On Facing Your Fifth Birthday

The night before you were born, I couldn’t sleep. I laid in the hospital a ball of nerves—a million questions running through my mind. What would you look like? Were you a boy or a girl? What would we name you? Would you have ten fingers? Ten toes?

The night before you should have turned five, I couldn’t sleep. I cried in the shower until no sound came out. I laid in bed, the all-too-familiar aching in my arms returning.  A million unanswerable questions ran through my mind. How could this have happened? Will grief season ever get any easier? How do I make it through this month without letting your siblings know how absolutely, devastatingly broken I feel?

Today I should be sneaking into your room to sing you Happy Birthday and wake you with a surprise. We should have a party planned for you when you return from school, because as a “big girl” now, you’d be going to Kindergarten, or, maybe I would have kept you home to spend the day celebrating together. Instead I am wondering how to make it through this day without you here.

I am wondering how to keep your siblings from noticing my swollen eyes, my tears and heartbreak, because they are so little and impressionable and they deserve all of me all of the time. I don’t want them to know they’ve never had that. I don’t want them to know that before they were born, a large part of me died. I can’t bear the thought that they might look at me and see the brokenness.

Today I should be planning your party but instead I am trying to find a way, some way, to mark this day in a way that feels worthy of you. If the weather cooperates we will head to the beach and release some lanterns, but it’s a poor substitute for the joy we would feel watching you blow out your own candles, marking another glorious year here with us.

I wish I could be that loss mom who only recalls the blessings you brought into this world. In years past I have focused on your love and light on your birthday post, knowing that there are twenty-seven more days in grief season to go to recall the pain, but the reality is that the hurt of missing you on this birthday hit me with such a wave last night that I don’t know how to do this gracefully. 

I don’t know how to find the beauty in the pain when the memories of all you were put through in your short time on this earth are still fresh. Just as I felt five years ago, I don’t know how any of this could happen.  I don’t know how our reality could possibly be that you are not here with us.

Today marks the first of twenty eight days, your whole life, that I got to touch you, but it wasn't holding you in my arms, it was putting my hand in your isolette. Today marks the day that I watched a tiny baby become a little warrior. Today is the first of a limited  number of times that I got to look into your knowing eyes wishing for more for you. It should mark the day we became parents, it should have been one of the happiest days of our lives, but in reality today marks the second most painful and traumatic day of my life—a close rival in emotion to the day we said goodbye. Today marks the day that we were utterly, and completely blindsided by the cruelty that is cancer.

I know where you are your birthday is Happy. I know you are free of pain and surrounded by those loved ones who have gone before us, and I pray you feel a level of warmth and security that is the opposite of the suffocating emotions that I am feeling down here in this broken world. I just can’t seem to convince myself to be happy about facing yet another birthday without you here.

To Peyton, On Your Fourth Birthday

Peyton,

Today should be your fourth birthday. I imagine you here, brown curls, blue eyes. This year feels so different, or maybe the wave just hasn't come for me yet. I am sitting here, next to the light that you have been turning on for me all week, thinking about how amazing and strong in spirit you are to continuously find ways to remind us of how connected we are. How can I feel anything but joy, love, and appreciation for that? You make me so proud.

It feels like Daddy and I have every ball up in the air right now, juggling a million decisions at once, but I know in my heart that no matter where they land, no matter where we land, you will be right there guiding us.

Some days I miss you so much I can taste the mint of your hospital room in my mouth. I can feel your head on that heavy place in my chest. I nearly believe that if I reach out just far enough, you will be there reaching back. I am learning to live with the fact that you won't. I am learning to accept a life of never again getting to cuddle and hug you. It's hard. It's always hard. It always will be hard.

Some mornings I hear your brother and sister laughing in their room, and like to imagine you in there whispering little jokes in their ears, or singing them songs. Maybe you are.

Squeaks reached out for your picture the other day. I explained to her that you are her "big, little sister." She just laughed. I promise you that I will raise your siblings knowing how amazing you are.

