth is, Luke was beautiful.  She was right.  I just wish we got to see his beauty grow up. 

I'm not angry like I was the other day.  Today, that mostly just made me really sad.

#captureyourgrief Day 19 & 20

I've been behind on a couple of the posts this week...some of them, I feel like I couldn't really post anything about yet at this point...But here's to catching up a little bit?

Day 19--A Project
Mom and I have been talking about doing something to remember Luke with...We're just not sure where to start.  It'll probably be a bit artsy, but we haven't really nailed anything down yet.  In the meantime though, THIS is my project.  For me.  I've been a blogger for a long time now...I don't put it out there for the world to see anymore.  But for this blog, I feel like putting it out there for anyone else that's going through this pain could only help someone.  I know that I've found comfort in reading other baby-loss moms' blogs--Knowing that they're farther along in the grief process--but they're still going.  They have families.  They still remember their babies, but they've found a way to do that and continue on living.

It's also kind of serving as a way for  me to...think right now.  I used to mess around with coding a long time ago, so it's sort of fun and a challenge for me to customize, etc, right now.  Maybe that's getting me ready to go back to work in some way?

But if I can help someone else feel better, that makes me feel better.

Day 20--A Charity/Organization

I've said it many times, but I'm so thankful for the OC Walk to Remember.  The day everything happened...we found out about them at the hospital.  They fund training for nurses at hospitals in the area who are taking care of patients like us at the hospital.  They provide things for you at the hospital that  you probably weren't expecting to need.  They fund support groups to help the grief process in this situation, and they host an annual 5K in Tustin.  This year we raised over $5000 for them, and I can't be more proud.  This is not a club or organization you want to join, necessarily, but when you find yourself in it...you'll be glad they exist. 

5.5 Week Checkup

Today was my first checkup at my OB without you, Luke.

Not gonna lie.  It was rough walking into my doctor's building without you in your car seat.  My heart pounded in my chest as I walked down the hallway toward her office.  I'd been in that office so many times this year.  So many times--with no fear or question in my heart about how things were going.  Not once did I feel scared that anything could happen to us or you.

This time was so different. And all the damage was already done.

Thank goodness the waiting room wasn't terribly full when I got there.  Daddy met me there from work, and I was so happy when he showed up.  It was wrong with it still being just the two of us sitting in the office together, but I was proud of myself for not crying in the waiting room.

That changed once we got inside the exam room.  Seeing my doc again was hard.  I like her a lot, and I'd never not trusted her or her decisions about our care.  She told me that we'd changed her.  That she really rethought what she tells her patients about doing kick-counts.  That she's going to recommend it to all of her patients now, because while it's not something all doctors tell you how to do, it's important to TRY to know when something's going wrong.  She's not sure we could have changed anything, though.  It was such a short amount of time between that Friday--when you were seemingly fine at my doctor's appointment, and Sunday morning, when you were already gone.  She said she's never seen anything like it--that babies are born with nuchal cords and knots in their cord all the time--and they're fine.  But for some reason, you weren't.  Maybe it was because you were so big and healthy.  I wasn't measuring as big as you turned out to be, and she said that definitely caught her off guard.  She had no idea you'd be almost 10 pounds, considering you were a little less than 7 pounds at the ultrasound just three weeks before.  With me being so tall, it wasn't easily seen in my body just what a big guy you were.  She told us that it was really hard on them too...That this doesn't happen very often.  Sometimes they go a year or so without seeing this.  And then this happened.  And apparently this happened to another patient in their practice a week after us.  She said this hurt them too...

She went on to try to assure me that this was SUCH an uncommon accident.  She'd never seen it before.  And that next time around, she will do everything in her power to reassure me that your brother or sister will be ok.  We'll get a Perinatologist and NSTs at least twice a week.  More ultrasounds to check the cord more often.  She told me that she for sure would deliver at about 39 weeks, maybe sooner, and if the measurements are similar to yours, we'd do a c-section.  She told us that if you had been alive when she delivered you, she feared she would've broken your clavicle trying to get you out--they would have had to be much more aggressive because we couldn't have taken our time.  That's how big you were.  She told us that it would've been a scary delivery regardless, and she wished she would've been more prepared for that. 

