"You get what you pay for, but I just had no intention of living this way." -Counting Crows

Why We're Here...

My husband David and I delivered a stillborn Baby Boy that we loved, and wanted. Our first and only son, Logan, had Down Syndrome. Our daughter's smile is a little light in the darkness. She turned one year old three days after our sweet Logan tip-toed away on January 24, 2009. After 2 1/2 years we found out we were having another baby, whom we affectionatly called Rudy. Just shy of 6 weeks we found out Rudy was Ectopic. Rudy was surgically removed on May 26, 2011 delivering another blow to our already broken hearts.

Seeing Logan's Tree for the first time

This odd feeling seems to be the norm lately.  The shadowy, gnawing ache.  Sometimes it comes front and center, but most times these days its been hanging out in the background, vaguely reminding me that I'm hurt.  I'm not fond of it, but it is certainly better than being in the gut wrenching pain all of the time.

After almost exactly 8 months since Logan's death, his tree finally made it into the ground at the park down the street.  We went and visited it yesterday for the first time, on our anniversary.  It just seemed appropriate to me.  The tree wasn't planted exactly where I wanted it (close to the toddler playscape) its off to the right a little, and away from the playscapes.  I think the tree is better off in that location, further away from idiotic teens who are known to linger in the park and make trouble.  The tree looks nice.  I couldn't  help but feel like its presence was insignificant.  A sad replacement.  "I couldn't give you life baby, so here's a tree."  I don't know.  It just seemed...lame.  I have trouble convincing myself that the tree is to let the world know that there was a little boy here, and not a ridiculous replacement of him.  David appreciated the tree.  He felt like I did a good job.  I stood there a minute, alone, and contemplated.  I felt more apologetic than anything I guess.  I just kept thinking I was sorry.  Sorry I couldn't make it work, sorry I couldn't save him, sorry he wouldn't get to experience life, sorry that I planted this dumb tree...just sorry for everything.

I pushed Aubrey on the swings while David took a few minutes to himself at the tree.  It seemed odd.  Aubrey has no clue.  "Hey mom, we're at the park, let's swing!!"  Like I could explain to her why we were really at the park.  The day was riddled with oddities, the visit at the park no exception to that.  A young girl, maybe 8 or so, came riding up on her bike and started asking all sorts of questions about the tree.  Did you plant that tree?  Why?  Why would you plant a tree when you son dies?  How old was he?  So you only knew him for a few days?  Oh.  You didn't even get to hold him? (I left out that detail)  What was wrong with him?  What's that?  Are you sad?  Well at least you have her.  You can have another one.  Where is he?  (Ok, this info was a bit much for her perhaps but I didn't know what else to say, I was in shock).  She wouldn't go away.  Here we are trying to find peace, trying to not attack the tree in our fury, trying not to have a mental breakdown in the middle of a park and this little girl wouldn't go away!!  We eventually left because she was so annoying.  The night went on to give more and more odd things to me.

But, the tree is in and that makes me relieved, if nothing else.  Relieved its over with, the waiting anyway.  Now for the ashes...


Mary said...

Heather, looks very nice on the green grass. I love the plaque that was also installed. Logan will always be remembered. I wish your moment wasn't so plagued with questions. Children are innocent but there innocence stings sometimes.

Holding you in my heart.

Ter said...

((many hugs)) the tree is lovely. I understand though... nothing is "good enough"... nothing can replace our children... nothing...

Aunt Becky said...


Karen said...

That is a beautiful, beautiful plaque. What a lovely tribute for your beautiful boy Logan. I'm sorry the little girl was aggravating you but I did laugh because it's so interesting to me how adults, for the most part, can't get away fast enough if they learn we have a baby who died while children talk about it and ask questions without any hesitation. I am sorry that this little person didn't have good timing for you though. (((Hugs))) from a bereaved mum in BC.

amorecappa said...

I know I'm posting way after the fact here. We lived in Florida when our Ian died and arrangements were made for us because I was incoherent and unable to function. So a nice plot was picked out at a church cemetery for babies. It took us years to pick out a headstone much to the horror of my parents. Of course they didn't care what we were going through and they thought we were unbelievable for putting it off. Great parents, right. Well, since then, we moved back to Virginia and our Ian is still in Florida (left the crappy parents there too). If I could have done it differently, I would have gladly had him cremated (which I'm usually not comfortable with) and had him HERE, with me. I don't care if that sounds weird. Your blogs have triggered memories of me looking at urns AFTER the fact. I don't know if you have chosen one and everyone has different taste. But I felt that I was horrified by all of them. None of them were good enough for Ian. None of them would do him or the situation justice. Looking at them made me nauseous. The teddy bears felt silly and minimized him. I liked that I would be able to hold and rock him though. There's nothing wrong with that, I don't care what anybody says. And I guarantee that anyone who says that is wrong, has never had a dead child. Anyhoo, I didn't want one that looked like an urn for some reason. I didn't want one with his name on it, like duh. I know who is in there, I don't care if anyone else knows. I wanted something I could look at and hold with love. So I found a link similiar to the one I wanted back then (of course I never went through with having him exhumed for various reasons, yadda yadda). But I thought you might like it. Keep in mind that I would have gotten one heart, just a bit larger, not two small ones.


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