Sacred Silence ~ Journal Entry #15

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Journal Entry #15

October 10, 2013

August 15th, 2013 I lost my son. Fifty-seven days ago Miles and I said goodbye to our child. The one we had hoped for, prayed for, longed for, yet when he graced us with his presence, he did so with eyes closed and breath silent.

Brokenness found me, cupping my heavy head in its hands as I searched for the answers as to why my precious baby was born early. Why he wasn’t given the chance to grow and live within my arms, but instead, whose image can only be locked deep within my heart for the rest of my life as the curves of his face slip my mind at times.

I only had a few hours to learn the love of my little boy before he was swept away forever, leaving little trace that he had even existed.

That’s not what I wanted for Zach. That’s not what his father wanted either. Though he only touched the earth with a memory, he meant something to this world. As the doctors and nurses offered their condolences as I walked aimlessly through the dismal grief of loss in the hospital after giving birth, I found little relief as the wounds of heartbreak festered. My son MEANS something, he never MEANT something. He IS something, and his spirit still exists in my life. It will always linger there.

This morning, as I pulled myself out of bed, the plight of another day weighing me down I knew what I had been feeling lately was more than a dream. It had blossomed into an indescribable reality.

Miles and I stood together in our bathroom, his arms draping my slumped shoulders and my stomach churning with nervousness and that of new life. The life that lay within my womb once more.

“I’m pregnant. How can that be? We tried for ages to have Zach, and without the help of fertility drugs, we would have never known the beauty of life that lay within our son. How?”

My husband stood beside me, tears in eyes, speechless as he gazed at the double lines that spoke to both of us that miracles are truly possible.

“Our rainbow baby, Alana.” I gazed into my husband’s eyes wet with tears, as a slew of emotions trickled down his cheeks.

“How do you know what a rainbow baby is?”

He shrugged, placing the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter before turning my eyes towards his. “Sometimes dreams mean things. I think I’d like to keep the rest of that dream private for now.”

I glared at him somewhat disapprovingly. He continued, a soft smile on his face, “Some things a father and a son speak about, whether in reality or within the images of a dream, are meant to stay between a father and a son.”

I knew what he meant. Zach, my son who I knew watched over me from the billowy clouds of heaven, had softened the heart of his father. And perhaps, he had blessed us with this child to remind us that life is sacred. Precious. Unforgettable. But life lives on through those we love.

Love brought Miles and I together; it formed us, bound us. Zachariah had molded us. And now another child would teach us. Teach us that a hovering spirit of those we have loved and lost are forever woven into not only the past, but also the present and the future.

Hope exists. Grief exists. Baby loss is real. It hurts. Yet it has molded me into the woman I am today, and because of my son’s life, I am better because of it.

…Alana

Copyright 2013

Written and owned by Valerie King at http://www.valeriekingbooks.com

Sacred Silence ~ Journal Entry #13

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Journal Entry #13

October 3rd, 2013

Finding words are hard today. Not to mention, I woke up feeling ill. Miles has complained that a handful of people are sick at work. Now that I’m not in the workplace on a regular basis, I’m thinking I’ve picked up something that he’s brought home. Sickness is dragging me down this morning which seems to be feeding my sorrow a little deeper today. I don’t like the feeling at all.

Today was the perfect day to take it easy, and let the idea that I birthed a few days ago consume me. I have never been one for scrapbooking, but after losing Zach, I decided I wanted to make an album for him. Memories…the way I felt when I found out that I was expecting, the preparations his father and I had begun to make…the way he touched my life those few short months. Even though the album had nearly 20 pages, I knew I could fill each one. There were so many words, thoughts, and memories I wanted to release onto paper.

So I will sit. I will take the time to sort through the hurt even though my heart begs me not to. It’s hard to touch the hurt, scorching my broken spirit like red hot daggers. But what is life without emotion? Zach has shown me emotion, he has molded me into who I am today. Forever changed by the gentle curve of his tiny frame, the way his little hand fit within mine even though it lay perfectly still. It was still perfect.

I will find joy in the moment of remembrance. Of knowing that I am a mother to a precious boy who I will one day gaze upon again, and love for eternity. That gives me relief…that gives me a reason to move forward.

