Monday, December 31, 2012

The end of a horrible year

2012 is about to end forever. Normally, a new year doesn't mean much to me. It's just another day in another month in another year. I've never been one to make meaningless resolutions, or to think life is going to change dramatically just because the date has changed. This new year feels different.

2012 has been horrible. What we've been through can compare to nothing else. The events of 2012 have left us forever changed.

In 2012, with joy and unending love, we said hello to our precious little Samuel.

 In 2012, with anguish and horror, we were forced to say goodbye.

Nothing on earth can ever undo what's been done.

2012 is written on our hearts forever. I can not and will not ever forget this year.

This year has pushed us to the brink. We have realized what truly matters, we have realized the depths of our love, and we have realized the strength of our bond. We have felt a sorrow like no other. We have felt the constant pain of missing our son deeply and wishing with all our might we could have kept him. Sometimes, I don't know how we have made it this long without him. There have been so many days I would have left this world behind in an instant if I'd only been given that option. Even as I sit to write this I imagine how nice it would be to just throw in the towel and say, "I give up, I'm done."

As I think back on this year, I'm tired. It's been a roller-coaster of emotions and events. I'm tired just thinking of it all. Sometimes I still can't believe this is really our life.

As we look to the new year, I find myself oddly hopeful. I am ready for something new. I'm ready for hope and healing. I'm ready to stop feeling horrible all the time. I want to find a way to be happy again, even though I understand that happiness will never be the same. My heart is missing a piece that can never be replaced on this side of heaven. I have to learn how to live with that Samuel-sized hole in my heart and soul. I have to find a way to make the new kind of happiness that comes from a broken heart. I imagine it will be always shadowed by his absence, but that's ok. He is forever a part of me and I'm glad.

Bryan and I talked last night about the new year. What do we want, what should we do? We know we will have to find a way to recreate our hopes and dreams. Our family will never be complete in this lifetime, so what does that mean for us? I don't know yet. I asked him, "How do you feel about starting a new year?" He said, "It's going to be a better year". I asked him why and he replied, "Well, it can't possibly be worse!" I hope he's right. I hope this new year brings us comfort and peace, healing and health. I hope we don't have to lose another person we love. We know now that nothing is certain and life happens whether you want it to or not. But I do hope we can keep those we love from now on. And I wish will all my might we could have kept him.

To 2012 I say, good riddance... to 2013 I say, please be gentle. We could really use some good in our lives.

Tonight we will look back on this year and be thankful for the time we had with our son. We will hurt once again that he left and hold each other tightly as we imagine the next year without him. We will know each day that passes brings us one day closer to the day we'll be with him again, and somehow we will find the courage and strength to step forward into a new year.

For those who have loved and supported us this past year, we say a heartfelt thank you! Sometimes, it's only because of your words and caring gestures that we've made it to the next day.

From our family to yours, we wish you all a peaceful and prosperous new year.

Friday, December 28, 2012

a little gift from heaven

(Yep, it's a two-post kinda day again).

After a very stormy morning/early afternoon, something happened to bring a bit of sunshine...

Samuel sent us flowers! <3

It made my day. I love the little snuggle bear that came with them. If it's the closest thing I have to a Samuel cuddle, I'll take it.

Funny how a small gesture on the part of a caring person can totally change my day. Thank you to Samuel's little helper. You've given a mama a bit of happiness <3

Fed up

I'm fed up. With this life, with people, with holidays, with missing him constantly, with Mankato and hospitals...the list is long today. I'm tired of it seeming like there is only a tiny handful of people who truly miss him. I'm tired of imagining what he would be doing/looking like/smelling like/sounding like. I want to be with him instead. I'm tired of living in a world where you have to explain to people why it's sad that your baby has died. Why are people so incredibly lacking when it comes to empathy? They have sympathy for about 10 seconds and then it becomes this sort of irritation that I would be bothering them with his death, as if my pain and loss are an inconvenience to their lives. So sorry that my loss is hurting your perfect life where babies don't die and hearts don't break.

I'm just so tired.

Every day is just another day without him. We try to make the most of our life, but what does that even mean anymore?

It's really hard to parent a baby that's not here with you. I love him and try to do things to give extra special meaning to his life and nothing seems to go anywhere. I plan events, I do projects, I ask for help: it's all for naught. So I'm starting to wonder why I bother. We love him and his life is meaningful to us. Maybe that's enough.

When I'm really missing him a lot (read: today and everyday), I sing to him. I have zero clue if he can hear me, but really, who cares?

