Dear Nash

Hi Buddy...

As I'm sure you know, last weekend we did our SEVENTH March For Babies in honor and memory of YOU.  While most of the time I get much satisfaction working with March of Dimes to help other people's babies, this time of year is always very bittersweet for me.  I'm super proud of the legacy you have left behind - tiny, little YOU making such a difference to so many babies. And I know that I'm blessed that we have an abundance of love, support, and encouragement as we ask people to celebrate and remember you every spring.

But, then again, it's this walk that always seems to tightly pull at my heart as it gets closer.  As happy as I am to participate, I'm also devastated that I have a reason to.  It's on these days that the "why me's" and the "it's not fairs" repeat in my brain over and over again.  The questions are endless... Why can't I be the one supporting a friend along this journey instead of the other way around?  Why is this the path I have to be on?  Why can't my family be the "normal" one - where true family pictures DON'T revolve around yellow balloons and gravestones?  Why is this the story I must tell?  Why is MY son the reason OTHER babies can now be born healthy?  Why do we have to save other people's babies?  Why didn't anyone save mine?

So, Nash, as I walked on Satuday, I was grateful to be surrounded by loving, prayerful, strong people that have been there to lift me up in times like these  But, to be honest, my heart just ached with every step that day.  It was a day that I just wished I had you back.

I miss you.  I miss you.  I miss you.  
Loving you forever,
Mommy

On My Mind

As many of y'all know, we're about to walk in the March For Babies for the seventh time.  I've been thinking a lot about how different things are since our first time attending this event back in 2009.  So much has happened, so much has changed.  Lately, I've been thinking about how my mind used to think about losing Nash every second of every day.  And now, almost seven years after he's been gone, it doesn't do that anymore.  Part of me is sad to think that I'm not grieving in the same way that I did at the beginning and then the other part of me is proud for making great strides in this process.  So the other day, I started wondering how often I actually do think of Nash in a day, and I was surprised by what I found...

While blow drying my hair that morning, I automatically glanced at the picture of a two month old Nash in the frame on our bathroom counter - his sweet face, surrounded by bubbles in the baby tub he used to bathe in.  Then, in the car on the way to school, I listened to a country station that is constantly advertising it's night broadcast, called "Nash Nights Live."  Every time I hear those words, they make me smile.  At lunch that afternoon, my friends and I were talking about having new babies and were comparing each of our kids.  I told them about my four kids' temperaments as little ones; Nash's name rolling off my tongue easily.  And the best part?  No one flinched or showed any ounce of uncomfortableness at the sound of his name. After school, I headed to a doctor appointment after school, and had Tate, Knox, and Brady with me.  As the nurse led us to the exam room, she glanced at the kids, and said, "Wow... you got the whole crew with you!"  I just smiled, but what I was thinking was, "No, actually it's not really the 'WHOLE crew.'"  If she only knew...  On the way home, I found myself looking for cars with NSH at the beginning of their license plates, just because when I find them, it makes me feel closer to him.  I didn't see any that day though.  At night, I noticed my mind drifted to Nash quite often, especially while checking on my sleeping kids; seeing their perfect little faces and wondering where a fourth one would fit into the chaos that is our life.  And finally, I ended that night like I do every night... Before closing my eyes, I glanced towards the window, to where I know he's looking down on me, and whispered him an "I love you," just in case he was listening.

So after being conscious about it for one full day, I found that although I may not be in tears every waking moment like I was seven years ago, my mind is always on my baby.  But the difference is that now I can think of him with a smile more often than not.  I know now that the missing him part will never stop and the loving him part will continue to grow whether he's here or not.  And for this, I'm grateful.

Love to y'all,
Tracy