Running with Frank

Dear Frank,

I started running for you, monkey, even before you existed.  I joined No Boundaries last spring because your daddy and I wanted to have a healthy pregnancy when the time came.  And it was a healthy pregnancy well into the 2^nd trimester.  Then something went terribly wrong.  

I held you and kissed you and told you goodbye.  I had to stay here and take care of Daddy and Daddy had to take care of me.  We both love you so much.  We can't imagine going through the pain of losing you without one another's support.  You helped us realize that we want to be here for each other for as long as we can and that means developing better habits.  We run for you, monkey, and because of you.  We are making a choice to change our lives because you have already changed us.  See what an amazing boy you are!  

Sometimes we really don't want to run or walk or play tennis or do anything at all but we say "for Frank" and head out the door.  I wear a necklace with your name and birth date.  When I'm out for a run and want to quit, the necklace jingles.  I imagine the jingling is you cheering me on.  "Go Momma, go Momma."  You keep me running when I don't want to go on.  

Sometimes I cry when I run.  You were supposed to do No Boundaries with me this spring.  I was  going to walk because you should have still been in my belly most of the program.  I didn't want to exercise alone in case I went into labor so you were going to be one of the youngest NoBoers ever.  I carry you in my heart now and forever and I run for you, Frank Stephen Reller.  I run because I can't not run.  That sounds funny because I am not a runner but it's true.  

I don't even like running.  But I love spending time with you and when I run, I think of you and the joy you brought me the 26 weeks and 2 days I carried you in my womb.  When I run, I think of the moments we should have shared.  When it's that last interval, I imagine you as a toddler in a jogging stroller saying "faster, Momma, faster."  When I run over a bridge, I think of you as an ornery 5 year old, spitting over the edge and watching your spit go downstream.  When I run through the woods, I think of you and me and Daddy building a fort.    And when I'm walking and Michael Jackson's Don't stop 'til you get enough comes on the iPod, I imagine embarrassing you as a preteen because I just can't help but half dance/half walk to that song.  

I run because it makes me feel like a better mommy.  Thank you for helping me.  I love you, monkey, and always will.

hugs and kisses,

Mommy

(No Boundaries, a 5k training program for beginners, is put on in many areas by Fleet Feet Sports.)

6/3 update--a link to the video that accompanies this letter:
         http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9PTehqKvf2I&feature=share

My universe will never be the same.

I can't stop thinking about my baby; the baby who should still be growing inside me.  The most ridiculous songs make me think of him.  The Wanted's Glad You Came is most definitely not meant for babies but when I hear it, my mind immediately goes to Frank.  

My universe will never be the same,

I'm glad you came.

and

Can you spend a little time,time is slipping away, 

Away from us so stay,stay with me...

I wanted so much for Frank to stay with me and I wish for what every momma wishes for: more time.  My world is in pieces right now and things won't ever be the same but I am so glad I got to meet Frank.  He taught me how to be a good mommy.   

When we found out about that Frank was 13 days behind in development and that a blood clot in the placenta was preventing him from getting what he needed, we were devastated.  Numbers, percentages, all sorts of things were thrown at us and nothing seemed to add up or make sense.  After the initial influx of doctors with different information, it seemed they all got on the same page: Frank would probably not survive if taken out right then and chances of survival at any point were slim.  

We decided to leave him where he was, comfortable in my womb, and try to buy as much time as possible knowing that we would probably be saying goodbye within a few weeks.  Knowing that he would likely die inside me.  The thought of taking him from his home inside me to hook him up to machines that would merely delay his death just didn't seem right.  

I see stories about babies even younger than our Frank surviving and I cry and wonder if we did the right thing.  Then I remind myself that there are a million things that could have been different about their baby's condition.  When you're protecting your child, you just know.  It's after your baby is gone that you start doubting yourself.

Walking with Frank

There's a new trail by our place that connects to one of the bike paths in town.  The trail winds through the woods and opens on a prairie.  It kind of reminds me of my grandparents' old place in Kentucky...especially when a breeze kicks up and the grass smells sweet. 

Halfway to the bike path there's a little bridge over a creek.  Yesterday I stopped there and spit over the side watching it drift away.  I thought about Frank and I taking a walk there and thought that's just what we would have done.  I told my husband about it and he said Frank would have been surprised to see Mommy spit because she's a girl.  Frank would have known that girls can do anything...even be disgusting.