The decision 

Deciding to have Crue was not much of a decision at all. We went by our gut, our emotions. No conversation needed, just a silent understanding and a longing to have the family we once had. It wasn’t until we became pregnant that  we actually thought about what we truly got ourselves into. Yes, we would be a family again, have another child to love, but we were also about to face our greatest fear. The first 8 months of Crue’s life were  the most stressful and hardest days of my life. The constant fear that if I slept he would die when I wasnt watching him. That ten minutes of panic,  three times a night, where I would wake and reach for him to feel his chest rise and then panic until it finally did. It was not only hard on me, but it was hard on our marriage. Any child is an adjustment and can create conflict, but when you are in constant fear of losing them you tend to disregard your spouse completely so that all of your attention can go where it’s needed most, keeping your child alive. Todd and I always wanted at least two kids. When we had Nash, Todd wasn’t so sure anymore. He loved giving all of his attention to one child. I absolutely know we would have had at least one more if he was still here. I couldn’t live with myself if he didn’t have a sibling.

Once Crue was born, Todd was absolutely positive he was done.  Like I said, the beginning of his life was stressful. When you start actually living again, taking breaths, being able to leave him with someone else, it’s hard to want to start over. To go through that panic for another year of your life. We went from severe and absolute grief, to panic and anxiety that it would happen again. We are finally in a better place, a happier one. Why would we put ourselves through another year of that? I thought a lot about the future. I think about Crue playing alone and the guilt I would feel knowing he has a brother, but is now an only child. I thought about him saying one day that he wished he had someone, and how those words would tear my heart apart. I’m 37, so my clock is not only ticking, it feels like it’s attached to a nuclear missle with ten seconds left. I knew I wanted another and I wanted one sooner than later. Todd on the other hand, took some persuading. Eventually, he came around and I thank God that he did. For me, it was one of the hardest struggles of our marriage. I knew I would resent him if we didn’t have another. I was already preparing myself for his decision, and it may not be the one I wanted. When we decided to try again, Todd’s heart changed completely. He was the most excited I had ever seen him. Not long after trying, we found out we were pregnant again!!! This baby is different. We are excited, happy, positive…I’m not as  anxious like I was with the other two. Maybe because it’s my third. Once you’ve done it a couple times you become more relaxed. Sometimes I even forget I’m pregnant. Crue doesn’t quite know what’s going on. Although I have shared there is a baby in my belly he believes everyone, including himself ,has a baby in their belly. He does kiss my belly on occasion, telling it “night, night” or informing me that the baby is sleeping. It’s been a fun and exciting time. Something about having a healthy child beside you and watching your belly grow makes you feel proud knowing that your family will soon be complete. We will be done after this baby and I find myself sad knowing this is my last pregnancy. I’m trying to take it all in and soak up everything and enjoy every second. We have worked hard and been through so much to get here and no day is taken for granted. Soon there will be four of us and knowing Crue will be a brother to someone, like he was always meant to be, makes my heart swell. I’m finding your heart, no matter how broken, can expand to make more room for what’s to come. So here is to welcoming baby number three!!  Can’t wait to meet you❤

Growing pains

Every parent can vouch for the fact that their baby grows up too fast. I feel that with Crue, I see it, and I fight myself internally trying to grasp at any way to keep him little forever. This past 18 months has been for me emotionally what a heart transplant would be for someone who is about to die without it. It’s a different love, with all its complexities, than what I had for Nash. Nash, being my first child, made me feel shock and awe that I created a life, that I was a momma. It was the first time I felt completely unselfish and loved deeper than I could have ever imagined. Deeper than my love for Todd, deeper than my love for my parents, my siblings, my friends. Nash showed me that as much as I thought I knew love, I didn’t.

I knew the moment I set eyes on him that I would gladly walk in front of a speeding car to save him. When I lost him…all of that love had nowhere to go. I felt stuck, numb, and alone. To go from such a miracle in my life, to my biggest despair, is something I still wrestle with today. When Crue came along, my love for him started out guarded and fearful. I was so afraid of losing him that I found myself torn between doing everything in my power to keep him safe, and trying not to connect to avoid one day being heartbroken again. I am no longer torn. I love this little boy more than life itself. He is like oxygen to me.

My healing Crue is my ultimate life support. He not only gives me something to pour all of that love into, but also he shows me on a daily basis that I only got a glimpse of just how much a child can love their momma and a momma can love their child. Don’t get me wrong I love Nash equally, but I’m experiencing so many firsts with Crue and am just now realizing it’s the tip of the iceberg of what lies ahead of me. It makes me unbelievably sad that I will never know what that incredible love I had for Nash would blossom into, who he would become and what kind of relationship we would have had. I can only imagine with the amount of love I had and still have for him would have become.

With Crue, I’m watching my love and admiration grow for him and with him. He is at that age where he can actually reciprocate the love I have for him.  When I pick him up from his babysitter’s house, he runs to me with arms open wide, screaming, “momma, momma.” When he throws his arms around my neck and kisses me so many times we both start laughing, when he cries every time I’m not in his view…well, it’s an amazing feeling. Being his momma continues to shower its blessings down on me like rain. I truly believe the only thing that can mend a broken heart is an amazing love. Crue has not just put a band-aid over my very fractured heart, but mended it with all his natural goodness. There are days when I am so unbelievably happy I have a hard time holding it in. To have that feeling again, it’s nothing short of a miracle, and I thank Crue everyday.

