A Comment To A Friend

Here's part of a comment I posted to Angel Mom. I thought it applied to my page as well:

...I wish there was an answer. For you. For me. For all of us that have joined with out thought or knowledge of one another in this very painful yet strong and beautiful club we call; parents in mourning.

We will get through this. We have gotten through what we thought was the worst part. The actual event. Somehow I keep revisiting that part in my mind over and over wishing I could go back and have those few moments just one more time. Even if it does come with the pain.

Our children don't have the mothers that we were before this, your right. Yet isn't it possible that we're somehow better? Better listeners. Better protectors. Better at picking up every detail of their childhood. Better at savoring every moment. More appreciative of them and of this beautiful and precious gift bestowed upon us once again...being a mommy.

Speaking of Over Protective...

I took Little One to the dentist today. He did so well, he's my hero. I get nervous at the dentist and shaky. He sat there, got two tiny cavities DRILLED and filled with no anesthesia! No topical, no shot, no gas. The dentist told him to raise his hand if it hurt. He never did so the dentist kept going until he was done. Little One got up when it was over said,"Thank You" and walked away. With a smile, no less! I on the other hand would have had the shots (as many as possible) and STILL been a baby about it. I hate going to the dentist. So anyway...

The dentist comes out (before) and gives me this long speech about how children do better apart from their parents and why I shouldn't go in. I agreed but said I was still going in with him. We were called back a few minutes later and his assistant tells me I should stay in the waiting room. No, I'm going in with him! "Oh, I see" she almost whispers as she cautiously slithers away. We get comfortable (as if thats possible) in the room. Mr. Dentist comes in and AGAIN lectures me on why I shouldn't be in there and tells me that if Little One gives him any problem he will stop and refer me to another dentist, whom he adds would not let me back there with Little One.

By now I, yes I not Little One am experiencing pre-seperation anxiety and my eyes start to mist. I then tell him "Look, I've gone through eighteen years of infertility, and lost two babies before him. I'm NOT leaving him now!" He gave me a blank, almost hurt stare and turned away and finished his job without another word to me. I felt like crap. I played the dead babies card. I swore to myself that I would NEVER do that! Here I was telling an almost complete stranger about my babies for my own gain (his sympathy I guess.) I was so ashamed I cried. Yes, that would be ME bawling like a baby in PUBLIC. I felt like I had betrayed my babies and their memories.

It appeared to have worked.

When he was done with Little One he turned to me with a pained expression and said, "My wife and I went through infertility too, and we lost a baby before our little girl. I'm sorry." What? In all my self pity I didn't even recognize that he was hurting too. Wasn't I supposed to have some sort of sixth sense about these things now? If I am, I haven't as of yet had that sense bestowed on me.

I left feeling sympathy for the dentist, pride for my Little One and ashamed of myself.

Never Over, Just Better

I guess I always thought (wished) that after enough time had passed it would be a faint sweet memory to recall at will. NOT.

The death of my baby was the single most traumatic, horrific thing that I have ever experienced... and you wouldn't even believe the things I've been through. Anyway, that being said, I always felt it would dissolve away with time somehow. Don't get me wrong it does get better, but its just NEVER OVER.

I got pregnant (with the help of an excellent Infertility Doctor) six months after my daughter died. I didn't tell anyone I was going through the treatments again because I couldn't face them with a negative result. When it worked I couldn't tell too many people because I didn't want to write a "How and why my my baby died" speech AGAIN. I was and am grateful for every second of my pregnancy but I lived EVERY DAY in FEAR that this was the last day that my baby would be safe and alive in my womb. My own body had already betrayed me twice.

I had pre-eclampsia and was on complete bed rest from month two to delivery. I was told I had an incompetent uterus and needed a cerclage. I opted not to get one only to find out months later that I was misdiagnosed. The thing is that instead of just enjoying this little miracle growing inside of me I lived in fear. I had a baby shower and all that fun stuff but...as I opened each gift I was thinking of what to say when my baby died and I had to return them.

