Three Years -- Still Proud

Over three years ago, when we found out we were expecting twins, Brad began his search for a second job. We knew I'd be staying home with them, and one full-time job just wasn't going to cut it for a family of four.

And in the most painful of coincidences, he landed a job at Payless (the grocery store), and was scheduled to start on February 2nd, 2014.

As it turned out, that was just 6 days after our babies passed away in our arms.

But he went on that first day anyway. He knew we'd have hospital bills. And we hadn't decided if we were going to do more treatments. So just days after losing his children, he took on two jobs..

I remember how lonely I felt those first few weeks. I was drowning in grief, alone in our apartment most nights.

And I remember him coming home looking exhausted and defeated. I'll never forget when he looked at me with tears in his eyes, "It's so hard going there. I got this job for them, and now they're not here. I think about it all the time when I'm working."

We hurt for each other, but did what we felt like we had to do.

Soon, we decided we were going to try again. So, he kept that job. To support us. To help get us closer to another child.

And 5 months later we bought a house and we found out I was pregnant.

So he worked both jobs.

I got put on bed rest and had to essentially quit my job. So he worked.

I stayed home with Paxton. So he worked.

I (against all odds and plans) got pregnant again. So he worked.

I stayed home with Paxton and Greyson. So he worked.

I felt guilty that all the financial burden was on him. He felt guilty that I was stuck at home doing "mommy" things all day, every day.

I watched him get more and more drained. He watched me get more and more drained.

It's hard.. on both of us. But what we both dislike most is that he misses so much time with the boys. Half the week, he's only home long enough to feed them dinner, then leave again for his second job -- not getting home until 1:30am.

He hasn't had a vacation, as in, more than 3 days off both jobs... in three years. Which also means, I haven't been able to really relax either.

But maybe, that's all about to change.

Brad has been offered a position as a CVS manager-in-training.

And I'm so proud of him. I'm proud of him for applying, as he's been looking and applying to jobs here or there for quite some time. You don't hear back from most. And the rest just didn't pay enough to afford him to leave either job to pursue it.

After so many years doing the same thing, getting worn down, you start to feel a little stuck -- wondering what will come next -- and feeling like it may never come.

And I worried, as I saw the toll it took on his personality and physical body doing mostly repetitive, physical labor for 14 hours some days.

So, I'm proud that he saw his way out, and pursued it. Despite being nervous, anxious, and unsure.. he did it.

Nothing is ever that simple though. Then we found out the insurance would cost more and cover less. As in, his pay would be about the same as his two-job income, but he'd be paying more for insurance. So we'd be losing money.

I felt sick to my stomach. And I broke down. I didn't want him to see it, but I did. I hated that he might be this close, but we'd have to turn it down because of family expenses. That we'd be sentencing him (and all of us) to months or years of the physically demanding, sometimes crushing, two-job schedule.

I said, crying, "You can't keep doing this forever (referencing his current schedule). It's wearing you down. You're always exhausted. And I wanted this for you so bad. I just know you can do it.. and I know where you're at now is bothering you. It's weighing on you."

His face turned sad, but he tried to muster reassurance that he'd be okay.. "But I've never complained."

I felt punched in the gut.

I knew he'd never complained. And he never would.

"Just because you don't say it, doesn't mean you don't feel it." I paused, "I know you wanted this. And I wanted it for you."

He started to get teary-eyed.

We took a day to think things over, really crunch numbers, and make sure we made the right decision.

So, while he was at work, I thought of all the positives. The physical reprieve. The fewer hours for the same pay. More time with the boys.

I also knew that insurance plans change every year, and we're at a point where we have no idea what will be happening in the next year or two anyway (in terms of government regulation/market changes). It was a gamble, but after I weighed all the positives to just the cost of insurance, I knew.

I texted him, "I think you should take it."

I wanted him to do something he wanted to do, instead of what he had to do. It was just time.

But I was even more elated, and proud, when he told them his concerns about insurance, and they offered to pay more to make the difference more manageable. They wanted him bad enough to do so.

So, in a couple weeks, he'll officially be an employee of CVS. Training to be a store manager. And I'm so proud.

I know I've used the word a few times already, but I don't feel like I can say it enough.

Proud of him for getting back to the career he wanted. Proud of him for applying, despite the rejections or offers he had to turn down. Proud of him for doing so well in the interview that they wanted him so much that they were anxious about him not taking the offer right away.

But I'm most proud of him for starting that second job three years ago. Taking it for his unborn children. And deciding to still go, in the midst of our grief, for the hope of future children. And going -- week after week -- for three years now, to take care of his family. And when you'd think he was totally drained, he'd be going to mow someone's yard for a little extra cash.

Because that's who he is.

Doing whatever he could to take care of us.

