Maternity leave is over

I woke up Friday morning and put on my black comfy pants, you know, one of the two pairs I have worn every day for the past eight weeks.  My entire maternity leave has been a rotation of these pants to every single place I've gone.

So, as I was putting on my black comfy pants on the last day of my maternity leave, I thought about how the days of comfy pants were over.  I thought about how this was my last day of my maternity leave, and suddenly I was mad.  Not because I have to go back to work, I actually really like work and some routine will be good for me.  I was mad because this isn't how returning to work after maternity leave was supposed to be!

• I'm mad that I was on my maternity leave and visiting my son's grave simultaneously.
• I'm mad that my "real clothes" still don't fit because of the baby weight, but there is no baby.
• I'm mad that I've spent my maternity leave working on a memory book of Enoch, instead of holding him.
• I'm mad that I'm worn going back to work, not because a baby has been keeping me up all night,  but because grief takes a toll on the body.
• I'm mad that my friend's interaction with Enoch is them sending me a picture that they visited his grave that day.
• I'm mad that we didn't have to find child care, because there is no child to care for.
• I'm mad that I'm not crying about leaving my baby to go back to work, rather I have cried everyday because he was never here to leave.
• I'm mad that I ended up reading books on grief rather than parenting and leadership like I planned.  
• I'm mad that the question people will inevitably ask "do you have kids?" has no easy answer.
• I'm mad that I will use my lunch break to visit Enoch's grave rather than visit him at home.
• I'm mad that I can't put a picture of my son on my desk, because nobody wants to see a picture of a dead baby.

So tomorrow I'll head to work, excited to be with the team, but mad from the void of what this return should have been.

Palms Up

It's hard to explain.  People ask me often how I am doing and how I am holding up, and all of it is hard to explain.  It's hard to explain that the paralyzing hard days I just stare at a wall, literally.  It's hard to explain how desperately I want to be near Enoch and why I go to the grave everyday.  But it's the most difficult to explain how I feel like God prepared me for where I am today.  In all honesty I would not have survived this tragic loss a year ago.

Since Enoch has passed away I have revisited my journal a number of times, knowing all the lessons God was teaching me were written in different forms throughout it.  Here is just a glimpse, as there is no way to explain in full all of what I learned.

This is a page from my journal.  I drew and wrote themes, phrases, and verses God was teaching me throughout the first half of 2015 on one page.   So many nuggets, and yet a few main themes that came up over and over again.

If you have been around me at all in the past year or have heard me talk about how "Everything is a gift," you might notice it written in the center of this page.   I genuinely understand that "everything is a gift, and nothing is deserved."  I even drew a picture of our family of three with an arrow to that phrase.  I learned this over and over, it was a major theme in my life, and one I believe so deeply.  That is how just 51 days after Enoch was born and died that I can say that pregnancy really was a gift!   (Click here to read an entire post just on this idea).

Another theme throughout 2015 was the phrase, "palms up."  A dear friend, Kara, initially challenged me with this phrase at the beginning of the year.  As I would tell her or text her that I was anxious or overwhelmed, she would encourage me to let go. "Palms up." It was a good reminder, and I soon adopted it as my own.  I used to write it on my palms as a physical reminder that I wasn't holding onto anything tightly.  That it was all God's.  All of it.  Everything.  All of the time.  Other times I would write in my journal, "Palms up, arms in the air," meaning I hold nothing tightly, and I worship God in all circumstances.  It's written over and over in my journal.  I reminded myself of it daily.  God really is in control, and I need to let Him be.

This was written in my journal, not found on the page above.

I have very regularly prayed this past year that my life would bring God glory.  Over and over I prayed that, and it's why I wrote below, "None of it matters, 'things,' ministry, accomplishments, relationships, what people think, problems, the latest..., or any earthly thing.  Only bringing God Glory!"  Each night when I woke up, I begged God that our baby would know God and would bring Him glory.  Honestly and truly, every night I begged God for His glory in our sons life.  I had no clue at that time that this would be how it would happen.  I thought Enoch would grow up and live a radical life that brought people to the saving knowledge of Jesus.   That's what I had in mind.  Not this!  Not at all.  

So where am I with all of this in light of my son dying?   The same place.  There was no small print in these thoughts and prayers.  I didn't believe everything was a gift, but think God owed me Enoch.  There were no qualifications with my "palms up" and "arms in the air."   I didn't tell God I would surrender "all areas of my life" but say my son was off limits.  I didn't ask God to bring Him glory as long as it was on my terms.  

