For this The 5th Belongs to Calvin and in celebration of his first birthday in Heaven, I am happy to announce that Calvin’s Cupcakes will be opening soon. It is a way for my sweet boy, my loving husband, and I to share in the celebration of the birthdays of those little ones who are blowing out their candles in Heaven.

Here is Calvin’s 1st birthday cupcake:

I also want to take a moment to thank you for your prayers, thoughts, and sweet notes to me and Louie, and especially for the beautiful messages you have written to Calvin Phoenix at Kisses for Calvin. It means so much to us. Your support is doing amazing things in lifting us up during a time that is bittersweet. And I’m sure Calvin is so excited to receive them, as it is his very first birthday.

Happy 1st Birthday in Heaven, Calvin Phoenix!

Thank you for all that you’ve taught me and your daddy. Thank you for the ways in which you have softened our hearts and drawn us closer to each other and to God. Thank for the blessing that you are to us and the people who love you.

I love you, baby bunny. You will always, always be in my heart.

On this day last year, I had my third and last prenatal appointment with Calvin. It was Ash Wednesday. Louie and I went to Mass in the morning at St. Ignatius Church before going to UCSF. (That day, there was a young man sitting in the pew in front of us, and he started sobbing after communion. We didn’t do anything or say anything to him, but we talked about it later and how we felt for him. I think about him every now and then, and hope God has brought him comfort.) It was also the day before my birthday.

At the appointment, we saw a doctor we had never seen before, and when she spoke to us about my membranes coming apart and the risks of the pregnancy, it was like being told all over again about the amniotic bands. We had to tell her, like we told the other doctor and the genetic counselor, we would wait. At the end of the appointment, she confirmed that we were having a follow up Level II ultrasound, and told us we would wait until after the ultrasound to schedule my next appointment. Hearing those words felt like a death sentence for my baby, and just thinking about that moment puts me back in that place. Maybe it was a blessing that I didn’t need to call to cancel the appointment and say “because my baby died.” But it didn’t feel that way then. It doesn’t feel that way now, either.

It wasn’t all bad, though. As she placed the doppler on my belly and proceeded to move it around searching for the baby’s heart, I felt the tears well up. I was bracing myself. But then, after what seemed like too long for hope, she moved it left and down, and there it was: a fast, whooshing, thumping. It didn’t sound like I remembered from my second prenatal appointment, maybe because I was overwrought and ready to hear the words I feared most. But she said that heartbeat sounded fine, and that was enough for us. My baby was alive. It was the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.

Here I am a year later from that day.

And I have seen that same doctor again. What should have been my first prenatal appointment with her for my rainbow baby became, instead, a confirmation of my miscarriage. My second baby. My second loss.

I don’t know how I feel about turning 28. At first, I felt indifferent. Right now, though, I feel as if it moves me further away from my son. I don’t like feeling that way. Right now I long for where I was last year. I long for the sound of Calvin’s heartbeat. I long for the hope and joy and happiness I felt. I long for the days that came between life and death for my first child. For the way my birthday felt last year. For the Saturday after, when Louie felt him move for the first time. I miss the sound of his heart beating. I miss the swell of life growing inside me. I miss looking forward to seeing him on the ultrasounds and waiting to share the secret of his name. I miss my son. I miss my Calvin Phoenix.

On December 6, 2009, a friend of ours, Abe took pictures of me, Louie, Calvin, and Rainbow (though he didn’t know I was pregnant with Rainbow when he took them) for a digital photography class project. He wanted to share our story.

After some apprehension of being made vulnerable, Louie and I decided that, yes, we would do it. It was important to have Calvin’s life recognize and to help others to understand that this loss is so much more profound than the silence around pregnancy loss would have some people believe. And if losing Calvin can touch others in any way – whether it be providing others with insight to the grief of losing a child or letting someone else know that she or he is not alone – it makes the pain of being without him just a little bit more bearable.

Thank you so much, Abe, for being so willing to take on a painful story, for honoring our son, and for acknowledging our grief. This video means a lot to me and Louie.

These pictures were actually taken just four days before I started miscarrying our Rainbow baby, and it means so much for me to have these pictures — this is the closest we can get to having family pictures this side of Heaven. I love that through Calvin’s story we are able to have these images and remember not only our firstborn, but also our second baby in heaven.

Happy 11 Months in Heaven, my sweet little boy. I miss you so much, Calvin. I hope you and Rainbow are having fun in Heaven as you watch over Mommy and Daddy.

Thank you so much to Amanda at Written in the Stars for putting my sweet babies’ names in the sky and giving me another beautiful way to remember my children.

Amanda is a baby loss mommy who lost her girl, Ireland Lila, at almost 15 weeks, and was inspired to write her little girl’s name in the stars. She now does this for other grieving parents.

This sweet mommy, who is expecting her rainbow baby, also has a photography business, through which she offers complimentary sessions for family’s who have been touched by infant loss or terminal illness.