This is another thing I'm tired of...having no real idea what it's like for him now. Yes, I believe he is in heaven, but what does that mean? Is he a baby, a little boy, a spirit? I don't know. What does he do all day? Is someone taking care of him? I don't know. I try to imagine it and just get mad. I want to know more. I know there are all these books about people going to heaven and then coming back to tell all about it, but I don't really believe them. I don't think anyone really knows. Do you know what it's like to have no idea what your baby is doing at all times of every day? I do. It's maddening.

I just try my best to remember it's good. I just say that over and over: It's good. He's so happy. It's beautiful. Over and over.

Life would have been good if he hadn't died.

The following are from the blog, For the Love of baby Liam.

Have you Ever

Have you ever watched your child die?

Have you ever held his hand, feeling the life that grew within you slip away, breath by painful breath?

Have you ever kissed a cold gray cheek, knowing you will never kiss it again while helpless tears rolled down your own?

Have you ever left your child-the child you dreamed of, the child you love-knowing the next time you visit him, it will be at his grave?

Have you ever sat at your window at midnight waiting for sleep, waiting for any escape from a nightmare that won't go away, only to watch dawn bring nothing but reminders of what you will never have?

Have you ever watched the world forget the person you love the most saying "you'll have another one" or "move on" or "let go" as if he were a book or a pen, or a bad haircut that could be replaced or erased as if he didn't matter, as if he had never been?

Have you ever looked at your future knowing someone will always be missing? Have you ever looked at your past knowing some things can never be changed?  Have you ever looked at your present and felt nothing, saw nothing but guilt and anger and loss?

If you haven't - then don't tell me what to think. Don't tell me how to act.  Don't tell me how to feel.  Don't tell me to get over it... because I never will.

Part of Me...
I thought of you with love today, but that is nothing new.
I thought about you yesterday and the day before that too.
I think of you in silence. I often say your name.
But all I have are memories and your picture in a frame.
Your memory is my keepsake, with which I'll never part.
God has you in His keeping. I have you in my heart.
I shed tears for what might have been. A million times I've cried.
If love alone could have saved you, you never would have died.
In life I loved you dearly. In death I love you still.
In my heart you hold a place, no one can ever fill.
It broke my heart to lose you, but you didn't go alone.
For part of me went with you, the day God took you home.
I miss him <3

Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Christmas without him

It's just after midnight and Christmas is finally over.

Thank. Goodness.

It's been so sad, so empty, and so meaningless for us. There is not a moment where we're not imagining the immense joy that should have been.  He should have been dressed in his adorable little suit with a tiny bow tie. He should have been scooting around under the tree in amazement of lights and all sorts of pretty things. He should have been tasting mashed potatoes and yams and maybe just a tiny lick of a holiday treat. We should have been so full of love and joy and contentment.

We should have been sharing our lives with the one we love so much.

But we're not and it's been heartbreaking.

We had this big plan to go away to some tropical destination and pretend we had no idea what this "Christmas" thing was. But after many attempts, nothing worked out. So, instead, we decided to go to Minneapolis for a couple days. Before all this sadness and mess, Bryan and I loved to get away for little weekend trips all the time. We would just pack a bag, book a hotel and get outta town for some fun and relaxation. I probably don't need to tell you that hasn't happened in a long time.

We knew being home would be too sad, so we packed up and headed for a few days of being in the city. We make reservations all over the city at new restaurants and planned to just hide in the crowds for at least a little while. The hotel was very nice and wasn't very busy so we didn't have to face tons of happy families. We chose "adult" restaurants and didn't run in to any children. It was good. It helped us remember that we can enjoy our time alone together, even if we're always missing our little Samuel. We talked a lot, ate some amazing food - Masa is super yummy! - and watched a lot of cable (we don't have it at home). All in all, it was nice to get away.

We came home last night. We wanted to be alone at home for the actual day so we could read the notes/cards from people who had done good in Samuel's name. We decided to set up the small tree Bryan usually uses in his man cave for sports-related ornaments in the living room and decorate it for Samuel. Just like almost everything we do for him, it was bittersweet. It is nice to have a visual reminder of his life but sad to think of what we're missing every day.

This is his little stocking from last year.
When I had asked people to help us make a difference in Samuel's name, I pictured us opening card after card, feeling how special our little guy is, and knowing his life touched the lives of so many others.  I forgot to consider how few people would actually take the time to do anything. We only got  a few cards/notes. I did my very best not to hurt or feel angry. Instead, I decided to feel very grateful for the few very special notes we did get.

