There is no word

I remember seeing this quote a month ago.

A wife who loses a Husband is called a Widow
A Husband who loses a Wife is called a Widower
A Child who loses a Parent is called an Orphan
There is no word for a Parent who loses a Child
Thats how awful the loss is. 

I thought it was so profound. I thought, there is also no word for losing a sibling. And I walked that too. I remember thinking to send it to my mom. I never got around to it. And now we have both lost a daughter. Right now I wonder if it would be worse to have had her and lost her at 28. If it's easier I never got to love her movements and personality longer than 8 months. 

We will both carry grief over loss for the rest of our years. Both for Kimmy. Both for Anna. For a Mother, a daughter, a sister, a grand daughter. 

I just never imagined I could be walking this road. And now it feels like things were popping up for the last month, for the first time. Seeing it now sometimes feels like divine intervention. A warning for what was to come. Another one was the song, It's Quiet Uptown. 

The lyrics, if you don't want to listen. But I promise you should listen. Its the most beautifully written song about loss. I thought, while listening in my car 3 days before that day, tears streaming down my face. This is the most tragic song, a loss and figuring out how to go on without your child. How the husband in the song, haunted, just wants to see his wife be herself again. And now that is exactly what has happened to me. I am living this song. And as I sit in my yard, on my porch swing, I think, its so quiet. 

There are moments that the words don't reach
There is suffering too terrible to name
You hold your child as tight as you can
Then push away the unimaginable
The moments when you're in so deep
Feels easier to just swim down
And so they move uptown
And learn to live with the unimaginable

I spend hours in the garden
I walk alone to the store
And it's quiet uptown
I never liked the quiet before
I take the children to church on Sunday
A sign of the cross at the door
And I pray
That never used to happen before

(If you see him in the street, walking by himself
Talking to himself, have pity)
You would like it uptown, it's quiet uptown
(He is working through the unimaginable
His hair has gone grey, he passes every day
They say he walks the length of the city)
You knock me out, I fall apart
(Can you imagine?)

Look at where we are
Look at where we started
I know I don't deserve you
But hear me out, that would be enough

If I could spare his life
If I could trade his life for mine
He'd be standing here right now
And you would smile, and that would be enough
I don't pretend to know the challenges we're facing
I know there's no replacing what we've lost
And you need time
But I'm not afraid, I know who I married
Just let me stay here by your side
And that would be enough

(If you see him in the street, walking by her side
Talking by her side, have pity)
Do you like it uptown? It's quiet uptown
(He is trying to do the unimaginable
See them walking in the park, long after dark)
Taking in the sights of the city
Look around, look around, look around
(They are trying to do the unimaginable)

There are moments that the words don't reach
There's a grace too powerful to name
We push away what we can never understand
We push away the unimaginable
They are standing in the garden
Standing there side by side
She takes his hand
It's quiet uptown

Forgiveness, can you imagine?
Forgiveness, can you imagine?

(If you see him in the street, walking by her side
Talking by her side, have pity)
Look around, look around
They are going through the unimaginable

with love, lissa

little feet

In French they don’t say, I miss you. They say, “tu me manques” Which means, you are missing from me.  

This photo is both the most precious to me, and the most haunting. She was perfect. This baby that I held in my hands. This baby that was full term and could have lived, should have lived. Babies live all the time at 34 weeks. I felt so safe at this point of the pregnancy. Even that day, I thought, she will be fine. 

She had features that reminded me of both Sawyer & Max. She was delicate like a little girl should be. She had curls on her head already. And her feet were perfect and plump. I wanted to kiss those feet over and over again as we played together. I can see it crisply in my head still of how it was supposed to be.

For whatever reason feet are my favorite thing on a little baby. I have hundreds of feet pictures of my boys. I have 3 of my daughter. And I will never get more. Never see them grow from the tiny things you can't believe, into feet that carry them through life.