Don't get me wrong; this was NOT my idea of how it would go!  I'm devastated.  I'm grieving.  Yet at the same time I can still write and know that all of the above are true.  I am very aware that this is the hardest thing I've ever had to go through, and I am also aware that I submitted everything to God trusting him with ALL areas of my life.  "Palms up."

Let me be clear, I don't think God DID this.  I think we live in a sinful broken world, and this is a result of it.  I think God prepared me.  I think God is using it for his glory.  I trust Him and his plan, even if I don't get it all of the time. 

All positions

I woke up this morning thinking about Enoch.  Specifically thinking about holding him.  Trying to remember what his little 3 pound 11 ounce body felt like in my arms.  Trying never to forget.

Something I hadn't thought about prior to the wee hours of night on December 9th were all the positions you hold a baby.  That night as I was trying to sit up straighter in the bed, I laid Enoch on my legs.  It wasn't until that moment that I realized the anticipation I had of him laying like that.  And suddenly I knew I needed to hold my son in every position possible before the night was over.

And that's what I did.  Throughout the night, slowly, deliberately, I made sure to hold him every possible way:  
I held him sitting down.
I held him standing up.
I held him against my chest.
I held him in my arms.
I held him away from me so I could see his face.
I laid him on my legs.
I laid him on the bed beside my legs.
I laid beside him on the bed with my arm around him.
I held him on my chest while he held my hand.
I held him while walking.  (This was the last position I held Enoch before leaving the hospital.)

I had to!  I had to hold my son in every position I could think of because I knew I would never get to again. I needed to feel him in my arms and next to me in every possible way.

So this morning when I wanted to remember how it felt to hold him, I went through every one of those positions in which I held him.  I needed to remember... to feel him again.

As I look back now I understand what a gift to have gotten to hold him for those 11 hours.  And I am so grateful to have realized that I needed to hold him in all those positions.

This Man

On New Years Eve it was the 17 year anniversary of our first date.  Tim and I have had a jam packed, adventure filled 17 years.  I'm grateful for all the years, even the really hard ones.  No matter the season, good or bad, three things have always been true:  he sincerely is the love of my life, I am really glad I married him, and I honestly always think he's the most attractive man in the room.  

The season of pregnancy was a good one for us!  He was thrilled to be a dad and took on the role of caring for the baby the only way he knew how, through caring for me.   From early on in pregnancy, even before I needed more help with things, Tim cared for me.  As I look back on those 9 months I see it as such a gift and such a blessing that he took on the dad role so seriously even before Enoch was born.  

In preparation...

I love that he had our whole household watch a video on the five S's in calming a baby.

*Our household = Two friends, Julie and Bethany and my nephew Johnny.

I love that afterward he made Bethany and I practice one of the S's by swaddling Julie. 

I love that he made all of us practice swaddling a stuffed moose.  

In the moment...

I love that he then swaddled Enoch.  There really is no way to express how much I loved him in the moment.

I love how much he loved and cared for Enoch.

I love how he was overprotective as any new dad would be.  

I love how he stayed up all night to be with our son for the few hours we were able to.

And now...
I love that he is by my side as we figure out this season of grief.
I love that he is my comfort in the middle of the night.
I love that he continues to care for me well even on his hard days.
I love that he is who is by my side when visiting Enoch's grave.

Most of all, I love that through 17 years of some extremely hard and many joyful days, that he continues to be the love of my life and the father of my child.

Thank you isn't enough...

Tim and I have been humbled, to the point of tears, because of your love and care for us.

On Tuesday, December 8th Tim and I woke up excited that any day our first born would enter the world.  In a matter of hours our lives were turned upside down when we found out Enoch had no heartbeat.  Within mere minutes of sharing our heartbreak until now, six weeks later, there has been an outpouring of love, support and care.  This is our attempt to thank you all:

