Dear Gabrielle,
Yesterday was your due date. I knew it was coming... but I didn't realize how fast it would come.
It was beautiful here.... a crisp fall day with plenty of sunshine. I woke up and ached for you. I left the house to take your big brother to school and to head to work, and thought of how I should have been driving to the hospital instead.
Most people didn't realize that yesterday was your due date.... maybe it's easier for them to not say anything. Maybe they think that October 21st didn't have significance anymore since you left us months ago. Whatever the reason it doesn't really matter. Daddy and I remembered. There's no way we couldn't remember the date that you should have finally been in our arms.
I missed you yesterday more than I think I ever have before. Yesterday really did feel like the end.... I've known that you left us a long time ago, but with your due date passing it really hammered home.
Look out for us sweet baby.... for your Daddy and I and your siblings. Your due date was also your uncle's birthday, and if Ryan is anything like my brother.... tell him to behave himself. I'm sure he's quite the tease.
I love you, my darling, with all my heart and soul,
Momma
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Saturday, October 15, 2011
October 15: National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Rememberance Day
Today was such a wonderful day. Mark, Colin, and I went to the Share Walk for Rememberance and Hope with his mother and father, brother and his girlfriend, and my dear friend and her boyfriend. We sported the walks t-shirts, and are so proud to wear something with Gabrielle and Ryan's names on them. We wrote our messages and tied them to the green balloons, and listening to their names being announced and releasing those balloons to the heavens was so meaningful to us. Prior to Gabby and Ryan's names being announced, the majority of the balloons being released went straight up in the clear blue sky. Once we let go of ours, the wind changed directions and we watched them float straight towards the sun until we could no longer see them. It really was a beautiful moment.
We were surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of other grieving parents and their families. It was so touching to see that we aren't alone on this journey. Others have gone before us, and sadly others will follow. It is so reassuring to know that there is a network of loving and caring individuals who dedicate their time in memory of their lost angels to help others who are going through the horror and shock of losing a child.
We came back to the house and had some chili, wings, and cornbread to thank everyone for spending today with us... and am so grateful to my husband's cousin and his wife (whom I have mentioned previously) for joining us as well. She may just be the one most supportive person through all of this, and I now realize that my relationship with her is a gift from my babies. I feel that if Gabby and Ryan were still with us, we would still have become dear friends, but I now realize that after losing them our relationship has developed on a much deeper level.... she does not judge, she does not criticize. She is always there, always accepting, and always supportive.Our different but similar journeys have intertwined us together. She truly is another one of Gabby's gifts.... and I just know that Gabby and Ryan love their Auntie J just as I do.
We give our all to Colin everyday... it was great to have a day just for Gabby and Ryan. It was even more meaningful to be with those closest to us today.... to know that others care, that others recognize their existence, and that others love them as well.
We were surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of other grieving parents and their families. It was so touching to see that we aren't alone on this journey. Others have gone before us, and sadly others will follow. It is so reassuring to know that there is a network of loving and caring individuals who dedicate their time in memory of their lost angels to help others who are going through the horror and shock of losing a child.
We came back to the house and had some chili, wings, and cornbread to thank everyone for spending today with us... and am so grateful to my husband's cousin and his wife (whom I have mentioned previously) for joining us as well. She may just be the one most supportive person through all of this, and I now realize that my relationship with her is a gift from my babies. I feel that if Gabby and Ryan were still with us, we would still have become dear friends, but I now realize that after losing them our relationship has developed on a much deeper level.... she does not judge, she does not criticize. She is always there, always accepting, and always supportive.Our different but similar journeys have intertwined us together. She truly is another one of Gabby's gifts.... and I just know that Gabby and Ryan love their Auntie J just as I do.
We give our all to Colin everyday... it was great to have a day just for Gabby and Ryan. It was even more meaningful to be with those closest to us today.... to know that others care, that others recognize their existence, and that others love them as well.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
and along came Ryan
Mark and I decided to start trying again. Not a moment passed where I didn't think of our daughter. I never have had the expectation of "getting over it" or "moving on"...... but I did want to move forward. I believe that's what she would want for us.
As I stared a pregnancy test after pregnancy test with no positive results, it reminded me all over again of how Gabby wasn't with us. I shouldn't be getting a pregnancy test.... I should have been pregnant. We would have had our 20 week ultrasound. We would have registered at Babies R Us. We would have been painting a nursery. Instead, I walked by the room that should have been the nursery every solitary day, and my heart ached.
June came, and with it my birthday and Colin's birthday. I looked at the babies at his party and missed my daughter... I'd never be able to plan her birthday parties, or pick out her birthday outfit, or any of the things that mothers get to do for their daughters for that matter.
I knew that Father's Day was fast approaching. I wanted so badly to have some hope by Father's Day. I wanted to give my husband a child.
I spent ridiculous amounts of money on pregnancy tests in June... I cried when each of them were negative. I put myself through total torture knowing that it was too early to test, and each and every time I saw that negative sign my heart broke all over again.
The day before Father's Day I whipped out the last digital test I had since I had used all of the others. I had made a pact, which at the time I was fully committed to, and told myself that if it was negative, I was waiting until my period was late to buy another. I watched the timer on the test start, and lay down on the floor and cried. I cried out to God to please give us baby... to please let it say pregnant... to please help heal our hearts. I told him I was sick of feeling like a failure of a wife to my husband. I was sick of feeling like a failure of a woman. I was sick of being so devastated and heartbroken every minute of every day. I was tired of crying myself to sleep. I was tired of being a zombie. I begged and I pleaded to please take some of the pain away. I put it all on God that day in our tiny bathroom. Everything I had, every thought and every hurt I gave to him. I cried until Mark knocked on the door asking if everything was okay.
