21 months & Lots of Prayers

2018, Creating Change, Family, grief, Joy, loss, The Little Fox | Toby's Foundation, Toby

Guys! It’s official – The Little Fox | Toby’s Foundation is incorporated & approved! 🦊

In just two weeks time all of our paperwork was reviewed and approved. We were told to not expect anything for 6-8 weeks. As soon as I started to read the letter last night I thought “This is all Toby’s doing. He’s opening doors again!”

He knows his momma and she can’t wait for anything, especially when there’s work to be done, families to help, and lives to save.

I laid down with Luke at bedtime last night and as we said prayers, thanking God for another step in this journey, and saying goodnight to Toby, this came through my thoughts…

“Get some rest momma. We have lots of work to do.”

By God’s hand and Toby’s guidance, we’re going to make a difference with The Little Fox. There are many hopes & dreams for this nonprofit and our plan is to take it one day at a time. There will be opportunities that are a perfect fit and others that will not work for us. We will do our best to make the right decisions and help as many families and children as possible.

Thank you to every single person that has helped us over the last 21 months. Without the support, comfort and encouragement of our family, friends, neighbors, community, local businesses, other grief families, other memorial foundations, doctors, Owlet, and every anonymous, kind hearted person that has found a way to touch our hearts and to help our family – THANK YOU!! We would not be here, if it weren’t for all of you.

Stayed tuned to see what we’ll be working on next. We’re currently matching donations for the Owlet Smart Socks in the Pittsburgh area to be donated over the next few weeks. Then, our focus will turn to August. With our Foundation Board established, we’ll be working together on an event for August where we hope to see many of you. We will also be doing our “Random Acts of Kindness” campaign, which will kick off August 1. We hope to see as many participants as last year and see the ways that Toby’s joy can travel around the world.

Please keep our family in your prayers as we approach Toby’s 2nd Birthday on May 27. This does not get any easier as the months go by. Our hearts remain broken, missing Toby beyond belief. We know the best way to honor our son is to help others and share the joy that he gave our family with those children and families. That is what we are doing and will continue to do.

God Bless,

The Sterns ❤️

#thelittlefox #joyfortobystern #SIDS #journeythroughgrief #august24 #ourangeltoby

20 Months of Emotion

2018, Family, grief, loss, Toby

When I first started my professional career I told my mom, “I’m going to have my own company in my 30’s.” I wanted it to be a combination of marketing and community involvement. I never could have predicted that my company would be founded in memory of our son. We never could have predicted how August 24, 2016 would alter our lives. We could have never imagined the impact that Toby’s life would have on so many people and families.

We spent most of today going through legal steps for The Little Fox. We made phone calls, wrote emails, looked at other fundraisers, researched contacts to connect with to help with the mission of Toby’s Foundation. There is joy in seeing milestones completed and seeing an official starting line for this project that we’ve been working on a mere weeks after Toby’s death. There is also an overwhelming sadness that can creep in. We wonder “why us?” “Why Toby?” “Why can’t we trade it all to have him back?” There are no answers, but that is grief. Especially over the loss of a baby.

We went to visit Toby today. We stood at the foot of his grave. It was windy, raining, and so gray. I stood there staring at his stone, but I couldn’t feel anything else. I felt like I was watching us from afar. There was no sound. Over and over in my mind…20 months. 20 months since this cemetery became part of our weekly routine. “I really cannot believe this is our life,” I said out loud. Dan just looked at me and squeezed my hand.

Instead of taking a day off work to take our two boys to the Zoo, the Science Center, the park, our time now is spent visiting our youngest son, at the cemetery. Bringing flowers or crosses, cleaning his headstone, talking to him while we cry.

It is unbelievable. The way our lives and our family has changed since August 24, 2016. 20 months of heartache. 20 months of wondering what Toby would look like now, what words he would know, what his favorite book would be. 20 months spent trying to live each day to the fullest, because we have experienced exactly what it means to not know “when your time on earth is done.” 20 months of trying to make a difference through Toby’s memory in the lives of others. 20 months of missing my son more than any number of words could ever express.

Third Star To The Right

2018, Family, grief, loss, Toby

Today marks another month without our son. It marks more milestones and brings with it more triggers – second spring break trip; first trip with the kids to DC; laughing with cousins and pictures where Toby’s always missing.

Luke reminded us multiple times today that you are here with us and there have been little signs while we’ve been away that tell us you’re never far away.