Peyton, there are so many things I wish could have been different. So many things I wish I had done differently. So many scenarios that I play, and replay in my mind, just searching for the one that would have saved you. I wish I could have, baby.

Daddy, Bubba, Squeaks and I are going to be sending lanterns up to you tonight. Will you look for them, baby girl? Will you feel the heat of my hugs in their flame? I hope so.

I love you my sweet forever-baby girl.

I will never stop wondering why you had to go.
I will never stop feeling grateful to have had you to love.

Happy Birthday.

Love,
Momma

Peyton Elizabeth 

9/4/08-10/2/08

First. Loved. Always.

****

September 4th is here already. 

To honor what would have been Peyton's 4th birthday, we are doing a Gift Card Drive to benefit families with critically ill infants at Connecticut Children's Medical Center. From Sept. 4th (the day she was born) through Oct. 2nd (the day she passed) we will be collecting gift cards to the following establishments:

*Dunkin Donuts 

*Friendly's

*Shop Rite, Stop and Shop, Walmart, Target, Price Chopper, etc.

*Gift Cards to Area Gas Stations (Sunoco, Shell, Valero, Getty, Gulf, Mobil, BP) 

These gift card donations are tax deductible. Please provide us with your address and keep your receipt.

Gift cards of any amount would be greatly appreciated and can be mailed to:

Doing Good In Her Name

P.O. Box 1281

Burlington, CT 06013.

Happy Third Birthday Peyton!

Happy Third Birthday Sweet Girl!

Today we celebrate your birth, not as I would like, with candles and a cake and you running around, little curls bouncing, with all your friends, but in the best way that the situation allows. We are stamping the last of the books that came in for the Doing Good In Her Name book drive today, so that they can be dropped off at the NICU this week, and then we will head to your grave with Gramma, Pop-Pop, and your siblings, to put in some pavers around your garden and add some new life to the plantings there.

I wish I could hold you, and sing Happy Birthday, but instead I will close my eyes, and go to that place we once shared, when I held you to my chest, sang "Smile", and drummed a soft tap-tap, tap-tap, tap-tap against your back.

Smile, though your heart is aching. Smile, even though it's breaking. Where there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by. If you smile, through your fear and sorrow. Smile, and maybe tomorrow. You'll see the sun come shining through, if you just smile. 

Mommy is tone deaf, but you let her sing anyway. Do you remember?

I so wish you were here little girl. Safe. Healthy. Whole. I wish... I wish... I wish... Just know how loved you are. How missed you are. That regardless of the the space and the time and the universe that keeps us apart you are still my daughter. I am still your mother. Nothing, not even death, can erase that.

Happy Birthday Peyton.

Momma loves you!

Stand Back...

I'm grumpy.
And annoyed.
And, I imagine, not a whole lot of fun to be around.
I hate that about grief season.
You never know how it is going to hit you.
This year it has hit me with a bitch-slap of funk, and not the good kind either.
So this is me sitting in the corner and sulking by myself...only in a very public version of 'by myself.'
Ugh.

**Update
Took a drive.
Ate some chocolate.
Smiled at the babies.
That helped...

Peyton's Story

First, I would like to say thank you for all of the amazing and supportive comments and messages that I received following Monday's post. That has been an area of great shame for me these past three years, and your kind words have really helped me through a rough few days of dealing with those memories and emotions.

The Fall is grief season for me - Peyton was due in August. Born in September. Died in October. Reader's Digest was asking people to submit their life story for possible publication in the magazine, and I decided to give it a go in honor of Peyton's birthday. In November, Reader's Digest will announce whose story is going to be published, and for me, it is something "good" to look forward to in a season that is otherwise extremely difficult.

That's where I need your help. If you have Facebook, I would really appreciate your going to this link and voting for my story. It will give you some funny message about allowing the app, and then you will have to "like" the RD page to vote, but for anyone familiar with FB it is pretty standard for these sort of things.

If you have trouble finding the story, it is "I Choose To Fly" by Kristin Binder.