I feel guilty because every month he somehow becomes sweeter and more adorable and I find myself wishing him to stay small. Then I think of Nash, and that abrupt stop in time. I have to remind myself that I do want him to get bigger, that as much as it hurts to watch him grow, it’s been a gift to have. I know more than most just how precious life is. That your perfectly healthy child can be here one minute and gone the next. The panic that can instill in you is indescribable. I know with each day my love for Crue will continue to grow…I’m learning to be thankful for that and trust in God that everything will be okay.

Just yesterday, Crue pointed to a picture of himself when he was about eight-months-old and said, “Baby”. I got teary eyed and said, “You.” He giggled, stomped his foot and said, “Momma, baby.” It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that he is no longer a baby. That he is growing into a little boy. I want to hold on to him and slow down the process, savor every minute and take it all in. I’m also eager for him to grow older and be able to watch him grow into the young man I know I will be proud to call my son. Because of everything I’ve been through every kiss is savored, every age is a blessing, every day is a gift. My little light, my healing Crue, my second chance, my miracle. As much as I cry for his brother I smile for him. As much as It makes me sad to watch him grow, I’m overwhelmingly happy to know he will. 

Social media

All of the political views posted lately have me reflecting on my love/hate relationship with social media.  I remember not being able to go on Facebook for days when Nash first died . I knew there would be apology after apology, and I didn’t want what happened to be real. I didn’t want to face that I was now that person, that mother, that family that tragedy struck…I didn’t want to see the posts we’ve all seen a thousand times, but this time on my page. On the other hand, I wanted to see them. I wanted to know my friends and family knew…I wanted the reassurance that I was loved and that Nash was loved.

I remember the first day I got on and saw 99+ notifications and over 100 friend requests, not to mention countless private messages. I spent an entire day going through them. I cried, but I also found solace in the fact that so many people cared…that they were going through some of the emotions with us, the disbelief, the anger, the sadness. It was like having 1000 best friends on hand at all times. It became my sounding board. The place I went to to vent, not for attention, but to know I could express my feelings without judgement. That’s where the ugly side of social media can rear its ugly face. With the good, there is always bad. When you put yourself out there, a few sour apples will always try to ruin the pie.

It never bothered me before Nash. If you don’t like me, block me, it’s that simple, but some people can’t just leave well enough alone. I first started receiving bad messages the day I posted the picture of Nash and I at the hospital. A girl sent me a message saying she didn’t think it was in good taste to share pictures of your dead baby on Facebook. How it’s attention seeking and disgusting, that she would report me or other mothers for sharing such disgusting pictures and to let my baby just Rest In Peace. Another private message explained safe sleep and how to protect my next baby (mind you, this was before anyone even knew how or where he died). It went on to say that most baby deaths are preventable if I abide by the recommended guidelines.

I also saw happy posts from friends who had posted earlier about how sad they were for me. Minutes later, they were posting how they were at the best concert of their life. Reality struck that although they are sad for me, it’s fleeting. They are not living my pain, and I can’t expect them to.  I remember deactivating my account immediately. Those few messages wrecked me. How powerful some people are when behind a keyboard. How knowledgeable someone is when they see something online. How cruel some people can be to a grieving mother they have never even met. I didn’t care if I ever got on Facebook again!!!

It was in that time that I realized I wanted to write my story. I wanted no speculation or misinterpreting anything when it came to Nash. I also wanted to share my story to all who had been so compassionate to my family. Who wished their condolences and never once asked what happened, no matter how much they wanted to know. I wanted those people to know, not to wonder, not to hear rumors. I wanted them to know straight from me how I was doing and what had happened to my family. When I activated my account again, it was to share my blog posts. I didn’t plan on reading anything, just sharing. I couldn’t help it though, I read the comments, and the encouragement I got was overwhelming.

Soon after that, Nash day exploded as well, and I saw the positivism social media can spread in the matter of minutes. Over 10,000 people reading what I wrote . Thousands of acts of kindness being spread…it was amazing. Social media has been good to me, to say the least!  Do I still get bad messages? Unfortunately, yes. Just recently, a friend told me that I’m avoiding dealing with Nash’s death by writing, changing my profile picture to Nash every ninth, and still throwing him a birthday party. She said it was out of love that she was telling me this, that I needed to move on and these things weren’t letting me.

If there is a any positive that has come out of Nash’s passing, when it comes to me personally and how I deal with things, it’s that I have developed tough skin. I no longer care if I’m sharing to much, if my friends may think I’m attention seeking or dwelling. When you lose a child, things like that become trivial in the grand scheme of things. It’s not on my radar of importance. I don’t ask people to like me or what I share. I don’t ask them to  like what I have to say.  As easy as it is to belittle or judge me, it’s even easier for me to hit the delete or block button.

After the election, social media has become a war zone of its own, and I find myself holding back from many posts and caving on others. I’ve seen both sides of the spectrum. I’ve seen hate fill my feed in seconds, and I have seen kindness do the same. There truly cannot be one without the other. The same friends who are posting some of the most negative comments I have ever seen have also posted some of the most positive, on days when I needed them most. Sometimes I have to take a deep breath, remind myself that these are in fact my friends, and hold back the judgement that they have so graciously held back from me. Just like the world, social media can be a dark place and a good place to be, it just depends in how you choose to see it. Is your glass half full or half empty? Are these your friends or the enemies? Do you choose hate or choose kindness? I know what I choose, do you 😉

Halloween for the grieving mother

My son won’t be trick or treating  

Or dressing up tonight

No bag filled with candy

No mommas hand held tight

No pumpkins he will carve

No sidewalks he will walk

No friends he will play with 

Under the moon or after dark

Although I miss him every second

Nights like tonight are the worst

To celebrate a holiday with one son

But not my first.