When he was born (emergency c-section) I thanked God for allowing me to see him healthy and crying and I just knew he wouldn't make it through the night. When morning came and he was still fine I felt like I had just won the lottery. Now not only do I get to have him one more day but I didn't have to be whisked away and hidden from all the others new mothers so I didn't have to hear their babies cry. Again.

For about the first year of his life I just knew that every sound was him choking, every sigh his last breath and every goodnight kiss a final farewell. I am still VERY protective of him but...I have learned that he's here to stay, and that thankfully it will be him at my funeral the way it should be.

Though the memories are now much more beautiful than sad it's just better, not over. She is and always will be a part of our family and our everyday lives. I am thankful that I can identify with and am aware of a huge part of the population now that I didn't even know existed (P.I.M.)

I just feel that in all my caution I robbed my new little one of a carefree easy going childhood.

A New Explanation For Stillbirth?

As I am not an expert in this area I will refrain from commenting.

What do you think?

Forget-Me-Not

Spring is here and everyone is planting. Every where I go I see people buying flowers, seeds, trees, shrubs, just about anything they could plant.

I'm thinking that with hearts so light and everything blooming and gardens being planted and replanted, well... I wish my baby girl could share in this. So...

I found these cute little canisters with Forget-Me-Not seeds at Target. I bought way too many and printed these little labels. I affixed one to each can and sent them to a select few of my closest family and friends. The labels actually serve a two-fold purpose, they first and foremost remind them of my baby girl and second...they cover up the price.

Now (if they actually plant them) every time they see these shy yet beautiful little blossoms they'll remember her...and smile.

Murphy's Law?

My husband surprised me with a dinner date tonight.

This is what happened.

We get to the restaurant and find that they have misplaced (forgot to write down?) our reservations. After waiting too long we were finally seated.

Not a good table, not a nice location. We decide to let it go and enjoy our dinner.

Ha. They brought us BOTH the wrong meal. That just doesn't happen. They take it back and finally bring us the right plates. Mine isn't cooked the way I ordered it. I don't send it back because I'm hungry and don't want to wait another hour. At least she noticed (all by herself) and asks if I would like to send it back. I said no. She apologizes.

In the meantime...I try to be brave and order a drink I've never had before (I rarely drink, and when I do it's NOT wine). Red wine. Their best. She brings it. It's beautiful. I smell it. I shouldn't have, now I'm afraid to taste it. I talk myself into it, how wonderful it's going to taste and how well it goes with my food and how it looks so sophisticated. I take a sip. Ew! Yuck! How do people drink that stuff? How do they drink it and smile. Ew! My husband is laughing now and in all his sophistication, tastes it. After making an 'I just sucked a lemon' face, his whole body shivers. Now I'm laughing.

The food sucked, the wine really sucked, but the company was great.

Another Anniversary

Today is my anniversary.

23 years.

We've been through valleys, yes but also hills. Hills and mountains so high you feel you own the world, only to drop so low you can't see the light at the top. You have faith that it exists. You just can't see it.

In all our years together the worst thing we've been through is the agony and torment of watching helplessly as our three and a half hour old firstborn baby girl died in my arms. Six months earlier we mourned our very first baby. My very first pregnancy ended after only seven short weeks.

The best things we've been through are, well, some of the same things but more. Many more. The first pregnancy. I NEVER thought I would experience what it felt like to be pregnant. I was so grateful. My second pregnancy too. So grateful and so, so scared. Thanking God every time I threw up. Thanking him for every minute of everything about it. Even after she had died I remember being so thankful that I had the chance to experience morning (all day) sickness, feeling her move inside of me, giving birth, the instant, unconditional love that surrounds and overwhelms you when you hold your baby in your arms for the first time, even lactating for two weeks after. My third pregnancy with a live, healthy, take home baby at the end. The days we met, and the days we adopted our older children. Though none were infants, the dreams we had of giving them a life out of 'the system', of being a real, a normal family. The soft and beautiful and carefree days we spent in fun and laughter as a family. The nights we spent in passionate love. Our faith, our love and our hope.