• Thanks to all of you who helped plan and host Enoch's funeral.  What a hard day!  So many decisions to make when we were in such a difficult state, and yet so many of you helped walk us through it.
• Thanks for all of you who have brought us meals! I don't love cooking on a good day.  I'm not sure we would have eaten anything outside of cereal if it weren't for the meals brought.  Thank you!
• Thanks to all of you who gave to our medical bills.  We were nervous about the large and unexpected costs with no maternity insurance and the way Enoch entered the world.  So thank you for covering those costs!  What a blessing!
• And our desire really was that people would donate to First Glance, the ministry we love.  Your donations will continue to impact the lives of the teens and young adults we work with.  Thank you for those that have and may yet!  www.firstglance.org
• Thank you for every text, card, email, FB message, etc. that has expressed your sympathy and your prayers! Your support and thoughtfulness is encouraging.  We even go back to cards and messages to help get us through the dark days.
• Thank you for praying and continuing to pray.  We really do believe prayer changes things!  Thank you for praying for us during this time.  We have felt the effects of those prayers.
• And most of all thank you for sharing about how Enoch has impacted your life or the lives of those around you.  The truth is the loss of Enoch is a tragedy.  But when you share with us the things that Enoch's little life challenged you with, then it brings God glory, and it's no longer JUST a tragedy.  So thank you for telling us about these things.

We wish so much we would have had a chance to greet all of you that came to the funeral or personally thank all of you that have prayed and given and loved, but it just hasn't been possible due to the overwhelming number of you and the loss of capacity in our grief.  Please know it has not gone unnoticed!  We really are so thankful!

I love them all so much!

These three are dear friends of mine.  When I look at this picture it makes me smile for couple reasons.  First of all, I love each of these girls so much.  Oh the stories I could tell you about the entertaining adventures and friendships I have had with each of them over the years.  The other reason this picture makes me smile is I remember how annoyed I was that Jessica was making us take this picture as we all happened to be in the FG office that day.  I didn't love taking pregnancy photos, but now am so glad to have it!

All four of us were due within weeks of each other, and I had plans with each of them for our shared maternity leave.

• Kendra and I always do Swensons, so why not have Swenson dates with our babies?  It was a solid plan!
• Sarah and I were going to be first time moms together.  We shared a baby shower and hoped to continue the sharing with mom advice, frustrations and middle of the night texts.  
• Jenna and I meet monthly to talk about leadership in ministry, as she's the Director of The Mother's Nest.  We planned to keep our monthly meetings, but just tell everyone it was a mom date that way nobody could yell at us for working on maternity leave.  

When mourning the loss of Enoch I also mourn the loss of the plans and parenting along side these ladies.

After Enoch it took a minute for all of us to figure out how to interact with one another.  Kendra already had Zelda, but was afraid her little baby girl would bring me pain.  Sarah and Jenna felt bad to express their joy of their expected little girls, and I was fearful that I was the walking embodiment of their worst nightmare.  We had some good conversations.  We worked to be sensitive toward one another.

The truth is their babies and pregnancy didn't bring me pain.  The only thing I prayed for consistently and fervently after Enoch was for Sarah and Jenna's babies to be healthy.  As much as these ladies wanted to protect me from the sadness their babies might bring me, that's not what I wanted.  Their little girls don't bring sadness, and I am so excited for my friends to have their babies.  Honestly I never want anyone to go through what I did!  I'm not jealous or bitter... I desperately want them to hold their babies close as every mom should.

This week Jenna was the last of the four of us to give birth.  And so the next day I went to the gravesite and told Enoch about his friends: Zelda, Evangeline and Reyna.  I told him how he would have been outnumbered for sure.  I cried most of the time I was there.  The mourning, the loss, and the grief is real, and there are so many layers... I wanted Enoch to meet these little girls; I couldn't wait to parent with their mom's; and I simply want Enoch to be alive.

I have to say as much as I grieve, I also rejoice.  I am so grateful for the friendships I have with these ladies and I am thrilled to get to meet and know and love their little ones.  I really do love them all!

The Nursery

The door is closed to the nursery at our house.  Before we arrived home from the hospital friends took all the baby stuff throughout our house, neatly put it in that room and closed the door.  I don't open it.  I'm not quite ready to feel the void of what should be in that room.

In all honesty part of the reason I don't want to go in is because I have such good memories of getting the nursery ready.  For me it represents joy, anticipation, and projects with my husband and friends.  I smile when I think about:

• Tim and I having a hard time picking out a color for our room, so he let me pick the nursery color.  I chose gray, of course.

• Alicia helping me paint the nursery, since Tim hates painting.  I helped with trim, and she rolled it.  Two coats in two hours.  We were up against the clock, but don't worry we still made the meeting we were in charge of on time, with just a little paint on our skin.