They didn't find anything in any of the tests to tell us what happened, Luke.  We're both happy and sad about this.  Happy, because it means that there's really no reason this could happen to us again.  But we're sad--because it means we'll never understand why or how we lost you.  She ordered more blood tests for me today--to rule out everything possible.  I gave a total of 18 vials of blood today, Luke.  There were only supposed to be 9, but the lab worker said he used a needle that was too fat the first time, and he punctured my vein too much and messed up the samples.  Great.

So we discussed the future.  My doc said that as soon as I get my next cycle, we could start trying again if we wanted to.  Obviously, we need to do what's best for us, but just thinking about this right now hurts me, Luke.  I'm so torn on everything.  I don't want to replace you.  I don't want to start trying again right away just to fill the hole that's been left in our lives.  But at the same time, I do.  This wasn't how it was supposed to be, and I wish this wasn't a decision that we have to make.  Daddy and I aren't exactly young.  We can't wait years to work on fixing ourselves after losing you...

But then there's the thought of going through being pregnant again, only with all of this on my mind.  The entire time.  I'm going to be a wreck.  Going through this again--Even if everything is FINE the entire time, I don't know if there's anything anyone will be able to do to reassure me that it will all turn out ok.  Nothing will be ok until we hold your brother or sister in our arms.  And I won't believe anything anyone tells me until that happens.    


I don't know what to do.

Everyone keeps saying to take our time and figure out what's best for us, but I feel like time isn't on our side.
I need to call back a therapist that Angela found for me.  This therapist has gone through a stillbirth herself, and I'm hoping she can give me some advice here, because I honestly don't know what to do.  I feel like right now, all I can do is miss you.  

All I know is...it still  hurts.  A lot.  I know I'm strong, but this is just hard.

Ugh.

Dear Cord Bank Registry--

I have unsubscribed from your emails MANY times.  Yet for some reason, I keep getting them, as well as flyers in the mail.  When I say UNSUBSCRIBE, I MEAN IT.

Seriously.  Like salt in my wounds.  And today you send me a SURVEY?  Eff you.  I hope the part where I talk about trying to unsubscribe many times because I delivered our son stillborn gets back to SOMEONE at your company.

Ugh.

Also, to the lady at Old Navy, who felt the need to comment with "Oh, fun--all things for YOU!" when I checked out?  I know you meant well. But I would much rather have been using my 40% off coupon today buying clothes for my 1-month old son.  Instead, I'm participating in some effing retail therapy in a store filled with seemingly ALL stay-at-home-moms trying to avoid the baby and maternity sections at all costs.  Probably not what you'd call FUN.

I think maybe the Anger stage of grief is kicking in today.  

#captureyourgrief--Day 15

Wave of Light

Today is pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. Chewie and Bender miss you as much as we do, Luke. It's just not right without you.

Memories of the future

Something I need to figure out how to do--How do I give up on the future that Luke was supposed to be in?

The things that hit me the hardest, that I think about on a daily basis, are the tiny reminders of things that were said and done before all of this happened...when our future had Luke with us. The enormity of losing him...suffocates me sometimes.  Usually when someone dies, you remember all of the memories with them.  The things you did together.  Friendships.  Family time.  That's why this situation is the most backwards thing ever.  The only thoughts and experiences we ever got to have with our son were those we imagined and foresaw in our heads.

I feel like my entire life is going to be divided on a line--Pre-Luke, and Post-Luke.

In some ways, it's a blessing, because none of it was real.  But in other ways, it's the worst possible torture to think about all that might have been.  Yesterday I had a meltdown when I came home from shopping with Jeff at Target and Old Navy.  It was the same Old Navy that I'd shopped for maternity clothes at--and I couldn't wait till I could buy cute kids clothing for Luke there.  Then there was Target.  Mom, Jeff and I had actually JUST been at that Target the Friday before we found out we'd lost him.  We were shopping for some random things for him--Diapers, wipes, a few things that Mom still needed for her house when she'd take care of him.  Jeff insisted we get this really cute hooded towel with a shark on it.