When you see me out tonight

You’ll see a mother of one

My baby I’ll have with me

But I really have two sons

One with me here tonight

One in the clouds above

One trick or treating

One watching down with love 

There’s no crying in baseball

I grew up in a family that loved baseball. To be a Detroit Tigers fan was a way of life. For a long time growing up, I thought the only channel my parents’ TV got was ESPN. I still remember my first Tigers game with my dad. He wanted to take us to the old Tiger Stadium before they started playing at Comerica Park. He wanted us to experience the history of that stadium, to see the park he grew up knowing. I remember walking in thinking it was the most absolutely disgusting thing I had ever seen. It literally looked like it was falling down! It was dirty, smelled funny and was somewhat dark and gloomy from what I could see behind the bleachers. I was about  10-years-old or so, I think,  and I remember my dad looking down and laughing at my scrunched up nose and look of disgust. He knelt down to my level, and with a smirk and twinkle in his eye he said. “Just wait until you see the green.” It was then that we rounded the corner and got our first look at the field. It was like it didn’t belong. That bright, green grass under those big lights! We saw the players so close up and heard the ball and bat connect and the screams that would follow. The vendors were screaming, “Hot dog, get your hot dog!” I was mesmerized! I still remember my dad looking at me and my siblings smiling.

That was the only game I went to with my dad, but the impression it made on me was forever stamped on my heart. When I was young, I couldn’t appreciate baseball on TV…it was long and boring. After going to the park, I realized that it is a game to watch live. One of the hardest things about losing my dad when I was young is that he didn’t see the Tigers fan I grew to be. He would have enjoyed my love for the game, and I know we would have shared many games together.

When my dad’s Uncle Howard asked us to attend a Tigers game with the family and bring Crue, I was so excited. A little side note about my uncle Howard: if he asks you to go to a game, he means to watch from a suite! Perfect for Crue, because he would be able to run around. There is no way at his age we could have gotten regular tickets and expected him to sit still. As I dressed Crue in his Tigers gear the day of the game, I started to feel overwhelmingly sad. I’m not sure if it was the nostalgia of going with my dad, the pain of never having this memory with Nash, or the excitement to share something like this with Crue, but I felt extremely emotional.

During the whole drive there, I kept telling Todd that I was feeling emotional for some reason. I wanted to warn him of any upcoming breakdowns. I think a lot of it had to do with waiting for this day for so long. I knew I would take my children to the ballpark one day. I couldn’t wait…after three years of trying to have Nash, then losing him, getting pregnant again and finally being in a position where I can take my own child to a game….. it’s a check off my parent bucket list. I remember going to the park when we were trying to get pregnant and being so envious of all the families there. I wanted so bad to be one of them.

We parked the truck and headed towards the park. I put Crue on my shoulders, and we made our way through downtown. I took it all in. One of those moments you want to remember and cherish always. The familiar drums playing on the street, the hundreds of Tigers fans making their way to the park. I gave  Crue his ticket to hand to the ticket collector.  The man smiled as Crue gave him a very serious look as he reluctantly handed over his ticket to be scanned. I watched him as he looked at the huge park, the wonder in his eyes…I could smell the hot dogs and hear the vendors screaming, “Ice cold beer!” The chant of “Let’s go Tigers” sounded in the background, and the lump in my throat was getting harder to ignore. I can’t explain how much I felt my dad in that moment. Looking at Crue, I know I felt how my dad must have felt. There is nothing like experiencing something you love through the eyes of your child.

Todd was way ahead of me with my nephews as we were finding our way to the suite. Out of nowhere, Craig Monroe (an former player for the Tigers who now is an announcer) walked by me, and I could think of nothing  to say but an excited, “Hey!” He looked a little startled and said hey back and shook my hand and smiled. I began grabbing for my diaper bag that had Nash bear inside, but more people came up and started talking to him. I decided to not take him out of the bag. I smiled at Craig, and he smiled back as I walked off. I caught up with Todd and told him that he would never believe what just happened. It had already been such a strange morning, and it seemed to be getting stranger by the minute.

As we entered the suite, we were greeted by about 20 family members. Crue was doing great until he saw a tub of popcorn on the counter, then it became quite the event trying to distract him from it. I have always been afraid of him choking on popcorn, so I wasn’t about to let him have any. In the end though, I found out he does okay eating popcorn. It was the only way to keep him happy. I can’t explain it, but I felt my dad and Nash from the minute I walked into the park.  I knew they were there with us. I watched Crue as he sat on his dads lap looking out over the field. The wonder in his eyes and the joy on Todd’s face made me smile, and I admired the view for quite sometime.

At one point, Crue was out on the balcony with us. He became restless on our laps, so I sat him down on the steps next to us. Music started playing and he grinned, laughed and started dancing. He then started pointing to the steps behind him and I looked down to see a small rainbow. I gasped! As he started dancing and laughing, four more small rainbows danced across his skin, and at times would form an x on the steps behind him. Todd and I just smiled at each other and got out our phones to record a video. As I went to share it on Facebook, a friend had posted,”Make sure you take him to get his certificate for his first game.” I didn’t know that was something the park did, and I was excited at the thought of having a certificate marking his first game. It also gave me a chance to get him away from the popcorn! They gave us a folded up poster and a certificate and we walked away.

