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Tomorrow marks one month. One month that has felt like a second and also like a year. I don’t yet have an answer for “How are you doing?” The truth is…I have no idea. Mike and I are exceptionally sad. We are scared. We miss Hannah so much it actually hurts. We are mourning the loss of our baby girl and also the dream we always had for our family. Every day, we have real moments of peace and then moments when the grief comes out of nowhere like a body blow and takes our breath away. Will we be happy again? Some day. But we are on a different path than we had always dreamed of.  Our new future is too overwhelming to think about most days…and also incredibly hard not to dwell on every second.

We are clinging to Eloise like crazy and trying like hell not to freak her out by the volatility of our emotions. But we are only human. Lately, when Ellie sees me upset, she sings a little song from Daniel Tiger: “It’s OK to feel sad sometimes. Little by little, you’ll feel better again.” The sweetness of that makes me want to laugh. And to cry harder.

One of the scariest things that has come out of this experience has been the sheer number of parents who have lost children and have lived through similar grief who have reached out to us. Call me naïve, but before Hannah, I never understood this happened so frequently. I wish I didn’t have that new understanding now…that I could live in peaceful ignorance forever. These families have been such a comfort to us…such an inspiration. One mother told me that even though the sadness would always be with me, the panic would eventually subside. Mike and I are counting the days until that happens for us.

We always felt that our Hannah would do something great. That she would make a real difference. It is amazing how her spirit and name are living on in both big and small ways thanks to you, dear friends. Her  fund to help other children and families at Lurie Children’s Hospital has grown big enough to split between the Spina Bifida area and the NICU, both of which gave us so much hope and comfort during our pregnancy. Hannah’s name will be added to a dedication wall in the hospital. A donation in her name was also made to a public library to add to their children’s book collection. How beautiful is that? Random acts of kindness to help others going through difficult times have been inspired by her. We don’t have the words to thank you all for helping to create this legacy for Hannah.  What an honor. What a comfort.

So, what have I been up to for a month? Trying to breathe through incredibly long days. Reconnecting with Mike and Eloise as a family of three. Apple picking. Pumpkin patches. Redecorating the nursery as a playroom and indulging in copious amounts of retail therapy. And sushi. I’m going to slowly ease my way back into work…taking just a handful of sessions this fall, then coming back full time January 1. I can’t wait to see all of you again, clients. I miss your smiling faces.

Things have been harder than we expected coming home from the hospital. We weren’t prepared for the feeling that three of us wasn’t enough anymore…that we had morphed into a family of four a long time ago. The void Hannah left in our home is so incredibly palpable. We are struggling to resume life…but it’s a different life than we wanted. We were prepared to go to war with our baby girl. We spent months talking to neurosurgeons, urologists, high-risk OBs and NICU doctors…a large team of specialists ready and willing to go to the mat with us. We were wound tight and ready to spring into action.  And then it all just ended.

She was the little sister I always dreamed about for Ellie. She had my nose, Mike’s mouth and a head full of brown hair. I find myself liking my nose more now because I shared it with her.

We are taking comfort in the fact that the worst day of our lives was cushioned in peace in so many small ways. Hannah is in heaven, free to be the perfect, uninhibited spirit she was always meant to be. We are making plans for her to physically rest near her namesake, Mike’s Grandpa Krantz. We wanted Hannah to share Grandpa’s initials, HFK, as a tribute to his sweet spirit and inspirational memory. We know she did him justice in so many ways.

The outpouring of love and support from all of you is giving us strength enough to keep it together for Eloise. To get through every day.  No one knows what to say. No one knows how to help. But please know how much every note, text, phone call, thought and prayer, as insignificant as it may seem to you, means everything to us.

Since some of you have asked, in lieu of flowers, we thought donations to Lurie Children’s Hospital in Hannah’s name (Hannah Felicity Soares Krantz) would be most appropriate. The Lurie staff and facility gave us endless comfort and hope during the past several months, and it would be such a wonderful tribute to Hannah to offer that to other children and families.

Lurie Children’s Hospital Donation Page

Yesterday we said goodbye to our beautiful baby girl. Hannah was so strong and our biggest comfort is the fact that she never once suffered. In the end, it was instant…a worse-case scenario that no one had planned for. We are devastated and  have no words to express how much we miss her or how to cope with the massive void she has left in our lives. In the midst of this exceptionally cruel, faithless, tragic time, you have given us comfort and made us feel loved. Thank you, friends, from the bottom of our hearts.

“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

-Philippians 4:7

We made it! We made it!

34 weeks is definitely a milestone in any pregnancy. It’s the point when normally doctors won’t stop labor if it starts naturally because the baby has developed enough to have a fighting chance at avoiding so many scary preemie issues. And in our very special case, we can all breathe a touch easier now that we have made it this far. We had a great check-up today. Not only did Hannah’s tests continue to be reassuring, but she also grew over a pound in two weeks and is now up to 5 pounds 2 ounces. That’s 70th percentile and, yes…bigger than Eloise was at this point in my pregnancy with her. We are thrilled and directly attribute our good luck to all of the prayers and positive thoughts that have been coming from all of you.

