Two Years.

November 17, 2018


It's that time of year when I feel it more. The anxious reminder of everything that happened that night…of everything I saw.

When I write that, it doesn't mean this is the only time of year that I feel the depth of Layton's death. The sting has dulled, but grief has become a constant companion. It's like a soulmate. Always there. Invisibly holding my hand in the moments when I weep alone. A constant that will be with me until the moment I take my last breath. And while the weight of Layton's death doesn't feel like it's trying to drive me into the ground any longer, it will always be part of my daily life.

What I'm talking about is the nightmare. The flashbacks of everything that I watched happen to my son that night. Everything that had to be done to try and save his life…and in the end it just wasn't enough. I've always said that I will never verbalize what I saw that night, and I stand by that truth. While it haunts me, it's not how I want Layton to be remembered. He deserves to be remembered as the sweetest, cutest baby boy who fought for every moment of his incredible life.

When I look back on what I wrote last year, I was so angry. But I think that is pretty normal. Year one is hard…raw…everything still feels so volatile. Over the span of year two that rawness has softened. I still feel his loss deep within the depths of my soul. Every single day I miss that beautiful baby boy more than I can share in words. But it's easier to talk about him without bursting into tears. It's easier to answer the question, "Do you have kids?" And if I do cry, I'm okay with it. Because grief and the tears that come from it are just love in action.

Layton's life, though far too short, was an incredible blessing. He touched more people in his 5 months on this earth than many do in an entire lifetime. I wish he were here. But since he can't be here, I can think of no better place than in the arms of our Savior, waiting for us in Heaven's Nursery. What a day that will be, my friends, when we are reunited not only with Layton, but our sweet Ellie too. Until then little ones…we love you and miss you every single second of every single day.

Love, mommy & daddy.

13 comments

  1. My heart goes out to you! No one knows the terrible grief one suffers unless they have gone through it themselves. We lost our son, Christopher, 26yrs ago today. I was six months along. He was stillborn. I have had four other miscarriages, also. We have one adopted son, which has been a blessing. I don’t know what God has planned for you and what the future holds for you and your husband. I do pray that you find answers. May God be with you and bring you peace. Hugs!

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    1. Maria - sending you the biggest hugs today. Our daughter, Ellie, was stillborn at 25 weeks along - a little less than one year before Layton came into this world. So, I understand the hurt totally & completely. Josh & I have come to terms with the fact that we will not have biological children this side of Heaven. It's not an easy realization, but we are at a place in our life where we are as complete as we can be, without our babies. Thank you for your kind words today.

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  2. Lea, there are no words, indeed. (((HUGS)))

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  3. May the Lord keep you and your husband in His Hands today and always. And bless the day we are reunited with our loved ones in Heaven.
    I wish you the peace of Christ <3

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  4. Lea your words are beautiful and I feel your sadness and grief. I just want you to know we care and are listening. Hugs Aileen.

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  5. Hugs and prayers to you and your family, Lea!!

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  6. My heart goes out to you and your husband. May our Lord and Savior bless you with the comfort of His presence in your hearts.

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  7. Oh Lea, Layton is so lucky to have you as his mum - I can't even imagine what you must be going through. Sending big big hugs

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  8. Sending big hugs and keeping you and your family in my thoughts and prayers, for a little comfort and peace in every single day.

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  9. Lea, I am so sorry. Prayers to you.

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  10. So so sorry for your losses, I do know that there is comfort in faith, knowing that we will see loved ones again, Hugs.

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  11. Amen. I am so, so sorry for you and your family. The Christmas season always makes losses worse. God bless Layton in his new home, and all the people he left behind here.

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