Crue was such a handful that I didn’t get a chance to even look at the poster. All in all, the game was amazing. We spent it with family and that was worth the crippling loss that made the Tigers one step closer to not making the playoffs. We said our goodbyes, packed up Crue and my nephews, and headed out of the park. As I got in the truck, I smiled, I just felt….good. The boys had a great time, we had a great time. I looked at the back seat at all of them smiling and laughing and  felt a slight tug at my heart and lump in my throat because Nash wasn’t there. I opened the poster and looked at the player, #9. Just in case I needed yet another sign that Nash was there, he made sure I got it. It makes sense that he would give me so many signs at a place I have always considered  my little piece of heaven on earth.

Remember, the 9th is my dad’s birthday too. They share a birthday and apparently a love for Tigers baseball as well. There are so many days where I minimize the signs Nash gives me. I try to reason and make sense of them. To wash them away as coincidence. Is it a coincidence that the rainbows appeared through the glass of the balcony and cast their glow over Crue and no one else?  Is it a coincidence that the poster he got at his first game was that of #9? Is it a coincidence that that Monroe’s number was 27 and when you add those numbers together it equals nine? Maybe that one is a stretch. I’d like to believe there are no coincidences. That these are signs my baby gives me to let me know he is never far.

What I have learned with my experience is that if you are open to the signs you will see them, and if you’re not, you won’t.  I choose to be open to them, and because of this I see pieces of Nash everywhere. In the sky I see rainbows, on the 9th I see kindness. On the radio I hear the cowboy song and at the park I see the number nine…nine players and  nine innings. When these moments hit me, I let myself go where they take me. Whether it’s a smile, a laugh or even a good cry…I let myself have that moment.But on this day, no matter how big the lump in my throat got, I didn’t shed one tear…why? Because there is no crying in baseball. 

The guilt behind smiling

It’s been two and a half years since Nash passed. I remember being at the beginning of this long journey and wondering how I would feel more than two years later. I’ve heard it said that grief comes in waves, and I find this to be true at this point in my journey. I have extremely good days and depressingly low days. My low days are few in comparison to the good, but when I have my bad days, they are the worst they have ever been. Todd asked me just a couple of months ago, “Doesn’t it seem worse now that time has passed?” I have to agree. Although I have fewer bad days, when I do have them, they are physically and emotionally debilitating. Almost as if my brain is now able to wrap itself around what happened. I can process it better, which is not a good thing.

In the beginning, I was sad every second of every day, but it almost felt like a haze. I couldn’t process what happened, there was almost a confusion and chaos to it…I didn’t feel the slam from being on a high to dropping to an extreme low, everyday was low. That is  with the exception of the day Nash died. That day I was happy, working and talking about my baby, and minutes later I was driving to a hospital in a panic…and then holding Nash, trying to process that he was gone, when hours earlier he was smiling as I held him. That’s a high high to an extreme low.

That it also how it is today. It literally hits me like a truck. I will be at work and get a flash of Nash in my head, and once that ball is rolling there is no stopping it. I can’t breathe, I feel sick, my eyes swell with tears, and then I finally succumb to my depression. I no longer ask myself, “Did this really happen? Did I really lose my son?” Now, I know, I feel that absence. I see time moving on without him. I’ve celebrated holidays, birthdays, weddings, births, and he wasn’t here for any of these things. I know he is gone. It’s confirmed every single day in a multitude of ways. Now that time has passed, I’m also expected to be better, so there is a large amount of hiding or putting on a facade. I don’t have the luxury of people understanding the way they did in the beginning. I can’t expect to leave work every other day and keep my job. I can’t expect to not go to family functions and have my family understand. This is exhausting.

The one thing that has stayed the absolute same since the beginning is the guilt. Guilt for breathing, eating, smiling. When I have a bad Nash day, my first thoughts are about how I have kept living…how dare me for moving on in any way. A close family member who lost a child said something to me on the anniversary of her daughter’s death that really hit me. She said, “I feel guilty for not feeling guilty enough.” Wow! No truer words have been spoken. As time passes, I do better, I cope better, I smile more…I’m not just living, I am actually enjoying life.

I can’t tell you how awful that feels when you have lost a child. How terrible it is when you have a bad day and reflect on all the smiling you have done. I think it’s the worst part about a parent’s grief in my opinion. That even when you are doing well, you punish yourself for it. Like, it’s not fair to your child that you are happy and living life as if they were not here. Sometimes I wish I would have taken the alcoholic route, just to feel like I’m punishing myself the right amount, if that makes sense. I should be drunk and homeless, digging food out of the trash can. Instead, I’m enjoying life with his brother.

This is the only thing I no longer feel guilty for…loving Crue. I can’t afford for Crue to feel anything less than loved! I feel as if I have already let one child down. I have already failed in the worst way possible on my first trip around the parenting block, and I will not do that with Crue! I pour every ounce of love I can into him, and he makes my heart ooze with happiness. It is the best choice I have ever made, not just to have him but to love him guilt free. As much as I grieve still, I see a small light at the end of the tunnel, and if that’s all I ever get, it’s better than where I once was. It’s amazing to feel that way and the worst feeling all at the same time.