I wanted to hear them run around my house. I wanted to see her feel grass for the first time. Wipe the sand off them this summer. Put them in the tiny shoes I had bought for her. Walk them to school on a first day. Slip ballet slippers on them and watch them dance across the floor. I wanted to see them whisked off the floor with her first love, and hold them at the foot of her bed during her first heartbreak. To see them walk a stage at graduation. One day see them walk down an isle. And then, hold the little feet she would bring into the world. 

I had dreamed all the dreams of a little girl, and her future, my future too. They’re gone now. Missing for the rest of my life. 

with love, lissa

Walk with me

There is only one person in the world who knows the pain I’m feeling right now.

Only Brandon lost his daughter, Anna on May 20, like I did.

I know he is hurting. For her, and for me. I don’t know what it’s like to hope your wife is alive the next time you see her. And to feel grateful you only lost one family member that day.

I do know I couldn’t do this without him. He has literally held me together with his hands this week. He has said the words that I couldn’t. He filled out a death certificate while I held our baby. He held me when I had to let her go. I don't even remember that moment anymore. I can see he being taken and then nothing, like my memories can't even bear the pain. He held me up when I could not walk on my own, the surgery a cruel reminder of what was gone. He had to do things husbands should never do. And I had to let him, and let go of my last dignity while doing it.Its not a pretty place to be while grieving. 

On the hardest morning in the hospital he even kept the nurses out on a vitals round, so I could continue getting the only sleep I had in days. He rubs my feet when they don’t even resemble feet, from all the swelling. I mentioned the shower head at the hospital was soothing on my scar, he had installed a new one in our bathroom the first night home. He bought a lifetime supply of Kleenex, and was upset it wasn’t the “right one” for me. I said I might find blogging therapeutic, he re-bought my old domain and set up my website the next morning.

He is making sure I eat, when I can’t stand the sight of food. Literally asking me till I say I'll eat half a sandwich. He sets reminders for my pain killers, because I can’t remember. He hugs me tight as I cry into my pillow every night. He holds my hand and talks me through every thought I have. He told me "this will not be the last baby we hold in our arms" as I watched him hold our daughter through tears streaming down my face. 

The first baby we saw in the hospital, I think he literally wanted to swoop me into his arms and run the other direction, to protect my heart. He’s trying his hardest to fix an impossibly broken human. I know he’s hurting, but you wouldn’t know it, because he’s taking care of me on levels I didn’t know existed.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had said I love you to him, as I was fading in the OR, because we don’t need to say it, we just feel it. He held Anna as long as possible. And now he’s holding me. If I have to walk this road of child loss, at least I do it holding his hand.

edit* after posting this, I just realized he is wearing that same shirt in the photos with Anna, that's how quickly things went from the best day, to the worst. 

with love, lissa

Anna Mae

Anna was our girl name for years. I had picked it out before Sawyer even joined our family. Then I thought maybe with Max. I have a post from back in 2015 with "I have always wanted to write the sentence, Sawyer Max & Anna." I had just had it pop up in my memories and screen shot it. I wanted to share her name and I thought it was funny timing. Now I will never write that sentence. It will never caption the photo's of her meeting her brothers for the first time. Of them growing together through the years. It's over before it began. 

Her name means, full of grace, or beautiful. And she was already so beautiful. Her features delicate like a little girl. Her lips soft and sweet. A nose that reminded me of Max as a newborn. The hair I had dreamed of putting little bows in. I joked the heart burn started back in October, so I knew she was going to have hair. And there it was. Soft wisps of it in my hand as I stroked her head for the last time. I'll never know if she shared her brothers eye color. I'll always wonder instead. Her feet fully plump. Her hands wrapped around my finger, like I had dreamed of for 8 months. She was beautiful and full of Grace. Too much for this world.

We chose it because my moms name is pronounced Myanna, and it was a way of honoring her name. She would be “MY” Anna.

