Monday, April 29, 2013


One year ago today I took this picture.
It was a Sunday, the day after our anniversary. On the 28th Brady and I went to the Supercross, like we do every year, then spent the night in SLC. My mom and dad kept Quincy overnight, it was her first time staying with them. My mom was so thrilled to be able to spend one on one time with her and spoiled her by buying her a new pink baby doll. I remember when I picked Q up my mom told me that there was something unique about her. Something special. She was so lively and smart and so advanced for her age. She said she was excited to see where she would go in life. I remember thinking about this all the way home. I had always thought Q was a special girl, but she was mine. Every mother thinks their child is the best.

I had so many dreams for her.

It wasn't 5 minutes on the road and Quincy was zonked out in her car seat. I took this picture to send to my mom. After I sent it to her I almost deleted it. Its not a great picture. Little did I know it would be one of my last, and because of that, one of my favorites. I treasure every picture I have of Q. I remember almost every minute behind every single picture.

As I think about this time last year I think about how perfect and simple my life was. I think about how content and naïve I was. I often think about what I was doing a year ago, about how different my life was and where I imagined it to be this time of year. I had no clue. Sometimes I wonder if I would have liked to have known that Q wouldn't be with us forever.

I don't think so.

As I think about this day a year ago and think about today, I am sad. I'm sad that after just a few more days I won't be able to say, last year at this time me and Quincy were doing..... But in the same breath, it will be good. Another step forward in the healing process. I miss the simpleness of my emotions. I don't like the heaviness and sorrow I now carry. It's always there. Always. I feel as though I will never be truly content again in this life. I have lots of joy, but I will never have the carefree ness that I once enjoyed. I miss that.

I miss Quincy.

Friday, April 19, 2013

month 7


I cannot believe that you are already 7 months old. You are starting to feel more and more like a kid and not a baby which I am excited about. But as I look back I kind of miss you being a newborn. I feel like I have rushed your infancy because I want a toddler so badly.

You have really embraced eating food. You love it. You want to eat all the time and never seem to be full. I have to cut you off when I feel like you have had enough. You have liked everything you have tried so far except bananas and sweet potatoes. I think its a texture thing. You want so badly to feed yourself but can't quite get the food from your hand into your mouth. You always end up sucking on a finger while desolving the treat in your hand. You'll get it.
Like your sister, you are quite the talker. Well, maybe talker isn't the word, you are just noisy! Q would talk in sweet little coos and la la la's and you grunt and growl and yell. Your voice is low and loud. I know I've said this before, but you are such a boy. You are so different than your sister. I love to hear your voice though. I can't wait until the growls turn into words. I long to hear the words, I love you Mommy.
You have turned into a great sleeper. You are not a night owl and have a hard time making it to 8:00 most nights. But once you go to bed you sleep until about 7 the next morning. You always wake up once between 3 and 5 for a small bottle but then you are right back out. I don't even mind getting up with you because I longed for those nighttime snuggles when Q left. You are so cuddly at night and I want to soak up every minute I can with you.
 You are such a good boy Ryder. I don't know how I have gotten so lucky to have two great babies in a row. You are a little whiney sometimes, but you rarely cry. You smile and laugh a lot, which does mine and daddies hearts good. We need the laughter. You are kind of a little charmer. Sometimes when I smile at you, you crinkle your nose and squint your eyes and give me a little smirk. Oh boy, you melt my heart.  
Love you lots.


I read a lot of blogs from families that have lost a child. It feels good that there are others out there that I can relate to, that know the pain that I do. It helps me. It helps me work through my grief and emotions. Sometimes I feel they are writing just to me, or even about me. There are posts that I could copy and paste word for word to my own blog.

The other day I read this post. I have felt this way many times. I was so quick to put Quincy's things away after she died. I am pretty sentimental and it hurt so badly to have all of her possessions here without her. When we came home from the hospital without Q in our arms, the first thing I saw was her stack of books next to the rocking chair in the living room, the books we read every single night. Then I saw her little rocking chair sitting by the window with her blankets and baby dolls. I can see it all so clearly. I then walked into her room to put her things away. Her room was just the way she had left it, babies tucked into beds, dishes and food on the stove of her kitchen, a crumpled plastic fire hat on the shelf, a torn pair of stretch pants waiting to be fixed on her dresser, drool and snot smeared on her sheet, even a loose hair and a dent from her head. And the smell. The smell. Every one's child has a smell and everyone thinks their child smells the best. I loved Quincy's smell.

No one tells you how to deal with losing a child. Nothing prepares you for it. There is no protocol or process to handling the pain and grief. You feel helpless and hopeless and I had no idea what to do with her things. Before Quincy was born I stalled putting her room together. I had to do fertility treatments to get pregnant with her and was never given any answers as to why it was so hard for me to get pregnant, so I wasn't real confident that I was actually having a baby until she was born. I remember Brady asking me why I didn't want to set things up for her and I told him I was scared that something would happen to her, that she wouldn't really come and I would have to pack everything away. That was too hard for me. I didn't want to set up and take down a room for a child I so longed for.

Now I was faced with packing up the room of a child I had raised for 20 months, a child that I had memories with and loved dearly, my little girl. I didn't want to put Quincy's things away, but it hurt so bad to see them every day without her. I felt bad for her that she wasn't here to play with the things she loved so much. Her room was a really hard thing for me and I fought with her door often. When it was open I would see her things and I would go in and sit on her floor and cry, so I would close the door, but when her door was closed it meant she was in her bed sleeping and my mind would tell me that she still was, so I would open the door again. It was too much for me.

The time I have spent without Q I have had a complete change of perspective about "things". When we leave this world we take nothing with us. Not one thing. I so badly wanted Quincy to take her softie and her binkie with he when she left. I wanted her to have her things that she loved so much, the things that were calming and comforting to her. Although I am extremely sentimental and now treasure many of Quincy's possessions, it's the memories that go along with those things that I'm clinging to. It's seeing her kiss and rock her baby dolls, snuggling her softie, running in those jelly shoes, drinking out of the green sippie cup. It's the smell of her clothes, the feel of her stringy hair. It's the tiniest things that I miss so so desperately.