I remember the day after Nash died, searching the internet for the answers I have today but couldn’t find…I have found that the answers aren’t always what you want to hear, but I feel a responsibility to share them. So, to the mother at the beginning of this journey…does it get better? Yes. Will you feel guilty for it? Yes. Will you always cry? Yes. Will you survive? Yes. Will you be happy again. Yes!  And with a little luck, the light at the end of your tunnel may even be a rainbow.


Anyone who  has lost a child has issues surrounding his or her death. It may be things they said or didn’t say. It could be the timing of things, if they had only visited, if they had not let them drive, if they would have called. These things change you; sometimes they change you more than the actual death of your child. They can eat you up and spit you out until you are barely recognizable. The guilt, regret, and frustration with the “what ifs” are toxic in every way. I try not to let myself dwell there; if I did I would most definitely go crazy. No matter how hard I try though, it’s changed me.

It has changed the way I raise Crue and the way I feel about others, but mostly it has changed the level of trust I have when it comes to who watches him. My trust issues are insane. I wouldn’t even refer to them as issues as much as my trust is non-existent. Todd and I basically do nothing together. We do things separate so one of us can stay home with Crue. Although this is very hard on our marriage, to us, it’s the only way. We can count on one hand the people who we trust with Crue. Even then we need texts, phone calls, and pictures the whole time we are gone. In some ways it’s good: it’s made me more cautious and more assertive with the things I expect when he is in someone’s care. On the other hand, it’s completely out of my character. I’m an extremely trusting person. I feel I have a good judge of character and can make decisions based mainly on my gut. That was before Nash died. Nash’s death taught me that my gut isn’t enough; that I cannot assume anything, even the small seemingly insignificant things.
My family had promised Todd and I they would do whatever it took to watch Crue until he was one. Until he was officially past the scary times and was ready to be in a day care situation. What I heard, however, was that I had one year to figure out how to stay home with him. To Todd and me, there is no day or time when he will be past the so-called scary age. Our fears with others and their ability to keep Crue safe are legitimate struggles for both of us. I knew I couldn’t financially stay home unless my life drastically changed so as Crue got closer to one, I started asking around. I wanted him to be the only child in someone’s care or at the most one of three. Ideally it would be nice if someone came to our home but we couldn’t afford the price of an in-home nanny. Making those calls reminded me of the frantic calls I made to daycares trying to find someone for Nash. The whole process was making me nauseous. One lady was all on board but once she found out about Nash’s passing she felt uncomfortable watching Crue. Another daycare told me they don’t take children under the age of two because of the baby that died in Fenton a couple of years ago….that one was hard to swallow. I cried most nights leading up to his birthday. On one hand I was happy he was to that so-called “safe” age; on the other, I was about to face my biggest fear and didn’t know if I could.
Our prayers were answered with one word: Savanna. When my sister-in-law told me her 20-year-old niece was hinting that she needed a summer job and wanted to watch Crue, I was skeptical. I have known Savanna for years and I know she is a great girl….but my fear outweighed my gut. A 20-year-old girl watching Crue? Would she understand how serious this is, how scary this is for us? Could we make this giant leap and trust someone out of our comfort zone? It came down to an in-home nanny we couldn’t afford, staying home, or Savanna. We decided to at least talk to savanna and we quickly knew  that this was also scary for her. Savanna is practically family. She met Nash, she saw what Todd and I went through when we lost him, she sports a team Nash sticker on her car and a have a Nash day bracelet on her wrist. I knew she got it….Although she was nervous about watching him she was more nervous about someone else watching him. When she said those words my eyes filled with tears and I knew instantly  she was perfect. To think grown adults wouldn’t do it out of fear and Savanna was willing to try says a lot about her character.
To say Crue was spoiled these last three months is the understatement of the century! Savanna holds him nonstop, doesn’t allow him to cry ever, cuts his food so small a bird couldn’t choke on it and, most importantly, never lets him sleep alone. We also get hourly texts and picture updates. I have grown so comfortable with Savanna watching him that I trust her more than almost anyone else. To have someone who you not only trust wholeheartedly  but also loves your child is a feeling I can’t put into words and I think some take for granted.  Crue excitedly runs to her as she opens the door and has the saddest face as he waves goodbye when she drives away. He sweetly calls her “Nana” and when I announce she is at our home the smile it puts on his face warms my heart. Nana was one of his first words even, and he says it now even more than Momma. If people would have told me not only  would I find someone to watch Crue but that I would love and trust her wholeheartedly….I would not have believed them. Savanna has done so much more than take care of Crue, kept him safe, and loved him; she has broken down some of the walls Todd and I have built. She has shown us that there are trustworthy people in this world and that we can enjoy our life knowing he is in good hands. That someone who is not related to your child can love them as if they are. As our time with Savanna is coming to an end as she heads back to college, I find myself unbelievably thankful….thankful for the peace of mind she has given me and this three months of normalcy I haven’t had in my life in a long time. I was able to go to work and leave my child in the care of someone else. Not only did he stay safe but he fell in love and so did we. To us, Savanna will always be family! we are forever indebted to her and she will always have a special place in our hearts and also in Crue’s. Savanna, Thank you for being you and for taking on a challenge grown adults were intimidated by. You did an amazing job taking care of him and at the same time restored so much of our faith in other people. I know it must have been a scary decision for you but you never backed down. I’m glad we can all look back and say WE MADE IT!!!!!! We love you Nana❤️

Justice for Nash

I told Todd about the suggestion my client at work had given me about the lawyer. I felt strongly that if we could get him to take our case, we could get answers, we could get some sort of justice for our little Nash. I knew it would be hard. This was a big time lawyer and our chances were small. As I dialed the number, my stomach was in knots. Never in my life did I ever imagine having to make a phone call like this. So many thoughts were racing through my mind. It had only been a few months since Nash passed and  Everything was still so fresh, and talking about it with anyone was still hard. When the secretary answered, I explained my story and cried through 80% of it. She apologized for my loss and explained that they did not take cases like ours.