Yesterday I saw so many Moms pushing their babies in strollers.  With their diaper bags and snacks in tow.  That was supposed to be me.  Us.  But everything that I'd built up to expect in my head...Is never going to be real with Luke.

Nearly everyday I go in Luke's room.  And the thing that hurts me to look at the most is all of his clothes hanging in the closet--washed and ready for him to wear.  They're organized by size--from Newborn to almost 24 months.  We got so many cute things.  And I'd imagined him wearing all of them.  I couldn't wait till he could fit into the shirt we bought him at Coachella.  Or the Angels onesie.

We were finally going to be using the family bassinet with him.  

Auntie Ali's special nickname for Luke was going to be Jemaine.  When we couldn't figure out what to name him, Ali had suggested names that start with J, since Jeff and I are both Js as well, and the funniest name we could come up with was Jemaine (since we are sort of obsessed with Flight of the Conchords and all).  It was never serious, but surely that would be his nickname. 

I think back to my last day in the office.  When I said goodbye to Joey, he said how he already felt like he knew Luke since, ya know, they were already Coachella-going-concert-buddies and all.

We were finally going to join the realm of people who have kids.  Something I've watched from afar for a long time, but would finally be able to understand what it's actually like.  

It's thoughts like that--that slay me.  When I get too deep in my head with those thoughts, the tears come.  And there's so many thoughts that trigger that.  Now, we're parents.  But with empty arms.  I don't even know what that means, really.  If your hopes and dreams for your child never have a chance to come to be, how exactly can you call yourself a parent?

Deep down, I know Luke will always be alive in my heart.  And physically, he'll always be a part of me.  But giving up on the future...but still having memories of thinking about what it would have been like?  It's the worst mindfuck I can think of.

Tonight is October 15--Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.  Tonight, we''ll light a candle for our little guy and hope that he can somehow share that moment with us....

I miss you, Luke.

#captureyour grief--Day 14

Community

On  October 6, we participated in our first Walk to Remember event here in Orange County.  I wasn't even sure if I'd be ready to do this when we first heard about it in the hospital, but I'm so glad we participated.  The community of support for parents like us is huge.  Between blogs I find on the internet, groups like Walk to Remember, and support groups (that we haven't even had a chance to participate in yet...but will), I'm so glad we're not alone.  

The grey shirts are everyone walking for Luke--But everyone else pictured has lost someone important to them as well.  The support is overwhelming. 

#captureyourgrief--Day 13

--Signs--This kind if goes along with symbols, but everytime I see sharp rays of light reflected, I feel like Luke is there with me.

#captureyourgrief Day 11

Supportive family and friends

I can't even fit pictures if everyone that belongs in these pictures. ALL of you have been amazing to us...and we couldn't do without all of your support.

Today is your 1-month birthday, Luke

Today is your 1-month birthday, Luke.

I realized this last night before I went to bed and cried myself to sleep.  I thought of everything that you would be by now.  You'd probably be growing out of your 1-3 Month old clothing by now because you'd probably be the size of a 3-month old already.  We'd be hanging out with Chris and your cousin Amanda this week, and the family would be gathering to celebrate.  You'd have been a pro at nursing by now, and you'd be healthy as a peach.  I'd be tired, yes, but it would all be worth it, because you're so amazingly cute.  You'd probably have learned how to smile at us by now.  And I'd get to see your amazing blue eyes everyday.  We'd have gone to the new pediatrician I found.  You'd be wearing your Halloween onesie and we'd take pictures at a pumpkin patch soon.

I'd be a wreck because I'd be worrying if I was doing everything right.  But that wouldn't matter.  Because you'd be here with us.

But you're not.  I wish I knew why.
 
I heard your Daddy listening to this song the other day, and it never hit me as hard the million times I'd heard it before as it did then.