Mae because in the hospital, the first nurse called me Alissa May. She messed up my middle name Amy, for May. So I guess in a way she was named after me too. It struck me that she wouldn’t be born in June, but May. Spelling it like Mae had been on our baby name list for months.

It took me her WHOLE life to pick her name. Forced into deciding it because they needed it for her death certificate. I wish I had talked to her sooner with it. I could never decide, and now that we have it, it could never have been anything else.

I only wish I could whisper it to her, not to heaven. 💗

with love, lissa

Before & After

I’m sorry if my openness is offending or making anyone uncomfortable. This is me and I’ve never shy’d away from wearing my heart on my sleeve. I’m working through the hardest experience of my life, and documenting it is the only thing I have control over.

These are one week apart. I took weekly photos of this growing belly. She was the third baby. I was so bad at doing it some weeks. But I wanted to make sure I documented this week. Not knowing it was the last week. I could have been the last photo of me alive.

Sometimes I hated my body and how big and fat it was getting. Im not the girl who loves being pregnant. I endure it for the end results. And this pregnancy was by far the worst. I made light of it over the fact I was 7 years older than the first time. And how close it was to being over. I only have one video of her kicking. It was more out of peace of mind that I liked her kicks. It meant she was ok. But I didn't enjoy it. I wish I had. I wish I had taken video after video of her tender limbs growing in me and showing me she was alive. I didn't know. 

But now I truly hate it, and feel it has betrayed me in so many ways. I still look like I’m pregnant, but it’s disappearing faster than it ever did with previous pregnancies. And I don't know which is more painful. That its so fresh it looks like she could be inside. Or how fast all evidence that she was here, is gone. It feels truly empty. Emotionally, and the lack of her moving inside me. The fact that she was completely healthy and my body killed her. The if only's pile up faster than my mind can think them. She COULD be here but she's not.

The milk that naturally came in to feed my baby that was already gone. I thought I was having a reaction to my pain meds. Scared of overdose because I have seen that route, I cut back on them even though I was in such pain. Only to find out my body who had killed my child, was now reminding me of her absence. And it too was painful to get rid of. This road has so many emotional tolls on it. Far beyond just the loss of a child. It's a constantly awareness I cannot forget. 

with love, lissa

Sundays

One week.

At exactly this time, last Sunday, I was falling to the floor in the labor and delivery wing. I was told I lost my baby girl. And I was told I might lose my own life too.

I thought about how I hadn’t even said bye to my boys when I walked out the door. That I couldn’t remember the last time I told Brandon I loved him. I asked for my mom like a child who skins their knee and needs someone to tell them it’s going to be ok.

All I could think of was that I was going to leave my family without a mom. And I wasn’t going to get a second chance to love my family.  I’m not only dealing with this grief that will never end. But with the fact that I am now living on borrowed time. The physical wounds are healing, but the real pain is in my heart. And it will never heal.

Everything can change in an instant. And it did last Sunday. Now instead of counting down every Monday for the last 4 weeks, we count up since last Sunday. One week. 

with love, lissa

the day I broke my child's heart

Tonight I broke my child’s heart

We sat down a six and three year old and told them their baby sister was gone. No we told them specifically that she was dead. Because a children's grief counselor had told us we had to be blunt in that way. Because they were children.   

Sawyer burst into tears, looked at me and launched into my arms and wept. Max crawled into the hug, and as I sat there crying, holding my boys and looking at Brandon, I wondered, how this was my reality. The things that had happened to line up in such a way that this was the result. How is this fair, that my heart has been broken so many times, and here I am breaking my children's hearts now.

Max moved on quickly. He's only three. He whispers, the baby is dead over and over again. It's a fact. It hurts to hear, but this is how a three year old processes life. Things that are true. And she is dead now.

But Sawyer spent the next 2 hours on & off asking questions. Some broke my already shattered heart. “If babies can die," and he looks into my eyes with a look I will never forget, "can mommies die too?”  