I knew it. My heart sunk, and I as I went to hang up I heard something in the background. I could hear someone talking to the lady but couldn’t make out what they were saying. She then asked me more questions. This followed by mumbling in the background again and more questions. Something was going on, and I couldn’t tell what. She then asked, “What is your son’s name?” I replied, “Nash,” as my voice cracked and tears started flowing again. She quickly responded that she was transferring me to her supervisor. The lady on the phone spoke gently and quietly as she explained who she was and that she knew of our story. She said, “I will make sure this gets to Brian and will attach a little something on my behalf.” I was shocked! She cautiously explained that she wasn’t sure what he would say, or if would even take the case, but that she would try. I was so thankful and felt a small ray of hope. It was just one of the many winks from God that had played out in the months following Nash’s death.

A month went by and Todd and I started to consider calling another lawyer. We had come to the conclusion they had probably decided to not take our case. Then we got the call that Brian wanted to meet with us. As we drove to Detroit, my mind filled with so many different thoughts. How much should I beg him to take our case without looking crazy? Will he be cold and non-empathetic like TV makes lawyers out to be? Are we doing the right thing? What will people think? What will he say? As we pulled up to the building, I felt small. The sidewalks were busy with afternoon commuters. People in suits whizzed by on their cell phones as cars honked and were lined up bumper-to-bumper. The building was huge, and as we walked in the front doors, Todd and I did what we had done so many times by this point. We gave each other a look, locked hands, took a deep breath and pushed forward.

As we took the elevator to one of the top floors, my mind was trying to take in the events that had led me to this place. I wanted to be at home playing with my baby, reading him stories and singing him lullabies. Instead, I was about to meet a lawyer and discuss his death. The secretary escorted us to some sort of conference room that overlooked much of the city. It was filled with a huge round table that looked like it could sit about twenty. Todd and I sat there alone and nervous. I had googled the lawyer and knew what he looked like; glasses, mid-fifties maybe. I was surprised when in walked a gentleman younger then me. He was clean cut and wore a suit and tie. He had that all-American look. He sat across from us and introduced himself as Parker, one of Brian’s associates. I didn’t think twice about his age or the fact that he wasn’t Brian. I had no idea how this stuff worked.

He started talking over the case with us. I was surprised by how thoroughly he knew it. I loved that unlike the detectives and doctors, he referred to Nash by name and not our baby. It made it feel personal, which is what I wanted from someone who may be fighting on his behalf. At this point, I still wasn’t sure if he was even taking the case. He told me that Nash’s case was brought to the round table and discussed, and they all felt strongly about it and decided to take the case. The first of many tears that day started flowing. I think Parker was taken off-guard. I think he assumed we knew this because we were meeting with him.

He then went on to explain his credentials and that his young age does not mean he is inexperienced. He wasn’t doing it in a boastful or arrogant way. He seemed genuine and wanted us to know how serious he took Nash’s case. It was silent for a second as he readjusted and told us he had a baby of his own; that he felt connected to our case and had actually requested it. I held back tears as I responded. He was a father himself, and I felt at ease knowing that. I began to describe Nash to him and all of the many things that had happened since he died. The support we have had, the community that rallied, the family that loved him. I took my phone from my purse and showed him a picture of Nash. It was important to me. I wanted him to know that he was a person, a human being, one that was loved beyond measure. I also felt a lot of guilt for the circumstances under which we were meeting. Talking about suing someone is not something I ever considered doing. That was before Nash died, and I felt the need to explain how and why we came to the decision we did. I wanted him to see his picture and understand the reasons we needed them to be held accountable. I wanted it to be more then a file on his desk. 

As Todd and I walked out of the building, a van with a rainbow painted on the side drove by and I gasped. We turned the corner to get something to eat and almost immediately passed a party store with different color balloons painted all over the windows. It reminded me of the balloons we released at Nash’s funeral and the rainbow I saw that day. Chills went through me. I looked to the sky and thought to myself, “I hear you Nash. Momma hears you.” I felt empowered, I felt relief. I felt…on the right path.

We are currently pursuing a civil suit against the daycare and Parker is our lawyer. This is not a decision we came to lightly and is probably the scariest thing we have ever done. We have to do it though. We have to do it for Nash. He would still be here if things were done differently that day, I know that for sure. My life and the life of my family is forever changed by those events. We will spend our whole life missing our first child, a child we loved, a child who did not deserve to die. It’s time to give Nash a voice in all of this. To let people know we decided to fight for him. That he died because of negligence, and the daycare should be held accountable for that.

I know not everyone will understand, but I think most will agree that something needs to change. No one should fear dropping their child off at daycare and never seeing them alive again. Maybe if these cases were handled differently, Todd and I wouldn’t be in the position we are now. Maybe our baby would still be alive. Regulations have been in place for years to protect children from things like this. Don’t place infants on their stomachs to sleep. Monitor them closely. Keep the correct ratio of children per caregiver. If you are not in the room, there must be a baby monitor. A regulation could not save my baby though, and ours isn’t this first to die like this and will not be the last until childcare providers realize they will be held accountable if they do not follow these guidelines. I know I am just one person, but if I have learned anything from Nash, it’s that it only takes one to start a fire.