And never complaining. <3

From your children.. and me.. Thank you. And, congratulations!

Three Years

Another birthday has come to pass. And every year, I grasp for the words to explain how I feel.

This year was definitely different -- for so many reasons.

First, we decided to make the book donations a 'thing.' A non-profit 'thing.' And considering we didn't decide to really pursue it until autumn, and set a goal of collecting 50 books, I'm so humbled and thankful that we got to deliver 84 books today -- in your names.

Forming this charity has given me something to focus my grief into -- from drawing the logo, to brainstorming fundraising ideas, and establishing our 'mission.'

But at the same time, it means that losing you is on my mind nearly all the time. I think that's why this year, especially this last week, has been so hard. I spent days drowning in my grief, guilt, and what-ifs. Waking in the middle of the night to immediately feel like I just lost you. Every second of that day playing over and over. Unable to catch my breath. Other days it would sneak up. Breaking down in tears, randomly, while brushing my teeth or making lunch, because I just kept saying in my head, "I miss you. You should be here... I'm so sorry I didn't save you."

Your father didn't always know what to say when he would find in me in such despair, telling him that I knew it was my fault.. and that he should blame me. But every time I go through this, or close to it, I find my way out. Your father has helped many times over to talk me down, but the common thread each time is just remembering how much love you ignited in me. The depths of which I didn't know were possible. And you got me there within seconds of meeting you.

I know, that if I can love you that strongly.. and just keep loving you.. it will last. It will carry me. It will light a fire in me to do better and be better. That there will be enough for me to share with the world -- and it will multiply. The love you gave me, and uncovered in me, will grow.

People often tell me that I'm strong. But I'm not. Not exceptional. Not extraordinary. I get lost all the time.. I just focus on you to find my way back.

So, though the week was harder than I expected, today was much like last year. Bittersweet.

I had put all the books into a Radio Flyer wagon, and your father remarked, "I'm happy we have so many books that we need a wagon. But I also just imagine the kids riding around in it."

And that is the burden we bear. Always imagining how things could be different. Who you would be now. The lifetime we missed out on. An ache that never stops.

But we arrived to IU Methodist, and I felt a sense of calm. Dramatically different than these last few days.

Again, we were greeted by several staff members. And babies, they remembered you and your story. We talked about you even more, which as a mother, fuels me. I love every chance I get to mention your names.

And then we talked about the charity, and how we arrived at the name.. PB&J Books Project (for those that don't know, peanut butter and grape jelly accounts for the initials of all four of my children -- Paxton, Bodhi, Greyson, and Jasper).

We talked about who we wanted the books to go to. I explained that people suffering a loss, or imminent loss.. like we did.. were at the top of our list. I explained further, "That time with them was mostly a blur. I barely remember the things I said to them. And I think now how it would've helped to have something tangible like a book to read. Something I could take home, hold onto, and know.. these are the words I said to my babies. That I could read it any time I wanted to go back there."

Next on the list were NICU parents. They go through so much, and just long for normalcy and bonding -- sometimes when they're not able to even hold their children. Reading to them is a chance for calm and bonding.. despite any obstacles.

And then, anyone they felt it would benefit. Low income. Previous loss. Or just anyone that expressed interest in reading to their baby on day one.

After we handed over all the donations, they again offered for me to visit one of the rooms. This time, it wasn't the exact room I had delivered you in -- so it didn't hit me as strongly to the chest as last year. But the layout was identical. And it brought me back almost immediately to laying in that bed, waiting for you to arrive, while knowing you wouldn't stay.

But this time, I didn't cry. Maybe I was all cried out. Or maybe it was too hectic with both your little brothers in tow. Or maybe.. just maybe.. it was the same calm that came over me the very second you were born. A feeling that I knew I didn't have much time, so I just wanted to breathe it in. To never forget.

I sat with your brothers and read Goodnight Moon. Every Shilor in one place -- the only place you ever knew. 

And as we left, I felt like I just had visited hallowed ground. I knew that as long as there was breath in my lungs, I would return here year after year, just to feel close to you.

So I will. Your father will. And when we can't, your brothers will.

This project will continue in your name, one way or another.

I owe you that.

To me, each and every book represents a piece of my love for you. Infinite and full of hope. Sending them all out into the world is the best way I know to be your mother. To help you live on and reach the world you didn't get to see -- and to help the world that didn't get the chance to see you.

We miss you.

Goodnight stars. Goodnight air. Goodnight noises, everywhere.

Goodnight Jasper. Goodnight Bodhi.

- Your mother

If you are one of the parents that received a book, and you found your way here, please reach out. We would love to hear your story or see photos of you reading to your baby. You can find more on the book project on Instagram (@PBJBooksProject) and Facebook (www.facebooks.com/PBJBooksProject).