..Alana

Copyright 2013

Written and owned by Valerie King at http://www.valeriekingbooks.com

Sacred Silence ~ Journal Entry #12

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Journal Entry #12

September 26th, 2013

Had lunch with Mom today. Was refreshing to sit and chat over chicken salad sandwiches without talking about loss for once.

There was one fleeting moment when I caught the silhouette of a pregnant woman standing across the restaurant from us, her belly swollen as her left hand grasped that of a red haired little girl with curls cascading past her shoulders. I looked away quickly, swallowing the lump in my throat repeatedly to avoid finding tears. Not here; not in front of Mom.

Miles and I talked about work last night. At this point in our lives, he thinks I should stay home, or at the very least, find something part time. I’ve been pretty adamant about looking for a new job. I need to be occupied, to fully immerse myself in something other than staying at home. The silence drives me crazy.

A friend of mine sent me an email this morning regarding “Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Day” that is honored and remembered each year on October 15th. You could submit the name of your child with a simple message. My fingers were frozen as they hovered over my keyboard as I wrestled with the notion whether or not to submit Zach’s name. After nearly 10 minutes, I hit “send”, my son’s information sent to an organization that would walk in honor of my son…my loss, and that of so many others.

Relief spread through me in that moment. I made a vow to walk for Zachariah on my own October 15th. I miss him with every single part of my being, but I was filled with love in knowing that there truly are people out there that understand my hurt and heartache. It’s easy to feel alone…that you are the only one around you that has lost a baby making you some sort of outcast. But, we’re not. I’m not. Neither are you. We are women, and we are no lesser of sorts because our arms are empty.

When someone offers you a kind word, or a hopeful voice that life will be okay…that your child won’t ever be forgotten…that changes your entire perspective on living as a mother. That’s one thing that has healed me greatly. I am still a mother. I will ALWAYS be a mother.

..Alana

Copyright 2013

Written and owned by Valerie King at http://www.valeriekingbooks.com

Sacred Silence ~ Journal Entry #11

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Journal Entry #11

September 24th, 2013

Today I awoke with a feeling a fullness. An unlikely emotion wrapped around my heart for the very first time in a long time. To be honest, since I lost my son. It was the first time in weeks that I awoke with dry eyes, and a calm spirit. This doesn’t mean the hurt is absent, it just means that I am finally coming to terms with the loss that has filtered itself into the darkest corners of my world.

Miles and I have been spending every evening talking, laughing, finding our love all over again…mending the brokenness that dared to end the love we have treasured for so many years. The weather here in Dallas has briskly changed to cooler temps and light breezes. Autumn doesn’t stick around for very long here in Texas, so for the past few nights we’ve sat on our back porch eating dinner and enjoying a glass or two of my favorite Chardonnay.

Last night, Miles grew quiet after laughing incessantly about a movie we have watched over a hundred times, but still find hilarious all over again each and every time. One of our favorite films, “Bruce Almighty”.

I watched his face grow pale, as he stabbed the final piece of grilled chicken on his plate, twirling his fork in his hands.

“Do you ever think about trying again?”

I found myself staring at him, my emotions ebbing and flowing as I summoned up the courage to answer. I knew exactly what he was asking, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

“I don’t know. Maybe. But not right now. I’m not ready. Are you?”

I watched as he shrugged his shoulders. I was honestly shocked. After losing his son, I felt like Miles was done. We had struggled so long with infertility, and then came Zachariah. Our happiness had turned to utter sorrow on a whim. The way he had dealt with Zach’s loss, I guess I had grown to believe that ever having another child was simply out of the question. We just weren’t meant to have children.

As I sit here writing this, I remember the touch of his hand enveloping mine from across the patio table last night, the sincere stare of utter love and unrequited want flowing from his eyes. It was obvious, more than obvious, that he wanted to try again. But then and now, I still didn’t know if motherhood was something I wanted to try and touch again. I had lost out on so many different levels.

So instead of deciding, I laid awake last night, my head tilted toward the ceiling and said a silent prayer, eyes closed, Miles snoring quietly beside me. What will be, will be…and I have peace with that, because I know that my little angel above is watching over me.

..Alana

Copyright 2013

Written and owned by Valerie King at http://www.valeriekingbooks.com

Sacred Silence ~ Journal Entry #9

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Journal Entry #9

September 17th, 2013

His fingers wove their way through mine for the very first time in weeks. This past Saturday was our seven year wedding anniversary, so the two of us headed to dinner across town to celebrate the marriage we had savored for nearly a decade. Yet this anniversary, it was beyond hard to summon up any feeling of insurmountable joy. It just wasn’t there no matter how hard I searched for it.

