Dear Sawyer,
It's been a month and a couple days. I can't believe it's already been this long although it still seems like things just happened. I know it's been a few days since I've written. I know that you know I still think about you constantly. Your mom and I went to California this past weekend to see Kelsey and Kaiden. I know it was a really hard trip for your mom. I was concentrating on staying awake and driving. We brought some things down for Kelsey and Kaiden; a lock of your hair, some pictures, a mold of your feet, and they each got a wristband that said brother/sister of an angel. On the way back from California we stopped by your grave. It was one of the harder visits I've made. I don't like thinking that you are there. I want you in my arms even if that means not getting sleep and changing diapers. There are times when I feel an overwhelming urge to drive down there and see you although usually it's at times when I wouldn't be able too. I can not imagine ever moving away from the area, I don't think I could handle it.
Work has become a little easier. I still have sad moments where I don't feel like I can do much of anything, but it's not happening constantly. Your mom started work today and I know it's been really hard for her.
I miss you,
Dad
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Saturday, I wish you were here...
Dear Sawyer,
I sure wish you were here right now. Yesterday we got a puppy. His name is Tank and he's a beautiful, big dog. Only 8 or 9 months old, so he still has lots of energy. I got him because I thought he'd help Stephanie, but I think he's helping me more. We've spent a lot of time together the last 24 hours. He gets worried when I leave, and he follows me around when I'm here. I like having him around and he's helped keep my mind off the grief. Tonight was a different story though. We went to the baptism for the daughter of one of our friends. I thought about how I was never going to be able to baptize you. I think your mom had a hard time as well. I was not able to baptize Kelsey or Kaiden, even though I really wanted to. I was really looking forward to your baptism. I was asked to say the closing prayer. I didn't hesitate when I was asked a few days ago, but hadn't thought about how it would affect me. I was close to tears when I had to say the prayer. We had just sung "I am a child of God." Well, everyone else sung, your mom and I couldn't.
I wish you could have been here for this.
Love,
Dad
I sure wish you were here right now. Yesterday we got a puppy. His name is Tank and he's a beautiful, big dog. Only 8 or 9 months old, so he still has lots of energy. I got him because I thought he'd help Stephanie, but I think he's helping me more. We've spent a lot of time together the last 24 hours. He gets worried when I leave, and he follows me around when I'm here. I like having him around and he's helped keep my mind off the grief. Tonight was a different story though. We went to the baptism for the daughter of one of our friends. I thought about how I was never going to be able to baptize you. I think your mom had a hard time as well. I was not able to baptize Kelsey or Kaiden, even though I really wanted to. I was really looking forward to your baptism. I was asked to say the closing prayer. I didn't hesitate when I was asked a few days ago, but hadn't thought about how it would affect me. I was close to tears when I had to say the prayer. We had just sung "I am a child of God." Well, everyone else sung, your mom and I couldn't.
I wish you could have been here for this.
Love,
Dad
Thursday, May 12, 2011
The next stage...
Dear Sawyer,
I think the whole "stages" of grief theory is probably created by people who have never actually been through something like this. I think everyone handles grief differently and that it isn't always that you move from one stage to the next. I think you can sometimes be going through two of the stages at the same time. I think you can also move back and forth between "stages".
I have noticed a difference though in the past couple days. I feel like I'm walking through molasses. I think a lot of the shock is worn off and now it's time to deal with the reality of it all. Ever since we found out that you were coming I had wanted you to wait until today to be born. I wanted to share my birthday with you. Tonight we are having a bowling party of sorts. On one hand I am excited for it, but I'd almost rather just cancel the whole thing, forget that it's my birthday and just go curl up somewhere. I feel like it would be really easy for me to just shut down right now. It would be so easy to just let the grief overcome me. I'm walking on the edge of a cliff. There are times when it is only my family, friends, or faith in God that are keeping me from going over the edge.
Dad
I think the whole "stages" of grief theory is probably created by people who have never actually been through something like this. I think everyone handles grief differently and that it isn't always that you move from one stage to the next. I think you can sometimes be going through two of the stages at the same time. I think you can also move back and forth between "stages".