The good news is that you can vote once per day. They are expecting some 50,000 entries, and will only consider the top 100 vote getters, so I need ALL THE HELP I CAN GET :)

When Peyton died, she left me with the gift of a renewed love for writing. As a writer, it would mean so much to me to pay tribute to her birthday in such a public way, with the words she has inspired in me.

Thanks in advance for your help in voting.

Love to you all.

I'm still standing... er... sitting/laying

10 days. It's been 10 days since my little Peyton celebrated her second birthday in the stars, and I had my big bleeding fiasco. I have spent these days on modified bed rest, trying to free my mind from the worries that come with continued bleeding while pregnant. I've tried books, movies, surfing the internet, but the reality is that every trip to the bathroom is a reminder of this stupid SCH, and until it's presence is no longer so evident, freeing my mind from worry is not too likely.

For the most part I have put my energies into finding info that builds my optimism. I read a study saying that the risks of SCH's associated with IVF are much lower, so I have that going for me, and the vast majority of SCH women that I see on the online boards are still kickin', though there are other boards, boards that talk about loss from SCH, and as a means of self protection, I just try to ignore their existence.

I think the babies are trying to help me through this too. Though I have felt the odd "roll" here or there, being 14 weeks along, movement is not super evident as of yet, and the comfort one can get in these situations from a kick count is not yet an option for me. That being said, last night I felt quite the movement from my little baby B, and this morning, Baby A gave me what I think was the first jab of this pregnancy, and a welcome little jab in the side at that. I like to think they are saying, "don't worry mom, we are here, we are fine."

I felt Peyton begin to flutter at 14 weeks, so I guess it is not completely outside the realm of possibility with two of them in there, and my uterus being so incredibly tipped, that I should start to feel their movements ramp up in the coming days/weeks. What a blessing each movement is, a reminder that this is not for naught, and they are fine, and happy, and playing around inside of me.

I have a routine as I prepare for bed each night, of laying down shirt lifted, my eyes on my stomach just watching for the slightest movement, where I rub my belly, and remind them over and over how very loved they are, and how very wanted they are, and that it would be a really good idea to do whatever they can do to stick around and thrive.

This level of bedrest that I am on (bed to couch to bed with a few trips to bathroom and kitchen in between) is an indefinite situation, and my house is really starting to show the effects of that. I should mention that when it comes to house cleaning, I am a bit OCD. There are ways that I do things, very particular ways, ways that have been set in stone in the ten years of hubs and I living together (barring my brief absence from interest in caring for anything the year after Peyton died)  and since I have been instructed not to bend/lift/push/pull anything, poor hubs has had to pick up all the household slack before and after putting in a day at work. Sure, he doesn't do it the way I would do it, but he tries nonetheless and it's an effort that I truly appreciate.

I have to say that of all his new responsibilities, I find his efforts at dinner time to be the cutest. For the better part of our decade together, he has never had to think about what to have for dinner or trying to prepare meals. Sure, he has grilled some meat that I took out for him here or there, maybe cooked up some spaghetti, but for the most part these duties have fallen on me, and to see him present his little "man feasts" with such pride is just adorable.

In the past week and a half I have been treated to the finest in bachelor cuisine: taco salad, mac n' cheese, a really not very good chicken in peanut butter thing, a pb& j sammich, and last night, grilled cheese. Each meal is presented with a look of pride and a huge grin and I just smile and tell him it is delicious and "the best pb&j I have ever had" and he beams in appreciation, and that's all that matters. (Well, except for the chicken peanut butter thing, we were both in agreement that that tasted pretty awful.)

I guess that is really it then. I wish I had something more exciting to report, but life on bedrest fundamentally lacks any level of excitement. Please know how appreciative that hubs and I feel for all the prayers that have been sent to our little snowflakes lately. I will leave you today with some pictures of Peyton's birthday party. Though we were not able to be there, we are so appreciative that my Aunt took pictures for us. Like I mentioned earlier, it means a lot that our friends continued the celebration in her honor without us.