If I keep holding out
Will the light shine through?
Under this broken roof
It's only rain that I feel
I've been wishin' out the days
Oh oh oh
Come back

I have been planning out
All that I'd say to you
Since you slipped away
Know that I still remain true
I've been wishin' out the days
Please say that if you hadn't have gone now
I wouldn't have lost you another way
From wherever you are
Oh oh oh oh
Come back

And these days, they linger on, yeah, yeah
And in the night, I've been waiting for
A real possibility that I may meet you in my dreams
I go to sleep

If I don't fall apart
Will my memory stay clear?
So you had to go
And I had to remain here
But the strangest thing to date
So far away and yet you feel so close
I'm not going to question it any other way
It must be an open door for you
To come back

And the days they linger on, yeah
Every night I'm waiting for
The real possibility that I may meet you in my dreams
Sometimes you're there and you're talking back to me
Come the morning I could swear you're next to me
And it's ok

It's ok, it's ok

I'll be here
Come back, come back
I'll be here
Come back, come back
I'll be here
Come back, come back

#captureyourgrief--Day 10

A Symbol

In Latin the meaning of the name Luke is Light Giving. I always liked the symbolism in that...so now I catch myself looking for bursts of light wherever I am, hoping that he's somehow there with me.

#captureyourgrief--Day 9

A Special Place

Since I haven't really had much time to figure out grief yet, for now, it's Luke's room. We never got around to getting the desk out of there, but it's just gonna stay for now. The car seat needs somewhere to go...

It's the place I imagined him being in the most.

How do funny people get through trauma like this?

I don't know how well you knew this from inside my belly, Luke, but me and your Dad are kind of...jackasses.  Or maybe not jackasses, but we operate with a heavy hand of sarcasm.  We're funny people.  And no one even believes us when we tell them how old we are.  I still get carded and I'm 33 years old.  I'm not sure that's a compliment, or a sign that we're just immature, but that's who we are.   My favorite movie is Tommy Boy.  Or Billy Madison.  Maybe Old School.  I don't do chick flicks.  Both me and your Daddy crack terribly un-PC jokes on an hourly basis.

So you can imagine how hard it is to go through something this traumatic when we're like that.

I'm emotional, but I've never been through anything in my life that has hit me this hard.  Obviously, it should hit me this hard.  Losing a child is like losing a part of yourself.  Part of me died with you.  And I feel like I don't know how to grieve over losing you while being who I am.  Going through the day with spontaneous bouts of tears is just not normal for me. I realize it's not normal for most people, but it feels so opposite to who I am.  I don't want people treating me differently because of what happened.  

I hate feeling guilty for smiling or laughing.  I know you wouldn't want me to feel that way, but it's hard.  I'm torn.  Mourning you is a rocky road.  And I'm going to be traveling this road for the rest of my life.  That might be the part that's hardest for me to think about right now.  Everyone says it gets easier--It doesn't get better, it just gets easier.     

All I want is to just be me.  I just wanted to be me with you. 

And now I need to figure out how to do that without you. 

#captureyourgrief--Day 8

Jewelry in memory of Luke

It's only been a month since we lost Luke, but literally about a week after, I got an email from one of my favorite websites, #shanalogic. And I saw this necklace, which was pretty much exactly the same leaf they put on my door at the hospital when we found out we lost him. It's a subtle reminder of him.

#captureyourgrief--Day 7

What TO say?

Pretty much anything along the lines of "I'm so sorry". There's nothing anyone can say that will make this better, but to genuinely say you care means the world.

I'll say that I've been pretty lucky in that I haven't really had anyone say something really terrible to me about what happened. Most everyone we know loved Luke in their heart already...and they share our pain with us. That's comforting just to know that.

Healing

Tomorrow it will have been 4 weeks since we lost you, Luke.  Today is 4 weeks since we found out the horrific news that you no longer had a heartbeat.

One month.  It doesn't seem like very long, but in some ways, it feels like an eternity.