I have noticed a difference though in the past couple days. I feel like I'm walking through molasses. I think a lot of the shock is worn off and now it's time to deal with the reality of it all. Ever since we found out that you were coming I had wanted you to wait until today to be born. I wanted to share my birthday with you. Tonight we are having a bowling party of sorts. On one hand I am excited for it, but I'd almost rather just cancel the whole thing, forget that it's my birthday and just go curl up somewhere. I feel like it would be really easy for me to just shut down right now. It would be so easy to just let the grief overcome me. I'm walking on the edge of a cliff. There are times when it is only my family, friends, or faith in God that are keeping me from going over the edge.
Dad
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
The hardest day so far...
Dear Sawyer,
I don't know what it was about today but I think it's been the hardest so far since your passing. I was on my way to work this morning and heard a song called "Here Without You." I realize that the person who wrote the song did so with a diffferent context but the chorus really got to me.
I'm here without you baby
But you're still on my lonely mind
I think about you baby
and I dream about you all the time
I cried pretty much the whole way to work, the chorus constantly playing in my mind. I got to work, wiped away the tears and tried to make it quickly to my office. I got to my office and they started flowing again. I'm glad I have some privacy...
I had a nice lunch break with a friend, which helped provide a distraction. When I got back from lunch I listened to the song again and then listened to the song from your funeral, the first time I have done that since then. I was a wreck. I couldn't concentrate very well, except on you. I thought about holding you, putting you in your car seat, placing your small casket in the grave. These memories are constantly playing in my mind. I want to keep remembering them because I never want to forget them. I don't want your memory to fade. I almost wish that these moments were on video so that if I ever felt like I was forgetting something I could go back and watch it. Not that I'm worried that I'll forget about you. There will never be a day in my life that someone will have to remind me that I had a daughter named Sawyer, that she was a beautiful girl with red hair, her mother's mouth, nose, and attached ear lobes.
Sometimes in my dreams I picture you. You are almost always an adult and the dreams are so vivid that if you were standing in a crowd I could pick you out. There are other times when I see you as a small child, running, laughing. I wish I knew what your laugh sounded like. I wish that when I imagine your smile that it was because I know what it looks like. I wish just once I would be able to hear you tell me that you love me.
C.S. Lewis once said "No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear." I wish I could say that he was wrong, but it's true. I know I'm afraid of this happening to our next child. I am afraid that if we lose another one that I wouldn't have the strength to try a third time. I'm afraid that I am going to lose other family members. I think if I was honest with myself I would question why you were taken from us. We did everything that we could do to make sure you were going to be healthy. Why did God choose you? I've seen so many parents take their children for granted, or show a lack of concern for their well being. Why is it my baby that I lose?
Love,
Dad
I don't know what it was about today but I think it's been the hardest so far since your passing. I was on my way to work this morning and heard a song called "Here Without You." I realize that the person who wrote the song did so with a diffferent context but the chorus really got to me.
I'm here without you baby
But you're still on my lonely mind
I think about you baby
and I dream about you all the time
I cried pretty much the whole way to work, the chorus constantly playing in my mind. I got to work, wiped away the tears and tried to make it quickly to my office. I got to my office and they started flowing again. I'm glad I have some privacy...
I had a nice lunch break with a friend, which helped provide a distraction. When I got back from lunch I listened to the song again and then listened to the song from your funeral, the first time I have done that since then. I was a wreck. I couldn't concentrate very well, except on you. I thought about holding you, putting you in your car seat, placing your small casket in the grave. These memories are constantly playing in my mind. I want to keep remembering them because I never want to forget them. I don't want your memory to fade. I almost wish that these moments were on video so that if I ever felt like I was forgetting something I could go back and watch it. Not that I'm worried that I'll forget about you. There will never be a day in my life that someone will have to remind me that I had a daughter named Sawyer, that she was a beautiful girl with red hair, her mother's mouth, nose, and attached ear lobes.
Sometimes in my dreams I picture you. You are almost always an adult and the dreams are so vivid that if you were standing in a crowd I could pick you out. There are other times when I see you as a small child, running, laughing. I wish I knew what your laugh sounded like. I wish that when I imagine your smile that it was because I know what it looks like. I wish just once I would be able to hear you tell me that you love me.