I will NEVER forget the conversation we had though. Never.

“You look very nice tonight, babe,” his voice was unusually warm as he glanced over at me, his eyes leaving the road just long enough to offer me a casual smile.

“Thanks. You do too.”

“Is that a new dress?” I smoothed out the hem of my navy blue bandana panel dress I had picked up at Anthropologie the prior afternoon.

“Yes, I bought it yesterday,” I replied, somewhat flattered that he had even noticed. Miles rarely noticed new things. Six months ago he had commented about the wool floral rug on the living room floor, having just realized it was there one evening over dinner. The rug had been purchased over a year prior, but somehow, he’d never even noticed it was there. For him to recognize my new dress was a complete miracle. I smiled briefly at the thought, looking out the passenger side window at the sea of cars that whizzed past us.

I felt him squeeze my hand. “You doing okay tonight?”

Turning my head, my eyes met his, softening my heart like they used to. Miles had the most gorgeous eyes ever, with a set of incredible lashes that most women would die to have. Many a night I had gazed into those deep-set, chestnut eyes, lulling my spirit with such ease. I had missed those eyes. This was the first time I saw them sparkle since Zach had left us silently.

“I’m fine. It’s nice to get out tonight, just the two of us. I’ve missed…us.”

His jaw tightened, his gaze straight ahead as he drove. “I’ve missed us too.”

I could see his eyes begin to summon a river of tears, causing mine to do the same. This is not how I wanted the evening to go. We needed to repair the brokenness between us, but the mention of anything personal made the feelings of grief rise from the depths once more. Somehow, we had to push them aside tonight.

Taking a silent deep breath, I found my fragile voice. “Do you remember our first date?”

He chuckled aloud, shaking his head, the mood lightening a little. That’s the laugh I remembered, loved. “Of course I remember. It was definitely not a textbook kind of date, you know.”

I laughed in reply, “No it wasn’t, not at all. You picked me up a quarter after seven, and we made it, maybe five miles before your car sputtered and died in the middle of traffic.”

“Good old, Molly. I’ll always love that 1997 Mercedes Benz.”

“It’s the only Mercedes we’ll ever be able to afford, not that I ever want another one of those awful things anyway.”

He snickered as we slowed, the traffic light blazing red. “After calling a tow truck and eating dinner at the Subway next door, I have to say, it was the best date I’ve ever been on.”

“Likewise, darling.” I turned to look at him, his smile fading, now deeply serious. I pursed my lips, his hand unclasping with mine.

“Let’s skip dinner tonight.” My eyes drove their way into his. “I have a better idea. If you trust me.”

I shook my head, the light turning green as the car rolled forward. “Of course I trust you. But I’m starving,” I offered him casually.

“I know. Just trust me.”

He burned a u-turn at the next light, speeding down the access road, passing several vehicles that glared at us angrily as we weaved our way around them. I gripped the door handle, as we sped forth in silence, the hum of the engine enveloping us, the night engulfing us.

Pulling into a partially vacant shopping center, the sunset blazing brightly, burning my eyes as I squinted to read the signs before us. Miles bounded out of the car, opening my door, pulling my hand as I struggled to get out of the car somewhat ladylike since I was wearing a dress.

“What are we doing?” I asked as he led me down the sidewalk, the summer heat rising from beneath my wedge sandals. He turned around, pulling my body against his, arms locked tightly around me. His eyes dove into mine, drawing out a sea of emotions as my heart began to race. Leaning down ever so slowly, his lips captured mine, kissing me gently at first but slowly deepening. We kissed often, but not like this. I could feel the fire in his mouth, tasting the wounds that had kept us from experiencing the physical love we had left behind weeks ago.

Rising for air a few moments later, a smile spread across my lips, and his followed. I felt the blood rush to my cheeks. “Wow. What was that for?”

“You said you missed us. I had forgotten what us felt like. I needed to be reminded,” his voice deep, breath hot as his hands ran across my back.

“I did say that. I love the reminder.” I pulled my arms from around his waist, taking his hand in mine as we walked forth, slowly.