Happy anniversary Mr. C, I love you!

Free DYSON Vacuum Anyone?

The ladies over at 5 Minutes For Mom are giving away a Dyson Slim. You don't have to be a great blogger (or I wouldn't have a chance) or even have a blog at all to enter. Check out the details here and who knows, it could be yours.

Five Things About Me And My Babies

I've had three pregnancies (with the help of a very good Infertility Dr.)

I've given birth to a LIVE baby twice.

I've miscarried once, had a vaginal birth once, and had an emergency c-section once.

I have (living) four teenagers and a five year old.

My four teenagers were adopted.

Anniversary

Today, forty-seven years ago my mother-in-law lost her first daughter to SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome.) My mother-in-law died over a decade ago.

I remember every year at this time she would be so incredibly sad. She would tell me the story of how it happened (several times) and always finish sobbing. It went something like this;

"She was so beautiful. Perfect. Healthy. Happy. Beautiful. I took her to her two month well baby appointment on Friday. The doctor said she was in perfect health. Isn't that funny? I could hear it as if it was yesterday, "Mrs. J she's perfect, the picture of health." That night everything went as normal and I put her in her crib for the night. The next morning I thought she was sleeping in. She never sleeps in...(speaking softer now) I should have known. [The crying usually started here.] I let her sleep for a while. Finally, I decide she needed to eat and went in to wake her up. She was so blue. I touched her...and so cold. I called her name over and over to wake her up! I started screaming...(softer, sobbing) and screaming! [Long pause] I don't remember much after that for a few weeks. They say the neighbor, my best friend came running and found me. I couldn't be calmed. The paramedics had to sedate me. I was kept heavily medicated for about two weeks. When I 'came out of it' there wasn't a single thing in the house of hers. My husband didn't want the memories to cause me more pain. I NEEDED her things! I WANTED her things! The entire nursery was bare. My heart was broken like I never imagined. Back then they didn't know too much about SIDS. People looked at us, at me like I had done something wrong. It broke my heart. I still don't know how I lived through it. I'm glad you'll never have to go through anything like that. [She knew I was infertile]"

Every year when I heard this, my heart broke for her. I also greatly admired her courage and strength. I knew that I could NEVER LIVE THROUGH such a thing. Her own baby. I would have lost my mind. I would have died.

She would never know that I would be able to identify with her. To know the pain. To live through such a thing. She had always felt as if she was alone in this 'knowledge'.

Even though it took me six years to do it, I'm glad I looked on the internet and found that I, (she/we) aren't alone. Though I would prefer that NO ONE EVER had to go through the loss of a baby, I find solace in knowing that your out there. I've seen so many blogs with wonderful, intelligent, NORMAL people (here, here, and so many more.) All with one thing in common. We're all mourning. I see that yes, life goes on, and eventually we return to our routines. But we NEVER forget. It will ALWAYS hurt on the anniversary. Yet, the memories are also SO BEAUTIFUL. I'll always love and remember my beautiful baby girl. I will always remember hers too. I will always be a Mother In Mourning.

I wish she could have shared in this too.

Not Morbid But Empathetic

I've read blogs of many, many P.I.M.'s (Parent(s) In Mourning).

I've been moved to tears many, many times at the depth of feeling that has been beautifully weaved into a blanket of words. Powerful words. Powerful not only because they are skillfully pieced together in just the right order but because someone has WRITTEN EXACTLY what I am FEELING, or have already been through. That is understandable since we have experienced similar losses.

I also read other blogs. Things, of course that I also can identify with such as, mommy blogs, infertility etc..

With the exception of infertility and pregnancy/infant loss, most of the others NEVER venture over to each other.

Today was an exception.

Today while reading Tracey's, Just Another Mommy Blog, I was caught completely off guard. She was (while watching a movie) FEELING for those of us who have lost our babies. Now, I know that when faced with the situation most people would sympathize. The thing is that she has never had this happen to her and STILL addressed the issue on her "Normal Mommy" blog.
This tells me that more people are AWARE that we are here, and are trying to understand because they care. Tracey, thanks for putting this out there to all your unsuspecting readers!