For the past four weeks…or eight months, really…all we wanted was to make it to 37 weeks with this baby. Last week, though, Mike and I learned just how dangerous the situation that Hannah has been surviving in really is. We were so concerned with premature ramifications on top of the issues we will face when she’s born that we were ignorant to just how precarious the situation we are in right now is. It’s not so much a risk of my spontaneously going into labor early…it’s the fact that Hannah’s environment has been compromised.  How she has done as well as she has for as long as she has in these dangerous conditions is even shocking our medical team. All signs point to the fact that we have a strong, feisty, remarkable little girl on our hands. But we are all acutely aware that things could take a very dire turn very quickly. And even if we do make it to a full term, 37 week delivery…there is a real chance that her lungs could be adversely affected by this latest complication. We are far from being in the clear and we just have no idea what to expect until she’s born. Those are the ugly thoughts which have plagued my strange, boring days and kept me up at night. Suffice it to say, everyone is on edge.

Who’s read Shopaholic? I swear Becky Bloomwood has gotten me through the past four weeks. I’ve taken a page out of her playbook: I’m ignoring the worst case scenario as if my life depended on it. Sticking it in a drawer and forgetting about it like Becky hides her shopping bills and lives with the delusion that everything will be just fine in the end.  (The strategy is working out better for me than it ever did for crazy-but-loveable Becky.)

So here’s where we’re at. Every week, twice a week, our doctors will continue to revisit a delicate balancing act: how long to keep Hannah where she is (hopefully growing and developing)  vs. inducing her at the slightest sign of distress  to cut out the life-threatening risks of her staying put any longer. I will continue to stay off my feet as much as possible and try not to lose my mind in the process under the pressure of constantly monitoring her movements and freaking out about things completely out of my control. And in this manor, hopefully we can make it three more weeks without serious drama. And once we do, hopefully her lungs will be in good shape and that’s one less thing we will have to worry about. We’ll keep praying, praying, praying for the best case scenarios. But one thing at a time. Let’s just make it through the pregnancy.

One of my best friends recently told me the only thing left to do was, “Trust our doctors. Trust Hannah. Trust God.” So with that mantra…here we go. Three more weeks.

Well…here we are, wrapping up week 32. Suffice it to say Mike and I are thrilled our baby girl is still growing, moving and doing well, despite our complicated situation, and I am still at home and pregnant.  Hannah is a pound up and  we are putting my hospital stay behind us. Or at least we are trying to. As Mike says, “Our scenery has changed but,  unfortunately,  our situation has not.”

Every time I feel Hannah kicking around, every night I get to tuck Eloise into bed is a prayer answered. But I would be lying if I said the pressure of being the only one who can tell whether the baby is still doing OK at any second of any day in between appointments wasn’t getting to me.  One of my client friends who had a similar strange end-of-pregnancy experience described it as feeling like a ticking time bomb. Exactly.  Exactly. Exactly.  I’m not a wait-and-see kind of girl. (I know…understatement of the year).  Every day is a battle with my mind to steer it away from incredibly scary what-ifs and speculation.  I’m not technically on bed rest but have been told to “take it very easy.”  While I absolutely love the chance to snuggle up with my two-year-old and her favorite Daniel Tiger episodes, build countless Lego block towers and reread the same books over and over again (Ellie’s choice these days!), my drastically reduced schedule makes it hard to find adequate distractions to keep the overwhelming thoughts at bay. And yesterday, I was told to take it easier still. So I can’t count on nightly leisurely walks around the block with my little family, trips to the playground with Ellie or the occasional Mariano’s run just to get out of the house. I need to even more drastically change my mindset about this situation.  My job right now is to keep my feet up and do everything in my power to keep this baby growing and healthy for at least two more weeks. Easier said than done when my constant companion is Eloise. (Although she’s definitely the highlight of every single day. Who better to hang out with than this tutu-wearing, block-building, book-reading, constantly laughing, quippy little nut?)

If you had asked me four weeks ago, I would have told you I feared things were only going to be worse…more terrifying and overpowering…once Hannah was born. Now…I’m not so sure. I have so many days when I already feel like a shell of a person.  How will I find the strength to send our baby into surgeries and leave her in the NICU every day?  (I seriously cried the other night when Eloise fell down outside and scraped her knee.) Many people who have survived the NICU and similar experiences have told me we will just get through it. Because we have to. And that someday we will look back and wonder how we did it. I think (hope) once I look into Hannah’s eyes and have a better feel for who our little daughter is…once I can hold her in my arms…once we know with more certainty what exactly we are up against…in some sense, I will find a greater strength and things will get easier.  It will also help that I won’t be pregnant…battling third trimester discomfort and monitoring every single twinge, feeling totally helpless. But that could  all just be more speculation…my hope for a light at the end of a bleak tunnel. Back to the wait-and-see game it is. The doctors are really hoping we can hold out for another 2 weeks. Mike and I are greedy and are hoping for 4-5.  Because as intimidating as 4-5 more weeks of living with this level of uncertainty is, it’s much more overwhelming to consider the alternative.

There really aren’t words to describe how blessed Mike and I feel with every note, thought, prayer, visit and gift  we have received over the last few weeks. The decision to “go public” was a hard one for us, but the resulting support has been so inspirational and uplifting…thank you again, friends, from the bottom of our hearts.