To those who participated: Thank you from the bottom of our hearts. We sat together this morning and read them. We imagined our baby making life better for others and it warmed our hearts. Thank you for taking the time.

It's starting to settle into our hearts that this is how our lives will always be. So many people just don't care enough about others. It's just the way it is. We have realized this past year who our friends are (and are not!). We have realized how selfish and thoughtless people can be. But we've also realized there are some people who will follow you into the depths of hell and hold your hand while doing so. Those people mean the world to us. The rest will soon be forgotten.

To end on a nice note, Bryan and I both broke our "we don't want any presents" agreement and got each other a few small gifts. I guess we both just love each other too much to let it go unnoticed. He got me a box of truffle chocolates from Samuel. some super yummy smelling bubble bath and a spa gift card. I'm already looking forward to a massage and pedicure. I forget a lot of time to take care of myself. I've been through a lot and need some TLC. He knew it and I love him for it. I got him a gift card to his favorite home improvement store, a new video game, and a book called I love my Daddy! from Samuel. We made the best of this day we could. There were lots of tears and a big nap, but we did the best we could.

I wonder what Samuel did in heaven?

I sure do miss my little guy <3


Here's our Christmas card/birth announcement. Thank you to our good friend, Adrienne, for making this for us.  We love it!!

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Faith's Lodge Holiday Tribute

On Saturday, Bryan and I went to the annual Holiday Tribute for families who have visited Faith's Lodge. It was a small gathering in Minneapolis at the Woman's Club.

There were a few speakers, some special songs and then a candle-lighting ceremony. Each family got up and lit their candle for their baby/child and said his or her name. It was beautiful and special but very sad. So many families! It was only a tiny representation of the community of people who will be missing their sweet little one this Christmas.

I cried a lot of the way through the service, but it was good and I'm glad we went. Faith's Lodge is such an amazing place. Please consider donating to them if you're looking to make a holiday contribution. 

Here is the video of the children remembered at the ceremony. Only families who sent in a photo are listed.

Samuel's friend, Hannah, is at 3:15. Samuel is at 4:22.


My heart has been very heavy the past few days. I miss my baby. Deeply. I try to imagine what he would be doing or what he would look like. In my mind, I try to play out my days with him. It's all for naught. He's gone and I will never know life on earth with him.

It's so quiet in our house all the time. I try to imagine the sounds that should be filling our home with joy and love. There is always something missing. A cry, a babble, a banging toy, a giggle, a story, a song; all things not happening at our house every day. Too much silence. 

I miss him so much.

After the tragedy on Friday, I thought about the world we live in. Babies dying, children dying, parents/friends/family members dying. This life is so broken.

I read post after post on FB about how everyone was so sad and how they were going to hold their children close that night. All I could think was, why does it take a horrific tragedy to make people realize their children's worth? I would be hugging Samuel close every single moment I could. (Although I'm sure he would be pushing me away already in favor of the nearest toy).

I'm just very sad.

I'm so sad for those involved. I'm sad for the parents who are devastated beyond consolation right now. I'm sad that, for now, they will have tons of love and support, but it won't be long until it all goes away and they'll be left alone to try to live this nightmare. (I wonder how long it'll be before they get their first "it's time to get over this"?) I'm sad for the surviving children who were there. They are traumatized. Their childhoods have been stolen from them. I'm sad for the families of the adults who were killed because they seem to be overlooked because of the children. They were someone's baby too. I'm sad for all the parents who lost babies and children that same day but didn't get flags lowered for their little ones or  photos on every news channel. I wish every mama and daddy who loses a baby/child would get the attention and sadness this has brought about. Every life ended too soon is tragic. No matter how or when or why. Babies and children should never die. When they do, it's heartbreaking. Every baby/child that dies deserves memorials and vigils and public acknowledgment. Yet so many deaths go unnoticed. I guess people just want to pretend it doesn't happen every single day.

Mostly, I'm sad because it's just further proof that this world is a mess.

I'm so tired of this life.I'm tired of being without him. I'm tired of trying to pick of the pieces. I'm tired of trying to figure out where to go from here.

Bryan and I can't seem to figure out what to do this coming weekend/week. When we decided to not celebrate the holiday, we forgot that we'll still have to do something on those days he has off. Everything we try to plan just falls apart. The more we push to make something happen, the more we realize we both just want to fast forward to January first. (Better yet, to the day we go to sleep forever and wake up in heaven). Nothing feels right because nothing is right. When there is supposed to be a baby in Christmas jammies ripping open presents along side you, and he's not there, nothing can be right.