We have opened a world of hurt for a 6 year old. He asked if she was at the hospital. If they were taking care of her now. He kept asking if I was sure she wasn't coming home. He asked if there would be more babies. And I answered, I hope so, because we still don't know. He asked if he could call the new babies Anna, he was the only one who knew her name. He asked if the new baby could come in August because he had waited SO long till June. He asked it it was ok to cry in the morning, or just at night like we were then. He asked if he could tell his teacher, I didn't tell him she already knew and had been trying to give him happiness in hiding it the last week of school. He asked me if I would be sad if the next baby was a boy. How could he know there was such special happiness of finally having a daughter, and my fear now that it will never be realized. He asked if he should hug me when he saw me crying. Like he could fix me if he tried hard enough. He asked so many questions trying to make sense of this thing I couldn't make sense of either. I didn't have the answers, I never will. 

A friend of mine sent this pink pillow, it is weighted to 4 pounds 2oz.  Anna’s exact weight. She was supposed to be 6lbs at birth they thought. Sawyer became immediately attached. It has her name on it, and he asked if he can hug and kiss it when he misses her. My wise old soul.

When he was ready, we put them to sleep in our bed to sleep. And he whispered, “I’m going to cry when I ask this question..."  His precious face breaking,

"I just really wanted my baby sister to come out ok” 💔

It’s 1am and he’s still holding tight to his memory of a baby sister. The closest he can come to realizing his dream of a bigger big brother. 

with love, lissa

time heals all wounds

Its one of the stupid things people will tell you when you're grieving. Because they haven't grieved. If they have, they will tell you of course time doesn't heal all wounds, this is with you forever now. This weight you will carry with you. Instead of the weight of her in my arms, I will carry the weight of her on my heart for the rest of my life. 

But the thing with life is that it does force you into reality whether you like it or not. And dealing with the grief of Kimmy for the last 14 month had taught me that. It was hard in the beginning and it certainly wasn't linear. I would say the fall was the hardest. Facing holidays without the sister I had been used to texting. But then life gave me the most wonderful curveball. A daughter inside of me. I would feel so guilty for crying so much while she was there. I didn't want her brought into the world knowing only sadness from my heart. So slowly the days came easier and the smiles naturally took over. 

Anna was going to be the light at the end of the tunnel of grief. I thought it was unfair to have a girl finally, but unable to share it with my sister. But you know whats worse? Losing your daughter, and not having your sister beside you. Kimmy can't understand what has happened. She asks me why Im crying when she face times me. Stares at me blankly. I had JUST felt like I was crawling my way out of the blankness of grief from her loss. I was still crying in the car, but it wasn't EVERY day. It was every other day, and then a few days, and then the week of the baby shower I had been sad but it wasn't overwhelming. 

The day of the baby shower I woke up feeling completely refreshed. This is not the case with my pregnancies. But I woke up with a smile on my face. My hair went flawlessly into a crown braid that usually takes 3 attempts. My makeup, I put it all on, I hardly wore make up anymore because I had cried it all off month after month. But today was going to be so wonderful. I put it on, lipstick too. I wore a new outfit and felt truly beautiful in pregnancy. I made my favorite crepes for all my friends to enjoy. I put the finishing touches on the girliest cake I ever made. And I dreamed of a year from now making a first birthday cake. I had already started to plan that party. "Donut Grow Up," and now she never will. 

I spent the whole day feeling overwhelmingly happy. The first time completely content in life. I had face grief head on for so long, and I was learning to live with it. I had found the balance in life and it felt truly magical. I spent the day with favorite friends, everyone together laughing and loving. They too had been part of my journey and were genuinely happy for me. I was showered in that love and the girliest of gifts. With each one I unwrapped I thought of Anna and I in the future. Something tangible to hold onto. 

