Learning to live again.

As minutes, hours, days and months go by I feel my pain has yet to subside. I know I’ve smiled and laughed since Tyler left this world. However, the overall joy behind it all hasn’t felt genuine. This weekend we’ve kept busy, we’ve gathered with friends, saw a movie, had a nice dinner together and tried to just enjoy life again. I must admit – when I’m with my husband, is when I feel my safest. He’s there when I need him, he doesn’t judge me when the tears begin to fall and he is the only other person in this world that has the title of Tyler’s parent. Our grief process may be drastically different but we somehow always know exactly how to comfort the other in our dark moments.

I’ve recently stumbled onto a group of bereaved mothers as well. Their stories and optimism through such troubling times gives me hope for our future. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting women from all over the world who are going through the same things that we are, at this very moment. I get to see their beautiful angels and share pictures of my own. I am a firm believer in the fact that no one truly knows how deep this pain is unless they themselves have faced it. I know its inevitable that throughout this journey Billy and I both will likely lose friends, as well as make some new ones. It’s sad that when such a tragedy occurs others don’t know how to deal with the situation so they instead ignore it. I am however grateful for the wonderful women that have reached out to me and shared their stories. I’ve made what I feel will be life-long connections with some and just simply enjoyed talking to others. Their courage, ability and will to push on astound me daily.

We’ve made the plunge and decided to follow through with genetic testing in case we are ever ready to try and make baby T a big brother. The thought scares me beyond belief. I feel as though by taking that step I’m somehow trying to replace my precious boy. I also fear that if we were to ever have another child, I wouldn’t be able to love them in the same way that I love sweet Tyler. I know that only time will tell, but I do ask that you keep us in your prayers.

It’s been 108 days since we were able to hold our son. Each day that number will grow from now until our time here is done. My heart never stops longing for him and I know, never will. I pray that with one day at a time and one foot in front of the other, I can spread Tyler’s legacy all over this world and keep his memory alive. After all, each new life, no matter how brief, forever changes the world.


As our move approaches later this year I think about the fact that baby Tyler’s room will have to come down. Im in no way ready for this. Although he didn’t spend hardly any time in his own little space, it’s still his, and it’s still so special to sit around all of his things. Used or not. It reminds me of the love he had from family and friends. I knew that eventually this was something that would have to be done, I’m just not sure I’ll be ready when the time comes and were forced to do it without question.

Last week my step father was taken into the ICU for chest pains and high blood pressure. He’s now facing a quadruple heart bypass later this week. I wish so badly I could wrap my arms around my family and rid everyone of all their pain. I feel like we’ve gone through enough suffering in the past year to last us a lifetime. I know he is frightened as well as the rest of us for his safety.

After hearing his diagnosis and treatment plan, I crumbled. Is this really happening again? Why does everyone around us seem to be having heart troubles? An even bigger question was, why if they have high hopes of correcting his problems could they not correct Tyler’s? My very raw and unhealed wound was ripped right back open for all the world to see. I dont understand why Tyler wasn’t given his 2nd chance as many other children, men and women have.

All I know at this point is that I have to continue to try and have faith. Christianity is a very blind faith and if I follow the path of Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior I must come to accept that I’ll never have answers to some of my infinite questions. For those I feel can be answered, I will search. I do not plan to turn a blind eye to what’s happened to us. I want to fight for my sons life, even if it means now, after he’s gone. I want to fight for children in the same shoes that our precious boy was in, and try to help save a life that doesn’t have to leave this world just yet. I want to fight for so many things in this world with God by my side helping me along the way. Showing me when to stand up and when to back down.

We live in a very broken world filled with hate and crime. I choose not to succumb to this evil. I want to love those who may not even like me, I want to give when I can and expect nothing in return. I want to live a life so pure so that when its my time to go, I can be proud of all I’ve done, my son can be proud of my accomplishments and God can smile as I enter into his kingdom of heaven.

Mothers Day.

Yesterday should have been a time for hugs, smiles, picked wild flowers, hand-made cards, maybe even a nice home-cooked family dinner. Unfortunately for me, none of the above seemed to fit into my life’s predestined plan. My Mother’s Day was spent weeping over the absence of the one person who gave me the right to celebrate such an occasion, my son. I never imagined the intensity of the hurt that would consume me on such a day. I was reminded of all that I’ve lost. My sweet sons smile, his overall spirit and those beautiful blue eyes that could melt your heart. I was reminded that even though I’m still a mother, I’m stuck here without my child. I sat here with tear filled eyes and empty aching arms, watching other mothers celebrate a day that I thought would be always be a cause for celebration; while I silently broke inside.

Grief is like riding a nasty wave. One minute you’re up and feeling good with the wind against your face, and the next you’re drowning and don’t know how to make your way back to the surface. I strive for those good days, I like to think when I can feel the warmth of the sun against my skin that Tyler is wrapping his arms around me from heaven; letting me know its ok to feel, to smile and to live another day. When the bad days come it’s all I can do to remind myself that he no longer hurts, he’ll never see, feel or experience the cruelty of this world. It takes every ounce of my being to pull myself together and get out of bed. Losing a child is not something I believe you ever get over, or move on from. It’s something you learn to live with. You will never not feel the pain, you just learn to tuck it away into a safe place that others can’t touch.

I’m honestly afraid to continue on without my Tyler. I feel like my entire world has been ripped from my fingertips. I think about a time when I can see him again and spend all of eternity holding his little hand. Some days I find myself wishing he could tell me what its like in heaven and reassure me that he’s not afraid or scared, that he has no pain and that he’s watching over us all in the presence of those who have gone before us. I think about him talking with his great-grandparents, watching and learning from his cousins Wendy and Tyler who also left us too early in life, and waiting patiently beside them all for the rest of us to catch up. Of course, I love to imagine him playing with all of the other angel babies who left their parents down here feeling the exact same way I am. The parents who are walking among us, and living daily with the deepest pain a human being will ever know.