I hope the next two weeks go quickly.

Please hold every parent missing their little love in your heart as you celebrate. Not everyone will be having a merry Christmas.

Friday, December 14, 2012

Eight Months

My little guy must be getting so big!

I imagine him sitting in heaven with blocks and wooden trucks he's crashing together, with a huge smile, babbling away to anyone who will listen. It breaks my heart I'm not with him.

I would give anything to see him and be with him. Today is a heavy-heart kind of day, with lots of tears already and it's only 6am. Maybe today is a "just stay in bed" sort of day.

I miss him so much. I can't believe he's not here to play with and snuggle and smother with kisses.

Bryan and I talked for a while last night about what he might look like now. I bet he still looks like his daddy. I bet he has a big smile with a few little teeth popping through and bright big eyes that sparkle. I bet he's a mostly calm little guy like his daddy, but with a spunky side like his mama. I bet he loves animals and books and listening to beautiful music.

I wonder what it's like to grow up in heaven? Beautiful and perfect and amazing.

I want to go too.

I don't understand why we've been left here to try to live without him. How will I make it for another 50-70 years without him? What a mess this life is.

I miss him so much today.

Happy eight months little man! We love you so very much! We hope your great-grandmas are taking extra good care of you and spoiling you a lot today. We can't wait to see you again and hear all about it.

Love and kisses, 
mama and daddy

Now to go find some Kleenex and my comforter. It's going to be a hard day.

Thursday, December 13, 2012

The Maze

I once heard grief described as a maze. You can't get out, you don't know where it ends and you never know what's around each corner. Oh, how true this is for me.

Recently, I've found myself in a strange and unfamiliar part of this maze. (Let's be honest, it's all uncharted territory). It's one where the intense emotions have lessened and, for the first time in such a very long time, I've started to feel like I can function a little again. I've been leery of writing about this because I already have people making incorrect assumptions about the impact of a baby dying. Some seem to think it's a "bad event" that can be "gotten over" with time. I can't fathom how people can believe the loss of a baby is nothing short of tragic and life changing, but, probably for self-preservation, this idea persists in society. I've tried to be as open and honest as I can about what it's actually like for me. I want to tell my story as it happens so people can realize how nightmarish and utterly heartbreaking it is to live without the baby you love and want so much.

But also, as I said before, since I decided to just let the emotions come  and not force or change them, I'm going to write about a change that has happened over the past few weeks. The most important message I want to convey is that in no way has my deep and unending love for Samuel gone away or changed. It's still just as intense as it's always been. Also, the feelings of longing and desire for him to be with us is just as strong as before. I will always love and miss him. For the rest of my life. That will not change. If you read this and think I'm "over it" or "moving on", then you are not understanding me. Grief ebbs and flows. Good days don't mean anything other than that you happen to be having a good day. Nothing more, nothing less.

With all that being said, something has changed since the one-year anniversary of his diagnosis. I really don't know what specifically brought about this change, I can only tell you that it happened. Maybe my brain finally gave up fighting and realized this is really my life forever. Maybe it's just been so long that we've been under stress that psychologically I needed a break. Maybe it's that so many people have kept him alive in our lives by talking about him, sending us things for him, and making him apart of our new normal. (I think it take a lot of pressure off when you know that other people love and miss him too). I really can't say. All I know is that the unbearable, overwhelming, can't-possibly-function-each-day type of pain has taken a break. I can't say it's gone because I don't believe it will never return. I think I just have found a sense of calm for now. Who knows what tomorrow will bring? For today, and for the past few days, I have found it. It's very strange. I keep waiting for something to happen to knock me down again. But, I'm not going to seek it out. I have learned that I can love and miss him deeply, while still functioning. It's very strange.

All this mess with the boxes has shown me that I can take this horrible experience to help induce change in a city that desperately needs it. It's given me a determination to teach and explain. You know the saying, "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned"? Well, for me, human nature hath no determination like a BLM who wants her son's short life to make a difference in this world. I have every intention of not only getting the hospital to accept the boxes, but also to help them understand better why they are so important. Thank you all for supporting me in this effort. My plan as of now is to set up a meeting with the head nurse of the OB department, and possibly talking to the local media. From there, who knows...