Here's an excerpt (yes, stolen) from her post...

"I held onto my baby and cried for all the moms who are truly aching for their babies. No matter their age when they pass away, they will always be our babies. And your arms will always ache for them. I know many moms, online and in real life, that have this pain. This pain that I am only imagining...
I am so sorry you have to feel it...
I remember all of your children, and ache for you..."

Maybe, just maybe, the more 'comfortable' people are with us... the more 'comfortable' we can be talking, laughing, crying and remembering with them. And when asked how many children we have we CAN say;" I'm a parent to __ and a P.I.M. to__" AND they will actually UNDERSTAND!

Just a thought.

Should he know?

Last week I had a play date for my little one with a little girl and her mom and sister. As my little one played with the little girl, her mom was innocently asking him something about a sibling. He answered, "I love my sister Isabel." She (the mom, the little girl didn't pick it up) looked at me confused and said, "Isabel, I don't remember meeting her." I explained that she was born at 21 weeks and 6 days and lived for only 3 hours and 45 minutes. She was apologetic.

The thing is that my little one knows about his sister matter-of-factly. He doesn't even think twice (as I think it should be) before freely speaking of her. Is that normal? I always thought it was not only normal but beautiful. As if he almost has a bond with the sister that he can't share his life with. He always speaks of her in a positive way. I'm just questioning if I made the right decision telling him about her at such a young age.

To people whose lives have never been touched by such a loss, it may seem weird or even morbid. I want to be completely honest but, I just don't ever want him to feel the kind of pain I've had to. It's too late to change anyway.

What do you think?

Kids Say the Darndest Things

I'm driving along in the car with my little one ( just turned five) listening to the radio. I have it on a country station and he likes to hear them 'sing stories'. After listening intently to ?? singing about his daughter, he asks me to turn it down so he can talk to me. Then he asks me if I knew that "The man singing on the radio was dad." "No", I answered puzzled. "Well, it was" he continues, "Know how I know?" "How?" I answered, wondering what was whirling around in his little brain. "Because the daddy in the song said that from the first breath she breathed he knew the love of a father ...AND...when that miracle smiled up at him he loved her first." I'm stunned, vision starting to blur. He says, "Don't you get it mom? She was his miracle and she smiled at him when she was borned and he loved her first! That was daddy singing about my sister Isabel!" Amazing.

I sure did forget

When I was making the counter boxes of my babies for this blog, I realized something... I forgot the date I lost my first baby. I remember the day he was conceived. Why couldn't I remember when he died?

At first, I tried to reason that it was because I had gotten pregnant so quickly (I had a great Infertility Specialist) after losing him. I was not convinced! Next, I thought; "I'm sure I'm not the only mom who's ever forgotten." Still, I'm not buying it. I WAS the only mom who's ever forgotten! I knew the year and the month, but for the life of me I couldn't remember the day!

I go through every single piece of paperwork I could find in the baby book. Nothing. In my daughter's baby book. Still, nothing. I have only one option left(the most obvious one, of course), my hospital paperwork. Problem is it's huge! ALL my hospital paperwork starting from the first infertility visit.

My husband comes in and asks what I'm looking for, I can't break my concentration, I might miss it. So, I don't answer. He asks again and again. By this time, I'm hysterical, tears streaming, hair awry, on a mission. He's scared for me now... Ahhh, I found it! Now I can answer. Blurry eyed, I let him know that I AM the worst mom in the world. What kind of mom FORGETS the date of when her own baby dies. Her first pregnancy. After everything I went through to get pregnant. After how long we waited.

I'll never forget again. I still can't believe I forgot. But, I'm over it.

De-Lurking Week

What's de-lurking? Watchers, silent readers, who won't comment. Created by Cheryl at Paper Napkin If you stop by and read please just say hi. Let me know someone actually stops in here once in a while ;)

Every dark cloud...

