My brother, Nick.

Matt and I were cleaning our fish tank on May 23rd when my Dad called. He had called on Matt's phone but it was right next to me so I answered. The tone in his voice when he said "Courtney, let me talk to Matt" made me immediately hand the phone over. After a short conversation outside, Matt came back in and told me "Courtney, your brother is dead." Four little words changed everything.

We immediately drove to my moms where we all spent the night dealing with shock, disbelief, sadness, anger, and confusion. The next day Mom and Doug flew to Arizona while Matt and I, along with the kids, began our drive. That week was a whirlwind and I can't even begin to remember all that was said, or all that we did. I have only been to two funerals that I can remember, and both of them I attended in support of someone who knew the deceased. And now, there I was, helping to plan my only brother's funeral with both of my parents. His service was something I think he would have been happy about. Of course there were tears, but there was also quite a bit of laughter. My Dad delivered a speech that only he could, and everything about it was so perfectly Nick.

When you're hearing stories of him, it's almost like he's back with you. You can hear the inflections in his voice or see his lanky gait as he walks through the door. But when the stories stop, you lose him all over again. I only had one sibling. Now I have none. Someday, when my parents are gone, it will just be me. I asked Matt the other day if he thought people in Heaven could see what was going on here in this life. We both agree they probably can't. While I don't want my brother to worry about us hurting (because I know he would) it pains me that he can't hear me when I talk to him and that he won't get to see Weston and Hannah grow. I will do my best to ensure my kids know who their Uncle Nick is but I can't do anything about it the other way around. 

While I grieve the loss of my brother, I really can't imagine the hurt my parents are going through. That weighs on my heart almost as bad as the loss. My parent's have fallen to their knees, and I just want to put them on my back and carry them through this grief. They have always lifted me up and dusted me off. They fix things for me. I want so badly to fix this for them. I've always been such a planner. And by the grace of God, my life had gone according to plan up until that moment on May 23rd. This is so totally opposite of any plan I ever had! My parents should never have to experience this grief. There is nothing I can do to make it hurt any less. I am beyond worried about both of them. If they'd let me, I'd move them both right in to our house with us. I need them close to me- both for comfort and to ease my worry. I look at other people who have gone through tragedy some time ago and they seem so "normal". In my head I know that will come for us, but in my heart it seems hard to believe. It seems unlikely that my mom will ever have a Sunday where she doesn't long for her weekly phone calls, or that my Dad will ever drive his Cardinals bus without the bitterness of the seat unfilled. And these were the things they used to look forward to! If only I could turn back time and be a more loving sister, maybe, just maybe, things would be different. I realized yesterday that I always say "The hardest part is..." and then finish the sentence with something different. The truth is, I don't know what is the hardest. Is it the wondering why? Those moments when you really grasp that you'll never see him again? The worry about my parents? The sadness at those things I wish I would have said? It's impossible to pick just one "hardest" thing.

My brother would hate all of this. He would hate all the huffing and puffing about him. He would hate to see anyone shed a tear or lose any sleep over something he did. Well I hate it too... and I wish he was here so I could tell him that.

Introducing...

May turned out to be one roller coaster of a month. This is the first opportunity I have had to really get all my thoughts down on (electronic) paper. I'll stick to chronological order and start with the good (actually the great).

My due date was May 10th and because my doctor was slightly concerned about the physics of a large baby exiting from a small woman, we scheduled my induction for May 11. My due date came with no signs of bringing a baby with it. I spent that night mentally bonding with the baby who was spending his or her last night snugly in my tummy. Falling asleep proved to be difficult as I laid awake thinking about how I would be up at 4am to get ready to meet the newest little Gross.4am sounded so early.

Luckily for me, I didn't end up having to get up so early because my water broke shortly after midnight. This baby was on his/her own schedule! I woke Matt, we had a good chuckle, and then headed off to the hospital. Shortly after being admitted the contractions started to get more intense. My labor was progressing pretty quickly. The anesthesiologist came to give me my epidural. He was young- like Doogie Howser young. I jokingly asked him if he would tell me if this was his first epidural and he said he wouldn't.  Matt stood in front of me, just like he had when I was in labor with Weston, and Doctor Doogie gave a sort of play-by-play of what he was doing behind my back. This probably wasn't the best idea considering I have a husband who doesn't handle needles and blood all that well. I'm sure the nurses thought "Oh, we've got a fainter!" Luckily, he didn't actually faint though I am fairly certain he was very, very close. He had a seat in the corner until some semblance of color returned to his face. I believe it was about 3:30am now and one of the nurses joked "You're going to have a baby before you were even suppose to be here for your induction!". They were wrong. From this point on my labor creeped. Again, this baby had their own ideas. 

My epidural only worked on my left side- I still had feeling on my right. The strangest part though was that I felt my contractions on the back of my thigh. We later learned that the epidural needle was slightly crooked and pushing on a nerve. I remember sitting there between Charlie Horses thinking about how neat it was that I feel what's going on in my tummy in my leg. Anyhow, Dr. Doogie ultimately came in, gave me a pouty lip (yes, he really made a frowny face much like Weston does before he starts bawling) to say sorry for not providing a splendid epidural, and then gave me a 2nd one. This one worked like a charm. Before leaving, Dr. Doogie looked at me and said "By the way, if this was my first epidural, this is when I would tell you". I still wonder if he was trying to tell me something...

I was a little nervous about this labor since Weston was so incredibly easy. I wondered if it was a fluke and if I was in for a eye opener. Luckily though, this one was just as easy. Me, Matt, and all the medical staff laughed and joked right up until the minute our little love bug arrived. At 7:59am our baby was born and the doctor held them up so we could see if we had a new son or daughter. The only problem was that the umbilical cord was running right through their legs so we still didn't know! I think the nurses even joined in when we all said "WE CAN'T SEE!". After moving the umbilical cord we were blessed to see that we now had a daughter- our baby was a baby girl. We are so in love. Matt cried. I sat in shock because I apparently my feeling that it was a boy ran deeper than I had realized. We had Weston in the room first so he could meet his new sister and after a few sweet moments, he really just wanted to play trucks. The rest of the family came in soon after and we all oogled over what a perfect baby we held in our arms.

Hannah Mae is now 5 weeks old and "love" doesn't being to describe what we feel for her. We are stunned that we have now created not one, but two, amazing children. She loves to be cuddled and I love to cuddle her so I think we are a match made in heaven. I am thankful to God that he chose me to be her Mom. Watching my two kiddos brings my more joy than I ever knew possible. Weston is now obsessed with his sister and can't go 5 minutes without kissing her forehead, holding her hand, or giving her a hug. If only two year old boys knew the meaning of gentle!