A Thousand Years.

I’ve often heard Ted share that a difficult part of his journey as a loss Dad revolves around watching me and the pain that ebbs and flows so easily in my life.  I remember sitting in grief counseling with him one night and he shared, “Abby was just so excited to become a Mom” and followed by telling our counselor how he supposes most girls dream about it but he’d never seen anyone so excited to become pregnant.

Last night he went to a much needed guys night with some of his friends.  I treated myself to a pedicure, hooked up with some friends for a few beers and then came home and plopped myself on the couch.  I decided to fire up from the beginning, this year’s season of America’s Got Talent.  I immediately became entertained until Ted came home.

I’ve never really watched the show before but now I’m hooked!  I was mesmerized mostly by the children.  I remember being a little girl and dancing without fear across my bedroom, karaoke mic in tow, rocking out to Shania Twain, and shaking my God-given hips.  Except these kids were doing it in front of hundreds of people; and doing it so well.

At one point a contestant was pushed through to the next level and ever so faintly in the background played Christina Perri’s – A Thousand Years.  I sat there watching, listening to the song that we played as my bridesmaids walked down the aisle at our wedding, and burst into tears.

I sat there wondering who Sam would have been.  The sky is the limit with babies.  I dream big and I have no idea that whatever he chose to do, I’d be to the side of the stage crying along with him, cheering him on, with a heart so full of hope for his possibilities.

Ted was right when he shared with our counselor – All along I knew I would be a Mom.  Time brought his heart to me.  I have loved Sam for a thousand years and I will love him for a thousand more. 

The last two weeks have been a struggle for me.  I keep replaying moments with Sam over in my head, specifically the morning he was born.  My entire pregnancy I had planned to do immediate skin-to-skin contact with him.  I had all our breastfeeding plans organized and I had read that immediate skin-to-skin with your baby promotes it.  When I found out he would be born still, the nurses asked me if I would like to see Sam immediately or have him cleaned up first.  I chose the latter.

So many times over the last year I’ve sat Sam Bear on my chest to feel Sam’s weight.  I never felt Sam on my heart.  I’ve had this reoccurring image of Sam’s body on my chest when I go to sleep each night.  I’ve harbored the hope that one day, I’ll look down to see Sam’s brother or sister alive and freshly nuzzled under my chin.  I dream in the silence of my home what a crying baby sounds like as he enters his way into the world and I so desperately want to experience it.

I went to yoga tonight.  As we finished what was a hard practice for me and entered into savasana, quietly playing in the background was the instrumental version of A Thousand Years.  I laid there feeling as though Sam were reaching down and hugging me and confirming that he too, will love me for a thousand more.

2 thoughts on “A Thousand Years.

  1. Abby….sweet Abby…I don’t post on your page how often I think of you, Ted, and Sam. I’m not one for posting on FB – I’ll like something – but I just don’t get into it all too much. I will never know your pain, your longing for the million plus “what could have been with Sam”…but I need to share with you how proud I am of your courage to completely strip yourself and share your love, pain, tears – every emotion you have felt for over a year now. I missed you when you took a FB break – yet at the same time I applauded you for that. Many things happen in our lives that we will never know “WHY” here….yet as a mamma who this year marks 10 years of having a child with a chronic illness, I’ve come to the place of believing that the pain we experience is somehow to give light/love/support to someone else. I don’t know why Rebecca has T1D (and by no means am I comparing our situation to yours), but what I’ve felt/believed for many years now – is that her illness was not about “us” – but about what God would now allow us to do in the lives of others. It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to take it away – I pray every day for her health and a cure – but I also pray that God continues to use us to help others – that if by sharing our story it helps someone else in their journey – then we can find a purpose in our pain. I don’t know what your purpose is….but as I read your amazing honesty in every post you share, I do believe there is a greater good you are giving to others. My prayer for you, Ted and Sam is that you can someday/someway find your own peace through your story. I don’t know what that is or how it looks – but I do believe you will find it. I’m not saying the hurt will go away – but I hope it somehow lessens for you. I pray that you can find the joy in each and every day – that you know Sam is always with you and Ted even though you cannot physically hold him in your arms or against your body. You are an amazing mamma – and you will be to Sam’s siblings when that time arrives.

    My heart hurts for your hurt. I know we all wish we could do more for you. I know I wish I could do more for you, Ted and Sam. I love hearing your stories of feeling Sam around you, with you…continue to be you through this journey. I pray you know that you are loved, supported, and prayed upon daily. I pray for your big smile. I simply pray. Blessings….


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