It feels like it was so long ago that I was pregnant with you.  My body is pretty much physically healed at this point, and that makes me sad.  It means that almost all traces of you are gone from me.  The spots that appeared under my arms are gone.  That pain in my pelvis is almost unnoticeable now, aside from a few creaks here and there.  My feet don't hurt anymore.  My stitches have dissolved, and I'm back in my pre-pregnancy clothes already.

It hurts to think that you were so fleeting.  Here and gone so fast. 

But not your spirit.

Luke's Skywalkers--OC Walk to Remember 2012

Yesterday was the OC Walk to Remember.  When I found out it was happening so soon after we lost you, I was kind of scared that we wouldn't be ready to participate in something like this.  But I'm so glad we did.  Your team was huge, Luke.  So many people walked for you, yesterday.  That picture doesn't even have everyone in it that was there for you.  They miss you too.  Sometimes I feel guilty for smiling, but I couldn't help it yesterday.  It was filled with tears AND smiles.  Hearing your name mentioned so often...that's all we ever wanted anyway.  You're still our son, even if you're not here.

I know my emotional healing has a long way to go.  But I felt your spirit there with us, yesterday, Luke.  Daddy and I still miss you so much.

    

#captureyourgrief--Day 6

Day 6 is kind of a tough.  For the most part, I understand that it's hard to find the right words to say to someone that's...in our situation.  Death is hard enough to talk about.  An event as tragic as ours, is just beyond awkward to talk about.  It's traumatic.  And who likes to talk about giving birth?  But what about when that's all you have to talk about your baby?

Anyway, the day we were making Luke's funeral arrangements at the mortuary, we met with Pastor Rick.  Rick sat down with us, and we started talking.  Jeff said something along the lines of 'Maybe God needed Luke more than us.'  And Rick stopped Jeff and basically reiterated no, that's not true.  You needed Luke more than anyone.  This just shouldn't happen.

And he's right.  I would never wish this on anyone.  And there is no reason for cord accidents to happen to babies at 39 weeks.  It just does.  It's part of this mysterious, terrible, wonderful world we live in. 

So for today's "What Not to Say"?

It doesn't.  Not this. 

#captureyourgrief--Day 5

A Memorial

I feel like this is the greatest memorial Luke could've left behind--Helping others through the worst times of their lives. Tomorrow we're walking in the Orange County Walk to Remember in memory of our sweet boy, and the amount of money we've raised in his memory simultaneously saddens and overjoys me.

I wish that this wasn't a club that anyone had to join, but knowing there are groups like them out there trying to help soften the blow...to be able to contribute to that is a tiny ray of light in our lives.

#captureyourgrief--Day 4

Your most treasured item

This is the hardest one to look at, because it holds everything from that day inside of it. His blanket, his bracelet, his hand and footprints, his pictures...

#captureyourgrief--Day 3

A self-portrait after your loss...

Jeff and I, today, in Santa Barbara. On a trip we definitely hadn't planned on taking anytime soon.

#captureyourgrief--Day 2

A self-portrait before your loss.

Here's the 3 of us before our world changed forever. Just 3 weeks before we lost you, Luke. We were so naive then...

Searching for your light

Today your mom posted a picture of the dawn for the first day of the Capture Your Grief photo project. It reminded me of this short poem I wrote in my journal on Sept. 19, just after I had gotten home to Portland.

Morning
Morning is the cruelest time
When I'm awakened from the comfort of dreams
Back into the nightmare of reality
And your name is on my tongue
But I have no voice to say it
Just the lump in my throat
When will I be able to see
Your light
With the dawn?

I still think of you every day upon waking, Luke, and I'm not sure this will ever change.

#captureyourgrief--Day 1

Something I wasn't really aware of before 3 weeks ago?  October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.  It's not a club any woman ever wants to join, but the more time that passes, the more I truly believe that the more I talk about what happened to Luke, and the more I read about other parents' stories of similar experiences...I feel less alone.  I feel like...at least there are other people out there who understand how I feel...

And with that, I'm doing this: Capture Your Grief

So here we go...Day 1--October 1, 2012: Sunrise--Fullerton, California: