Yesterday was the anniversary of Calvin’s due date, and although my heart was heavy, there were no tears. This morning, though, they are just below the surface of a breath, barely touched by a blink, and ready to spill over. It’s not the heavy sobbing that poured out on Rainbow’s due date and hit me like walking into a glass wall. It’s the ever-present knowledge that I am without my son, knowing that I have been without him for 17 months, and that I will be without him for much longer. I think I’ve reached the point in mourning for Calvin that I recognize the ebb and flow of this grief. I can feel the cries radiating out from my chest through my gut, up my throat, and behind my eyes. It’s a feeling I’m used to, and that is comforting in a way – it’s hard to explain, but I’m sure someone out there understands.

(That is one of the beautiful things about becoming a part of this loss community, finding someone else who makes you gasp because the words that pour out of their heart so adequately encapsulates your own feelings, and in doing so, makes you feel less crazy and less abnormal less like you’re some sort of freak or head case who can’t seem to move forward. Thank you for that, by the way. And thank you also, to those who reached back when I reached out, for the words of kindness and compassion that washed over me and Louie through comments and emails and Twitter and Facebook. I am so grateful to you, so blessed by each of you who walk alongside us.)

I knew the 5th was coming, but this morning, I wasn’t fully aware that it had arrived. It wasn’t until I after I had read through hundreds of blog posts (I am still trying to catch up) – and found myself welling up with almost everyone – that I began to question:

Why this day? Why not yesterday when it was Calvin’s due date?

Oh.

His due date is August 4. That means today is August 5.

Then it started to make more sense. And here I am.

The artist and the writer

For our wedding, Louie and I wrote our own lyrics to the song “Anyone Else but You” by the Moldy Peaches from Juno. Someday, I’ll post the video. One of the verses went like this:

(Louie) I’ll be an artist,
(Crystal) and I’ll be a writer –
(Louie) we’ll never be rich –
(Crystal) but that doesn’t matter
(Both) I don’t know what anyone can see in anyone else, but you

Some of you know about the day that the genetic counselor told us that the ultrasound tech thought it looked like the tips of our baby’s fingers on his right hand had been amputated by the amniotic bands. Later on, Louie said that it just seemed so cruel because he’s an artist, and I’m a writer. Then we started talking about how he would be amazing, that he would still do everything, and even play the guitar. The next day, we learned the next day, after a 3-hour Level II ultrasound, that our baby’s fingers were just fine, and though three bands surrounded him, he was untouched.

And last month, my mother-in-law, sent me an email with the subject Sheer Talent. I was perplexed and didn’t really believe her at first. Then, she showed us this:

Tell me what you see. And, in few days, I’ll show you what I see. For now, all I’ll say is that my baby boy is a gifted, and the sky is his canvas.

My amazing little boy, you are wondrous indeed! Thank you for making your presence known to us, and showing us just how whole you are in heaven and for showing me that my failings can be undone through His grace and gift of eternity. Happy 17 months, Calvin! Mommy and daddy are so proud of you.

Knowing Him

During Easter Mass yesterday, as with every Mass, I find myself crying after taking Communion, while I’m kneeling in prayer. Lately, it feels like church is the only place where the tears flow freely, where the awareness of the rising in my throat is not accompanied with an urge to stop it. Yesterday, I realized it was because I know Jesus understands my pain and is okay with me being unable to carry my burdens with strength unwavering.

I started coming to full realization of how much Jesus went through on Palm Sunday. Yes, I’ve watched The Passion. I’ve been involved in the Passion play at my church. I have seen the Stations of the Cross. Palm Sunday, however, was the first time that the Word, by itself, without the visual impact, brought me to tears. Since losing my babies, I could finally related to what Christ was feeling as He prayed and sweat blood, asking, pleading with God, but only if it was the Father’s will. How I prayed and prayed for Calvin to be saved, for Rainbow to live, knowing that it was not His plan. And after being let down and disappointed by friends and family, I could understand the hurt that Jesus must have felt as He looked to the Apostles for support, but found them sleeping. For the first time, I felt connected to Jesus’s agony, and it didn’t seem so distant anymore. It began with the Responsorial Psalm: My God, My God, why have you abandoned me? and continued through the readings. I know that pain. I know what it is like to hurt so badly, that you question whether God has forgotten you.

But this was all part of God’s plan: Jesus went through all of that for me, for my babies, to ensure that we would gain eternal life and never be separated again. I don’t know that I could have come to know Him as intimately as I do if it weren’t for Calvin and Rainbow. Maybe that is part of His plan for me?

Hope in His Promise

This picture was taken during lunch after Mass yesterday. For any of you super geeks out there (I married one), you may recognize the symbols we are wearing. It’s the symbol of the Blue Lanterns’ power rings, which are fueled by the emotion hope (there are different colored lanterns, with different symbols, that are fueled by other emotions). I also love their oath (which they use to recharge):

In fearful day, in raging night,
With strong hearts full, our souls ignite,
When all seems lost in the War of Light,
Look to the stars For hope burns bright!

Isn’t that just awesome? I thought it was fitting for Easter, so I went ahead and “geeked out” with Louie in celebration of Christ’s resurrection and the promise it brings — especially that of seeing Calvin and Rainbow again.

Sharing in the Joy

Today, I also wanted to announce the official launch of Calvin’s Cupcakes! Last month, on Calvin’s birthday, I shared that Calvin’s Cupcakes would be coming soon on this post. There are already several cupcakes up on the site, because we started making cupcakes and sending them out as I was getting the site up and as we were waiting for today to officially launch. We did not want to miss any birthdays.

We are so happy to be able to do this in honor of our sweet boy and in celebration of all those beautiful children who have their birthday parties in Heaven and know the joys of being in His presence. Please feel free to grab the site button and share Calvin’s Cupcakes with others.

Happy 13 months in Heaven, Calvin Phoenix! Thank you for the hope you have brought into Mommy and Daddy’s lives, and the ways in which we have been inspired by you. We love you so much.

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.