• Going to Lauren's to get a pallet and hearing Xavier convinced he saw the helium balloon that Emery let go of a week earlier.
• The difficulty we had in taking apart the pallet...  It's a lot harder than it seems like it should be.
• Asking Tim and Andrew to help us attach the letters to the pallet project.  They may have laughed at and fixed some of our handiwork.
• The pizza party we threw to get so many friends to help us move all Tim's office stuff out of the soon to be nursery.  
• The many gifts piled in the room to the point where there was no where to walk.  Thanks to everyone who came to my four showers.  Yes, four! 
• Marlies' excitement to organize all the gifts, and even thanking me over an over for letting her have the "fun job."

• How much harder it was to get the dresser than anticipated and having to order it.  Who knew they don't keep those things in stock?
• Tim and I sitting on the floor forever putting together the dresser and crib.  It took forever even using Tim's drill instead of the itty bitty allen wrench they give you... We laughed about their time estimation.
• Alicia being a much better painter of the pallet than I was, but she never admitted it.
• Tim literally making 19 holes in the wall trying to hang the pallet.
• Tim doing a pull up on the pallet after it was hung, telling me he wanted to make sure it wasn't going to "fall and squish the baby."  

• Asking Tim to hang and then move the picture Ashely made for us.  
• Having Julie help us hang the converse shelf... Is it straight?

• Filling the dresser and putting everything in it's place.
• Putting on top the black t-shirt with tattoo sleeves that my family got the baby.  

• Tim laying on the changing table pretending to be a baby and crying.  

• Hanging pictures that Tim's family made during their shower for us.  

As I consider this pregnancy a gift, preparing a nursery fits in that category too.  Tim and I really enjoy doing projects together, and getting a space ready for our anticipated baby was all the more fun.  I am so grateful for that time with Tim as well as with the friends who helped.  

Clinging to truth!

Some days I feel like I'm drowning in the unrelenting sadness & grief.  I can't catch my breath.  There seems to be no hope.  It's on these days I work hard to remind myself of this truth.  A truth I know so well, and at times so easily forget.

Deep down I know it... I cling to it.  God Wins!

"Over the years"

Xavier and Isaiah are four and seven and two of my favorite little humans on the planet.  When I found out I was pregnant I waited to tell them because I was not sure how well they could keep my secret. It's a good thing because Isaiah told everyone... not just when I was there, or people who knew me, honestly anyone who would listen.  I never expected him to be so excited about it, but he was.  Over the months, Xavier would often acknowledge the size of my belly and ask if there was a baby in there.  Yes, and thank you for telling me that my belly is fat (nothing like a little honesty from a four year old).  I asked them what we should name him/her and they had fun picking names, surprisingly neither Elsa nor Darth Vader made the cut.  And from July until December almost daily Xavier or Isaiah or both would ask when the baby was coming.  My response was almost always, "there would be a baby at Christmas."

And since you're reading this blog you know, there was no baby at Christmas.  I remember in the wee hours of the night as I held Enoch, thinking about these two little boys and worrying how they would handle the news.  Of course Xavier and Isaiah's parents handled it well in telling them the sad news about baby Enoch.

Recently these two boys came with me to Enoch's grave, because they had been asking to go.  They asked good questions and tried to understand as well as their little minds could.  As we drove away Isaiah asked if he could bring some legos to the gravesite for Enoch.  His mom said, "Yes, over the years we will come visit Enoch and we can bring him different toys or gifts when we come."  

"Over the years."  The phrase pierced my heart and caused tears to well up.  "Over the years."  I will be coming to the grave for years.  This isn't a phase.  This isn't a season.  This isn't going to be part of my life for a stint of time.  The grief, the missing Enoch, the visiting his grave is going to be the rest of my life.  Quite honestly that thought is overwhelming to me.  I often don't know how I am going to get through the next minutes in this world with the gaping void and relentless pain I feel.  How am I ever going to survive years?  I never said anything in the moment about that phrase.

A few days later I received a text from Isaiah's mom with this picture.  Isaiah built Enoch legos and left them at the grave.  It brought me joy to see his love for Enoch and it brought me sadness that this is only way Isaiah will ever know him.  I had so many hopes that they would grow up playing together.

The lego on the left says Enoch

I have to be close

"He's gone, they took him and he's not coming back."  I would say this to Tim every day for days after Enoch had passed away.  The truth is nobody took him, rather we handed Enoch to a nurse.  I remember her black hair and short stature so clearly.