C.S. Lewis once said "No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear." I wish I could say that he was wrong, but it's true. I know I'm afraid of this happening to our next child. I am afraid that if we lose another one that I wouldn't have the strength to try a third time. I'm afraid that I am going to lose other family members. I think if I was honest with myself I would question why you were taken from us. We did everything that we could do to make sure you were going to be healthy. Why did God choose you? I've seen so many parents take their children for granted, or show a lack of concern for their well being. Why is it my baby that I lose?
Love,
Dad
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Mother's Day....
Dear Stephanie,
I know I normally write to Sawyer but I felt today it was appropriate to write to you. I want you and Sawyer to know how much I truly think of you.
You are without a doubt one of the strongest people I know. I understand that sometimes you don't feel that way, but it is true. Being strong doesn't mean you won't feel sad. Being strong doesn't mean you won't cry. Somedays you might even feel like you won't be able to make it, but that doesn't mean you aren't strong.
If I was in your position I have no idea how I would make it. While we both have lost our daughter, we are not going through the same experience. I have been a father for some years, and have been through a lot of the experiences you were looking forward to. While I feel "robbed", it's not on the same level as I imagine you feel.
I know today has been really hard. I could see the pain in your face when the woman asked you if you were a mother this morning. I know how excited you were to have Sawyer, to finally be a mother. I even think you sometimes looked forward to changing diapers and cleaning up spit up. I'm glad that we were able to get away for a weekend, to spend time with each other. In some ways it felt like we were back to "normal" but I know for us, normal now is not what our normal was.
I look forward to continue building my life with you. We will have so many good experiences to come and I'm excited to go through them with you.
Love, Scott
I know I normally write to Sawyer but I felt today it was appropriate to write to you. I want you and Sawyer to know how much I truly think of you.
You are without a doubt one of the strongest people I know. I understand that sometimes you don't feel that way, but it is true. Being strong doesn't mean you won't feel sad. Being strong doesn't mean you won't cry. Somedays you might even feel like you won't be able to make it, but that doesn't mean you aren't strong.
If I was in your position I have no idea how I would make it. While we both have lost our daughter, we are not going through the same experience. I have been a father for some years, and have been through a lot of the experiences you were looking forward to. While I feel "robbed", it's not on the same level as I imagine you feel.
I know today has been really hard. I could see the pain in your face when the woman asked you if you were a mother this morning. I know how excited you were to have Sawyer, to finally be a mother. I even think you sometimes looked forward to changing diapers and cleaning up spit up. I'm glad that we were able to get away for a weekend, to spend time with each other. In some ways it felt like we were back to "normal" but I know for us, normal now is not what our normal was.
I look forward to continue building my life with you. We will have so many good experiences to come and I'm excited to go through them with you.
Love, Scott
Saturday, May 7, 2011
The Due Date...
Dear Sawyer,
Today was the day (or there abouts) that we were supposed to welcome you into the world. May 7th. I had hoped that you would wait until my birthday on the 12th. Although people thought I was crazy I think it would have been cool to share that date with you. Joint parties at Chuckie Cheeses anyone? I wonder if you would have been here with us now. The last couple days things have gotten harder. I've thought about you more, I've cried more. I don't know if it's because this weekend was your due date, or mother's day, or something else. Maybe the shock of it all is starting to wear off, maybe I'm starting to realize this isn't some crazy nightmare. I'm not going to wake up to hear you crying, or your mother telling me it's time to go to the hospital. I'd rather not get sleep because you need to be fed and get your diaper changed then to not sleep because of the pain.
On Thursday I broke down at work. Luckily not too many people pass my office, I doubt anyone there knew. I had gotten a link to a website that helps parents that have lost a child. I started reading some of the stories, including some from dads that have been in the same situation I am in. Their writing was beautiful, their stories so sad. Not all of the dads lost their children when they were babies. I read one story of a father that lost his daughter right before she turned 14. I don't know what would be harder. To lose a child that you had known for 13 years, or to feel robbed of the memories and experiences. In some ways I felt jealous of the dad. What I wouldn't give to be able to spend 13 years with you, but I don't know that I could handle the loss. It got me thinking about what I would do if I lost your older sister Kelsey. She just turned 13. Would I be grateful for the time I had with her? Or would it be harder because I would miss her smile, miss her laughter, all of the good times we had, and even the sassy comments.