When it was over I spent the afternoon sitting with Brandon on the new porch swing. I closed my eyes and rubbed my belly, dreaming of me and her on that swing all summer. The baby naps she would take in my arms while I listened to the song birds, and felt the heat on our skin. I took a video, she wasn't moving as much as she usually did, slower. Was she dying while I dreamed of her future? Was I missing signs that could have saved her life, because I was blissful for the first time in over a year. So unsused to the happiness that I missed what could have been. The hurt is starting to seep into, and take away the happy memories too now. 

I went from my highest high, to my lowest low in 24 hours. To the dot. It makes me feel like I will never truly be happy, because when I let my guard down and let happiness in, all it served was giving me this false sense of security. I did everything right, and I grieved and I learned, and I was getting better. And now I have to walk it again. But beaten down. And so much worse. Kimmy's grief came with a quiet storm approaching. We knew one day that call could come. But this, felt like my feet being swept under me. I didn't have time to breathe one breath before it was gone.

How could I trust the world again when I have her baby shower flowers next to memorial flowers.

Time does not heal all wounds. I get to carry her forever. With empty arms. 

with love, lissa

empty arms

4 days ago I walked inside those doors with a baby. Today I stepped through them without her. The hardest walk of my life.

I will not wake up at 3am tonight to feed a crying baby.

I will not spend a small fortune on formula this month.

I will not change diaper after diaper for years.

Or do laundry for a lifetime.

These are thoughts that are just beginning to creep in. These things parents find hard & annoying, I would give anything to experience right now. 💔

I thought my biggest fear that day was delivering a preemie baby. I thought that was the worst thing that was going to happen. I didn’t even think it was that bad. I thought I was over reacting about the entire situation. I wasn’t ready for it. If I wasn’t ready for that, how am I supposed to face this now.

Walking through those doors meant facing my worst reality. In the hospital there is a routine, vitals rounds, a heart monitor to give me comfort when I sleep. There is almost a pause button in the hospital. I didn't have to face any of this if I didn't want to. But now there is nothing. Literally nothing. My arms are empty leaving the maternity ward.

My heart empty. 

When I walked through those doors the heat from the vegas summer hit me. The signs of life going on around me. My world had stopped spinning, but the rest of the world was unaffected. And if you've never felt loss or grief before, its like an over whelming slap in the face. I wish there was a sign around my neck that said, "this is the worst day of my life." Something that would signify that I cant smile at people like I used to 5 days ago. That my feet are only moving one step in front of the other because someone is pulling me forward, though I protest with every part of my being. 

I walked through these doors 5 days ago with the life ahead of me. I almost lost it. I survived. And now I have to continue to survive without my life ahead of me. 

with love, lissa

goodbye & hello

Today was my hardest hello & worst goodbye. In 12 hours my life changed more than I could have imagined. Yesterday was the best day ever. We celebrated this baby and her newness. The entire day was perfect.

This morning I thought it had been awhile since I felt her move. I tried the usual tricks and thought I was overreacting. I drove myself to urgent care and they wouldn’t even admit me because I was so far along. Instead they sent me to drive myself all the way to summerlin. I felt fine but started having pain, and I wondered if I was in labor. I thought to myself, we can’t have a baby today, I’m not ready. My worst fear pulling up to the hospital, was having a preemie too early. I never imagined there was something worse waiting.

I walked into L&D and they told me to check in, the nurses kept talking to each other. 30 seconds later I cried out as I lost my vision, dropped the clipboard and started to crumble to the floor. I went in and out of consciousness. I heard the words, no heartbeat, and started going into shock. At this point I had only thought about the baby. But someone yelled to get my husband in and started cutting all my clothes off viciously. There was about 20 people around my head in an absolute panic. I kept asking about Brandon and my mom. I remember thinking someone looked like my OB but he couldn’t possibly have gotten there that fast, he was in his Sunday church suit and tie. He had been at a service across the street. They estimated I lost 2L of blood. I didn’t know it at the time, that it is half your body’s blood supply. The doctor told me in over ten years he’s never seen someone come that close to death and survive. He told me it through tears.

