The weeks that followed were such a blur. People stopped by creating a good distraction from being sad non-stop, meals were prepared/gift cards to restaurants given (thanks to our friend Scarlet who set up a meal train), flowers were delivered, cards flooded the mail, packages arrived daily, the Boys & Girls Club brought all the kids to the curb across the street with signs, cards, flowers and a big "WE MISS YOU" shout-out, we planned Amelia's visitation, family has taken the kids for a day here and there to get them out of the house and we also had to explain to the kids what happened with Amelia.

The conversation with the kids was the hardest conversation we have ever had to have with them. We didn't want to share too much, but we also wanted them to know they could ask us anything. Children can have a misguided concept of what death is like (thanks to television), but our children grasped what happened pretty quickly. They asked lots of questions, some questions they asked repeatedly. I know this was so hard for them to comprehend and like us, they didn't understand why she had to die if she wasn't sick. Not having an answer for them was tough for us and even tougher on them. We cried, A LOT. Just when we thought we had gotten through a moment, someone would have another. We cried together; no one wants to see their loved ones upset so when one of us cries, we all cry. Some of the questions our kids asked us:

*Can we see her? *Will we see the fire? (cremation) *Why does your tummy still look like it has a baby in it? *What if the doctors were wrong and she was just sleeping? *Will she ever be able to be alive again? *What would we be doing if she was here right now? *What if we have another baby and this happens again?

Many things about Amelia make us cry like seeing her clothes and baby devices (swings, cribs, car seat) all over the place. We have also found comfort in some of those things too. We have a special blanket that was supposed to be Amelia's so whenever we feel the need, we place it against our cheek and just think of her for a moment. We also have been very fortunate to be able to produce breast milk for another mommy and baby who maybe do not have the luxury of producing breast milk. The kids and Scott have been my biggest cheerleaders through this journey and I couldn't love them anymore for that!

Pumping to donate certainly hasn't been easy. While I know what I am doing is selfless and great for another mother, it still is a giant smack in the face every time I pump, realizing I SHOULD be nursing my child. I should be holding a small, angelic baby, not two breast pumps. While pumping, there isn't much I can do to distract my mind when my hands are tied up so I mostly sit and think about my sweet girl and wonder what we would have accomplished together. Would she have smiled yet? Would she have had a nasty blow out diaper on Daddy and made him gag? Would she be wearing newborn clothes still or growing so fast that she's into 0-3 month already? Would she be sleeping through the night, or would she wake up for feedings? Would she be colicky like her sister, Addison? Pumping makes me miss her so much, but the satisfaction I get from seeing my freezer full and knowing she has so much to do with that makes me happy. I don't feel her, but I know she is with me in those moments.

Each day we get stronger, but we certainly have had our really, really rough days. An innocent comment was made during a game with Grammy and the kids in regards to Baby B playing the game if she was here and what color game piece she would be. Axton (who is still too young to understand how hurtful words can be even when you don't mean them to) shouted, "Baby B is dead!" and as if we didn't hear him, repeated what he said. I know he didn't mean to be hurtful and truly had no idea that what he shouted absolutely shattered everyone's hearts. However, I began to cry (trying my best to do it silently) but the girls saw me and both began crying as well.

Planning her visitation was like ripping off the scab of a newly healed wound just to have it bleed all over again. None of the urns were good enough, we didn't want to be making these decisions, my body was still so sore from the c-section and the wooden chairs were so uncomfortable. We didn't want to be in that room, making those decisions and listing out Amelia's "surviving siblings"...how are we making that list already?! I had my heart ripped from my chest over and over again as we searched for the perfect poem for her pamphlet. And then we found out that Amelia's little body was actually in the same building as us. The funeral home had went and picked her up the previous day from the hospital. My heart shattered and I wanted to hold her again. When was the pain going to stop?!?! The visitation itself went really well. I think by the time the day came, Scott and I had cried all the tears we possibly could (or so we thought). People who came wept for us and held us tight as they came through the line. I was able to hold my beautiful niece for the first time during the visitation and the rush of emotions was overwhelming. We had so many plans for her and Amelia to be the best of friends and cousins. It hurt my heart to know that was not going to happen.

Trying to get back into the swing of life and how things were before Amelia grew her wings has been more difficult than anyone could imagine. This journey has also filled me with guilt that if I go back to how things were, it's as if I have forgotten her. I know this isn't the case and I know people don't think like that either, but the battle I have with myself is unsettling. I go to bed every evening, telling myself that I will do more tomorrow. The next day, however, I find myself still sitting in the recliner in the middle of the afternoon. I thoughtlessly go through the motions of feeding the kids, playing games with them, doing a load of laundry here and the dishes there. I look at the stack of sympathy cards and thank you's knowing I need to write them. I walk past Amelia's clothes on her dresser from her diaper bag that I am too sad to put away and tell myself 'tomorrow I will try'. Her huge stack of books that the other three kids are too old for now have taken over the buffet table and I tell myself I will store them away too. Her baby swing by my recliner sits empty and I contemplate putting it in the storage room and decide that it brings me comfort while I pump so I will wait. I know we cannot avoid all of these things forever, but it hurts to even think about storing them...how will we actually get through doing so? I am terrified of taking steps forward. I know I have to, but am so afraid.

Everyone has told me there is no time limit on my healing process, but I still have to be an adult. I still have to be a parent for our children. I still have to return to work. I still have to take care of our home. I still have to pay my bills. Even though life has stood still for us and we are in a place where we feel lost and stuck, the world is still moving forward. I know that with each day we will get stronger as individuals, as a married couple and as a family, but I also know this is going to continue to be the toughest journey we will ever face as well.

We are thankful for all of the friends, family and coworkers that have reached out, provided meals, sent money, cared for our children and have just been there for us during this time. We will never be able to thank you all properly and will never be able to show our gratitude for the support system we never realized we had. We truly see how blessed we are to have the people we have in our lives.