I'm really not that dejected all the time. I think I can just blog better when I am. More often than not when I think of the baby it's with overwhelming love, not pain. Of course it saddens me that she (they) can't be with me now, but the love they left me with overflows. I see her beauty in the sunset, in children playing, in my son's smile, in the sharp colors of the fall leaves and the soft colors of wildflowers in spring. Everything good and beautiful reminds me...and I smile. I never thought I could live through the loss of my children. Yet now I know if I could handle that, I can handle anything, anyone, anytime, anywhere. I agree with Garth; "I could have missed the pain, but I'd of had to miss the dance."

Maybe it's just me

When my baby died everyone was so understanding and there for me. The first anniversary, again understanding. It's now been six years and it seems as if (almost) everyone has forgotten her. I don't cry as often (and now almost never in public) as when the wound to my heart was fresh, raw and exposed. But it still hurts. Not as often or for as long, but she's always going to be my baby. Why doesn't anyone understand that? I feel as if people who haven't lost one of their own children think; "Why is she still dwelling on that? It was so long ago." Or worse, "Isn't she over that yet?" Over? How do you get over holding your baby in your arms as her breaths get deeper and further apart? As you watch and pray for one more breath to come? As you hold her against your chest and know that that was her last breath? How do you get over knowing that you'll never hear her cry again, or feel her grasp your finger, or see her open her eyes and look up at her mommy, or feel her warm breath. All this only a few short hours after the joy, the unimaginable, unconditional, overwhelming love of having givin birth for the first time. Watching as a tiny perfect human being emerges from my own body. A girl! She cries while still attached to me through our umbilical cord, and though we are still one, we are two. How do you get over it? Maybe it's just me.

Do you ever...

Do you ever know the answer in your head yet your heart doesn't understand?
Do you ever wish you could do it just one more time, regardless of the outcome, just to have that moment?
Do you ever think that if you can scream loud enough you might release the pain?
Do you ever ask WHY in your head?
Do you ever go over every detail, again?
Do you ever look at kids his/her age and wonder?
Do you ever look at kids his/her age and cry?
Do you ever look at kids his/her age and feel anger?
Do you ever wonder how you got through it?
Do you ever wish you hadn't?
Do you ever wonder how you'll get through tomorrow?
Do you ever feel guilty for smiling?
Do you ever have to pull over because the tears have blurred your vision?
Do you ever get to talk about him/her with someone who REALLY understands?
Do you ever feel thankful for knowing that kind of love?
Do you ever?

Healing

I remember when I couldn't think of her without sobbing. I cried when I saw a baby, a little girl, a pregnant woman, a baby item, when I heard certain songs, etc. I love her just as much if not even more now, yet... I can think of her and smile. Sometimes my smile comes through tears, but sometimes its just a smile. Time does help. I'm thankful.

Hospital Pictures

When I was in the hospital, after my daughter died, the nurse came in to take her. She mentioned that they were going to take her "Hospital baby pictures." I thought that taking the picture of a baby, who was dead, was morbid. I said no. She tried to convince me otherwise, saying I would want them "Later". Absolutely not! Though I didn't remember this conversation, until a few years later. Taken the circumstances, I'm not suprised. I was very upset that she had even suggested it. I felt it was a violation of our intimate situation. About a year and a half later I heard that this was routine in many hospitals. My husband had taken a couple when she was alive, but not nearly as many as I wished he had. I contacted the hospital to see if it was done. They assured me that it was routine. I couldn't wait to have them in my hands. Pictures of my very much missed baby girl. After about five months of their tracking her file, it's found! And to my dissapointment it contained no pictures. It was noted that I had refused and they could do nothing. I very much regret not having them. I found out later that they never ask they just do it, and six months to a year later offer you the picures. This makes so much more sense. Given your emotional (not to mention physical) condition at the time, what do they expect? A rational answer? If you don't know if the hospital took pictures or not, call them and ask. You may not be ready to see them for a while but at least you'll know they're there.