****EDIT - per hubs special request, he has asked that I clear his good name, and mention to the world, that last week he "attempted" to make chicken and dumplings... err... the dumplings were good.

Thanks to my sister for hosting the party at the last minute.

Here comes the rain again... argh!, double argh! argh!

Peyton's birthday was not AT ALL what we expected it to be. Hold onto your umbrellas, just when you thought my luck was changing, the storm cloud has blown back in.

Friday night I had some strong contraction type cramping and contacted the OB. He said that in all likelihood they were growing pains, and to drink some water and rest, which I did, which meant that waking up Saturday I had to get started bright and early to prepare for Peyton's birthday balloon release party.

The alarm went off at 5:30am and I was up, making dips, cooking ziti, running one last time to the supermarket. The church had said we could use their basement and we arrived there at 9:30 to set up for the party which was to start at 10. The doors to the church, however, were locked, and search as we might, we couldn't find anyone to open them. Apparently there was some confusion, the priest thought the secretary would be there, she thought he would be there, long story short I headed up to the cemetery to greet our friends, and hubs and my parents stayed behind to wait for the building to be opened, and to set up.

I got to the cemetery and a few friends had already gathered, which meant a lot to me because it was Labor Day weekend and people have a lot going on on Labor Day and they were making the time for Peyton and I appreciated it. I greeted those who were there, started bringing flowers to the grave, and was glad to see hubs and my parents pull up soon thereafter. We gathered around the grave, ready to get our balloons and markers out, and it dawned on me that I had left the CD I intended to play during the release in the car. I started making my way down the hill to the car and I felt wetness in my pants. At first I thought it was a little pee (sorry TMI) or some leukorrhea, but as I stepped, and stepped again, there was more. I looked down, and to my horror saw that I was gushing bright red blood that had soaked my jeans down to my knees. I called hubs over, hyperventilated, and he got me and my folks in the car and we headed off to the hospital. Her hospital. The one I swore I would never go to again because she had been born there, but it was the closest, and I was bleeding so much, and I was worried, truly worried, that I was bleeding out.

We got to the ER and they told me to wait, and I told them what they could do with their "wait" because it was my dead daughter's second birthday, and I had miscarried before, and I was pregnant with twins that I needed to make it, and I was bleeding and I would not wait. Miraculously they got me right in.

It was a long time before I saw a doctor, hours before they did an ultrasound, and all this time I was gushing, and gushing, and gushing. Soaking all the pads they had provided, the bed, everything. They came in and took vials of blood, and hooked an IV in my arm "just in case" and I told them I was thirsty and they said I couldn't have anything "just in case", and I knew "just in case" meant "just in case I needed an emergency D&C" and I cringed and I prayed and I begged them to be okay in my mind. My hubs and my parents stayed by my side the whole time, and tried to lighten the mood, and didn't correct me when I screamed that I was "sick of this shit," and this "wasn't fucking happening, not today" and that "if her doctor was the doc on call I was going to strangle myself with my blood pressure cuff."

And then came the grief over Peyton, poor little Peyton, who gets one lousy day of remembrance a year, and whose parents and grandparents were not even there for her release. I didn't know it at the time, but my family and friends still wrote her messages on her balloons, and still did the release, and still honored her, and for that I am eternally grateful.

The ER doc came in and hooked up the ultrasound and I told him, too, that I was thirsty, so thirsty, and he again told me I couldn't have anything and he started the ultrasound and I tried to look but he turned the monitor away, and I closed my eyes and repeated in my mind "they are both okay, they are both okay, they are both okay."

After what felt an eternity, but was really about five minutes, of complete silence, and furrowed eyebrows from the doctor, he told us that both babies looked good and we could have a look. On the screen my beautiful little snowflakes jumped and danced and looked perfect, and their heartbeats (though lower than we are used to seeing them) looked good, and the doctor told me it was a "threatened abortion" and gave me info on miscarriage and discharged me, and I threw the paperwork out because I was not even willing to accept that as an option.