Legal matters 

“Be prepared for no answer. Sometimes babies just die.” These are the words the detective said to me hours after Nash died. It was his closing statement to us as he walked out of the small hospital room that held my grief-stricken family. Our minds were still wheeling from the events that had played out hours before. The death of a grandchild, nephew, cousin, and son. I didn’t know then how important those words were going to become in my life…what role they would play in the choices I have made over these last two years.

Everything about the investigation and the way it was handled upsets me. We found out the cause of Nash’s death from the funeral director who read it off the death certificate a month after he died. We could have just received it in the mail but the funeral home director felt it should be told to us personally. The funeral home director!! Not from from a detective, or someone from the police department coming to our home to sit with us and discuss the case. WE called the detective, WE wanted answers. WE asked to see him. What does positional asphyxia mean? How did he die from this while in someone’s care? He informed us during that meeting that Nash’s case was closed. I was dumbfounded…closed? If it’s closed, how is this the first time we had even met with him? Was he planning on informing us at all?  He explained that it was accidental and the babysitter felt awful. I started to cry. SHE felt awful!? I looked to Todd for some sort of answer but all I saw was red, anger, and frustration. He held my hand as he sternly told the detective how he felt. He asked if the detective had children. He said that he did. Todd asked if he would ever leave them where he couldn’t hear them. Would he not check on them for hours? Would he literally discard them in a room and check on them as he saw fit? The detective replied  no, he wouldn’t. That he, in fact, checked on his babies frequently, even with a baby monitor in the room. I didn’t understand. If he felt this way, why would he not see that this was wrong? 

Nash had a large scrape/bruise on the back of his head. My family went ballistic when they saw it at the hospital. It upset me because they kept pointing at it asking what the hell it was. I didn’t want to think about what it was at that point. Those thoughts would have sent me over the edge I was already dangling over. I just wanted to hold him and sing to him. We asked the detective about it, and he said it was most likely caused by CPR. I thought to myself, “Thank God.” I was relieved to know it wasn’t something else, something worse. Todd, on the other hand, wanted to know how he had come to this conclusion. The detective said that the babysitter told him that’s how she thought it happened. I felt Todd’s hand grip mine tightly, almost to the point where it was painful. Todd asked the detective if he had ever questioned the sitter after that day, and he said no.  I thought Todd was going to start throwing things in the detective’s office. He started to shake but remained composed. The detective must have noticed his anger because he quickly added that he would be happy to send the pictures they took of his head to a woman who specializes in this at UofM. We both agreed that we wanted him to do it. To this day, we have never heard from the detective again, nor have we heard about any further investigation into what caused that mark. Can someone please tell me how a child can die at daycare under these circumstances and the parents are  the only ones being punished! 

I can’t tell you how important it is to a parent who has lost a child to have answers. The not knowing, the “what ifs” will slowly eat away at you until you can barely function in your everyday life. I go from sadness, to fear, to anger and frustration. If they had reached the same conclusion they did but after a thorough investigation, we would have so much more peace compared to what we have now. Did they not know how important getting these answers would be to us? “Be prepared for no answer. Sometimes babies just die.” His mind was made up just hours after Nash died. What I have come to learn not only from my situation, but also from similar situations of others, is that a baby’s death is not held to the same standard as the death of you or me would be. If an adult had died in that house, that day, I doubt the detective would not only fail to inform the family of the cause of death and that the case was closed, but would also not tell them how awful the responsible party felt and that it was an accident. It took seconds after meeting the detective to decide we would do all we could  to to hold the daycare accountable. Nash died, he died. Let me repeat that again, he died!!! In a room by himself with no baby monitor, laying on his belly with well over the amount of children a daycare is regulated to have. All while the caregivers are downstairs with the other children posting recipes on Facebook. 

I felt sad, frustrated, defeated. My baby died from absolute and unquestionable negligence, and because the sitter felt bad and because Nash was a baby, it was tossed aside. Nash wasn’t just a baby though, he was a human being! He was my son, and because of this daycare he is no longer here. Shouldn’t that matter? Does his life mean anything? Can a baby really die at daycare and nothing happens!?

Months later, when I went back to work, a patient asked me if I was pursuing the daycare legally. He was a lawyer, so I felt comfortable talking to him about it. I told him I didn’t understand my options. That the case was closed criminally.  I didn’t even know what kind of lawyer I should call. I had never dealt with anything like this in my life. He explained that we could pursue them civilly. He gave me a name. He said, “If you decide to do this, this is the lawyer to call.” He explained that he only took big cases and may not even take our case, but if he did, I was in the best possible hands. He smiled and said, “Shelly, don’t tell him I sent you. I don’t want him to know how the other side feels when they are up against him.” He then winked and walked away. I looked down at the paper and read, Brian McKeen and Associates, Detroit MI. 

The Terrible Twos

Realistically,  I know people understand that you never get over the loss of a child. I do think however, that some think it gets better with time. In some ways, I agree. When Nash first died, I had more bad days than good. Then, slowly but surely, I started having more good days than bad. For some reason, in this last month, I feel like I have taken 5,000 steps backwards. Hell, I might as well be in that rocking chair again holding onto Nash’s lifeless body, trying to wrap my brain around what was happening. I am at an all-time low. I’m finding it hard to do  normal things like, get dressed and brush my teeth. If I don’t have somewhere to go, you can find me at home in my robe. 