I sat on the train on our ride back today, listening to Luke tell us his favorite parts of the day and I just kept thinking “Would you have liked that? Would Toby be sitting on my lap looking out the window? Or sitting next to Luke watching him battle super hero’s on his table?”

I don’t have many words today. Other than, the pain is horrible and I’m convinced the constant loneliness I feel cannot be filled or replaced. No matter how much time has passed or how many stars we wish upon.

We were at the Smithsonian’s Air & Space museum today and in the planet exhibit a photo of the solar system caught my eye, but it wasn’t the planets, it was the stars and how vivid they were on the wall that made me stop and look at it closer for a moment.

It made me think of Peter Pan and I walked away thinking “I wonder what star you are?”💫

Learning to Live

2018, faith, Family, grief, loss, Parenting, Toby

Life is hard. Grief is harder. It gets worse before it gets better. This makes everyday challenges & situations sharper and hard to not take directly to heart. I look around the world some days and then I look at Luke and think “Am I doing this right?” Honestly, some days I’m not sure.

My heart has been very heavy lately. Some days I feel like I’ve been pulled back into the first few weeks without Toby. It’s scary. It’s sad. It’s heartbreaking. There have been a few days that I’ve felt so consumed with grief that I questioned how I have made it for 18 months. I don’t know. I don’t know that I ever will.

I sat on the floor the other evening after folding a load of laundry, with Toby’s picture book in my lap, crying. Crying because I didn’t have laundry for him. Crying because in 18 months I haven’t opened the drawers in his room, except for once. And the one time that I did, the sight of clothes he never got to wear and the smell,his smell, made me so ill I shut it and haven’t dared open it since.

I cried for at least a half hour. I could physically feel pain inside my chest and the tears on my face. It hurt, but felt like my body was unloading emotion that I couldn’t hold anymore. I’ve had so many of those moments since this year started.

When this year started I promised myself I was going to try a few [different] things to try to manage my grief. I started to read the Bible. No specific book or part, just random, open up and start reading. Yes, of course, I am searching for something in what I’m reading; some sign of Toby; some direction for our family’s path; some sign that God has a plan for us. Something.

To be honest, I don’t always find that. But, on the mornings that have followed, there have been devotions in my prayers for things that are not among my daily thoughts or things weighing on my heart. I don’t have a sure sign of where they come from, but I am starting to think that maybe it’s God’s way of using my pain.

There is a spot in the events of the day that Toby died that causes me so much pain. This spot is a place, outside our home, that I have to see and face daily. And everyday I sit there, with the heartache, the pain, the death of my son, staring back at me. I’ve succumb to its presence in my daily routine. Some days I cry. Some days I stare. Some days I have to close my eyes and remind myself to breathe because PTSD kicks in and the sounds all come rushing back my head. Some days I stare, as I sit in my car by myself and say “Why?”

About a week ago I was near this spot and the one thing, the one physical thing that always brings the emotion back, had been blocked, by a pile of dirt. I looked at it and was genuinely surprised that the pain that I expected to feel, that I felt daily, wasn’t there. “Huh.” I heard myself say. “A break?” I was asking God.

We all have those moments. Those moments when we plead with God for a break. Or a sign. Or an answer. When we’re in the midst of frustration or disparity. When we haven’t had a day go right.

These moments are more devastating for a grieving parent. These moments are faced with unending questioning of how strong we are; how much we can handle; how misunderstood can we be; how rude and uncompassionate people can be; how quick to judge society is; how much more can our heart break; before enough is enough. It is a continual test, to which the answer and the Judge is not in this world.

I have a lot to learn in life. Some things, through the years. Some things, through experience. Some things, through prayer.

A lot of the weight I am physically carrying is because of fear.

Fear of no control.

Fear of the unknown.

Fear of my heart not having any more ways to break.

Fear of not being able to save those most important to me.

Fear that I may forget. Forget anything.

Fear of disappointing my parents, or worse, my children, because I’ve been so handicapped by grief that I can’t give it my all.

These are all worth fearing, but do you know the ultimate fear of a grieving parent?

Fear of what will never be.

Fear of having to carry that pain – every.single.day. – for the rest of my life.

There is no “getting over” the loss of our son. It pains me that anyone would even think that would be possible for a parent or family dealing with any kind of infant or child loss. There is no timetable for grief.