My parents and hubs went back to the church to let everyone know what had happened, our loyal friends and family had stayed behind all those hours to hear word from the hospital, and I went home and showered and got in bed, and stayed there until Tuesday when my OB could see me.

So yesterday I had an appointment and an ultrasound and my beans are still beautiful, but they have found a large (3.5 inch (9cm) ) sub chorionic hemorrhage/blood clot in my uterus, and have put me on modified bed rest in the hopes it will either bleed out or be reabsorbed. I am trying to stay positive, though the doc did tell me that the risk of loss is still there, he told me that only time will tell and I should be "cautiously optimistic."

So that takes me to today, still bleeding but now it is more like spotting, and drinking lots of fluids and resting up. I am sorry this was such a run-on post, but it was a lot to share. I am going to post pics of Peyton's balloons that my aunt took, but first I thought I would leave you with these today... pics from last Tuesday's ultrasound when the snowflakes were 12w2d. Today I am 13w3d.

Our beautiful snowflake A - waving at us and facing us. 

(This baby is the same size as baby B, but the pic of B is just closer up.)

Snowflake B lounging and relaxing.

How it feels upon waking to your second birthday.

To my sweet little Peyton on your second birthday,

I thought I would be stronger this year. I thought for some reason it would be easier to face today with it not being the first, and the joy I feel over your little siblings, but I am learning through eyes that weep and a heart full of sorrow that this day that was meant to hold so much hope, will always be a glaring reminder of all that we were not able to do with you.

I read recently that we are all just energy, and since energy has no beginning, and no end, we, too, have no end. This brought me comfort as I thought of your energy leaving a body that was so deadset against you, and flying freely among the clouds, the birds, and the trees.

I know you have never left me. Nearly every day I have felt something that I have attributed to you - a flicker in the lights, a sense of Peace when I needed it, a warm breeze across my ears and cheek to dry my tears.

Someday when I am where you are, I will hold you again sweet girl and thank you for the many, many ways that you have comforted me through your loss.

I wish you were here today, running, playing, and doing all that little two year old girls should do. I find myself wondering what type of little one you would be - a tomboy? little miss independent? shy? When my mind goes there, to that painful place of all that I wish that we had had with you, I go back to that passage about energy and return to the thoughts of you as a free little spirit not constrained to any one title, and this lifts my sorrow.

There are moments from your life that I will never get over, and decisions that I will never find peace with, though for the last two years I have tried and tried and tried. Please little girl, help Mommy today. Help me to look back on your perfect little self with joy and admiration. Help me to remember all I did have with you - your unguarded love, our skin to skin time, breastfeeding, holding you, counting your perfect little fingers and toes, tracing the outlines of your face, reveling at the way you would look into my eyes with a wisdom beyond your age for hours and hours.

Help me to hold tight to these things today.

Happy Birthday my precious little blue eyes. Please know that wherever you are, it is to you that we are sending our love.

Loving you always, and missing you especially today,
Momma

I'm still here...

So I think this is the longest I have ever gone without a post. I have so much to write, so much to say. The babies are doing great. I am feeling good just tired - and while I would love to blame it all on pregnancy fatigue, I know the looming date of Peyton's birthday on the calendar has it's hand in my mental exhaustion as well.

I remember being so touched last year at this time by a post by Cara at Building Heavenly Bridges where she wrote:

"I can feel the hollowness reattaching itself to me.
I can sense sadness nearby readying its attack..
I can smell memory beginning its annual journey to possess me."

Her post talked about how Grief Season comes for us, even when we don't go searching for it, and how year after year, though we wish it would, it doesn't get any easier. It was an amazing post that has always stuck with me.

Grief season hit me last week, as Peyton's due date approached, and a rush of emotions came with such force out of the blue that I felt thrown back to those early days. It was an ugly scene. Me, wrestling desperately with a guilt that I thought I had put to bed, and the time of year taunting each memory that I wish I could forget, back into my mind.

