Pennsylvania

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.

Stern Family’s Donation Fills Children’s Section Book ‘Wish List’ at Monroeville Library in Memory of Infant Son Toby

2017, Family, Joy, The Little Fox | Toby's Foundation, Toby

On Saturday, Nov. 4th we visited the Monroeville Library and met with Nicole Henline, Director. Following our book drive in August during Toby’s Random Act of Kindness Campaign, 24 children’s books were purchased, by friends and family, to be donated to our local library.

It was a bittersweet moment to make this delivery. We were able to meet with Adrienne & Hope, who oversee the Children’s Section and Programming. They were excited to see all the titles and new books that we were helping them put into circulation.

Each of the 24 titles will have a name plate inside the front cover that will have a dedication message for Toby.

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Currently the new titles are being processed and the name plates being placed onto each book. Once those items are complete, the books will then be in circulation and be considered “new books.” This should be around the beginning of December.

Hope offered to display all of these in the Children’s Center for the month of December, along with a flyer with Toby’s story and the making of The Little Fox | Toby’s Foundation.

This was above and beyond what we had imagined happening with these, but we were grateful for the opportunity and thankful for the Monroeville Library’s generosity in offering a platform for the community, especially families within the area, to see Toby and know where these beautiful books have come from.

From the beginning, our goal with this large children’s book donation was to give back to the community and give joy to the children and families that read them, for years to come. We have no doubt, after our visit on Saturday, that these 24 titles will do just that.

Nicole also offered that Luke could come to the library when they got their next shipment of picture books in and select one book that would be donated in Toby’s name from him. This was a wonderful way to include Luke and to let him have a special contribution to this donation. We look forward to that over the next few months.

Book Donation in Toby's Memory

Thank you to Nicole, Adrienne and Hope and the rest of the staff at the Monroeville Library for agreeing to help our family make another connection and partnership within the Monroeville Community. We know that Toby would have enjoyed the library, picking out books, and all the fun things you have to offer to children, just like Luke does. Even more, we now know that pieces of our son’s memory will find their way into the fun times of children, families, play groups, and classrooms across the community. We couldn’t ask for more as a piece of Toby’s legacy. We are forever thankful.

To our friends and family that so graciously helped us fill the Children’s Section “Wish List” – thank you! In less than 48 hours each book from the library’s list was purchased and when they arrived we were touched by the messages for Toby and the love that was sent with each one. We hope that you will get a chance to visit the library, even during the month of December when these particular books will be on display, to see Toby’s books and see the joy that is within the Children’s area.

book donation

 

Dr. Seuss Book Quote

Month 14

2017, Family, grief, Toby

Toby in his favorite chair - Copy

I love this picture. It is one of the last pictures we have of Toby. I remember this moment so vividly. This was the first time we put him in this chair – and he loved it! He sat up so well and he giggled looking at the little toys attached to the top. Luke and I laughed with excitement, watching his eyes open really wide and looking at us, being so proud of what he was doing.

I look at this picture now and it makes me cry. I can’t look at it without thinking “What would you look like today?” I get angry that I didn’t take a video of him laughing. I’d give anything to hear him giggle. My heart breaks knowing that these pictures won’t be replaced with new ones, older ones, recent ones.

We’ve reached another 24th day of the month. 14 months since Toby left our family and went to Heaven. I continue to struggle with sadness, guilt, anger, jealously, an emptiness in my heart that I know will never be filled.

I love you my sweet Toby. I miss you beyond belief. ❤️

#ourangeltoby #14months #october24 #wemissyou

My Faith in God

faith, Family, grief, loss, Marriage, Parenting, Toby

This has been a difficult week for our family. Grief is hard. It’s exhausting. It comes from nowhere. No warning. And it stays, for as long as it likes. You can have a good moment and the next you are crying. That happens with me a lot. Your body can ache from the physical pain of grief, not just pain from your heart.

We pray for strength. We pray for understanding. We pray that Toby sees every tear that we cry, not because we want him to see the pain – there is no pain in Heaven. Our prayers are that he see the love. The love that comes with every break of our hearts and every tear we have shed over the last 14 months.

I am sharing this because we have said from the beginning that we want to educate people on what it is like to be grieving parents. To have our infant son, die. This is what it is like.