I came out of my trance. I replied I was fine and would out in a minute. I got up and dried my eyes and remembered the test. I picked it up, and plain as day in front of me...
"Pregnant"
I stood there in total shock and disbelief. The tears all came flooding back as I thanked God for listening to me and giving us what we so badly needed... the chance to have a baby again. Mark knocked on the door, again, asking if I was alright. I told him I was, stashed the test under the waist of my pants, and told him I was going out to the store to pick up groceries for dinner.
I ran out and purchased some tissue paper and a gift bag and wrapped the test.
That Father's Day was a great day to remember.... but I now realize that it was a whole new chapter on the journey. This pregnancy wasn't going to be like Colin's or Gabby's.... I had lost my innocence and knew that just because you were pregnant didn't mean that you were going to have a baby.
As I stared a pregnancy test after pregnancy test with no positive results, it reminded me all over again of how Gabby wasn't with us. I shouldn't be getting a pregnancy test.... I should have been pregnant. We would have had our 20 week ultrasound. We would have registered at Babies R Us. We would have been painting a nursery. Instead, I walked by the room that should have been the nursery every solitary day, and my heart ached.
June came, and with it my birthday and Colin's birthday. I looked at the babies at his party and missed my daughter... I'd never be able to plan her birthday parties, or pick out her birthday outfit, or any of the things that mothers get to do for their daughters for that matter.
I knew that Father's Day was fast approaching. I wanted so badly to have some hope by Father's Day. I wanted to give my husband a child.
I spent ridiculous amounts of money on pregnancy tests in June... I cried when each of them were negative. I put myself through total torture knowing that it was too early to test, and each and every time I saw that negative sign my heart broke all over again.
The day before Father's Day I whipped out the last digital test I had since I had used all of the others. I had made a pact, which at the time I was fully committed to, and told myself that if it was negative, I was waiting until my period was late to buy another. I watched the timer on the test start, and lay down on the floor and cried. I cried out to God to please give us baby... to please let it say pregnant... to please help heal our hearts. I told him I was sick of feeling like a failure of a wife to my husband. I was sick of feeling like a failure of a woman. I was sick of being so devastated and heartbroken every minute of every day. I was tired of crying myself to sleep. I was tired of being a zombie. I begged and I pleaded to please take some of the pain away. I put it all on God that day in our tiny bathroom. Everything I had, every thought and every hurt I gave to him. I cried until Mark knocked on the door asking if everything was okay.
I came out of my trance. I replied I was fine and would out in a minute. I got up and dried my eyes and remembered the test. I picked it up, and plain as day in front of me...
"Pregnant"
I stood there in total shock and disbelief. The tears all came flooding back as I thanked God for listening to me and giving us what we so badly needed... the chance to have a baby again. Mark knocked on the door, again, asking if I was alright. I told him I was, stashed the test under the waist of my pants, and told him I was going out to the store to pick up groceries for dinner.
I ran out and purchased some tissue paper and a gift bag and wrapped the test.
That Father's Day was a great day to remember.... but I now realize that it was a whole new chapter on the journey. This pregnancy wasn't going to be like Colin's or Gabby's.... I had lost my innocence and knew that just because you were pregnant didn't mean that you were going to have a baby.
Friday, October 7, 2011
They know of things I do not
It took me a while to start seeing past my anger. I don't exactly know how I did it, or what caused me to see past it, but in my despair of loss I thought over and over again of all of the things we would never get to do with our daughter.
We would never have the immediate joy after labor our looking at our beautiful girl and saying what a miracle she was.
We would never see the faces of loved ones the first time they met her.
We would never have a baptism where we could formally commit her to God.
We would never have her firsts: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, birthdays, graduations. Nothing.
We would never see her off to her first day of school. We'd never see her first communion. We'd never help her with homework, or children making fun of her for whatever ridiculous reason they could find.
We'd never get to hold her when she fell and scraped a knee, or nurse her when she was sick, or help her broken heart when her first boyfriend broke it and she felt her world was tumbling down.
We'd never see her off to college.
I'd never see Mark give away his little girl on her wedding day.
We'd never see her pregnant with our grandchildren and the joy it would bring.
But something inside of me made me think of all of the positive things that she wouldn't experience...
She never had any fear. She never was sick. She never fell and scraped her knee. She never had her heartbroken. She never had any worries. She never questioned herself. She never knew hate or prejudice. She never knew financial stresses.
And I can tell you with 100% certainty that all my daughter knows is love. She knows love, light, and beauty.... and in a very bittersweet way she's been giving everything I would have given to her. She knows nothing but joy and happiness. Isn't that what all mothers want for our children, after all?
She knows what heaven is like. She has met God. She's with my grandfather that I never knew.... and still being teased by my dear pop-pop.
So it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost Matthew 18:14
I cry as I write this. I would give my life to have her here.... but because there is nothing I can do to change what has happened, I must keep reassuring myself of these things. I must remind myself that she is happy and safe, and if I was going to let anyone else raise my child, who better than God? I consider myself a good mother.... but God is a totally different ball game.
Which brings me to one of my favorite quotes:
"Dear Lord, I would have loved to have held my babies in my lap and tell them about you, but since I didn't get the chance, would you please hold them on your lap and tell them about me?"
And I really hope that I am the mother that Gabby and Ryan can be proud of.
We would never have the immediate joy after labor our looking at our beautiful girl and saying what a miracle she was.
We would never see the faces of loved ones the first time they met her.
We would never have a baptism where we could formally commit her to God.
We would never have her firsts: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, birthdays, graduations. Nothing.
We would never see her off to her first day of school. We'd never see her first communion. We'd never help her with homework, or children making fun of her for whatever ridiculous reason they could find.
We'd never get to hold her when she fell and scraped a knee, or nurse her when she was sick, or help her broken heart when her first boyfriend broke it and she felt her world was tumbling down.
We'd never see her off to college.
I'd never see Mark give away his little girl on her wedding day.
We'd never see her pregnant with our grandchildren and the joy it would bring.
But something inside of me made me think of all of the positive things that she wouldn't experience...
She never had any fear. She never was sick. She never fell and scraped her knee. She never had her heartbroken. She never had any worries. She never questioned herself. She never knew hate or prejudice. She never knew financial stresses.
And I can tell you with 100% certainty that all my daughter knows is love. She knows love, light, and beauty.... and in a very bittersweet way she's been giving everything I would have given to her. She knows nothing but joy and happiness. Isn't that what all mothers want for our children, after all?
She knows what heaven is like. She has met God. She's with my grandfather that I never knew.... and still being teased by my dear pop-pop.
So it is not the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost Matthew 18:14
I cry as I write this. I would give my life to have her here.... but because there is nothing I can do to change what has happened, I must keep reassuring myself of these things. I must remind myself that she is happy and safe, and if I was going to let anyone else raise my child, who better than God? I consider myself a good mother.... but God is a totally different ball game.
Which brings me to one of my favorite quotes:
"Dear Lord, I would have loved to have held my babies in my lap and tell them about you, but since I didn't get the chance, would you please hold them on your lap and tell them about me?"
And I really hope that I am the mother that Gabby and Ryan can be proud of.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
a message from big brother Colin...
Gabby and Rayn you are my best brothers and sistrs Evers and I Love you.
An Ugly Pair of Shoes
I am wearing a pair of shoes.
They are ugly shoes.
Uncomfortable Shoes.
I hate my shoes.
Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.
Yet, I continue to wear them.
I get funny looks wearing these shoes.
They are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in others’ eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.
They never talk about my shoes.
To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realise that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in the world.
Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so they don’t hurt quite as much.
Some have walked in these shoes so long that days will go by before they think of how much they hurt.
No woman deserves to wear these shoes.
Yet because of the shoes I am a stronger woman.
These shoes have given me the strength to face anything
-Author Unknown
They are ugly shoes.
Uncomfortable Shoes.
I hate my shoes.
Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.
Yet, I continue to wear them.
I get funny looks wearing these shoes.
They are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in others’ eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.
They never talk about my shoes.
To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realise that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in the world.
Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so they don’t hurt quite as much.
Some have walked in these shoes so long that days will go by before they think of how much they hurt.
No woman deserves to wear these shoes.
Yet because of the shoes I am a stronger woman.
These shoes have given me the strength to face anything
-Author Unknown
Chromonsonal testing and mother's day
I called every 3 days after the nurse called me about my D&C, asking for the results of the chromosone tests, and because they never had them, wanted to know when they would be in.
They never had an answer.
So, on my quest to find a reason as to why Gabrielle died, I called.
After 6 weeks of calling every 3 days, I was finally told they never did any testing.
All of the feelings came back. That test was my last hope in finding a reason why my daughter was dead, and now, after stringing me along for 6 weeks........ nothing.
Mother's Day soon approached. I had hoped to be pregnant again, partly to help ease the pain of having to go through Mother's Day being without a baby in my womb.
All tests were negative. We invited Mark's maternal side of the family over for brunch. I looked forward to keeping busy preparing everything for everyone and not having the face the reality of what had happened.
Mark's grandma went in the hospital the afternoon before Mother's Day. Again, I pleaded with God to not do any more damage to our family. First my brother in law, then our daughter, now his grandmother.
We went to visit her at the hospital the following morning, bringing a little pot of flowers that we had planned to give to her at brunch. Being in the hospital brought a whole flood of emotions.... first of the day we went to the emergency room, and then of surgery.
We are so thankful that his grandma made it out okay. I don't know what would have happened if something would have gone wrong. For the first time in a long time, I felt like God had maybe decided to listen to me.
Mark bought a tree for me to plant on Mother's Day..... we planted many different flowers around it. Gabby's Garden was such a big piece of the healing process and I'm so thankful that my husband was so thoughtful that day.
They never had an answer.
So, on my quest to find a reason as to why Gabrielle died, I called.
After 6 weeks of calling every 3 days, I was finally told they never did any testing.
All of the feelings came back. That test was my last hope in finding a reason why my daughter was dead, and now, after stringing me along for 6 weeks........ nothing.
Mother's Day soon approached. I had hoped to be pregnant again, partly to help ease the pain of having to go through Mother's Day being without a baby in my womb.
All tests were negative. We invited Mark's maternal side of the family over for brunch. I looked forward to keeping busy preparing everything for everyone and not having the face the reality of what had happened.
Mark's grandma went in the hospital the afternoon before Mother's Day. Again, I pleaded with God to not do any more damage to our family. First my brother in law, then our daughter, now his grandmother.
We went to visit her at the hospital the following morning, bringing a little pot of flowers that we had planned to give to her at brunch. Being in the hospital brought a whole flood of emotions.... first of the day we went to the emergency room, and then of surgery.
We are so thankful that his grandma made it out okay. I don't know what would have happened if something would have gone wrong. For the first time in a long time, I felt like God had maybe decided to listen to me.
Mark bought a tree for me to plant on Mother's Day..... we planted many different flowers around it. Gabby's Garden was such a big piece of the healing process and I'm so thankful that my husband was so thoughtful that day.
Burial
Gabrielle Elizabeth Moore was buried with all of the other children born to God.
It is the most beautiful place in the entire cemetery. It overlooks a huge pond with fountains spouting out of them, flowers galore, and the most beautiful tree right by.
It gives me peace knowing that she is buried in the same place as family that has gone before her, and that she is with the other children that have gone too soon.
Mark and I, on our first visit out there, brought her some beautiful pink roses.
The hardest part of going was leaving. I felt like I was leaving her, abandoning her. I am so thankful to have a place to go to be with her.... yet I'm still not very good about the goodbye's.
It is the most beautiful place in the entire cemetery. It overlooks a huge pond with fountains spouting out of them, flowers galore, and the most beautiful tree right by.
It gives me peace knowing that she is buried in the same place as family that has gone before her, and that she is with the other children that have gone too soon.
Mark and I, on our first visit out there, brought her some beautiful pink roses.
The hardest part of going was leaving. I felt like I was leaving her, abandoning her. I am so thankful to have a place to go to be with her.... yet I'm still not very good about the goodbye's.
Easter
Easter should be such a happy time. Spring! Pastel colors painted on everything. Egg hunts. Sunday dresses. Chicks and ducklings.
We dyed Easter eggs with Colin, as always. This year, as is tradition in our house, everyone had their name on an egg.... including Gabby. Hers was the prettiest shade of purple, and the smile that came across Colin's face as he read her name aloud melted my heart.
Easter was the first time we would be around the whole family. It terrified me.
Once again I was drug out of safety of my house, the place where I could shelter myself from babies and pregnancy and happy parents.
Our family has a few people in it in the medical field. At my husband's grandmas, I walked past some of them talking about children they had seen in terrible shape at the hospital. One had been beaten to death to the point where you couldn't even recognize it was a baby anymore. Here was I wishing I could trade places with my little girl, and other people are killing theirs. I felt so sick.
I silently walked out of the kitchen and sat in the family room, staring out the window. I looked at the chair that Mark's grandpa had sat in in front of the picture window. It reminded me of when I was a child and my grandfather was dying of cancer for years. He sat on the seat right by the picture window and watched all of the squirrels going up and down the trees that lined the street. I imagined my pop-pop teasing all of us girls and scooping us up in his big arms, and my nana yelling from the kitchen "Bud, leave those girls alone!".
We acted like we couldn't stand it, but we loved every minute of it. I thought of him sneaking us out to 7-11 for yet ANOTHER slurpee... or taking us to the penny candy store and walking back with a massive bag full of candy. Sitting on his lap watching the baseball game and the hundreds of hats he had lining the stairs down to the basement.
I thought about him holding Gabby in heaven, scooping her up in his big arms and chasing her around. For a moment, I thought I could smell his scent.
Mark's mom found me and sat next to me, putting her around me. We didn't say anything.... we just sat on the couch and looked out the front window. I allowed the tears to fall.
We dyed Easter eggs with Colin, as always. This year, as is tradition in our house, everyone had their name on an egg.... including Gabby. Hers was the prettiest shade of purple, and the smile that came across Colin's face as he read her name aloud melted my heart.
Easter was the first time we would be around the whole family. It terrified me.
Once again I was drug out of safety of my house, the place where I could shelter myself from babies and pregnancy and happy parents.
Our family has a few people in it in the medical field. At my husband's grandmas, I walked past some of them talking about children they had seen in terrible shape at the hospital. One had been beaten to death to the point where you couldn't even recognize it was a baby anymore. Here was I wishing I could trade places with my little girl, and other people are killing theirs. I felt so sick.
I silently walked out of the kitchen and sat in the family room, staring out the window. I looked at the chair that Mark's grandpa had sat in in front of the picture window. It reminded me of when I was a child and my grandfather was dying of cancer for years. He sat on the seat right by the picture window and watched all of the squirrels going up and down the trees that lined the street. I imagined my pop-pop teasing all of us girls and scooping us up in his big arms, and my nana yelling from the kitchen "Bud, leave those girls alone!".
We acted like we couldn't stand it, but we loved every minute of it. I thought of him sneaking us out to 7-11 for yet ANOTHER slurpee... or taking us to the penny candy store and walking back with a massive bag full of candy. Sitting on his lap watching the baseball game and the hundreds of hats he had lining the stairs down to the basement.
I thought about him holding Gabby in heaven, scooping her up in his big arms and chasing her around. For a moment, I thought I could smell his scent.
Mark's mom found me and sat next to me, putting her around me. We didn't say anything.... we just sat on the couch and looked out the front window. I allowed the tears to fall.
New baby in the family....
My cousin..... after months of trying..... went to the doctor for an ultrasound to see if they could find out why she was having trouble conceiving....
She was pregnant.
The family was so overjoyed for her and her husband, and when I first found out I was pregnant with Gabrielle I couldn't wait to tell her that her baby would have a cousin following them a few months later.
She gave birth to her son in March.... just a few days before the day we found out Gabby no longer had a heartbeat. When I first found out I was so happy for her. I had planned to go to his baptism a month or so later and because it was still early in the pregnancy, an out of state trip shouldn't have been a problem.
and then dooms day. I couldn't bear it. As happy as I was for my cousin and her family and the love I felt for the little boy she had just brought into the world, it was so difficult for me to see the e-mails of his pictures and hear of everything he was doing.
It was not jealousy. It just reminded me of what I had lost.
Because of the time I took off of work, I was not able to go to his baptism in May. I tried several times to go to the store to send him a gift, and each and every time I pulled up I just couldn't bring myself to do it... to go through the torture of being surrounded by new moms, their babies, and all of the adorable baby things. I tried to call, but as I was dialing the number I thought of how the conversation would go and how it would put me back in such a dark place of wanting my baby girl back.
I wanted to, but I couldn't.
She's mad at me. I hurt her. I didn't mean to intentionally, and even though I've tried to explain it I don't think she understands. I hope she never has to. I wouldn't wish this pain on my worst enemy, much less someone I love.... And I do love her. I always will. I think of us as children and how much I looked up to her. How I wanted to dress like her. How cool and pretty I thought she was.
It hurt that others expected me to be so overjoyed for them but couldn't at least acknowledge what had happened to my husband, my son, and me. It still hurts.
I haven't spoken to her in months. I don't know if I will speak to her again.... only time will tell. She's made it pretty clear how badly she has been hurt and has no desire to speak to me, and that's her decision.
Like I said, if it means she doesn't have to lose a baby, I'd rather her be mad at me than understand.
She was pregnant.
The family was so overjoyed for her and her husband, and when I first found out I was pregnant with Gabrielle I couldn't wait to tell her that her baby would have a cousin following them a few months later.
She gave birth to her son in March.... just a few days before the day we found out Gabby no longer had a heartbeat. When I first found out I was so happy for her. I had planned to go to his baptism a month or so later and because it was still early in the pregnancy, an out of state trip shouldn't have been a problem.
and then dooms day. I couldn't bear it. As happy as I was for my cousin and her family and the love I felt for the little boy she had just brought into the world, it was so difficult for me to see the e-mails of his pictures and hear of everything he was doing.
It was not jealousy. It just reminded me of what I had lost.
Because of the time I took off of work, I was not able to go to his baptism in May. I tried several times to go to the store to send him a gift, and each and every time I pulled up I just couldn't bring myself to do it... to go through the torture of being surrounded by new moms, their babies, and all of the adorable baby things. I tried to call, but as I was dialing the number I thought of how the conversation would go and how it would put me back in such a dark place of wanting my baby girl back.
I wanted to, but I couldn't.
She's mad at me. I hurt her. I didn't mean to intentionally, and even though I've tried to explain it I don't think she understands. I hope she never has to. I wouldn't wish this pain on my worst enemy, much less someone I love.... And I do love her. I always will. I think of us as children and how much I looked up to her. How I wanted to dress like her. How cool and pretty I thought she was.
It hurt that others expected me to be so overjoyed for them but couldn't at least acknowledge what had happened to my husband, my son, and me. It still hurts.
I haven't spoken to her in months. I don't know if I will speak to her again.... only time will tell. She's made it pretty clear how badly she has been hurt and has no desire to speak to me, and that's her decision.
Like I said, if it means she doesn't have to lose a baby, I'd rather her be mad at me than understand.
going back to work
Work. Typically not a place people particularly enjoy.
I dreaded it.
I took a week off.... only to go back with a panic attack on the way there that morning. I tried to make myself as presentable as possible.... makeup and all. I was so afraid of the comments and the looks that would come my way.
Everyone was cordial. They asked how I was feeling.... and as I choked back the tears the only two syllables I could muster were "o.k.".
I wasn't okay. I was a trainwreck. I cried myself to sleep every night. I slept with Gabby's robe. I was torn between wanting my husband to hold me and wanting to be completely isolated. I didn't know who I was anymore. I looked in the mirror and didn't even recognize myself. I was not a pretty sight.
My soul cried out from deep inside my all hours of the day. I was completely broken.
Seeing my son made me think of all of the things that I would never see Gabby do.
I arrived at work and went straight to my desk. I didn't say much to anyone. They gave me flowers, and even though I was completely touched by the gesture having everyone stare at me for a reaction made the tears flow.
At work, I tried to focus on what I needed to do... until my phone rang and the doctor's office showed up on caller id.
I was told they were doing chromosone testing. Maybe they finally had some answers for me.
I answered, and it was a different nurse than I had talked to before. Her name was Judy.
She was calling me to say that surgery was successful and that the "products of conception" had been removed.
SHUT THE FRONT DOOR
I asked her if this was a sick joke. Who calls someone to tell them that?
I felt a fire rise with in me. You know, when people have surgery, it's to remove something that they wanted gone.
I didn't want Gabrielle to be taken away. I wanted her with me so badly my insides hurt.
How was this supposed to be a success? Why didn't they tell me that I'd be receiving this kind of call?
Why had this ever happened?
I asked when the choromosonal testing would be done and she told me they'd contact me. Again no answers.
I hated work. It made me leave the safety of my house.... the safety of a place I could cry, and scream, and rest. Leaving the house put me in an unsafe position... I couldn't control who I saw, what I saw, or what I heard.
That day, a coworker announced the birth of their grandchild and a mass e-mail was sent to everyone with her grand-daughter's picture. I wasn't prepared for that. I wasn't prepared for anything.
The darkness consumed me. I started hating everyone and everything. I hated everything that wasn't Gabrielle with me.
I yelled at God on the way home that day. I'm sure people driving by wished they had waited until I was off the road, but I didn't care. I screamed at him for taking her. I berated him for abandoning me when I needed him. I cried out to him asking why he ever gave me her to begin with if he was just going to take her away anyway.
And I went home again, locked myself in the bedroom, and cried until I could do nothing but sleep.
I dreaded it.
I took a week off.... only to go back with a panic attack on the way there that morning. I tried to make myself as presentable as possible.... makeup and all. I was so afraid of the comments and the looks that would come my way.
Everyone was cordial. They asked how I was feeling.... and as I choked back the tears the only two syllables I could muster were "o.k.".
I wasn't okay. I was a trainwreck. I cried myself to sleep every night. I slept with Gabby's robe. I was torn between wanting my husband to hold me and wanting to be completely isolated. I didn't know who I was anymore. I looked in the mirror and didn't even recognize myself. I was not a pretty sight.
My soul cried out from deep inside my all hours of the day. I was completely broken.
Seeing my son made me think of all of the things that I would never see Gabby do.
I arrived at work and went straight to my desk. I didn't say much to anyone. They gave me flowers, and even though I was completely touched by the gesture having everyone stare at me for a reaction made the tears flow.
At work, I tried to focus on what I needed to do... until my phone rang and the doctor's office showed up on caller id.
I was told they were doing chromosone testing. Maybe they finally had some answers for me.
I answered, and it was a different nurse than I had talked to before. Her name was Judy.
She was calling me to say that surgery was successful and that the "products of conception" had been removed.
SHUT THE FRONT DOOR
I asked her if this was a sick joke. Who calls someone to tell them that?
I felt a fire rise with in me. You know, when people have surgery, it's to remove something that they wanted gone.
I didn't want Gabrielle to be taken away. I wanted her with me so badly my insides hurt.
How was this supposed to be a success? Why didn't they tell me that I'd be receiving this kind of call?
Why had this ever happened?
I asked when the choromosonal testing would be done and she told me they'd contact me. Again no answers.
I hated work. It made me leave the safety of my house.... the safety of a place I could cry, and scream, and rest. Leaving the house put me in an unsafe position... I couldn't control who I saw, what I saw, or what I heard.
That day, a coworker announced the birth of their grandchild and a mass e-mail was sent to everyone with her grand-daughter's picture. I wasn't prepared for that. I wasn't prepared for anything.
The darkness consumed me. I started hating everyone and everything. I hated everything that wasn't Gabrielle with me.
I yelled at God on the way home that day. I'm sure people driving by wished they had waited until I was off the road, but I didn't care. I screamed at him for taking her. I berated him for abandoning me when I needed him. I cried out to him asking why he ever gave me her to begin with if he was just going to take her away anyway.
And I went home again, locked myself in the bedroom, and cried until I could do nothing but sleep.
having "the talk" with Colin
The weeks and months to come were.... odd. I spent most of my time as separated from people as possible. The one time I went out with a friend for "girl's night" I purposely tried to drink as much as I could handle just to numb the pain. I drank like a fish....and I can handle my own..... but nothing worked. I still felt sober. My heart still was broken. I was still hurt.
I looked back to the day I told Colin what had happened. Colin's a pretty smart cookie... he knew something wasn't right. He kept asking me why I was so sad. I tried not to cry in front of him, but apparently misery was written all over my face.
I finally sat him down, and told him what I thought would be best for him. I told him that our baby was just so beautiful, and SO perfect, that God decided that he needed to keep her as an angel.
that didn't go over so well. Colin wouldn't look at me or talk to me. I soon found out that he was afraid that I (since he said that I'm the most beautiful momma) would be taken by God too.... and Daddy.... and Grandma...and the cat...
Yeah. I failed with that one.
So I decided it was time to get real. How do you explain something to your young child that you can't even explain to yourself? I told him what I knew. I explained that the baby had died, and noone knew why, and that daddy and I are very sad and that it was okay for him to be sad too. I said that our baby was with God and that we can talk to them whenever we like. Daddy and I named her Gabrielle, and we gave her the nickname Gabby, and we loved her and Colin very much.
And then my little man looked at me and said "Don't worry, Momma. God will take care of her." and off he went.
WHAT?! How could this little guy feel so secure in that?
Colin sat at the kitchen table and drew the most amazing picture of all of us on a picnic.... with a blanket, basket and all.... and he drew himself playing catch with a little girl in a blue and red dress and a bow in her hair. All of this time where I kept talking about my baby and thinking of babies, Colin had been looking for a playmate. Someone to play catch with and tease Mark and I with their crazy antics.
My heart broke for my son that day. I felt that much more of a failure. I'd let him down too.
I looked back to the day I told Colin what had happened. Colin's a pretty smart cookie... he knew something wasn't right. He kept asking me why I was so sad. I tried not to cry in front of him, but apparently misery was written all over my face.
I finally sat him down, and told him what I thought would be best for him. I told him that our baby was just so beautiful, and SO perfect, that God decided that he needed to keep her as an angel.
that didn't go over so well. Colin wouldn't look at me or talk to me. I soon found out that he was afraid that I (since he said that I'm the most beautiful momma) would be taken by God too.... and Daddy.... and Grandma...and the cat...
Yeah. I failed with that one.
So I decided it was time to get real. How do you explain something to your young child that you can't even explain to yourself? I told him what I knew. I explained that the baby had died, and noone knew why, and that daddy and I are very sad and that it was okay for him to be sad too. I said that our baby was with God and that we can talk to them whenever we like. Daddy and I named her Gabrielle, and we gave her the nickname Gabby, and we loved her and Colin very much.
And then my little man looked at me and said "Don't worry, Momma. God will take care of her." and off he went.
WHAT?! How could this little guy feel so secure in that?
Colin sat at the kitchen table and drew the most amazing picture of all of us on a picnic.... with a blanket, basket and all.... and he drew himself playing catch with a little girl in a blue and red dress and a bow in her hair. All of this time where I kept talking about my baby and thinking of babies, Colin had been looking for a playmate. Someone to play catch with and tease Mark and I with their crazy antics.
My heart broke for my son that day. I felt that much more of a failure. I'd let him down too.
Gabriel pays another visit before surgery
The next day I was being prepped for surgery. I had the gown, slippers, cap and all.
I thought for a split second that maybe they'll mess up or something and I won't have to come back. I then remembered it was a pretty routine procedure.
Mark, as always, was right by my side. His mom gave to offer us both some support, and I was so grateful knowing that while I was under Mark had someone with him.
I brought part of the gift I had given Mark when I first told him I was pregnant. A yellow newborn bath robe with a little duckie on it, and it said "I Love Daddy". I held on to it with everything I had in me. I felt like my son and his baby blanket.... this was the only tangible thing I had from the pregnancy.
There was so much paperwork to I had to sign, and once again had to argue over having our baby's remains buried. They tried to put up a fight, but maybe it was the first sight of "momma bear" that they decided to back off.
Mark held my hand and stroked my hair the whole time I was waiting. I could see the worry on his face. I hate seeing him worried.
Mark's mom came back and told me that a group of women at her church, St. Gabriel's, were praying for us.
And it hit me. Gabriel. First the dream, twice the passages the day before in the bible, and now another mention of the archangel. A name I rarely ever heard had been stuck in front of me 4 times in the past 3 days.
I looked at Mark and told him that her name was Gabrielle. She had to be named Gabrielle. And he agreed.
They wheeled me back for surgery, and the sobbing came. I tried to be graceful. I tried to be proper. It just hurt so bad. I was allowing them to take my baby from me. I cried into that robe and looked around the sterile white room with huge machines looming over my head and everyone dressed for surgery. I cried until the anesthesia took over and everything went black.
I woke up feeling refreshed. I felt as if I had caught up on years of sleep. I started to come to and recognized the nurse I saw before surgery with way too much makeup on. I thought about how terrifying it would be for a child to wake up to that, because it nearly scared everything out of me. Mark came. I felt numb and confused.
I held it together most of the rest of that day..... I just didn't know what to think or feel.
I thought for a split second that maybe they'll mess up or something and I won't have to come back. I then remembered it was a pretty routine procedure.
Mark, as always, was right by my side. His mom gave to offer us both some support, and I was so grateful knowing that while I was under Mark had someone with him.
I brought part of the gift I had given Mark when I first told him I was pregnant. A yellow newborn bath robe with a little duckie on it, and it said "I Love Daddy". I held on to it with everything I had in me. I felt like my son and his baby blanket.... this was the only tangible thing I had from the pregnancy.
There was so much paperwork to I had to sign, and once again had to argue over having our baby's remains buried. They tried to put up a fight, but maybe it was the first sight of "momma bear" that they decided to back off.
Mark held my hand and stroked my hair the whole time I was waiting. I could see the worry on his face. I hate seeing him worried.
Mark's mom came back and told me that a group of women at her church, St. Gabriel's, were praying for us.
And it hit me. Gabriel. First the dream, twice the passages the day before in the bible, and now another mention of the archangel. A name I rarely ever heard had been stuck in front of me 4 times in the past 3 days.
I looked at Mark and told him that her name was Gabrielle. She had to be named Gabrielle. And he agreed.
They wheeled me back for surgery, and the sobbing came. I tried to be graceful. I tried to be proper. It just hurt so bad. I was allowing them to take my baby from me. I cried into that robe and looked around the sterile white room with huge machines looming over my head and everyone dressed for surgery. I cried until the anesthesia took over and everything went black.
I woke up feeling refreshed. I felt as if I had caught up on years of sleep. I started to come to and recognized the nurse I saw before surgery with way too much makeup on. I thought about how terrifying it would be for a child to wake up to that, because it nearly scared everything out of me. Mark came. I felt numb and confused.
I held it together most of the rest of that day..... I just didn't know what to think or feel.
Who's Gabriel anyway?
The answers of "this is a fact of life" and "sometimes it just happens" weren't sitting well with me. And so, in a completely vulnerable state, I did something I hadn't done in a very long time.
I walked downstair and grabbed my bible.... the pink Precious Moments bible I was given on the day of my first communion back in 2nd grade.
I understood that there were medical terms for all of everything. It wasn't enough. I needed something more. I was looking for a much more spiritual answer and this, if anywhere, would be where I could find it.
I didn't know where to look. The thousands of pages and stories of the bible can seem pretty daunting when you are looking for something so specific.
I went to Catholic schools for 13 years. I had, to date, received all of my sacraments. I'd been through hours upon hours of theology classes, learning about church history and doctrine. Something I had not done since I was a little girl, however, was to just read.
So I randomly opened the book and started reading. I had opened it to Luke 1:5-25.
Once when Zechariah's division was on duty and he was serving as priest before God, he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to go into the temple of the Lord and burn incense. And when the time for the burning of incense came, all the assembled worshipers were praying outside. Then an angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right side of the altar of incense. When Zechariah saw him, he was startled and was gripped with fear. But the angel said to him: 'Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to give him the name John. He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He is never to take wine or other fermented drink, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit even from birth. Many of the people of Israel will he bring back to the Lord their God. And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous--to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.'
Zechariah asked the angel, 'How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.'
The angel answered, 'I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news. And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their proper time.'
Meanwhile, the people were waiting for Zechariah and wondering why he stayed so long in the temple. When he came out, he could not speak to them. They realised he had seen a vision in the temple, for he kept making signs to them but remained unable to speak. When his time of service was completed, he returned home. After this his wife Elizabeth became pregnant and for five months remained in seclusion. 'The Lord has done this for me,' she said. 'In these days he has shown his favour and taken away my disgrace among the people.'
For all intensive purposes, Elizabeth and Zechariah shouldn't have been having children... yet she gave birth to a healthy baby boy and named him John.
I won't lie. I was kind of hurt. She was supposedly beyond her child bearing years, and here I was in my prime and my arms were empty. I turned a couple pages.
Most people know the following story that I read.... if you don't, you should really read it.
Gabriel appeared to a virgin, by the name of Mary, and told her that she would conceive a child by the power of the Holy Spirit, who would be called Jesus, and that he would be the Son of the Most High.
When Mary asked how it could possibly be (remember, she's a virgin) he told her "For with God nothing will be impossible."
Something struck me after reading these two passages. I wasn't sure what it was yet, but they stuck out in my mind. At the time it was a hard pill for me to swallow.... I went searching for answers as to why God let my baby die and find that two women who, for all intensive purposes shouldn't be having children, were not only pregnant but gave birth to two healthy boys.
Charlotte just didn't feel right. While we never had complete confirmation that our baby was a girl or boy, Mark and I both had felt as if "it" was in fact a "she". While I still adore the name Charlotte and think it is beautiful.... it just didn't seem right anymore, and I didn't know why.