At the hospital throughout the night we were told we could give Enoch to the nurses at any point.  Nope, never.  I'm going to hold onto my son for every minute until I am discharged.  That's how I felt, and that's what I did.  At 9:30 Wednesday morning they told us we could go home.  A few more minutes, I needed just a few more minutes...  Really I needed a lifetime, but that wasn't an option.  So we took our time, I kissed his head as many times as possible knowing I wouldn't be able to again.  And I didn't just kiss his hat, I needed to feel the skin of his forehead against my lips.  Eventually Tim handed our son over to the nice nurse with the dark hair and short stature because there was no way I could do it.  I remember watching her walk down the hallway; it was unbearably hard.  Sometimes I think it's a good thing I was in shock, because thinking back on it now I don't know that you would have been able to pry him from my arms.

So as the days passed I would continue to say, "They took him and he's not coming back." It's amazing to me how God created moms with this instinct to be near their babies.  It's not taught.  I hadn't learned it from being a mom before.  Nope, as a new mom it was against everything in my being to be far from Enoch.  He was with me for 40 weeks and 5 days.  He grew in me, I felt him move and kick; I heard his heart beat; I would talk to him; and I took him on adventures.  He was our son.  I loved him with my whole being, and suddenly he wasn't with me.  He wasn't in me, he wasn't in his crib, he was so far, and he wasn't coming back.

I knew where he was, at Prentice Funeral Home in Kenmore.  He was with Lori, a friend, and the only person I trusted with our dead son.  I knew he was being well taken care of, but it didn't help.  Our son wasn't with me, and that's all that mattered.  

It wasn't until we buried him the following Wednesday that I realized not knowing exactly where he was gave me such unrest.  Now I know, and I can go visit his physical body which is 2.9 miles and 8 minutes from our house.  I go everyday.  I need to be near him!  It's not the same as holding him in my arms and kissing his forehead.  It will never be the same, but it's all I have.  And I have to be close!

The reality of him never being with us physically is paralyzingly sad.   And on hard days I still find myself saying, "They took him and he's not coming back."

Enoch's gravestone isn't in yet, and it was so sad there was nothing at his grave, no toys, no marker, nothing.  So Tim and I took him a pair of converse, one's we hoped he would wear.  Instead, they mark where our little baby lies.

Why is everyone acting normal?

As we prepared for Enoch's arrival, I had lots of hopes and dreams for him, but there were only a handful of pictures I had in my mind for upcoming events including watching the Grinch (like we do every year) with our friends & their kids, taking him to each of our family Christmas', Sunday morning church, bagel Friday, and a few others.

This past Sunday is the first we attended church since Enoch died.  I knew it was going to be hard. For the weeks prior to Enoch's arrival I would think to myself, "I hope I'm not here next week because the baby was born."  So the idea of him being born but going without him, was unbearably sad.  As we sat there that morning, people were worshiping, listening, and taking notes.  They were doing all the things you're supposed to do in church.  But didn't they see?  Didn't they see the huge void?  Enoch was supposed to be there!  My friends were supposed to hold him during worship.  I was supposed to leave the sanctuary when he started to cry.  He was supposed to be passed back and forth between our church community.   He was supposed to be there, and yet everyone was functioning like normal!  It wasn't that the sermon was disconnected... in fact the pastor is a close friend, and was talking about our story.  It's not like the whole audience didn't just hear that our baby died.  They did, but they were sitting there, just like any other Sunday.  But it wasn't any other Sunday; not to me!  Suddenly all I wanted to do was throw my bible and anything else near me... coffee mugs, books, purses, over the balcony.  I couldn't handle it.  I couldn't handle the normal.  There was a big gaping void, and nobody saw it.

I knew logically it wasn't their fault that they were functioning like normal and weren't acknowledging the void that I felt so deeply.  So instead of harming those below, I walked out  of the sanctuary and into the bathroom.  I needed a break. I needed to regroup.

Attending each of these different events has been especially difficult, but it wasn't until this past Sunday that I completely understood why.  It is the feeling of the void.  I had anticipation that Enoch would be with us at these places, but he isn't.  And that is a tangible reminder of the loss of our son.

325 Days!!!

God healed my mind 325 days ago today!  I remember it so clearly, the complete despair and desperation I felt going into that time, sitting on the cold floor while women gathered around to pray, and the feeling of release when they prayed in Jesus' name.  I remember all of it.  God did it, and it was amazing! Click here to read that whole story.