And you know what? We had Subway for dinner that night, not the expensive steak dinner across town that we had made reservations for weeks prior. Afterwards, we walked hand in hand in the nature preserve a block away for more than an hour. Talking, laughing, crying…finding the goodness in each other once more. Rekindled, that’s what happened to our relationship last Saturday night. The embers were stoked to a rising flame once more in a million different ways.

..Alana

Copyright 2013

Written and owned by Valerie King at http://www.valeriekingbooks.com

Sacred Silence ~ Journal Entry #8

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Journal Entry #8

September 12th, 2013

Saturday the 14th is our seven year wedding anniversary.  Seven years celebrating the life we wove together as one, yet this year I feel farther from my husband than ever before. Becoming parents to Zach was supposed to change us for the better, to strengthen the bond even further. Instead it has pushed us a part.

I don’t feel normal. I feel broken. This morning I sat quietly in our home office, legs curled beneath me, a fleece throw around my frame even though it was eighty degrees just outside my window. Despite the temperature, I often feel chilled to the bone with despair. As I sipped my coffee slowly, my eyes fell upon a sparrow that landed on the windowsill, chirp loud and strong as it filled the quiet that consumed the house. Miles had already left for work long before I had ever willed myself out of bed.

Watching the tiny, magnificent feathered friend with wonder, I thought of what it might be like to fly. To spread my wings and become one with the wind. As my mind mirrored these reflections, I thought of how free it must feel to just “be”.

As I watched the tiny bird take flight, leaving me with a fleeting image of his presence, I continued to marvel at the simplicity of life. How delicate and freeing it really is. Life is not limitless. It is limited. We don’t have forever, we have only a few moments.

My eyes traced the platinum wedding band on my ring finger. I remember the moment Miles slipped it on my hand in front of three hundred guests as words of promise fell from his lips. It takes two to make a marriage work. It takes two to love and rediscover promises in happiness and in heartache.

I had taken flight with Miles nearly seven years ago. We had spread our wings and promised to fly together as one. With regret, I knew I had left his side and taken a different course on life, drifting across the breeze alone where I felt safe and secure in the memory of Zach. But life is not limitless. Life is limited.

Saturday is our seven year wedding anniversary. Who says we can’t find flight together again in a new direction. A direction of remembrance, but also rediscovery. I smiled at the thought this morning as I rose to my feet, flipping open my day planner and drawing a heart across the date 9/14/13.

I unleashed the gate of rediscovery in that moment. I took flight as a new woman, Zach’s face on my mind, and my heart in my husband’s hands. Loss had stolen me, but love could rekindle my spirit. I just had to remind myself how loved I truly was.

..Alana

Copyright 2013

Written and owned by Valerie King at http://www.valeriekingbooks.com

Sacred Silence Novel ~ Journal Entry #1

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Journal Entry #1

August 20th, 2013

This morning I stood in front of the long mirror nestled in the corner of our bedroom, running my hands over my still swollen stomach; only today it was soft and frightfully uninhabited. My fingers wove themselves together, cradling the crook of my belly that once held my baby boy as he grew sweetly for more than five precious months.

I swallowed hard at the reality that had hit me square in the face five days ago at this very hour. I glanced at the clock. 4:34pm; the time of Zachariah’s birth. That unforgettable afternoon that will remain forever embedded in the wreckage of my shattered memories for the rest of my life. My frame was disheveled, my hair a complete mess, and my face swollen from continued bouts of crying when the thoughts of my indescribable loss arose.

Miles had immersed himself back at work today, the words between the two of sparse. Perhaps neither of us knew what to say anymore, how to cope together, leaving each of us to mourn Zachariah on our own.

Work was waiting for me, but I wasn’t sure I could ever return. Not for a good long while. I knew it would be excruciatingly hard to keep my frazzled emotions in tact with the sea of people I saw on a daily basis, but it was also the place where the loss of my little boy had begun. The thought had crossed my mind more than once that perhaps returning to Dr. Parson’s office was completely out of the question. I wasn’t sure I could ever step foot into the one place I knew hurt lurked; where it had swallowed me whole and stolen my very livelihood away.

It wasn’t healthy to try and cope alone, but whenever I felt the urge to run to my husband’s arms, hurting and compassionately broken, I stopped dead in my tracks each and every time. Somehow I knew I wouldn’t find the remedy in his arms; not for now at least. Such a thought was unnaturally wrong. He was my husband, for God’s sake. Yet, I can’t bring myself to confront him. Not now. Maybe never. The truth tears at my heart. So I weep, alone. The image of my baby boy on my mind every waking moment. And it hurts. Oh how it hurts.

.. Alana

Copyright 2013

Written and owned by Valerie King at http://www.valeriekingbooks.com

Sacred Silence Novel ~ ZACH

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“Sacred Silence”

ZACH

August 15th, 2013

Withered. That is how I feel…here, now. Like a full, succulent red rose whose vibrant color enlightened those who encountered it, enchanting each with the fullness of summer’s glory, only to droop of unquenchable thirst from the dry season that fell upon it as the days passed.

For years I had remained a thorny bush, green leaves curling on end, but no bud produced, to grow fully into a cushion of silky, fragrant petals that claimed the senses with such ease.

Six and a half months ago I had felt the rush of living water flow through my veins finally, bathing my spirit with such eloquent beauty and sustenance. Life was forming, growing in a shadowed corner of the garden where I felt I would always remain without beauty, without a blossom that the world often hungers for, that I had always hungered for since I was a young girl.

Yet after years of standing alone amongst a fruitful garden, I had been handed the God given gift I had longed for, a bud forming on the tip of my thorn ridden life, so welcomed and so cherished from the very first moment of its unexpected arrival. From the very first instant of knowing I could envelope and nourish new life, that I wasn’t barren.

Yet today, I’m dying. My heart has fled, leaving an empty hole where it once beat with gratefulness for two. My eyes are hazy, scarred with a pool of hurtful tears that beg to wash me away to a world where hurt no longer lies. Yet if I let this moment go to soon, I know solid regret will find me. Somehow, I must find the goodness here as I hold him; to love him the best way I know how. He’s mine, and I must show him so.

Zachariah. That’s his name. Zach, my sweet angel whose eyes will never see his mother’s face, but somehow has stolen her spirit anyway. My heart beats for him although his is silent, still…broken. He’s tiny. His frail body filling my hands, his skin delicate, but perfect all the same. Perfect in my eyes, and in his father’s.

I stroke his cheek, the pad of my thumb caressing his moist skin that grows ever cold as we lay huddled in my hospital bed, the quiet murdering my thoughts as I muddle over every square inch of his frame, trying desperately to remember every part of him. I mustn’t forget a single curve, finger or toe. I made this, molded this, his father and I out of pure love. He’d want me to remember how he was wonderfully made; I’m his mother. It would be wrong for me to forget the most hidden pieces of my child. The way his hand feels within mine, and how his ears so tiny, remain deaf even though words pour from my mouth as to how much I love him, cherish him…miss him.

My husband’s arm cradles my shoulder, pulling me into a warm embrace that still leaves me bitterly cold. His face is expressionless as he pushes his raw emotions inward, unable and unwilling to wrestle with reality that his son is lifeless, departed.

“Do you want to hold him, darling?” I turn to look at my husband through fractured dark blue eyes, tears moistening the tips of my lashes, tickling my cheeks every time I blink.

He shakes his head no, placing his left hand instead on the top of our son’s baldhead, sweeping across it gently as his jaw tightens. Anger radiates from his cheeks, blushing a deep, swollen red as a single tear glides down his unshaven, shadowed face.

I push myself deeper into his chest, nuzzling my shoulder against his heart that races wildly out of sorrow. Raising my forefinger, I brush the tiny pale lips of my Zachariah: his father’s lips. I feel my stomach flip as emptiness tears at me, stifling a deep, monstrous groan of immeasurable loss.

“Why?” My husband’s voice is soft, but harsh. “Why us, Alana? We’ve waited so long for a child, and he’s been stolen from our arms. Why?”

The question drew the air from my lungs, my heart hurting as agony coaxed its wounded ego once more. I felt my eyes wither with another bout of angry tears, as I fought to stay grounded just a little while longer.

“He wasn’t stolen from us, Miles.” I felt him pull away, causing me to sit up straight as he shifted his weight from behind. My gaze turned toward his, both of us empty, hardened and sad. “Did you hear what I said?” I breathed slowly, drawing Zach closer to my chest.

I watched him shake his head, his lips curling into a grieving snarl as he let go, the howl of a haunted father echoing amongst the white washed walls of our quaint, unabashed hospital room. He shifted himself off the bed, walking over to the one solemn window that overlooked Dallas, as night fell, and the lights of the bustling city awoke.