What I’m struggling with is learning to live with grief and without Toby.

Easter Morning in Heaven

2017, faith, Family, grief, Home, Joy, loss, Lucas, Marriage, Toby

Last Sunday as we sat in church for Palm Sunday mass, I was overcome with emotion thinking of what Heaven would be like for Easter and what beautiful sites Toby would see this week.

Can you imagine, seeing Jesus’ face on Easter morning? I cannot, but the thought of my beautiful son having the honor to be in His presence this morning, it takes my breath away.

We were gifted a tree in rememberence of Toby in the fall and planted it in our front yard. It has grown a few inches through the winter and the past few weeks the buds have been forming. Yesterday, a few of them bloomed. I thought it was so fitting that the flowers on his tree first bloomed during Easter week. These magnolia flowers, with maroon, pink and white on their petals are simply beautiful and to me are a glimpse from Toby of the beauty of Heaven.

This is Luke’s third Easter and each year I’ve enjoyed buying him a cute tie for his Easter outfit. I cried shopping this year because I wished I was buying two ties. I should have just bought two, and I was mad when I got home that I didn’t. When I was pulling Luke’s Easter basket out of the closet I found his tie from his first easter, so I took that out for Toby.

We had bought Luke a basket with his initial on it for his first easter. This year I grabbed a small basket from Target for Toby, but when I was putting them together last night, I was again regretting not having one made that was special for Toby. I remembered that I had fabric I had found through the winter, but had not used yet. It matched the basket I had for him, so we improvised and made him his own. Fox and all.

Yesterday while walking back from the park, Luke picked a dandilion and immediately said “Toby’s really going to love to see this.” We looked down at him, smiling. Yes, he will, buddy. He loves to see you playing and having fun.

Our one son is not here and my heart breaks daily to see his sweet face and smile with him. We try to do things to make him a part of everything that we do and fully present in those special days and moments. I can’t imagine not including him in all these moments. Maybe, in a way, they comfort our hearts. But my hope is that he can see us and smile at what we are doing for him.

With Luke being sick this weekend, he was up before the sun again today. But, sitting in the living room, with only the tv on this morning, I was able to watch the sun rise outside our window. It rose through the two houses across the street, but more beautifully, from where I was sitting, it was directly above Toby’s tree in the front yard.

This picture doesn’t do it justice, but it was truly beautiful. Another sign of Easter Sunday.

While we are all celebrating, singing hymns at mass today, or praying in our homes, there are many empty chairs around our tables. Those that have just left their families and those that have been gone for some time, but are missed just as much. Our hearts ache for them to be here, but remember, they are at the table with Him today. They get to see His face first this morning. Wow, can you even imagine what a beautiful sight that must be?

He is not here. For He is risen, as He said. –Matthew 28:6

Wishing you and your families a beautiful, healthy, and blessed Easter holiday.

Blessings,

The Stern Family

Katie, Dan, Lucas & Toby

On This Journey – A perspective on paths, purpose, and worth

2017, Family, grief, Home, Lifestyle, loss, Parenting, Toby

Let me tell you a story.

I’ve been very lucky in my professional career. I have worked for some great companies that opened doors to even greater opportunities to advance my career in the architectural, engineering and construction (AEC) industry. I’ve had ups and downs over the past decade, but there was one constant – my network through the Society for Marketing Professional Services (SMPS).

Starting out in the AEC industry, SMPS became my anchor. It provided a place for continual education, an avenue to learn how to connect with technical staff, how to think beyond the proverbial “marketing” box and take chances by way of volunteer positions and committee involvement. Most of the time, I didn’t know what I was volunteering for, but I knew that if I could help anyone at the dawn of their careers in the AEC industry, by connecting companies, brands, people, mentors with mentees, then it made it all worth it.

When I think about my career plan, it, like the rest of my life, has thrown me some of the biggest curve balls. Some good, some bad. From my very first years of working in the “real world” I’ve had goals that I wanted to achieve. Many of those are still “in progress” and for me that’s ok. Some of my goals may not seem like achievements for others. And that’s okay too. We all have different perceptions. Different dreams. Which leads me to this.

I think it’s good to have a bucket list – for both your personal and professional life. Most of us don’t have an opportunity to check things off those lists every year. For those of you that do, that’s amazing and you’re my hero. I like to keep my bucket list in places where I can see them, especially my professional list. It’s just for me, in a sense. And I’m a firm believer that you’re more likely to get something done if it’s written down. It’s like you’re being held accountable. (Post-it notes are great for this – or even the notepad in your phone so it’s on all your devices).

