Andrea Gressman

To the mama of that first-time college student. First, take a deep breath and know it is all going to be okay. I know that is easy for me to say as that is not my child you are having to release but please know that I was sitting right where you are now a year ago. In fact, I just dropped my oldest son back off at school yesterday so he can start his sophomore year and it really made me pause and reflect. Then I remembered all that I felt the year before and knew there would be other mamas that would be feeling the exact same way this year and might need a little encouragement.   So here we are. You see, I didn’t know how I was going to do dropping my first-born off and driving away. His entire senior year I would have these moments where it would just hit me that he was going to be leaving and I would get a little choked up. Okay, sometimes a lot choked up! However, my son is incredibly tuned into my emotions and I certainly didn’t want to make anything any harder on him as

The other day I was reading an article from a mama who lost her daughter. She said that even though her daughter died she still had the strongest desire to continue on mothering her in any way she could. So she talked about her. Told stories about her. She acknowledged her life in every way she could.   It clicked.  That is the same desire I have for Kanton. It is my desire to continue on to mother him in any way I can. Hence the reason why I have put so much thought into where to bury him. Why I continue to talk about him and remember things like when was supposed to be his birthday. Why I fight so hard to keep the memory of him alive.  It isn’t because I want to sit in this grief. It isn’t because I “was” his mother. It is because I am his mother. You just can’t turn that off. It goes to the very core of who I am. It goes back to my purpose here on earth.  I know it is difficult for so many to understand. There are those who think that I should just move on alre

As I have shared on here before one of my struggles through the loss of my son is where to bury him. I know this would not be an issue for everyone out there, and that is okay, but it has been an issue for me. The funeral home has been so very kind in letting me have the time I need to find the peace I need for this next step. They graciously said they would take care of my sweet Kanton until my heart was settled. Ultimately, I want my son's body close to me right now. I want to be able to visit him often. I finally felt like my heart was settling on a little cemetery that I can literally see from my back yard. I told my husband that I wanted him in the closest corner to our house. Well, this week my husband went and spoke to the man who runs the cemetery. There were only 3 plots left and one of the plots is the exact same plot I wanted. I felt this overwhelming feeling when I heard this. Like God was saying: I knew this would be hard for you and I saved a spot for

Two months ago today we found out our baby was gone. And in case anyone is wondering - no, it hasn’t gotten any easier. I still miss him every single moment of every single day. My heart is still broken. It certainly hasn’t gone away. I am absolutely not “better”. I still physically ache for his loss. I still cry every single day. Yesterday I was at a store and randomly the cashier told me that in August it will be 5 years since she lost her son. My heart melted. Then I felt this heavinesss to share with her that I just lost my son as well. Two months ago tomorrow, I said. She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said, “It never gets easier and it never goes away.” Then she came around to my side of the counter and gave me a hug. I fought the tears as hard as I could but the emotions won. We both cried. She said, “It doesn’t matter how old they are when you lose them, you will miss him the rest of your life.” I know she is right. Every day there are sti

This post is changing pace for me a bit. I still wanted to share as it was laid on my heart this morning as I was thinking of and praying for my children. We are a baseball family. Both my husband and I played ball and love the sport tremendously. Currently I have 4 kids playing on 4 different teams so that definitely keeps us hopping. My oldest played when he was younger but it just wasn't his thing and that is totally okay. We want our kids to play a variety of sports so they can get a feel for them all and then they are free to choose which ones they enjoy the most and focus on those. We do value sports in general a great deal as we do feel like you learn a variety of important life skills while participating. But that is a post for another day. My boys are all so very different. They have different likes and dislikes, different talents, and very different personalities. We do our best to help each one of them navigate through life and develop the character they need t

Since losing my sweet boy church is one of the hardest places for me to be. As soon as worship starts it is like my soul becomes so vulnerable and raw... the emotions are right there at the surface. I have an encounter with Jesus every single time. I am not saying that is a bad thing. I am not saying that I shouldn't do it. I am just saying it is hard. It is the most raw and real kind of encounter. There is no playing it safe. No being timid. It is literally meeting my grief head on each and every time. I can feel the Lord pressing in and I have a decision to make... I can retreat or I can allow Him to press in and do the work in me that He needs to do in me. Again, this isn't easy. I feel so very deeply in these moments. The emotions are so strong. But I know if I want to make any progress in the grieving process I have to let myself feel. Ignoring these, pushing them aside, burying them, sweeping them under the rug, allowing myself to be and stay distracted - that

