Father's Day 2015

I don't know what William is thinking about today but I know he loves you, Tommy. 

His love for you is undeniable. 

He's walking right along side of you, looking up to you - I know it. Because you're his hero. You've held our family together and stayed strong even though your heart is broken. We love you :)

Happy Father's Day

Love, Mommy and William

William in daddy's arms

Lost love is still love... 

It just takes a different form, that's all. 

You can't hold their hand...

You can't tousle their hair...

Or move them around a dance floor. 

But when those senses weaken another heightens. 

Memory. 

Memory becomes your partner. 

You hold it. You dance with it.

Life has to end.. Love doesn't. 

                                                      -Mitch Albom

Happy Father's Day to all fathers who know the pain of losing a child, they are still fathers, the bravest of fathers. 

William Bear

Shortly after William died, desperate for something to help us feel better, we found Molly Bears online. Molly Bears is a company dedicated to providing teddy bears to families whose baby has died. Molly Bears was founded by a family who lost their sweet angel, Molly, at 34 weeks gestation. Molly Bears are special because they weigh exactly the same as your baby.

So we requested a bear and waited. The wait list is very long, like 3,000 bears long.

When we received our William bear last week, it was the first time we felt the weight of our baby since he died. It brought tears to our eyes. We love our William bear! We are very impressed with the quality and comfort our bear has given us already. And we think that William bear will bring happiness to our future children as well.

Every bear is handmade and personalized. For us, it was incredibly moving to know that someone out there wanted to give us support, wanted to fill our empty arms, and wanted us to remember.

Molly Bears staff volunteer their time to the making of the bears. If you are looking for a new way to give back, we urge you to please consider donating to Molly Bears.

We just donated in honor of William, you can too :)

xoxo,
Liz and Tom

This time last year

This time last year we found out we were pregnant. Our first baby! If you have ever been pregnant, you know how it feels. There's a common thread in the thoughts of the newly expecting, surprise most likely tops the list.

When we found out, we laughed and cried and hugged. I remember looking at myself in the mirror, jaw dropped, already noticing a difference. All the food cravings and fatigue I’d been experiencing the weeks before quickly made sense. 

It was the happiest day of our lives. 

Everything was going to change. But it was perfect and we felt on top of the world.

A week later, during the first ultrasound we held our breath. The sonographer warned us, “You may not be able to hear the heartbeat since it’s so early”. But sure enough right as the wand hit belly, we heard what would become our favorite sound. Whoosh whoosh whoosh. His heartbeat was strong and steady.

Here he is, one year ago, such a cute lil peanut with his arm buds already formed.

tiny little baby bear at 6 weeks

Letter to William

(William’s Special Day Part 10)

We ended the memorial service with a letter to our sweet angel.

Dear William,

On December 13, 2014 we met you - and it was the best day of our lives. You’re our everything. You filled us with more love we ever thought was possible. We are forever blessed to have gotten to hold you. We kissed your fuzzy blond head and we amazed by your beauty. We could have cuddled you forever. That is something that we struggle with, not being able to cuddle you. And all of those earthly hopes and dreams we had for us, well, they won’t unfold the way we imagined. But they will still unfold, just in a different,  special way. Your heavenly presence - which we feel all the time - will be with us as we live our lives.

We waited a long time for you, William.  When we found out you were a boy, mommy cried in the hallway of the hospital and we immediately knew what to call you.  We already had a name picked out.

We named you, William Patrick after your Daddy and your uncles. Along our journey together, we gave you nicknames like little peanut, baby bear, and our little star. We read to you and sang to you and our hearts grew larger every day because of you. We traveled with you and swam in the ocean and dreamed of our lives together.

Your kicks were so strong, William.  Your first kick was felt the first week of the football season while watching the patriots on TV.  We were so excited that you were already a fan and couldn't wait to take you to games.  You have more patriots onesies than any other kind.  We wish we could send them to heaven for you.

We saw your strength early on - from the first time we heard your heartbeat at just 6 weeks old. Your heart beat was perfect, our favorite sound. As the weeks went on we noticed that your heart kept beating strong but something was causing it to work harder than it needed - your heart was perfect, little one. But something - something we still don’t understand, something that we couldn’t have prevented, was taking place beyond our control. We know you tried your very best that’s why we call you our little warrior. William, we tried our best too, to solve the mystery. We are still trying. You’ve inspired many people, including your doctors who were amazed by your fight- and will not stop until we find some answers.

William, you have shaped us.  We love you so much.  You are our whole world.  We believe you are with God now and your great grandparents.  We believe you are happy.  But we miss you terribly and look for signs that you are around.  Thank you for all the signs you’ve already sent.

There has not been one single second of time when we wished we could forget what happened. All we want is to go back and relive it. You made us a family and you made us a mommy and a daddy. We are so proud of you little one.

As we count the days, the moments in life that we wish you were here, we also know that we are that much closer to meeting you again, our sweet angel.  We promise to lead our lives with peace and love, protecting each other, and living through your inspiration.  When we do go to heaven, the first thing we'll do is run to you.  For now we’ll hold you in our hearts, and find you in our dreams until we meet again in heaven.  

You are the first thing we think about when waking up.  And this, William, is an incredible gift because that means that every day starts in a wonderful way.  We start our day with you, our little piece of heaven.