Lying back against the pillows, I let my head sink into the softness behind me, my back aching from giving birth. And my husband, seething with anger, completely unwilling to deal with what life had handed us this lonely August afternoon, staring out into the great void of a world that would never hold the hand of Zachariah.

He cleared his throat, pretending to be perfectly entranced by the world outside. “Yes, yes Alana…I heard what you said. But I don’t believe it. That little boy in your arms was my son; our son.” He rested his weary head against his forearm, his other hand tucked into the pocket of his khaki dress pants. “After three years of trying for a child, God granted us a miracle. The doctors told you we might not ever have a child, but we did,” his voice was eerily deep as he spoke.

Turning to face me slowly, I looked into his deep, dark hazel eyes that were now ringed with red. “We had a son.”

“We have a son, Miles.” I spat back at him insistently; my cheeks warm with tempered anger as I spoke. “We have him! Stop talking about Zach like he doesn’t exist. He does! Look at him. Hold your son, Miles. Whether he ever took a breath or not, he’s still your son!” The tears began to pour from the corners of my eyes as I leaned my head over, pulling Zach’s face to my lips as I kissed him over and over, my chest aching with sheer distraught.

I felt his arms slip around me once more, his lips finding the nape of my neck as he kissed me gently. Warm tears fell onto my skin as he let his mouth wander across my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Alana. I just feel so lost, so empty. I don’t want to hurt you, baby. I love you so very much,” his words soothing my spirit ever so sweetly as I tried to catch my hindered breath.

The words weren’t there, so instead I lifted my left hand, enveloping his that wove themselves around my drooping shoulders. Squeezing his fingers, he squeezed mine back, our love a true testament this very moment as we relished the final moments of being a complete family. The very thought of such a bittersweet ending brought the walls tumbling down again within my soul as I relived the horrifying event that had brought me here.

Early labor had landed me in the emergency room only eight hours ago. A dizzying afternoon that had pulled Miles out of a real estate meeting with a potential client, and left me crumbled in a heap on the floor of the dental office where I worked across town.

The pain struck out of nowhere. Death defying pain that caught hold of my breath as I stepped out of a patient’s room, exam gloves still on my hands, and a mask still on my face as I struggled to breath through the excruciating contractions of an all too early birth. My fellow co-worker, Meredith, grabbed me around the waist before I slid to the floor, warm liquid soaking through my scrub bottoms leaving a blood tinged pool on the cold tile around me.

That was it. This was the beginning of the end for me, for Miles, and for my dear sweet boy. Now here I sit, no longer swollen and full, but broken and completely shattered for a life that couldn’t be saved, my beautiful, departed son in my arms, and the dream of motherhood stolen from my world as I prepared to say goodbye to the little boy who would never know the meaning of visual love.

Zach’s heart will always remain entangled with mine, for a lifetime and then some. Whether here for a fleeting moment, or years on end, a child, your child, molds you instantly once they nestle within your womb. It reminds you how precious life is and how short it can often be. In my case, it paints a vibrant picture of what a miracle looks like in the face of my son. That’s one valid piece of truth I can always hold onto for forever and a day. I have a son. He is and always will be, my little miracle.

Copyright 2013

All material written and owned by Valerie King. http://www.valeriekingbooks.com

*In an effort to remember the little ones lost, IntelliGender has partnered with Beautifully Chaotic Blog to support and honor women who have lost a child. You can leave your child’s name on our sign-up sheet to be included in this year’s “We Remember You” walk held each year on Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness day in the month of October. If you would like to include your angel baby, please use our form here to do so. 

Beautifully Chaotic’s Mission Statement

We Remember You exists first to reach out to parents and families touched by the loss of a baby to miscarriage, stillbirth, birth defects, abortion, SIDS, and any other form of infant loss. We honor the short but important lives of these babies and honor the grief and healing of their parents and families. By recognizing these babies by name we acknowledge the impact they have had on the world.

Second, we exist to link with other organizations, sites, and individuals who have the same passion; creating community and unity while furthering their reach.

Third, we exist to raise money for the Art Card Project, providing comfort and resources for women/families experiencing a loss in the form of a small card to be distributed by Dr’s offices, Hospitals and Birthing Centers and other organizations.