I usually write a post on April 14th about my brother, Carl Scott. This year I just mourned in my own little world. I took flowers out to the cemetery and cried like usual. Every time I went to get back into my car, the flowers would get blown over by the wind. McKie was in the car, and kept asking to get out. I kept saying no. Finally, when I realized that I couldn't keep getting out and picking the flowers back up, because it was doing no good... I asked McKie to get out with me and help me find some rocks to hold the vase up. Holding his little hand, we walked across the cattle guard to the outer area of the cemetery. As I went to pick up a larger rock, he said, "Mommy, be careful and make sure that there's nothing under that rock that will hurt you!" What a sweet little man. He was worried about me, and could tell that I was sad anyway. As we took our rocks back across the cattle guard and placed them around the vase, he said, "Mommy, I know why you're sad. Cause your brother died, huh? And you miss him?" I wasn't sure how to respond to that. How to tell him that he actually died before I was born, so that I never knew him. Then I thought, what am I talking about? Of course I have met him. He has watched over me my whole life! I knew him before I came to this earth, and I know that he was my best friend. So I told McKie that I did miss him, but that he was in heaven with Heavenly Father and Jesus. He smiled and gave me a hug. Then he asked a few questions about other headstones around of other family members.
On the way home, I thought a lot about Carl Scott, and how all three of my babies remind me of him in some way. When I was pregnant with McKie, our first ultrasound showed that he had some type of heart defect. While the tech was looking at his heart for so long, I started getting scared, knowing that Carl Scott was missing a chamber of his heart. So I started panicking. She brought the head honcho in to take a look and they told us that we would need to return in a month, to see if the problem might resolve itself. I was a mess for the next 24 hours, and after seeing our doctor, and him reassuring me that he knew all would be ok, I started feeling better. And, a month later, his heart was perfectly fine, other than a small murmur that has never bothered him. Carl Scott was watching over me, every time I'd start to worry I'd feel a peace, and I know it was the spirit letting me know everything would be ok.
When trying to think of what to name Brensyn, Jaran and I couldn't decide on a name. I loved the name Brennen after one of my most beloved cousins, and Jaran liked Bryson. So we decided, the night before he was born, to name him Brensyn. The one thing that we never had to think about was his middle name, Carl. The morning of his blessing, dressing him in that little white suit, I remember thinking how much he looked like my brother... the little flat chin, the tiny nose, and the little short stubby fingers. How proud I was to have a little man that would always remind me of my brother I'd lost. Baby blessings are so emotional anyway, but when Jaran gave Brensyn his name, Brensyn Carl Baker, I felt a special feeling, and I knew that my brother was there with me, Steph, Cam, Kade, Calli, my Mom and my Dad... and we were a family... all there... together. I know that Brens and his uncle have a special relationship. When Ansleigh was about a week old, Jaran and I had a meeting for McKie at his new preschool, and we asked Jaran's brother and his wife to watch Brensyn. While we were gone, Brensyn decided to wander off, sneaking out the door when someone's back was turned. When we got back and went searching for him, instead of freaking out and crying and screaming, I was calm. I kept my wits, and we searched for him. Finally Kendra came running down the road carrying him. He was 18 months old, and had walked clear down the road and around the corner to someone's house, went into their back yard, and started playing with their dogs. The owners saw him, gave him a Popsicle and kept him safe until we found him. Had he crossed to the other side of the road they lived on, or fallen in the ditch, or went into the swimming pool next door, found some dogs that weren't so nice... so many things could have gone wrong, but they didn't. His uncle was watching over him.
Ansleigh is our third. Carl Scott was the third. She is such a cuddle bug, and she knows when I need a hug. Sometimes when I'm having a hard day, all I have to see is her beautiful smiling face, and everything is ok. She's my shopping buddy, and she loves when mommy does her hair. We could sit for hours braiding and curling her hair. She loves singing Taylor Swift songs with her Mommy and getting dresses on to play. When she wakes up in the morning, I'm the first one she comes to. She crawls into bed with me, and we have our morning snuggle. She watches over me and always tries to make me happy. She is my little tangible spirit. Between the two of them, I'm taken care of physically and spiritually when I need someone to uplift me.
I'm so thankful for my three beautiful babies. I'm so blessed to be able to have children, and to have such and easy time with it. When I see others I know struggling to have children, or knowing that they can't, and finding other ways to become parents, it makes me that much more grateful. Jaran and I are truly blessed in our lives. Sometimes the kids are a challenge, and sometimes we think we need a break. But all we need to do is remember how blessed we are to have these little spirits to take care of, and that they are ours, and all is well with the world.
Forgive me for my ramblings. I can't seem to stop my incisions from giving me fits tonight, and trying to sleep isn't really going well for me, so I thought I needed to write some stuff down. I didn't think it would be to this extent. Goodnight all... and remember how blessed we all are! Take Care!