I want to share one of my bucket list items with you, because I think the outcome of it is a good lesson about life.

SMPS offers regional conferences across the country where you can have the benefits of a national conference on a regional level. After attending a few of these it was something I wanted to be a part of, by way of the planning committee. So I added it to my bucket list.

In early 2015 I was offered the opportunity to help bring the Heartland Regional Conference to Pittsburgh. SMPS Pittsburgh had never hosted a regional conference and the team I had the joy of working with, compiled our city’s nomination, and it was an amazing collaborative effort.

Pittsburgh was named the host city for the Heartland Region’s 2017 Conference.

In the fall of 2015, another offer by two amazing and seasoned Marketing and Business Development professionals within our industry offered me the seat to be the Chair of the Programs Committee for the conference. This is one of those opportunities that makes your stomach turn with excitement and nervousness. But it’s what I wanted and what an opportunity it was. And the clock was ticking. We had under 18 months to plan a 3-day educational program for 200+ individuals.

At that time, my husband and I had found out that we were expecting our second child and my delivery was on the doorstep of the summer of 2016. As usual, things fell into place and with a rock-star co-chair and the support of an amazing committee and lots of planning, the schedule was coming together and milestones were being met.

Our second son, Toby was born May 27, 2016. I was very lucky to enjoy the summer home with my entire family and was anticipating getting back into work mid-August and jumping back into Program planning in the thick of everything coming together.

I was back to work for 14 days when my family’s world was brought to a stop. Toby died in his sleep, the afternoon of Wednesday, August 24.

I have always been a planner. Life does not stop for the unimaginable. Even though, in the midst of shock and grief, it seems to.

I stepped down from my role as Co-Chair in October. I needed to focus on being with my family. I needed to learn to walk again, with a very empty heart.

Fast forward to the beginning of April. The Heartland Regional Conference (HRC) commenced and brought nearly 230 AEC professionals into Pittsburgh. Feedback from attendees over the 3-day event was nothing but positive and the speakers were amazing. Sitting in the audience, watching veteran SMPS members welcome first-time HRC attendees was amazing. I’m sure you can ask any fellow SMPS’er and they will tell you, these conferences, whether regional or national, can put the fire back in your career and give a creative boost, just when it’s needed.

It was an honor to be involved in the beginning steps of bringing HRC to Pittsburgh. I was given a ‘thank you’ from the co-chairs and when I opened it, it had a lot of connection, pulled at a lot of strings that hadn’t been touched for a few months.

Artwork by: Nevin Robinson

We spend a lot of our life thinking we constantly need to achieve things. Don’t get me wrong, it’s good to move forward in your career. It challenges us. Makes us think differently. Brings new friends into our path. Teaches us things. But I also think we can lose sight of a lot.

My husband and I love Pittsburgh. Sure, we love the beach and the mountains too, but Pittsburgh will always be home. We love raising our family here. We love working here. Our two-year old, Lucas, loves the sports teams. This is the only city Toby ever knew. I can’t imagine not being here.

This ‘thank you’ holds much more for me. The rivers of Pittsburgh. The Point. The view.

My journey changed dramatically eight months ago. I stepped to the bank and let a boat go by that I really wanted to be on. One surrounded with people that I admired and that supported me. I feel like I was placed back in the water in a kayak, alone. Life said “Here. Figure it out.”

My first thought when I looked at this picture was, “This is Toby’s view of Pittsburgh.”

I am not the person I was eight months ago, but that does not mean my life is any less. It does not mean my achievements aren’t worth as much as anyone else’s. It just means they are different. For someone that is a “doer” this is something I am working on learning to accept. And it is hard.

Sometimes we don’t achieve what’s on our bucket list. Sometimes we can’t. Sometimes we achieve things that have far greater meaning to our lives, right at that moment or much later in life. Sometimes people judge, say we failed, and it hurts. Sometimes doors open at the wrong times and we have to close them and move on. These are things that we don’t have control of. This is life. It’s hard to navigate and sometimes even harder to accept.

I have added one thing to my bucket list since August 24, 2016 – to live my life in honor of our son, Toby. To make a difference in his name. Maybe that will happen with the help of my professional career, maybe it won’t.