Someone managed to get Brandon on the phone. He only made it to the OR minutes before they cut into me. I drifted in and out. I thought I was dying most of the time. But with a calmness about me. The light at the end of the tunnel visions happened. I felt like I was watching the universe tell me it’s whole story and my ending. And then I would open my eyes to Brandon’s crying over me. I must have asked him 100 times what was happening and if I lost the baby. He had to tell me 100 times, and I kept asking thinking it would be a different answer this time.

We lost the baby before I even set foot in the hospital. We could never have known. And I was in such a critical stage, they couldn’t even attemp to save her. They told me I would have died at home had I not come in. Driving myself to the hospital in their eyes was a miracle. They couldn’t believe I got myself here, and didn’t come in an abulance. They told me if I had come in just 5 min later, I likely would have died. I am facing immense grief and gratitude at the same time.

The next hours are even more of a blur as I tried to process what had happened. They asked me if I wanted to see her, and I really wasn’t sure. But when they did bring her in, I was hit with an overwhelming sense of how perfect and close we were to this baby. 4 pounds 2 oz, 17 inches. Babies survive so much smaller, why couldn’t mine. The what if’s set in fast. I held her all day. I took pictures endlessly. We would never get another chance.

My mom flew in from Canada and arrived at 9pm. After a year of grieving, the one piece of joy in 2017 was gone. Nothing seems real. We sent her home to Sawyer and Max and I took one nap with Anna Mae. The only one I’ll ever get. We went from celebrating a baby shower, to planning a funeral in 24 hours. We had to make decisions a parent should never have to, cremation or burial, Which funeral home. And the hardest, when we would finally call them to come get her. We kept her until 1am. 12 short hours we had with her. They will never seem enough, and they felt like seconds.

Handing her over was one of the hardest things I’ll ever do. How do you say goodbye to a miracle you created, and had inside of you that morning. It’s simply unfair. Brandon has been a rock the entire day and held me as I sobbed. He’s had to do that too many times in our marriage. Another moment burned into my memory.

And now I sit in a hospital bed at 3am wondering how I got here. Brandon is sleeping and they keep telling me to. But I’m so afraid I’ll close my eyes and never open them again. I came that close to losing my life, children, and husband today. And what I did lose was unimaginable. I think I’m still in shock but realization is creeping in. This next year will be even more painful than the last. She was bringing such healing and hope. Instead we face our biggest challenge. The loss of a child. 💔

with love, lissa

a letter to our daughter

* Brandon wrote this letter during that day. I will always treasure it. 

On May 20th 2018, I wrote my daughters name for the first time: Anna Christensen.

It was on her death certificate.

Earlier, my wife Alissa was complaining of pelvic pains. Nervous that she wasn’t feeling the baby move, she left to visit Urgent Care.

Soon she called me saying that since she is 34 weeks, there is nothing they could do and that she needed to go to Labor and Delivery at Summerlin Hospital. Knowing the costs of a hospital visit in the USA, we lingered on the decision. Ultimately, we decided that she should go for a ludicrously expensive piece of mind.

I must have lost track of time because when my phone rang, it was from an unfamiliar number.

“Is this Brandon Christensen?”

Confused, I confirm to the unknown voice that it was. “Your wife is unconscious and has lost a lot of blood. You need to come to the hospital immediately.”

My first thoughts went to Sawyer and Max, who were upstairs playing. Do I take them with me? How do I find someone to watch them on such short notice? Thinking about that voice on the phone, I knew it had to be the latter. Shaking, I made several phone calls and was able to find someone to come be with them. I didn’t even wait for them to arrive before I left for the hospital.

Needing to speak to someone, I called my mom and filled her in. The call was brief because my other line rang with yet another unknown number. I accepted it - it was my wife’s doctor.