Whenever we see sunbeams shining through the clouds we think of you. Whenever we see the stars we think of you. Our little star, we miss you so much. You made us so happy and we are so glad we had months of time to bond with you in my belly and were able to meet you. I wish I could give you a million kisses to tide you over until we meet again. For now, I’ll give Daddy kisses on his forehead for you. I first kissed you on your forehead. It was the best kiss of my life.

We love you, William, our beautiful baby boy.

Why did God let it happen?

(William's Special Day Part 9)

William's service included a reflection written and read by uncle Matt. His reflection is beautiful. It reminds us of how lucky we are to have him in our lives. Matt has made a big difference in our grieving. He was there to talk, to laugh, and to be silent while we cried. William may never have met his uncle Matt face to face, but they are still very much connected and we know that William loves his uncle very, very much. How could he not.

Uncle Matt loves you, William  :)

Why did William die? Why did God let it happen?

A Reflection by William's Uncle, Matt

I think we’ve all been asking this question since William’s death.  As a theologian, I have thought long and deeply about the question of death and human suffering; but for the most part, I thought about the question in the abstract; for me it was a philosophical problem. I was considering an apparent conflict of ideas: how can suffering exist in a world created by an all-good and all-powerful God? But when William died, the question became real. For me, the tragedy, the absurdity, the injustice of baby William’s death gave rise to deeply existential questions that were no longer fueled by a detached wonder but were energized by frustration and anger.

Why did God let it happen? I have come to the realization that the question itself may be problematic.  It is a loaded question that can lead us to think about God as one who, in his limitless power, had the option to prevent William’s death and his family’s suffering but chose to remain a passive spectator—watching the tragic story unfold from the heavens.  This view of a spectator God who deliberately chooses to stand by passively in the face of human suffering and withhold life-saving measures for one of his children seems hardly compatible with the God of boundless love revealed by Jesus in the Gospels.  But if death and suffering are neither directly willed nor even deliberately permitted by divine love, then perhaps the question “why did God let it happen?” is not the best question we can be asking.  Not all questions are good questions.  Imagine a child asking the question: how many miles long is Tuesday? As adults, who understand that Tuesday is a measure of time and not distance, we realize the senseless nature of the question.  It doesn't have an answer because it’s not a real question.  Perhaps we stand, like children, before the vast mysteries of God and continue to ask questions that are equally senseless.  Maybe “why did God let it happen?” is one of those senseless questions; maybe it doesn't have an answer because the question is not a real question in the first place.

Perhaps it is senseless because the Christian God is not passive in the face of human suffering; he doesn't simply choose to let it happen from his distant throne in the skies. If we want to find the God of the Gospels, we look not to the clouds but to the cross, where our Lord hangs with open arms embracing all those who suffer in the world.  In the words of Fr. Michael Himes,

“The Cross does answer the question, ‘How can God will  (or permit) this suffering?’ and the answer is that God does not will or permit it.  God hates human suffering; God will not tolerate the pain of God’s creatures.  Then, given the terrible reality of suffering in the world, where is God to be found? God suffers with us.  God does not permit the cross; God is on the cross.”

14th century church interior, Montepulciano Italy

Still we may ask, where is this God who suffers with us? Where is he to be found?  Where was he in our suffering? Why does this God not answer us? But let us not mistake silence for apathy. Mother Teresa says:

“God cannot be found in noise and restlessness.  God is the friend of silence.  See how nature - trees, flowers, grass - grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence.... We need silence to be able to touch souls.”

I think that motherhood offers us a beautiful image for understanding the God who Mother Teresa speaks about—the God who is with us and loves us in silence.  We are so accustomed to thinking about God as our divine father that we miss all that motherhood has to teach us about God. Babies in the womb are unaware of the life-giving blood coursing through them or the nutrients that are being fed to them from their mothers.  Babies in the womb are nurtured and nourished, cared-for and carried by their mothers in silence; and when babies suffer, their mothers suffer with them. Elizabeth was a wonderful mother to William in the womb. Though she sang and talked to him (as did Tom), she also loved him in silence.  Not unlike babies in the womb who are unaware of the life-giving care that comes to them silently from their mothers, we are sometimes unaware of the divine love that silently flows through us and sustains our spirits.  As it says in the Scriptures, “In God we live and move and have our being.”  Babies cannot see their mothers while in the womb not because their mothers are too distant, but because they are too near.  In our own suffering, when we cannot seem to find God, perhaps it is not because he is too far, but too close for us to see.  When baby William was born, he was held in the tender embrace of Liz and Tom.  It is our conviction, as Christians, that when we die, we too will meet and be held by the God who silently carried and nurtured us within the womb of this life.

But our God is not only the God of the cross—the God who suffers with us in silence.  Our God is also the God of the Resurrection—the God of eternal newness—the God of surprises, who will somehow transform William’s death and our suffering into a profound source of life and meaning.  We don’t yet know how divine creativity will weave William’s story into the grand tapestry of human history, but we know it will be wonderful and beautiful.  If we become too fixated on the question of why his death happened, we miss how God is responding and what God is bringing about through it.  Let us confidently place our hope not in the God who let it happen, but in the God who suffers with us.  Let us confidently place our trust in the God who has assured us that our human story does not end with the grave—that love and life will triumph over suffering and death.