Take it easy on your journey, professional or personal. Be ready for curveballs. Be ready for the unimaginable. If you need to stop somewhere and take a break, it’s okay.

But, one tip. Be ready to ask life to leave you a paddle.

Stills

Family, grief, loss, Parenting, Toby

Lately, I’ve been trying to reflect on the last six months. The reality of six months makes me so incredibly angry. The months of September and October, I have no recollection of. Lucas turned 2 on September 4. I have two moments of that day that resurface in my mind – the first – standing on the deck, it was so hot, our family singing happy birthday to him; the second – standing in the kitchen looking out into the backyard as our nieces and nephews ran down off the deck to play. I remember blinking, leaning toward the window, thinking “someone’s holding Toby.” Waiting for one of our parents to walk down into the yard with him in their arms. But no one came. Now, when I look out the kitchen window, that’s the memory that plays in my mind.
There was a good stretch of time where I was finally sleeping. These past few weeks I’ve been waking up multiple times a night. I woke up one night last week, while Dan was away for work, and I swore I heard crying. Not Luke’s cry. It was a baby, the softest whine. I opened my eyes thinking I would see the monitor. Nothing. Darkness. And the sound was gone.

The waves of tears and uncontrollable crying have been replaced by a calmness that I absolutely hate. I feel numb again, like I did in those first weeks. I hate it. I feel guilty that I can’t cry when I feel like I need to. But then there are moments it is all I can do. I am sad, depressed, angry – nothing anyone says is the right thing.

I never experienced pain or loneliness until Toby died. You think you experience pain; you think the loss of someone you love is beyond words; you think people understand. We don’t. I unfortunately can say this, because I’ve been on both sides of this.

You have no idea the pain of a grieving parent, unless you are a grieving parent. There have been many days this past month where my emotions are so bottled-up, feeling hurt, lost, and alone – the tears come when they come and there is no choice but to surrender to those feelings, because I don’t have the strength to stop them.

I said before that six months makes me angry, and most days it does. When I look at the calendar or the date in the bottom corner of my computer, I instantly think another day away from you. My arms hurt. I feel the pain inside and out and then, like another wave of emotion, I feel guilty. How should I feel? Do people look at us and think we should be moving through this grief more smoothly or quicker? Am I being the best mom I can be for Lucas? People say, It will get better; time will help; it won’t hurt as bad.

Yes. Yes it does. It does hurt as bad. As bad as August 24. The flashes in my mind on any day are enough to knock the wind out of any mother. On a bad day? They’re a nasty nightmare. The sound of an ambulance siren. The lights, even if I close my eyes, the red and brightness, flash and I can’t breathe. Some routes home, I look out the window sometimes and feel like I’m not even moving, but the feeling in my heart and stomach is the same from that afternoon. There are no words for it.

Others say things, intending to be helpful, but aren’t. I’m trying to learn to take what is, and leave what isn’t.

The weather the past few weeks has gone from 30 degrees and snowing one day to 60 degrees and sunny the next. I think these glimpses of spring, of warmer weather, are bringing emotions with them. As much as the past six months have been unbearable, I’m starting to feel anxiety for the next six. Toby’s birthday. June. July. August. One year. Vacationing without him. Going back to the pool and parks where we spent 12 amazing weeks as a family of four.

Some have said to us, I don’t know how you do it? I really don’t know either. Some days we just don’t. We don’t leave our house. We stay inside with Lucas and our dogs, Murray and Theo, and do whatever we feel like doing. I used to long for those days, when we could enjoy the boys together. Laugh. Play. Sing. We still have those days, but now I long for Toby to be there with us. Sometimes when I close my eyes, my wish is that I’ll open them and he’ll be right there in the swing. That’s a still that’s in my mind. The still of his face in the car the morning of August 24 when I was taking our boys to daycare. He was smiling and laughing at Lucas. I hate hitting the light on Rt. 22. That’s the still that’s in my mind, except when I hit that light, I almost feel like I’m watching my life. All the lights, people, fast moving vehicles – they haven’t stopped, or even slowed. But if I look right or left, there’s no sound, there’s no color. It’s just still.