He told me that Alissa was stabilized but that she had suffered a placenta abruption and said that she was being prepped for surgery. He mentioned that the baby had no heart beat but the information was rapid and it was hard to zero in on any one thing. Ultimately, it came down to them not being able to extract the baby until Alissa was stabilized because she lost so much blood she never would have survived. They were doing everything they can.

I hung up from that call not knowing if I would ever see my wife alive again.

When I entered Labor and Delivery, I could tell by the way the nurses talked to me that this was going to be difficult. The doctor was called and he came out and pulled his mask down and filled me in.

Alissa had somehow managed to drive herself to the hospital, park, and then walk up to the second floor to check in. She was pale, the nurses said, but it wasn’t until she sat down to fill out a clipboard that Alissa realized something was wrong. Her vision fading, she asked for help - dropping the clipboard as the nurses rushed to her aid.

A team of nurses worked on her and notified Alissa’s OB who was nearby attending Sunday church. He showed up in suit and tie and got to work.

Had Alissa been held at urgent care, had Alissa decided to stay home and “tough it out”, had Alissa not called her mom on the long drive to the hospital to keep her mind moving, the doctors said that she would be dead.

I finally sat with Alissa as she was forced into an emergency C Section. This one missing the excitement and wonder of the previous two, instead it was filled with the hope of hearing a child’s scream as she was born. There was no scream. There was nothing. Just me, Alissa, and a team of doctors completely aware that this was the hardest day of our lives.

When they wheeled Anna into our post-op room, it was shocking how big she was. This was a baby. Like Sawyer, like Max, this was a child I could see myself being annoyed with as it woke up screaming at 4am. Selfishly, I yearned for that wake up call. It’s the little things...

Her color was off, but her features striking and beautiful. A little more rose in the cheeks and you wouldn’t know that her heart had stopped hours before. She was my first daughter, she is my first daughter.

Now, Alissa and I wait in our room - still holding the stillborn child, waiting for the funeral services to pack her 4 pound 2 oz frame away to take for cremation. We weren’t given much time to decide on what to do with her body. We had spent 8 months planning her life, but only had hours to plan her funeral.

This will be the last time I get to see Anna, but it won’t be the last time I write her name.

I love you Anna Christensen.

with love, lissa

what broke me.

I could never understand Kimmy's addiction. I knew it was a disease and it wasn't her fault. But I couldn't understand wishing the world away. Until now. I have dealt with so many trials its seem's like I am a pro when it comes to life challenges. I face them head on, I never need help. I never even wished them away. I could even find lessons in them. And felt like I was a better person because of them. 

I was banned from entering the country when we got married. Accused of marrying for citizenship. We spent a hard 5 months of newlywed marriage in separate countries. We were young and it was hard emotionally. But we got through it, and we are stronger for it. Long distance love is not for the faint of heart and we did it for over and year, through dating and marriage. Talking through weeks of separation built the steady foundation of our marriage. 

Sawyer's pregnancy came easy. And even though it was labeled high risk, I never thought of it that way. I had to endure endless monitoring. For weeks I was having full labor contractions and I couldn't even feel them because of the amount of fluid I was carrying. He still loves swimming and I always joked it was because of growing in his olympic swimming pool in the womb. 

At 4 months they diagnosed Sawyer with Craniosynostosis. I remember hearing the words come out of the doctors mouth but only hearing, surgery. They took my babies skull off from eyebrows to the base of the neck. Broke it and reshaped it to form artificial soft spots. I handed my baby to a surgeon and he came back. We spent 6 days in the PICU. I thought it was the hardest journey as a mom that I would have to walk. I found my silver lining in blogging and helping other moms walk that path. 

We wanted children close together. It took 13 months to get pregnant with Max. It had taken one with Sawyer. I remember thinking how awful it was and it was only 13 months. Nothing compared to my friends who have tried for years. I felt guilty for it getting to me. And then those two lines appeared. And everything was great. Until it wasn't. I remembered seeing blood one day and not realizing the screaming was coming from me. Calling my husband on the way to the hospital not knowing if I lost him. They told me there was nothing they could do, just wait. But he's mayhem Max and he fought hard. He made it through the worst when he was only 20 weeks. I felt blessed to not have lost him. 