The complexity of our emotions has always amazed me. How you can have joy for something and be sad for something all at the same time?... Literally feeling two completely opposite emotions at once. How is that even possible?  I absolutely believe God designed us that way for so many reasons but as I navigate through this grief I find myself in I can't help but to think He designed it specifically for this situation as well. Feeling joy for something during sorrow brings hope and hope is essential. You lose hope you lose it all. I grieve with hope.  Another example of this is having children on both sides of Heaven.  When people say or think... she just needs to enjoy the children she has. Or, she just needs to be thankful for the children she has. Or, at least she has other children.  (Yes! People say these types of things.) I don't think they are fully understanding the situation - at least my situation as that is the only one I can speak for.  So let me

Shortly after the funeral we started getting calls and texts for other life things. Bills showed up in the mail, our kids/'schedules carried on, my husband's work schedule resumed.... the world kept going and I didn't... I wrote the following in my journal: "My world has stopped - but no one else's did. How do you keep on functioning in a world that keeps moving when you are at a stand still?" The best way I can describe it is like I am in a fog. I don't want to be but just like a real fog you don't have a lot of control over it. It is just the reality of being in deep grief I guess. In all honesty I am not resentful or bitter that other people's worlds have carried on. That's just life. It wasn't their child that died. But I do have a hard time with those who expect the same from me. Just being real here which I promised from the beginning of this process that I would be. I can tell you the sweetest words I have heard through th

I recently read an article written by another mama of a stillborn. It was the one year anniversary of her loss. She made the comment that she was surprised at how many hard days she had experienced in the last year. She thought that when she found out her little boy was gone that would be the worst of it but she had experienced many hard days since then - some she felt were even harder. There is so much truth here. At least for me there is. I would think there would be no harder moment than finding out my baby no longer has a heartbeat. But then there was. Then I would think there would be no harder time than the 33 hours from the moment I found out he was gone to when I delivered Kanton. But then there was. Then I would think there would be no harder moment than leaving him at the hospital, or going to the funeral home, or his funeral... I just kept thinking that if I could survive this moment or that moment that it would get easier. I especially thought this after his funeral.

One month ago today we found out Kanton's  heartbeat was gone.  I am not sure how it has been a month already as if feels like we just found out yesterday.  It has been a tough month.  That is probably a huge understatement.  The grief is still so very raw. I still cry everyday for my boy - several times a day.   Everything reminds me of him. The birds. The butterflies. The rain.  I find myself staring at the clouds wondering what Heaven is like and what he is doing there without me.  I have read a lot of scripture.  I have read several devotionals. Some help more than others.  Being is public is still very hard for me.  I feel like the emotions are just under the surface and I never know when something is going to cause them to overflow. I find it to be a little easier when I am in a place where no one knows my story.   But then in a second something - or nothing - can happen that brings all my emotions to the surface.  I went to church last Sunday for th

I absolutely dreaded this day - May 16th, 2019. I just didn't want to do it. Once again, God spoke to my heart and just told me to put one foot in front of the other and He would do the rest. I remember that I put a baseball game on. The Minnesota Twins were playing and I needed to do something - anything - to keep my mind off what was to come. As much as I love the people in my life I knew it was going to be unbelievably difficult to be around them during this time. I knew the rawness of my grief was going to come out. There would be nothing I could do to hide it and I felt so unbelievably vulnerable and completely unable to protect myself from the hurt that I was experiencing. I didn't journal at all that day - I just couldn't. I was in this fog of all consuming grief and there was no processing of emotions to be done that day. The emotions won. They took over. There was nothing rational to be found. So I watched baseball until it was time to go. I did make a sp