As I continue to write, while it helps sometimes to get the feelings out and on paper, I hope that it will reach someone who’s maybe feeling the same. Whether in the first year of loss or the tenth. People go through many struggles. The loss of a child is a big struggle. A big, traumatic, loss. There is no fix for this. To lose a child is to lose the very heart and soul of you. My prayer right now is that this darkness that has come back will somehow make way for a time that will fuel me, us, to do things we never dreamed we could do. All while keeping the memory of our beautiful, blue-eyed, boy alive. And even though they hurt, I pray the stills never go away.

Not a Cloud in the Sky

2017, faith, Family, grief, loss, Toby

There are some days I can stop here and have a million things to tell you and there are others when all I can do is cry. This grieving process is such a roller coaster ride.

I went to get my haircut today and the lady asked me “what happened to your hair? It looks like it’s regrowing? Were you sick?” I frowned in the mirror. Yes, I lost a lot of it postpartum and then my son died, and I lost even more because my body couldn’t deal with it all. So it’s just starting to grow back. And then she said “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Is this your son?” And reached for Toby’s locket around my neck. “Yes, that’s Toby.” Her response made my proud. “Tell me about Toby. He is as beautiful as an angel.” I talked for awhile today, to a stranger, who genuinely wanted to hear about my son and our family. It was wonderful.

The last two days have been so nice outside. There are many small things that I pay attention to now. The morning my grandfather died in 2004, the rain poured. It rained for hours and the sky was black, even at mid-day. I remember my mom saying “It’s heavens tears. We weren’t ready for him to go.” The day that Toby died, the thunderstorms that evening were so strong. The thunder loud, cracks of lightning and the wind. I remember sitting there listening to it outside and now when I think about it, I feel like that was all my emotion happening inside me, but portrayed through the weather. I was in such a state of shock and so vulernably helpless. But I remember the way that storm made me feel, to this day. I think I always will.

Our family lost an amazing lady this week, my grandmother. Friday morning there was this beautiful sunrise on the way to work. I remember sitting at a stop light and looking around at the sky and it was this beautiful blue color. Not a cloud in sight. Just clear, calm and beautiful. And then I thought “this is for Grammy.” She is now at peace, in a place where there is no worry or anxiety. The sun always shines, there is nothing to cloud your mind.

Grammy holding Luke on his first Christmas

It is remarkable to me how when you really start to replay moments in your life, good ones and bad, there are many little things, details that we don’t notice at the time or we think have no impact, but they truly do. We all see and feel and believe in different ways. That part of this human life is truly amazing. Many do not realize it and I think some only do when they experience something that really causes you to slow down and watch what is going on around you.

I am someone who did not do this until Toby died. Slow down, that is. There are many times now when I find myself in the middle of the grocery store just watching people. Thinking about them. Or listening to conversations I overhear and really reflecting on them. It is amazing how oblivious we are to so many things. It’s incredibly sad. People are missing so much of life and of people they love, because they’re rushing to the next thing.

Dan and I have learned through the most heartbreaking experience that the next moment is not promised to you. Whether you are 89 years or 12 weeks. Our time here, with the people we love and who love us, is completely out of our control. What is in our control is the way we spend the time we are given and what we do. Take the trip. Make the call. Go visit your grandparent. Play the board game. Say your prayers at night. Talk about the weather with your children. Eat dinner together. Take your child to story time at the library in the middle of the work day. Believe me, you will be so happy you did.

As I was leaving the cemetery today I had this vivid image in my head of Grammy sitting on the beach and Toby was in her lap. Toby always loved the water.

I’m sure they will be spending a lot of time at the beach. Maybe take Toby to see the carnival lights at night, Gram. I have a feeling he would love the carousel. ❤

All the Love

2017, faith, Family, Home, Parenting

To the new mom who is running on two hours of sleep; no shower in a few days; same clothes you slept in from the day before; three week old baby asleep on your shoulder and the living room in front of you a mess from toys your two-year old has been playing with – I’m praying for you.

To the new foster mom in line at the store. Your cart not only filled high with food, clothes, winter jackets, hats and gloves, diapers, formula, soap and juice, but the two little girls that you just opened your home and heart to – I’m praying for you.

To the women in line at the pharmacy, holding a pregnancy test, your stomach in knots because you don’t want to go through the heartbreak of yet another miscarriage but yet you want a positive test; to be able to carry a healthy baby full term; and finally hold your child in your arms – I’m praying for you.

To the grandmother who has raised a family, watched her children marry and now have families and children of their own. Who have silently grieved while being strong for your daughters and sons as they have endured miscarriages, deaths of children, infertility and continual longing – I am praying for you.