Then we went through 3 years of extreme ups and downs with Kimmy. She overdosed so many times, that on that final one, I almost didn't fly home, because it felt too repetitive. I had Braxton living on and off with me. I flew home with a 4 month old to keep him out of CPS. It seemed natural to have him with my family at least once a year. And I liked it. It was the silver lining. I got to help raise this amazing kid who was dealt a shit hand in life. 

I got a call at 4am on march 5. Brandon wrote a scene for a horror movie based off of watching me receive that call. I spent 2 weeks in the ICU in another country wondering if she would live. They were the rawest moments of my life. I cried so hard I wondered how my body didn't run out of tears. Braxton came to live with us again. And when he left, I lost my purpose of the trail. I grieved incredibly hard. It felt like it would be endless. Until two lines showed up. 

Sawyer had a mole biopsied last summer. They told me not to worry, its extremely rare in kids this age. We were on our way to Canada when a doctor called me. They needed to remove it immediately. It showed pre cancerous signs. In my 5 year old. I had to hold his head steady as a doctor removed it. He now has to be monitored every 6 months. I was starting to feel like my life was unfair. 

On Christmas Eve we attended a church service for the first time. In the parking lot I felt the blood. We thought we were being over reactive. We headed to the hospital. our kids spent the whole holiday in the ER. They found the heart beat but told me I was losing the baby. They told me I would miscarry the next day. Christmas. I spent the night crying on the couch waiting for it. I didn't take a single picture on Christmas morning because my world was over. Sometimes I wonder if it would have been easier to lose her at 13 weeks. Why was she given a second chance, only to lose her after we were so attached in every way. 

And now. I sit here with this empty belly. Im so numb that I understand Kimmy's addiction for wanting the world to go away. I don't want to die, she didn't either. But I feel the Percocet wash over me, and for a min nothing feels real anymore. The pain is slightly less. And i recognize that behavior as the beginning of addiction. So I slowly cut the painkillers out of my life. And I feel every inch of this unbelievable grief. 

There is no life lesson to this trial. I have faced them all and come out better. But this one. This one will break me. I am forever changed. Not for the better. I am broken. Thats all thats left. 

with love, lissa

blogging again, hurting again

It seems I only really need the blog when I am hurting the most. The words need to flow freely, so its one less thing suffocating me. I felt I needed to blog through Kimmy's loss but I could never pull myself together enough in the darkest days. This new grief is different. I didn't know you could suffer from two different griefs, and at the same time. 

This isn't going to be a pretty blog. At times it will will bring you to your knee's. But you can move on. I cant. This will be my story for the rest of my life. Something to carry with me, that defines my existence. I have joined a club of mothers without the thing that defines a mother, a child. 

And even as Im typing this, I don't understand how I got here. 

But here I am. 

with love, lissa

Welcome!

hello world. This is a fresh start of the blog that I so enjoyed having and I hope you enjoyed reading. I have missed it but after being hacked so harshly, its just not coming back. And fresh starts are good for everyone. So I hope you follow me on this new adventure. I'll be just lifestyle blogging. The family, the kids, the crafts, the food, the cakes, the good, the bad, the ugly. It will be real and raw. Sometimes it will be so beautifully pinterest worthy. And other times I'll remind you we're all human and live our lives around laundry mountain. At least we do in this house. 

Please leave comments whenever you are reading! I love hearing anything from you guys. For a long time after moving to a new country, my blog was my only connection with friends. So the community always meant so much to me! And hey thats where new friendships began too! 

So bear with me as I get used to this again. Learn an entirely new format. And try not to rely on autocorrect too hard! I'm back and I hope you are too. 

with love, lissa