Wednesday, November 25, 2009


I carried you inside my womb until the 21st week
When I heard the news, I could not speak
Your tiny heart beat no more
When I heard those words, my heart tore
I blamed myself even though they told me no
It was my job to protect you so

Willow Rose, our beautiful baby
I dream of what you would have been lately
I counted your ten perfect fingers and toes
They dressed you in delicate, crocheted clothes
Your miniature body lay lifeless
They tell me, you have two children, you're already blessed

I yearn everyday for my little girl
The days since I lost you are still a blur
All that is tangible are your ashes in an urn
Dried up funeral flowers; carnations, roses and ferns
All I have are dreams of what you would have been
My hope is in heaven, I will hold you again

Monday, November 16, 2009

Don't Forget

Will and I seem to be living in this bubble. Yes, we lost our baby girl... yes, we will get through this one day... yes, we want to enjoy each other and our friends again. We plead with you, don't avoid us like the plague. It's okay if you don't know what to say... neither do we. It's okay to tell a joke... we want to laugh. It's okay to just be there and say nothing, say anything, hug us or distract us, but please oh please, don't ignore us.

We know better than anyone that losing a baby is hard. We are living it. We don't want to lose our friends. Don't expect us to get over it. Everyday we wake up and relive our loss like we just woke up from a nightmare. EPT commercials, baby departments and crying babies almost become unbearable.

The pain from birth is still fresh in my mind. I slowly recover only to find my milk has come in days after I left the hospital. As we walk the aisles at Target like two zombies, a baby cries and my breasts ache. It's almost too much to handle.

And in the midst of all our pain, some forget that Will has lost a child too. His pain is different from mine, but very much the same. He named our baby Willow, long before we knew she was a girl. He spoke to her and rubbed my belly at night and talked about all his dreams for Olivia and Willow and Terrell. Now he's an outsider looking in. Trying to be there for me, but not sure what he should do. He kisses me everyday, soft gentle kisses on the forehead as he tells me over and over, "I love you". And I know he does. I always have, but I've never felt his love like this before.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Sleeping on Tear-Soaked Pillows

Willow Rose Wardlow was stillborn on November 12th, 2009 @ 7:03pm. She was 7.87 inches and only a mere 4 ounces. She is in God's arms, but she will always be in our hearts.

The days since Tuesday, November 10th have been a blur. What was supposed to be a happy day turned tragic. Will met me at the Dr's office, CD-R in hand. We were ready to get pictures and video of our baby girl, but instead we heard the words... "Your baby's heart is no longer beating". I couldn't stop crying as Will tried to keep his strength and ask every question he could think of. We were told the baby had stopped growing around 17 weeks. We don't know for sure how long she had been dead. How could this happen?

We delivered her 3 days later at St. Joseph Hospital. I held her tiny fingers in my hand and cradled her miniature body as I tried to memorize every feature. All the dreams I had for my baby vanished. Everything seemed surreal, like a bad dream. Dear God, please let me wake up.

Days later, my milk came in. Another horrible reminder of our baby who was lost. We avoid saying the word "baby" so Olivia doesn't talk about being a big sister or the baby in mommy's tummy. We are just hoping she forgets. But we know we will never forget our baby girl, Willow.