To the mother who is now caring for her own mother. A women who adored her family and yet today no longer remembers who they are or who is caring for her, but loves you anyway and smiles as you brush her hair or sing her a song – I’m praying for you.

To the women who has done everything possible to conceive; ate all the right things; taken every pill or shot they’ve prescribed; prayed 1,000 times over and yet nothing is working and you feel like you’re body is failing you; preventing you from being the mom you always wanted to be; from your husband becoming a father; your parents a grandparent – I’m praying for you.

To the grandmother who is now raising her grandchildren, for whatever the circumstance may be. Who has opened her home to the laughter and tears, long nights and fights over what everyone wants for dinner, but goes to be each evening thanking God for these little blessings – I’m praying for you.

To the stay-at-home mom who would give anything for a night out, even if that just meant a trip to Target and a coffee on your own. Who was up before her family to finish laundry and pack lunches and who will have toys, books, craft supplies and dinner to clean up after bath time tonight – I am praying for you.

To the working mom whose alarm went off at 5am so you could get a workout in before the rest of your family was awake, worked a 8-5 day and only stopped to go to the bathroom once and whose lunch consisted of a pack of crackers and a diet coke. Who is on pick-up for daycare this week and would give anything for her email to stop while she’s watching just one episode of Mickey Mouse with her toddler before bedtime – I’m praying for you.

For the parents who have one child in the hospital and one, or more, child(en) at home. Who haven’t been in the same room with each other for weeks because they are focused on making sure each child is taken care of and feels like everything is going to be ok. Who take shifts sleeping and working, just to pay the medical bills and buy groceries, and sometimes don’t know what day of the week it is – I’m praying for you.

To the father holding the weight of the world on your shoulders so that your wife and children do not have to bear it. Finding all the right things to say when someone asks “how are you?”; defending and protecting your family with every ounce of strength you have that when you hit your knees to pray, all that comes are tears – I’m praying for you.

To the women and men who teach and care for our children while their parents are at work each day. Who comfort them when they are sick or skinned their knee playing outside. Who discipline them, even when you don’t want to, and show them how to share and pray. Who high-five them when they ace their spelling or math test and say “wait till you tell Mom & Dad” – I’m praying for you.

To the mother and father who’s weekly routine involves multiple visits to the cemetery, either before or after work, because you’ve suffered the loss of one or more children. Who spend time each week telling your children about what you wish you were doing with them, here on Earth, instead of them watching you from Heaven – I’m praying for you.

—

To anyone that reads this and can relate to any of these circumstances, I admire your ability to do it every day. I have seen each of you over the past few months and if it wasn’t for the death of my son, Toby, which caused me to look at life in a different way, I may not have seen you, or recognized how hard you are trying. I admire the patience you have, your ability to face each day and your dedication to those that depend on you. I wish you grace and peace for whatever road you are on. I know that you want the children in your lives to feel important and loved. And no matter what anyone says, they DO and that’s because of YOU. You do it best. You love them best and the exact way that they need to be loved.

I am praying for each of you this month because I have seen you and you’ve made an impact on my life, without knowing it, and how I look at every situation. Know that someone is praying for you and wishing that, if even for one moment of your day, you can see yourself and think “I am brave” or “I am doing my best.”

You do not feel it at all, I know. I’m right there with you. But you are. You are brave, and you are wise, and I hope you feel loved.

I found this leaf on the ground yesterday morning as I dropped Luke off. A little sign from our angel, Toby.

A New Endeavor

2017, Dan, faith, Family, Lucas, Marriage, Parenting, Toby

I have spend the last few weeks very focused in prayer. That was one of my small goals for the year. It has been normal in these times to also talk to Toby. Tell him what is on my heart and ask for guidance or some sort of sign as to whether or not I should even be carrying whatever it is that is heavy on my heart and mind.

An opportunity presented itself at the beginning of January as a way to help our mission of being a voice for grieving parents and parenting through the loss of a child, while also offering the chance to work with some amazing people. View the video below to see what door has opened for our family (video is ~10mins).

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We continue to be ever grateful for the support, encouragement, outreach, thoughts and prayers for our family. You are in our daily prayer of thanksgiving. Through this new endeavor I look forward to hearing, learning and growing more through those that follow us at Our Happy Place & Co., and those that find us through Pittsburgh Moms Blog Network.