All this is to say that life right at this moment is different than it's been in a while. I miss my little Samuel all day every day. There is never an hour that goes by without me missing him and feeling sad that he's not here with us. I'm going to try to help other babyloss families in our community. Hopefully, it won't be a battle. Hopefully, people will realize how much help is needed. Hopefully, together, we can all change the way babyloss is seen and handled by the public. There is no worse pain that losing a child. If I can help make this known, I'll do it. I think Samuel would be proud of his mama.

I miss him. <3. Today and everyday.

And just like so many, many other families with broken hearts and lost dreams, I'm going to keep making my way way through the maze. Who knows where I'll end up...

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

Doing some good - Part II

As you may have read, for Christmas this year, we are asking people to do good in Samuel's name and then tell us about it. We will read the cards and eamils on Christmas morning as a way to honor his life.

Read here for the original post.

To help make it easier, I've created some cards you can print and hand out. Then, the recipient can share their story and pay it forward as well.

I know my little Samuel is going to bring a lot of happiness to people this Christmas, if you'd be willing to help.

Thank you so much!

Click Here for the document to print

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Speechless, follow-up

After I took some time to clear the feelings of disappointment and frustration, I carefully outlined my thoughts and took action. (Overemotional conversations won't get me anywhere!)  I called the social worker back.

I said, I wanted to take a moment to process things before calling you. I'm very disappointed about the boxes because I believe Mankato is a very under-served community. There are no support groups, no help for mothers who have lost babies, and very few services at the hospital to help a family make the best of the very short and precious time they have with their baby. We created these boxes out of love to help make a very horrible time, slightly better for these families. It's very important to me that the families in our community don't feel as alone as we did. There is no reason why a family should be denied help in these situations.

We went on to have a conversation about what specifically I felt is lacking*  and ways we could work together. I also asked if I could speak with the nursing staff to give suggestions and have a discussion about what it's like to lose a baby. She is going to work on getting that to happen.

*I FINALLY got to explain to her how horrible it is to have a bereavement counseling session in the OB office with pregnant and new mamas in the waiting room with you!

She told me the reason they were not going to accept the boxes is for health reasons (she mentioned lice). I don't understand this because everything in the boxes is brand-new and unopened. It sounded like a brushoff to me.  (Plus, I know they give out hand-knit blankets so that blows that explanation out of the water). 

I've also gotten SO MUCH feedback and help from people who feel just as strongly about this as I do. Our NILMDTS photographer, Sherry, called to give my contacts she has on the OB floor. I've already called and left a message.

A few other people have suggested going to the local media. I really like this idea because not only will it help make this happen, but it's also a way to reach the other babyloss families in the area.

I'm going to work on this more. I will not let this be the end. Babyloss families need help and support.

Mankato has one of the only hospitals in the area. It's the only hospital I know of that has a labor and delivery department. It's serves many communities. I can't begin to imagine why they wouldn't need/want this and other services.

Thank you all so much for your help and concern. Samuel is going to make a difference in this community if I have anything to say about it. <3

Will you help? If you ever received a care box after the loss of your baby, will you share your story? I hope to compile the list of stories and give them to the hospital/newspaper as I pursue this further. Send them to 


I'm speechless.

A couple months ago, Bryan and I decided to create care boxes for families who lose a baby at our local hospital. I put a lot of work into them, people gave us money to help cover the costs and I did my best to include all the things I thought would make the time in the hospital a little less hard.

Here are some photos:

We've been waiting to hear back from them about when we could bring them in, and I just got a call from the social worker from the hospital.

I'm speechless.

Apparently, "after much consideration", the care boxes we made for the hospital will not be accepted! They won't use them.


Way to leave families without any support during the worst time of their lives.

I could just throw up.

We made them for our hospital because they didn't seem to know what to do when we were there. I didn't want another family to feel like we did. I guess they don't understand.

(This is the same hospital that requires social worker visits in the office with new babies/pregnant mamas after a woman has lost her baby. (Dummies)).

I don't know whether to cry or go shake them into understanding.

The boxes are all made and ready to go. Now what do I do with them?

I need to go process this...
Follow-up: see here for more of the story. 

Monday, December 10, 2012

Faith's Lodge

This past weekend, Bryan and I went away to Faith's Lodge. It's a beautiful place for families affected by babyloss, childhood illness, or the loss of a child. It's amazing and I'm so glad we went.

We had been thinking of going for the past few months, and things just came together for us to go this time. We arrived on Thursday and left on Sunday. As I'm sure a lot of other people who go say, it wasn't long enough. I wish I could just move in for a few months. 