I think there is no avoiding Grief Season. Even if I banished every calendar from my home- my mind, body, and heart would feel the days coming to be: her due date, her birth date, the day she started chemo, the day the infection was discovered, the day we said goodbye, the day of her funeral. Each of these hits me with the unrelenting reality: Peyton is gone. She was destined to it before she was born. She is never coming back. Even though we wish it weren't the case, there are no guarantees in this life, and sometimes it is just so cruel.

I am trying to find balance over these next weeks and months. Next Saturday we will attempt to honor what should have been Peyton's 2nd birthday, knowing all the while that anything we try will just somehow fall short.

I am hoping to find a way to breathe through this season. I have so much to feel grateful for this year, so much love and beauty in my life right now - two amazing, miraculous blessings.

But at the end of the day it is not I who chooses how that day will feel. It is my heart, and the memories of all that she was and should have been, and try as I might, wearing a smile through the reminders of such a huge loss is hard.

She is my daughter. Always will be my daughter. And I miss her.

"Blissfully" pregnant or not, there is just no way to sugarcoat that.

Compassion. Mel's 76th Show & Tell

I am fortunate. Even through this loss, I have reminded myself of this each day.

I have a husband, family, and a group of close friends who don't always "get" what I am going through, but love me regardless. I have an excellent therapist that specializes in this kind of loss, great medical care to help us through whatever this SIF is throwing at us, and we live without having to worry about our next meal, or whether or not we can pay the heating bill. These are just a few of the things I try to remind myself of in my darkest hours.

There are many mothers in this world who lose their children everyday without the comfort of a family, a roof over their head, a safe society to live in, access to medical care etc. It could be worse. There are so many in this world, even those that have never lost a child, that have it worse. Poverty, war, famine, the list goes on an on.

There is no shortage of grief in this world, and no shortage of people that could use our help, in some capacity or another.


When we were marking Peyton's first birthday, I really wanted to find something positive to do in her name. I have all these grand plans in mind about a Peyton Foundation I hope to one day set up to support NICU families. Even then, during the nightmare of worry that was Peyton's life, I realized how lucky were were to be together, in a hospital that specialized in children, and on the receiving end of many random acts of kindness. I have often thought how much harder it would have been to be there as a single parent, or to find ourselves instead in some huge city hospital where we could have gotten lost in the shuffle. I felt frustrated as Peyton's birthday approached to not yet be in a place where I could carry something like this out, but I do believe that in time, my energy will return, my emotions will be lifted, and this idea will get off the ground.

So, that left me in a bit of a pickle as Peyton's birthday approached. I was a mess. I wanted to do some good to mark her day, but also knew it needed to be something that wouldn't be affected by whether or not I was having a good or a bad day.

I sent checks out to our usual charities, but still felt like something was missing. I wanted something new. Something unique for her special day. I was reading around on the internet, trying to get ideas when I came across (Carleigh's Momma) Holly's family blog and the story of Shalini, a little girl from India that Carly sponsors through Compassion International. I knew once I saw the picture (and checked out Compassion International on Charity Navigator) that this was what I wanted to do as Peyton's Birthday gift. So today, for show and tell, I am sharing with you, our little sponsor child Lizeth. She is from Bolivia, 5 years old, and just adorable. Sponsorship covers food, education, bible studies, medical and dental expenses, job training for her parents.... and... birthday parties! How fun is that? I don't know why I loved that my sponsorship would get her a birthday party, but it brought a smile to my face and welcoming this little child into our heart at a point when we were so missing Peyton, well it just felt right. I searched many children's profiles, but I knew once I saw Lizeth, that she was the one...Anyone that matches a fancy party dress with boots and a turtle neck is my kinda kid!

We just received our first picture of her, sorry the picture quality here is so bad, I don't have a scanner so I took a picture of her picture. Last week we responded with our own picture and a letter back to her: How do you like school? What do you do for fun? Etc. Etc. I am really looking forward to learning all about her and her family.

To see what others are showing and telling, click Here. 


*************
Please also send Lisette some love today. Her little baby girl, Lauren Samantha, was born into her arms this Monday, and into Heaven shortly after.