You wouldn’t know this if you saw me. I still smile, laugh, talk with friends, love on Crue; it’s like a disguise I wear. There are many reasons I wear it, and some of them are even helpful to me. When you first lose a child, people expect you to be inconsolable, they expect you to be on the verge of death even…once time goes by and they see you are doing well, it’s harder to have the breakdowns you need. I feel at this point people would think I want attention, or that I’m not the only one with problems and how long am I going to drag this out. Maybe I’m being a little too hard on others, but I do think some people feel like there is a point where you have to brush yourself off and push through. I don’t just think some people feel this way, I know.  The whispers of others are becoming more common, I’m starting to hear the phrase, “when will she get over it already?” Not from anyone who matters, but it is being said. 

Well, I’m here to tell you that I’m pushing through, only I push through multiple times a day after I have taken 100 steps back. I could care less what others think, they are not walking the road I am, and I do whatever I have to do just to get through each day. If that means 100 Facebook posts, talking about him non-stop or canceling events because I’m to sad, so be it, that’s my right after what I’ve went though.  Lately, nights are the worst. When I lay down at night and the events of the day run through my mind, mine always goes to June 19th. I think back to the babysitter standing in the doorway as Nash smiled at me, and only now have I realized that was our goodbye. That smile as I pulled out the drive was the last time my baby would see me, and I him. That moment haunts me. I have cried myself to sleep for a month thinking about that moment and my inability to rewind it. If I could only go back, run to him, snatch him from her arms and take him home with me I would. I can’t though, and the torture it’s putting me through is inexplicable. If I think to long about it I can make myself sick. It’s torture to know if I had just changed one thing about that day my baby would still be here. It truly is to much to take, and at times I completely spiral when I think of it. I have to make the conscious effort daily to try and stop my brain from processing those thoughts. 

I will be at work and think of that moment and gasp. I start to shake and can’t catch my breath. I want to drop what I’m doing and run out of the building, crying and drive as far away as I can. I don’t though; instead I take deep breaths, talk myself down and smile through it. When I’m crying at night, I fight the urge to wake Todd and tell him I can’t do this anymore, I don’t want to live like this. What could he do though? He could hold me, listen, but he can’t change it either, and all I would be doing is causing him pain at that moment. Maybe I’m doing so poorly because it’s close to June and everything about this weather reminds me of my final month with Nash and the day he died.

I was talking to Todd a couple of days ago, telling him how hard of a time I have been having lately, and he said seeing Crue in shorts has been doing it to him. It’s was Nash’s first summer and just starting to get warm when we bought him his first outfits with shorts, not knowing weeks later one of those outfits he would die wearing – the shirt cut down the middle from CPR we still have and the shorts we have been upset we never got back. I know it’s strange to be so hung up on some things, but not having those shorts has bothered Todd and I to no end. We read the autopsy report, and it was noted that he was still wearing them then. To think that they were thrown away breaks my heart. Not to mention reading that and picturing him in that condition in those shorts…ugh, the worst thing imaginable is the things my brain not only remembers buy visualizes. 

I have had lots of triggers this month. We had one box of diapers left over from Nash that we finally used. Crue is officially using sippy cups, no more of the bottles Nash used. Each day it seems like Nash is disappearing from our lives a little more and all I want is to cling to these small things with everything that I have, and I know I can’t. I know  it’s healthy to move on in some ways, but I’m here to tell you that it is not easy. I had just short of six months with Nash, and my memories of him are fading to a point that when I watch his videos, I barely recognize him. After seeing Crue everyday for a year, I’m so used to his face and seeing Nash is almost odd. I hate that!! I don’t want to forget my baby. If this is how I feel now, what will it be like in 10 or 20 years? At one point in time he was my complete world, the thought of something happening to him would bring me to instant tears, and now I’m actually living through his death. I’m surviving my worst nightmare and the pieces of my shattered life are being molded into somethig new. Some new way of living which Feels more like exisiting then anything. I’m irritable, defensive, depressed and numb to everyone and everything it seems. My mind is constantly switching back and forth between the present and the past. 

I’m also incredibly sad for Crue. He should have an older brother…he loves little boys…when he sees them he runs to them. Last week he climbed into one of my friend’s son’s laps. I actually have to remind myself I am a mother of two.  I should have a two year old.  Todd and I should be struggling to get two kids in and out of the house. When we arrive at our families homes, two crazy boys should be with us. When I walk into a resteraunt or store with Crue and see a mom with two boys running after each other and laughing, I want to cry at my very easy stroll through the store with Crue. Crue also loves this picture of Nash I put in his nursery. He carries it everywhere, and when he points to it, I say, “Nash.” He always smiles and says, “NaNa.” Lately he even kisses it, which is something I have never done so he didn’t get it from me. Just last week, as he was laying down for a nap, he cried and pointed to it so I handed it to him…minutes later he fell asleep with it in his arms. It’s almost like he has that little brother mentality, even though he has never known it. Nash would be two this year, the terrible twos as they call them…I wish I was dealing with tantrums, potty training, and all the things people say are so terrible when having a child that age. This year is shaping up to be one of my worst. I guess I’m experiencing my own version of the terrible twos .