On Friday your mom and I went to Orcas Island. We had to take a ferry to get there, and we had a few hours to wait until we could check into the hotel room. It's a fairly big island so there was plenty to do. I had told myself that this weekend I wouldn't think about anything but being here and relaxing. It hasn't worked so well. Your mom and I went for a walk on the beach. I thought about you. I thought about how fun it would be to watch you discover the world. What would you do if you turned over a rock and saw a small crab run out of it? What would you do if you picked up a slimy piece of seaweed? Would you be like your mom and be disgusted by it, or would you be more like me and start playing with it? We drove up to the top of the highest mountain here. There is a large stone tower you can climb up and see all the way around. Unfortunately it was a little cloudy so we couldn't see much. I thought of how much you would probably like the view, but then I realized that it probably doesn't compare to the view you have now. I often wonder what you are doing. Are you watching down on us? Who have you spent time with up there?
While your passing has made me more firm in my beliefs it has also raised so many questions about how the whole thing works. I have a firmer belief that we will be together again, that we will get to spend all of the time together that we missed out on.
I wish I could see you grow up. I've seen pictures of your mom when she was young and she was pretty cute. I know that you had your mom's ears, nose, mouth, and red hair. I bet you would have looked a lot like her.
Love,
Dad
Today was the day (or there abouts) that we were supposed to welcome you into the world. May 7th. I had hoped that you would wait until my birthday on the 12th. Although people thought I was crazy I think it would have been cool to share that date with you. Joint parties at Chuckie Cheeses anyone? I wonder if you would have been here with us now. The last couple days things have gotten harder. I've thought about you more, I've cried more. I don't know if it's because this weekend was your due date, or mother's day, or something else. Maybe the shock of it all is starting to wear off, maybe I'm starting to realize this isn't some crazy nightmare. I'm not going to wake up to hear you crying, or your mother telling me it's time to go to the hospital. I'd rather not get sleep because you need to be fed and get your diaper changed then to not sleep because of the pain.
On Thursday I broke down at work. Luckily not too many people pass my office, I doubt anyone there knew. I had gotten a link to a website that helps parents that have lost a child. I started reading some of the stories, including some from dads that have been in the same situation I am in. Their writing was beautiful, their stories so sad. Not all of the dads lost their children when they were babies. I read one story of a father that lost his daughter right before she turned 14. I don't know what would be harder. To lose a child that you had known for 13 years, or to feel robbed of the memories and experiences. In some ways I felt jealous of the dad. What I wouldn't give to be able to spend 13 years with you, but I don't know that I could handle the loss. It got me thinking about what I would do if I lost your older sister Kelsey. She just turned 13. Would I be grateful for the time I had with her? Or would it be harder because I would miss her smile, miss her laughter, all of the good times we had, and even the sassy comments.
On Friday your mom and I went to Orcas Island. We had to take a ferry to get there, and we had a few hours to wait until we could check into the hotel room. It's a fairly big island so there was plenty to do. I had told myself that this weekend I wouldn't think about anything but being here and relaxing. It hasn't worked so well. Your mom and I went for a walk on the beach. I thought about you. I thought about how fun it would be to watch you discover the world. What would you do if you turned over a rock and saw a small crab run out of it? What would you do if you picked up a slimy piece of seaweed? Would you be like your mom and be disgusted by it, or would you be more like me and start playing with it? We drove up to the top of the highest mountain here. There is a large stone tower you can climb up and see all the way around. Unfortunately it was a little cloudy so we couldn't see much. I thought of how much you would probably like the view, but then I realized that it probably doesn't compare to the view you have now. I often wonder what you are doing. Are you watching down on us? Who have you spent time with up there?
While your passing has made me more firm in my beliefs it has also raised so many questions about how the whole thing works. I have a firmer belief that we will be together again, that we will get to spend all of the time together that we missed out on.
I wish I could see you grow up. I've seen pictures of your mom when she was young and she was pretty cute. I know that you had your mom's ears, nose, mouth, and red hair. I bet you would have looked a lot like her.