So, here I sit. Typing out my thoughts and feelings, wondering how to even begin to heal from this life altering loss. Wanting so badly to be a beacon of hope to others, but honestly having no idea how to deal with my own grief. Falling apart on days like today, which would have been Tyler’s 4 month “birthday” and yesterday, Mother’s Day. Always wondering what could have been … what SHOULD have been, but forever remaining grateful for the three beautiful weeks I had with my little man. As much hurt and anguish as his death has brought me and my husband, our families and our friends, I would do this all over again if it meant just one more minute with him. I pray that Tyler leads me back to where I belong and shows me the path I should walk to honor his life and our Lord. I pray that my anger and emptiness begin to slowly dissipate and I can once again pray, and know that God hears the wants and needs of my heart. I want nothing more than to carry Tyler’s name all over this world, in my heart and through my faith, to help myself and others – as we stumble blindly down this path God has led us on.

Happy 4 months, Bubba. Your mommy and daddy are always loving you.


10 tiny fingers & 10 tiny toes.

Three months.

Three months. It’s been three months since I’ve smelled you, seen you or held you in my arms. Three months since I’ve felt the rise and fall against my chest with each breath you took. For three gut wrenching months, I’ve lived without you.

I don’t know how I manage to crawl out of bed most mornings. My nights and days feel so incredibly empty without you here next to me. As Mother’s Day slowly creeps up, I’m brutally reminded of all the loss we have suffered as a family this year. Today, May 4th marks three months since Tyler left us, Sunday, May 8th will be my first Mother’s Day and yet I’m unable to mother my child. Followed by May 9th, the day Tyler should have turned 4 months old. I know his loss will remain a life long struggle, but this first year is filled with so many milestones that we as a family are unable to celebrate. It’s a constant reminder of what we’ve lost.

I have good days and I have bad days, like any normal person. I also have horrendous days. Days where I look at a photo of my angel baby and I feel completely abandoned; by my faith, by medical care and the world in general. I have so many questions that have been left unanswered. Why, Tyler? Why our family? He was so wanted, and so loved from the moment we knew of his existance.

I’ve read every self help book out there to try and wrap my mind around what’s happened to us. What am I supposed to learn from all of this pain? What is my purpose in life? Why did God believe I was strong enough to handle so much heartache? All questions that again, I’ll likely never have answers to. Living with such a blind faith is one of the most troubling things to face when these questions arise.

One thing I do know is that my life is forever changed. I had the honor to love my little boy, fiercely and endlessly for 27 glorious days. I will always love him. Near or far, he will always be my baby. Tyler Matthew will remain in my heart until my dying day, and I pray that with my last breath, I rejoice in the anticipation of seeing him again. I will then set aside all of these questions, I will have overcome my anger with God and I will have lived the life that Tyler would have wanted me to.

So, when that moment comes I have no doubt that I’ll be surrounded by the endless love of our Father, whom I have so much frustration towards in this moment; but am again shown the greatest blessing he will ever bestow upon my life, my angel, Tyler.

CHD walk.

Well world, we did it! We completed the 5k heart walk to support CHD in Los Angeles this Sunday in our little mans honor. It was rewarding and difficult all wrapped into one. My heart continues to break in Tyler’s absence but is overflowing with the love and endless support that our family and friends have shown towards us!

We walked among some true warriors this weekend. Children that have gone through more in their short lives than most of us will ever face in our own, adults who overcame this awful disease and are now flourishing! Even adults and children who are living lives with more scheduled surgeries in their near and/or distant future. Of course, the hardest to stomach were the families like ours. The ones who have lost their loved ones to this God awful birth defect. All walks of life surrounded us as we trekked Griffith Park for 3.1 miles. You could literally FEEL the love around you among all of those who attended.

Tyler’s Warriors came in as one of the events top teams! Woo-Hoo! We raised over $1,400 and had 12 walkers there beside us to make a total of a 14 man team. I know for a fact that Tyler watched in awe as we all smiled and shared his memories. We set out to make him proud and raise awareness, and that’s just what we did! Our sweet son was taken all too soon and I vow to do anything in my power to spread his name and love all over this broken world. His smile left you feeling complete and I know that I’ll forever cherish the weeks we had with him.

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I have always held strong to my faith but lately I’ve felt a strong disconnect from the Lord. I have so many questions and I know majority of them I’ll never have answers too; at least not in this life. If you’re reading this, and are a believer in Christ, I ask that you say a prayer for us tonight. Not just for me or my husband, but for our angel – and the rest of our family and friends (possibly even yourself) who have been deprived of the chance to know Tyler. Not only as an infant but, a toddler, a pre-teen, an adolescent and a man. I am often reminded of how much we’ve now lost out on. Seeing his face on the back of our t-shirts made me smile with joy that he’s still here, in some way, shape, or form. However, it broke me to know that his photos and our memories are all that we have left to hold onto.  He was so pure and sweet that I often find myself thankful he didn’t know heartbreak, or pain, outside of the hospital pins and pricks.

The anger that has built up inside me is frightening. I would give the world to have saved my little boy. I know now that my purpose in this life is to help save others. Tyler will never come back to us, and I know that but I pray that we will eventually go to him. I do intend to have him live on through Billy and myself. Wether that be by fundraising, raising awareness for CHD, sharing his smile with all of those around us or simply walking a 5k… we WILL help. We WILL spread Tyler’s name to the world. I won’t let my little man down, not now, not ever.