 

Image may contain: grass, plant and outdoor

Today I read a post from another grieving mother reflecting on what she feels when she visits the cemetery. She talked about experiencing peace and a connection with being there with her child. I envy her perspective. I envy this amazing trust she seems to have in Gods plan.

Today, while it started off well, quickly turned difficult. My arms ache to hold Toby, to hear him laugh with Dan or Luke, to feel his hair and see his bright blue eyes.

I drive home past the cemetery most days and most times I need to stop. But today there is more anger here. I hate that the ground has fresh cut grass – that reminds me of how long it’s been since we buried him. I hate that the leaves are falling – a reminder of a season that I used to love, but now holds my broken heart. I look at his stone and want to pull his name from the marble. I don’t want there to be an end date etched in there. I don’t even want to be here. As I start to descend over the hill to this hand-picked spot, I can’t make it past the last stone before his, before tears stream down my face. Every time.

I want to have faith in God’s plan. I want to have joy in knowing Toby is in Heaven walking in His Kingdom. I want to take heart in knowing that he felt no pain – that his heart will never break, like mine or Dan’s.

But as a grieving mother, sometimes my faith in God is shaky. My vision in his goodness is blurred by days of tears, wishing for my Toby to be back here, on Earth, with us. Sometimes, even falling to my knees to pray, my heart still feels heavy and my arms empty when I get back up.

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Do not be afraid to ask about Toby. Do not be afraid to ask how we are feeling. And also, on a day when we may not want to talk, please understand and do not hold it against us. You do not know what we are struggling with. You do not know the memories that are flashing through our minds. We understand that too. We only pray for patience, consideration and respect.

We are parents of two beautiful boys, who are our world. They are loved unconditionally and they make us very proud.

12 Months in Heaven

2017, Family, grief, loss, Toby

My sweet Toby,

I have dreaded this day. I have tried for a month to get my thoughts together for this day, but every time I’ve sat down to write, only tears come. It isn’t writers block. It’s grief. It’s anger. It’s rage. It’s absolute heartbreak.

toby and mommy

My running partner. {August 18, 2016}

I sat on the back porch last weekend. The sun felt different. The smell of the air gave me chills. There was silence.

I was immediately taken back to the morning of August 25. We hadn’t slept. It stormed that night and I kept going up to check on Luke and then I’d walk to your room, not able to breathe, as I looked at your crib. You weren’t there. Your things were everywhere, but you weren’t.

I sat on the deck, around 6 am, staring into the yard. Murray sat right next to me. He knew.

Later that morning I was sitting at the patio table. It was so quiet. It was never that quiet in our neighborhood, but yet, I heard nothing. The world had gone silent. Our world.

I heard the front door open and then the door to the deck. I looked up at the steps and Uncle Matt stood there. He shook his head looking at me and said “Too quiet here to be alone.” I cried.

I don’t want to be alone, without you. I don’t want to go for a run, without you. I don’t want Daddy to hold Luke’s hand and not be holding you in his other arm. I don’t want Luke to play without you. I don’t want to wake up in the morning and not see your smiling face. I don’t want Luke to count “Mommy and Daddy. Murray and Theo. Lucas and Toby.” and you not be here.

I have searched, for 364 days, for answers. I have searched for a reason. I have searched for any possible sign in my life, in my faith, as to why God could have possibly needed you more; I cannot find one.

Today I pray that your angels will shelter you from the tears that will fall minute by minute. I pray that you will feel all the love for you, my beautiful boy and that you, without a doubt, know that we would NOT change one minute, one hour, one day – not one second of time that you were in our life.

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I pray that you see that everything that Daddy and I do is for you and Luke. Every time we speak your name, Toby, we do it with love and pride because you are our son and your legacy, your story, your joy has touched the lives of so many, in such a short time. I am not perfect. I have not been able to surrender to ‘having no control.’ I carry anger and sadness with me. I pray that you will help me, lessen the grip on those emotions, and hold tight to the joy and memories of the time we had with you.

…”I’ll love you forever. I’ll like you for always. As long as I’m living, my baby you’ll be.”

I love you, Toby.

Xoxo,

Mommy