While we were in the hospital preparing to deliver Kanton the hospital staff asked us if we wanted to have a funeral. I can't speak for my husband but I was actually caught completely off guard by the question. With our other losses, I guess because they weren't classified as a stillbirth, we were never asked that question. I can say the first thing we both thought was - no - no, we wouldn't have a funeral. We hadn't done a funeral before with our other losses and this time wouldn't be any different. Personally, the idea of a funeral sounded beyond painful. Jason and I would just hunker down and grieve privately like we had with the others.  However, one of the nurses gently pressed us a little more on the idea of having a funeral. She reminded us that our children were older this time around and it would be helpful to them to be able to say goodbye to their brother. I still wasn't thrilled about the idea just because I knew how difficult it would be

There has been a lot of pain that Jason and I have experienced through the process of losing our son that there is simply no way to describe. No words will give it justice, no description is sufficient, and unless you have experienced it first hand, which I wouldn't wish upon anyone, I just don't feel like you can fully understand it. Telling our children that their brother had died is one of those experiences. As we walked into the house after saying goodbye to Kanton one of our sons met us at the door and joyfully asked as he had done so many times in the previous weeks, "How is the baby? Is the baby okay?" My heart sank even more. They all loved their baby brother so much and were so excited for his arrival. Each and every day they would ask me how he was doing, if he was kicking a lot, when I thought I would have him, along with a million other questions about him.... and now we had to tell them that they will never see their baby brother this side of Heaven

After I had Kanton the evening of May 10th it rained all night. I remember watching the rain drops slide down the hospital window. It matched my tears that slid down my face. I couldn't help but to think that the rain was somehow a message from God. I remember the smell of the rain as I held my baby boy. I knew that I would never experience a rainstorm again without thinking of Kanton. As hard as it was to sit and hold his lifeless body I knew from my past experiences that I needed to soak up as much of this moment as I possibly could. The few hours I was getting with him was a precious gift and I could not let my grief rob that from me.  Finally the nurse brought in a bassinet for me to put him in. I was so completely exhausted at this point on all levels. I laid him in it and laid next to him in the hospital bed. I just stared at his tiny body. I would doze off for a minute but wake up to see him - still gone. Every morning when I wake up the first thing that comes in

Somehow I fell asleep the night we found out Kanton was gone. I was utterly and completely exhausted on all levels. However, when I woke up the next morning I wished I hadn't fallen asleep at all. Waking up to only realize the nightmare I thought I was having was actually the reality I was living was crushing. To this day I hate going to sleep because in my dreams Kanton is still here. But when I wake up in the morning it is like I have to relive his loss all over again. I have to remind myself that I am not pregnant any longer and the next time I will see him will be in Heaven. My journal entry from that day: We had to be at the hospital early to deliver Kanton, which was an hour and a half away from our home. I dreaded the morning but it came anyway. I forced myself to get out of bed and then I just sat there. I couldn't move. I asked God, "How can I do today?" He whispered to me, "Just put one foot in front of the other. I will do the rest."  I

Having a stillborn is difficult on so many levels. A pastor sent us a sympathy card and in it he said in all the years he has been doing funerals that the stillbirths were always the hardest for him. One minute you think everything is fine and then it's just not. One minute you are experiencing one of the most joyful experiences of your life - you are preparing to have a child. Then the next minute you are discovering your child has died. As if that isn't horrible enough, you then have to decide when you want to allow them to induce your labor so you can deliver your lifeless child. My words from that day:  "There is a really unfair process to having a stillborn baby. You find out your child is gone - there is no longer a heartbeat - but then you have to go through the labor and delivery of the baby. the only word I can use to describe this is that it is just cruel." I knew this was coming. Although this was my first stillbirth, I have miscarried before and

Just like all journeys there always has to be a beginning. Ours occurred the morning of May 9th, 2019 when we found out our sweet Kanton Jasper no longer had a heartbeat and was in the arms of Jesus. I was in the 25th week of my pregnancy. The shock was all consuming.  I recently told someone that it felt like it took my breath away and I still haven't been able to get it back. That particular morning we had my monthly check-up scheduled. My doctor had wanted to do an ultrasound as Kanton had not cooperated fully on the previous ultrasound and she also wanted to check for growth. I was then going to see her after the ultrasound but we didn't make it that far. As soon as the ultrasound started I knew something was wrong. There was no flicker of the heartbeat - the first thing I always looked for. He wasn't moving. He was just still. I swallowed hard. My 4-year-old was sitting on a chair across the room watching something on my phone. The physical pain I felt i