Love,
Dad
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
So... do you have any kids?
Dear Sawyer,
Today I don't know what to do. It's been a good day, but this evening we decided to go introduce ourselves to our new neighbors. She asked if we had any kids. We said no. I know that she was asking if we have any kids at home, since she has two, but the answer didn't sit well with me. We do have a child, while you are not with us in our home now you will be with us forever. Your mom and I spent awhile discussing it and I think I know what I'll say next time. I think saying no is a disservice to your memory. Maybe you don't mind that answer, but I want you to be acknowledged. I'm not looking for pity if I told someone we had a daughter that passed. If there was any follow up conversation they would know how blessed we feel to be able to hold you for the time that we did. They would know how many good things have come out of this. Well, I'm sorry to keep this so short but I have to finish up one of my classes tonight. It'll be good to get school done with and be able to take a break.
Love,
Dad
Today I don't know what to do. It's been a good day, but this evening we decided to go introduce ourselves to our new neighbors. She asked if we had any kids. We said no. I know that she was asking if we have any kids at home, since she has two, but the answer didn't sit well with me. We do have a child, while you are not with us in our home now you will be with us forever. Your mom and I spent awhile discussing it and I think I know what I'll say next time. I think saying no is a disservice to your memory. Maybe you don't mind that answer, but I want you to be acknowledged. I'm not looking for pity if I told someone we had a daughter that passed. If there was any follow up conversation they would know how blessed we feel to be able to hold you for the time that we did. They would know how many good things have come out of this. Well, I'm sorry to keep this so short but I have to finish up one of my classes tonight. It'll be good to get school done with and be able to take a break.
Love,
Dad
Sunday, May 1, 2011
2 weeks
Dear Sawyer,
Tonight will be short. It's late and I'm getting pretty tired. Today turned out to be a pretty good day. This morning we had a bit of a scare when your mom was having some difficulties. We didn't know if they were common after childbirth or not so we talked to the midwife. She advised us to go into the hospital which we did. We spent an hour or so there and everything checked out fine. It was a big relief. I have this fear that I am going to lose her as well. Your passing was so sudden to us. Who knows when it will be my time or when it will be your mom's time. As much as we want to see you, hopefully we last for a long time on this Earth. My other fear is that something happens and your mom is unable to get pregnant again. I mentioned this before, but it weighed heavily on my mind today. I bought a blood pressure monitor this morning so that we can keep track of your mom. When she becomes pregnant again, it will be nice to have around. I'm sure we'll also get one of those devices that allow you to listen to the baby's heart beat. I bet we'll use it every night.
This afternoon we met up with your Uncle Brian, Aunt Brianna, and your cousins; Elijah, Isaac, and Eve. Elijah, who is 12, is only about an inch shorter than me! We came to your grave and planted flowers in the nearby planter. There were 2 small shrubs before, now it is full of daffodils, pansies, and a pink azalea. They also planted sweet pea seeds.
I hope you like it!
Love,
Dad
Tonight will be short. It's late and I'm getting pretty tired. Today turned out to be a pretty good day. This morning we had a bit of a scare when your mom was having some difficulties. We didn't know if they were common after childbirth or not so we talked to the midwife. She advised us to go into the hospital which we did. We spent an hour or so there and everything checked out fine. It was a big relief. I have this fear that I am going to lose her as well. Your passing was so sudden to us. Who knows when it will be my time or when it will be your mom's time. As much as we want to see you, hopefully we last for a long time on this Earth. My other fear is that something happens and your mom is unable to get pregnant again. I mentioned this before, but it weighed heavily on my mind today. I bought a blood pressure monitor this morning so that we can keep track of your mom. When she becomes pregnant again, it will be nice to have around. I'm sure we'll also get one of those devices that allow you to listen to the baby's heart beat. I bet we'll use it every night.
This afternoon we met up with your Uncle Brian, Aunt Brianna, and your cousins; Elijah, Isaac, and Eve. Elijah, who is 12, is only about an inch shorter than me! We came to your grave and planted flowers in the nearby planter. There were 2 small shrubs before, now it is full of daffodils, pansies, and a pink azalea. They also planted sweet pea seeds.
Love,
Dad
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