Today also marks four weeks exactly since I had the privilege of meeting my son and the heartbreak of saying goodbye to him all at once.  It has been the hardest four weeks of my life!  I've felt pain and sorrow so deeply... paralyzingly and unbearably deeply. 

As sad as I have been, I have been grateful to God for the healing of my mind 325 days ago.  It is a healing that has kept me from depression and suicide;  a healing that has allowed me to know God really does interact in our lives, and a healing that has given me a sense of freedom to be sad without worry of the deep depression I once felt.  

Praise God for complete healing of my mind!!

Screen shot of the app I use to keep track of God healing my mind

**Although I'm confident God does interact in our lives, he doesn't always answer prayers the same way for everyone.  So, please don't hear me saying that if you pray, you won't be depressed anymore. 

Crying in Hobby Lobby

I went to Hobby Lobby today, which is a pretty big deal for me these days.  I haven't gone out much since Enoch died.  Crowds, people, shopping.  It's all overwhelming to me.  Today I got out though.  I needed to get some supplies to create a memory book for Enoch.  I need to write down his story, his impact, and document the eleven short hours we had with him.

We were in the aisle with all the scrapbooking paper.  Who knew there were so many kinds?  My friend Alicia looked over and asked what kind of paper I wanted.  I began to cry.  The paper wasn't as overwhelming as the void.  You see Alicia and I talked about how on my maternity leave we would go to Hobby Lobby.  She would push the baby in the cart, and it would get me out of the house.  But now I'm on my maternity leave, and instead of looking at frivolous things we don't need and shouldn't spend our money on, she's pushing a cart full of supplies for a memory book.  And since a memory book is the only thing Tim and I will have of our son,  I cried in the middle of Hobby Lobby.  Luckily Alicia is used to this; let's me cry it out, gives me a hug and then we move on.

And who in the world would have thought I would be taking up scrapbooking in the new year?  Not me - ever!

Am I a Mom?

I used to joke with my friend that I wasn't in the "cool moms club" because I didn't have children.  When you don't have kids but most of the people around you do, it's hard not to feel like an outsider.  They talk about their kids, parenting issues, and you know "mom things."  In addition they go on play dates with each other.  You're not invited because they don't think about it, or it's their effort to protect you from feeling bad for not having kids.  It's never on purpose.  It's never to be hurtful.  You just realize in these social situations you're not part of the "cool moms club."

I was going to be in it... finally.  I even noticed conversations changing as I was pregnant.  Conversations about kids and pediatricians, and play dates already set up as we talked about how we were going to push our babies around stores together.

And then suddenly all of that changed.  You see my baby died.  He technically died before he ever entered this world.   So what does that mean for me?  Am I a mom?  According to the state and the hospital he doesn't even merit a brith certificate.

I didn't realize I was wrestling with this question until a couple days after his death.  I asked some friends to shop with me for clothes for the funeral.  It's odd to think about buying clothes for your son's funeral, and it seems like an impossible task.  How do you choose clothes?  You don't even care what you're going to wear.  You also know you're never going to want to wear it again.  So in order to get through this seemly impossible task, having just given birth, knowing in two days you will bury him, you ask friends to come to help make all decisions because you're certain your mind can't.

As the five of us were crammed in a dressing room trying to figure it all out, one of my friends asked about jewelry.  She asked if I wanted to get a necklace with the letter "E."  You see I had thought about this jewelry that moms wear displaying letters that represent their kids.  I even saw some I thought I might buy one day.  But in the moment this question paralyzed me.  Within seconds of her asking I began to cry.  It suddenly and unknowingly brought up this question in my mind do I still get one of these necklaces?  Am I a mom?  Do I still wear it even though my son had died.  I was wrestling with this in my mind, but never said any words.  Seeing the struggle in my eyes, my friend simply placed her hand on mine and said, "we don't have to decide that right now."  We moved on, and I didn't think about it again.

The day of funeral another friend, who was in the dressing room previously, handed me a folded up piece of paper.  She said, "I got this for you.  It's a necklace."  And moments before the funeral started, I put on this necklace with the letter "E."

I will admit that I continue to struggle with the idea that I am a mom because it doesn't look like I anticipated.  I don't get to care for and raise my child.  And I'm not certain I will feel any less like an outsider with the "cool moms club."

But I haven't taken the necklace off since.  To me it's a reminder that I am a mom.  I have a son.  His name is Enoch, and I love him with my whole being.