A Birthday Passes, A Life Remembered

Today for Mel's Show & Tell I am sharing images from Peyton's Birthday memorial celebration.
As difficult as last week was, and in particular facing her birthday without her, there was beauty in the celebration of her life. Our family and a few friends met at Peyton's grave in the early evening hours. My husband and I said some words before handing out the balloons. We decided to release 28 balloons, one for each day that Peyton was here with us, and had everyone write notes to tie to them. We also handed out markers to personalize each balloon with messages of love for our little girl.
When the balloons had disappeared into the heavens, we lit sparklers in celebration of Peyton's birthday.
The song playing first on this blog "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" is the song we played as the balloons were released (thank you Lost--for--words for inspiring the decision to use this song.)

To see what others are showing and telling please visit this link.

****Please disregard the date on these pics. I dont know how to reset the date so every day is 2/12/05 in my pics.

Thank You

I would like to send out a huge and heartfelt thank you to all who visited this blog and offered words of comfort and encouragement over the past few days. It has meant the world to us to know that we were not alone in missing Peyton.

This milestone of Peyton's birthday proved to be a truly bittersweet one, bringing anger and streams of tears at the injustice of not having her here one moment, and smiles as we remembered the quirks that made Peyton so uniquely Peyton the next. My husband and I have split the weekend between being in the company of friends and family, and spending time by ourselves to reflect and grieve for all that this date symbolizes.

We had a little ceremony for Peyton on Friday night, a balloon release and gathering to mark her too short life. When I have more energy, I will post the pictures to share with you all. It was a truly beautiful moment of celebration, if I dare use that word, and one which will stay with my hubby and I all our lives. As a grieving mother there is no greater comfort than knowing that we are not the only ones who remember and miss our little girl. We were blessed this weekend to have so many great friends and family members reach out to let us know that they have not forgotten Peyton, and that her life, though it was short, had a lasting impact on them. Knowing that she lives on in their memories too is the greatest gift we could ever receive.

Unfortunately, the weight of this past week has, in the end, proved to be a bit too much for us. Both hubby and I are sick as dogs, run down with terrible coughs and body aches - as much due to the stress and grief of facing Peyton's birthday as whatever germs we picked up I am sure, so I am going to bring this entry to an end here.

Please, please know how very fortunate we felt to have received your beautiful messages marking Peyton's birthday and how much it meant that you remembered us in your prayers. This has been the most difficult hurdle since Peyton's death; there were points this past week where I wondered how we would get through, and your thoughts and comforting words have made more of a difference than you will ever know. The support of this community continues to leave me humbled and amazed.

Happy 1st Birthday Peyton

For the last eleven months I have wondered how it would feel to wake up today, on your birthday, without you here. There are so many bittersweet emotions on this day, and I am at a loss for words or poetry to do them justice, so I will share some photos instead, snapshots of your birth and the moments after. I love you baby girl and miss you immensely.

Happy Birthday!

Daddy and I were so excited to meet our little one.

After your birth, they brought you in to say hello before transferring you. We didn't know you were sick so this was really hard. We wanted to hold you so badly.

Daddy held your little hand first.


And then I got my turn.

You looked around for a while, grabbed your pacifier and then fell back asleep. I was amazed at how you didn't even seem to notice all the commotion around you. You were just beautiful.

It was so hard to say goodbye, but they needed to get you to a bigger hospital.

Daddy followed you to the NICU and held your hand for me. It broke my heart to not be able to go, but the C-section made leaving impossible. Grandma stayed by Mommy's side, helping me make sense of what was happening while Pop Pop and Daddy went to see you. They brought pictures and video of you back to me that night, and told me about the Leukemia diagnosis, the odds, and the treatment plan. I was devastated and in total shock. Your Daddy was so strong those first days, traveling between the two hospitals to be by both of our sides. I missed you so much and wanted to be with you, but it would be thirty more hours before the hospital gave me the green light to check out early.

Happy Birthday My Sweet Baby Girl. I Miss You.