There are so many things to say about it. First, it's just beautiful. It's very rustic-looking and has been decorated from top to bottom with beautiful things from nature. There are leather sofas and wooden tables and photos of flowers and animals every where you look. There are fireplaces in just about every room and you can tell they really took the time to make every person's stay as comfortable as possible. Every family has a private suite with a fireplace and a beautiful view of the woods/lake.  Here are some photos:

The view from the woods

The library

the massive deck overlooking the lake

the living room

living room (the craft room is through those open doors)

the lake

another view of the lodge
It's really hard for me to put into words what this weekend was like. There were three other couples there with us. Each one lost their first and only baby. Two of the couples had also carried a baby with a fatal condition, and the other couple lost their baby unexpectedly at birth. I can't really describe the emotions of being with people who just get it. You feel so normal and comfortable with them because they instantly understand what you're feeling. They know what it means to miss and love their baby. They know the horror and pain of hearing the news that their baby will not live and you don't have to explain a thing. There is such a peace that comes from being in a safe environment like that. You don't have to worry about your reactions/tears/etc because they get it. It's good to feel safe in that way. Simultaneously, you hate being in a place that was made for this purpose. You hate that you would never know these people if your baby had not died. It's so comforting to know you're not alone, but horrible that these precious babies did not live. Like we all said, we hate that this place exists, but we're so glad it does!

We spend much of the weekend talking with the other couples, sharing our stories and our sweet babies with one another. There is a special table in the common area for each family to share special photos and other things from their baby. 
Our things for Samuel <3

Faith Rose <3

Kadence Love <3

Gabriel Thomas <3
I imagine our babies meeting up in heaven and looking down on us together. I love to meet the parent's of Samuel's friends <3.

During the stay, you can do whatever you'd like. You can participate in arts/crafts, you can watch movies, play games, talk, read, nap, take a walk, whatever feels right to you. We all painted birdhouses, rocks, and made stepping stones. The men made wooden signs. We all talked and worked and ate together. It was so good. (We did all joke about how silly it sounds for adults to sit around doing little craft projects, but it just worked for us. It's good to keep busy and be creative.) It's a very laid back environment. 

our stepping stone

Bryan, working hard at his sign

me, painting our rock

Our rock <3

The almost finished sign (he plans to stain it)

There is a Bridge of Hope near the lake where everyone who comes to Faith's Lodge sets the rock with their baby/child's name. It's a way to honor and remember all the children missing on this earth. It's both beautiful and sad to see all the rocks.

We found our friend Erin's babies, and put Samuel's rock near by. (I actually made two rocks. I made the one with him on it first, but loved it too much to leave behind. So we made another one to leave with the others).
Hannah and Charlie <3

The second rock for Samuel <3

Leaving our rock with all the others. (it was snowing)

We had to clear the snow to find the perfect spot.

In every room, there is a journal of all the stories from every guest who has stayed in that room. It's heartbreaking to read all the stories. So many babies/children missing <3. On the last night, Bryan and I went off alone to think about Samuel and write out his story.

our Little Love story
Overall, it was a very meaningful time for us. I just kept thinking, "I wish you could just move in to a place like this for the first year after your baby dies". It's like a little bit of heaven. It's very peaceful and healing. I loved it.

I hope we can go back again someday.

(Here are some photos from our walk.  Just for fun.)

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Doing Some Good - Will You Help?

A new friend of mine has such an amazing idea for how to honor her son this Christmas, I've decided to do the same for Samuel.

Will you join us in doing some good in Samuel's name?

Starting now, and up to December 24th, will you do something good in Samuel's name and then share it with us? It can be anything... a good deed (carrying someones bags to the car, helping a neighbor put up lights/shovel/etc) or a unexpected gift (paying for the coffee of the person behind you in line), charitable contributions (we love NILMDTS), or any other thing - big or small -  that you feel would make someone's day/life better.  See below for more ideas*

This is what we are asking:
1. Do the good deed,
2. Tell the person/charity, "We're doing this in memory of Samuel Evan" (or baby Samuel).
3. Write us a card with "Remembering Samuel" written on the outside or send an email to RememberingSamuelEvan (at) gmail (dot) com and tell us about it. If it's something where you can take photos, we'd love to see them too. (Please be sensitive, we don't want photos of pregnant woman or babies.)
4. On Christmas Day, we will open and read the cards/emails together and then save them in Samuel's memory box.

Our goal is to have a big pile of cards/emails to see how our little Samuel has made a difference this Christmas.

Thank you for helping make Samuel's short life meaningful <3