I daydreamed about how I wish Gabriel would show up next to me so maybe I could ask him a few questions if God wasn't going to answer me ..... he must be pretty important if he's sent on such world changing missions.
I walked downstair and grabbed my bible.... the pink Precious Moments bible I was given on the day of my first communion back in 2nd grade.
I understood that there were medical terms for all of everything. It wasn't enough. I needed something more. I was looking for a much more spiritual answer and this, if anywhere, would be where I could find it.
I didn't know where to look. The thousands of pages and stories of the bible can seem pretty daunting when you are looking for something so specific.
I went to Catholic schools for 13 years. I had, to date, received all of my sacraments. I'd been through hours upon hours of theology classes, learning about church history and doctrine. Something I had not done since I was a little girl, however, was to just read.
So I randomly opened the book and started reading. I had opened it to Luke 1:5-25.
Once when Zechariah's division was on duty and he was serving as priest before God, he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to go into the temple of the Lord and burn incense. And when the time for the burning of incense came, all the assembled worshipers were praying outside. Then an angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right side of the altar of incense. When Zechariah saw him, he was startled and was gripped with fear. But the angel said to him: 'Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to give him the name John. He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He is never to take wine or other fermented drink, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit even from birth. Many of the people of Israel will he bring back to the Lord their God. And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous--to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.'
Zechariah asked the angel, 'How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.'
The angel answered, 'I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news. And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their proper time.'
Meanwhile, the people were waiting for Zechariah and wondering why he stayed so long in the temple. When he came out, he could not speak to them. They realised he had seen a vision in the temple, for he kept making signs to them but remained unable to speak. When his time of service was completed, he returned home. After this his wife Elizabeth became pregnant and for five months remained in seclusion. 'The Lord has done this for me,' she said. 'In these days he has shown his favour and taken away my disgrace among the people.'
For all intensive purposes, Elizabeth and Zechariah shouldn't have been having children... yet she gave birth to a healthy baby boy and named him John.
I won't lie. I was kind of hurt. She was supposedly beyond her child bearing years, and here I was in my prime and my arms were empty. I turned a couple pages.
Most people know the following story that I read.... if you don't, you should really read it.
Gabriel appeared to a virgin, by the name of Mary, and told her that she would conceive a child by the power of the Holy Spirit, who would be called Jesus, and that he would be the Son of the Most High.
When Mary asked how it could possibly be (remember, she's a virgin) he told her "For with God nothing will be impossible."
Something struck me after reading these two passages. I wasn't sure what it was yet, but they stuck out in my mind. At the time it was a hard pill for me to swallow.... I went searching for answers as to why God let my baby die and find that two women who, for all intensive purposes shouldn't be having children, were not only pregnant but gave birth to two healthy boys.
Charlotte just didn't feel right. While we never had complete confirmation that our baby was a girl or boy, Mark and I both had felt as if "it" was in fact a "she". While I still adore the name Charlotte and think it is beautiful.... it just didn't seem right anymore, and I didn't know why.
I daydreamed about how I wish Gabriel would show up next to me so maybe I could ask him a few questions if God wasn't going to answer me ..... he must be pretty important if he's sent on such world changing missions.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
loving the unlovable
I just read something that seems to apply to the last post.
"The most memorable people in life will be the friends that loved you when you weren't very lovable."
Believe me, I was far from lovable. I was angry, depressed, miserable, confused, lost, and hurt. I looked terrible, I felt terrible, I was completely consumed by my pain and my heartache.
I pushed my husband away when I didn't feel he was grieving the same way. I stopped caring about myself completely. I prayed that I could just go be with her, have a serious talk with God about why He allowed my baby to die, and never have to come back to such a sick hurting world. I was hurt when others tried to force me out of the house, and hurt when everyone else's lives went on without us. I was angry at the people who should have cared, who should have called, and who should have stopped by.
I felt betrayed by the laws of nature, by God, by some friends and family members.
I was full of anger, rage, and hate.
Most of my problem is that I was really blaming myself. I was the only connection our baby had with the world. My job was to keep her safe in my womb.... and I failed. Something went wrong, and it was my unintentional fault she was dead. I felt betrayed by my very own self.... and that is a very tough battle to have.
I felt as if I had failed my child, my husband, my son, our family. I felt completely worthless as a woman and as a mother and a wife.
I hated myself.
So thank you to everyone who loved me when I most certainly was not lovable. Especially to you Mark... you're who pulled me through... thank you for loving me when I couldn't love myself.
"The most memorable people in life will be the friends that loved you when you weren't very lovable."
Believe me, I was far from lovable. I was angry, depressed, miserable, confused, lost, and hurt. I looked terrible, I felt terrible, I was completely consumed by my pain and my heartache.
I pushed my husband away when I didn't feel he was grieving the same way. I stopped caring about myself completely. I prayed that I could just go be with her, have a serious talk with God about why He allowed my baby to die, and never have to come back to such a sick hurting world. I was hurt when others tried to force me out of the house, and hurt when everyone else's lives went on without us. I was angry at the people who should have cared, who should have called, and who should have stopped by.
I felt betrayed by the laws of nature, by God, by some friends and family members.
I was full of anger, rage, and hate.
Most of my problem is that I was really blaming myself. I was the only connection our baby had with the world. My job was to keep her safe in my womb.... and I failed. Something went wrong, and it was my unintentional fault she was dead. I felt betrayed by my very own self.... and that is a very tough battle to have.
I felt as if I had failed my child, my husband, my son, our family. I felt completely worthless as a woman and as a mother and a wife.
I hated myself.
So thank you to everyone who loved me when I most certainly was not lovable. Especially to you Mark... you're who pulled me through... thank you for loving me when I couldn't love myself.
oh, the things people say (and don't say)
So as I was trying to come to terms with what was going on...
enter in the people who either don't know what to say, feel like what they think they have to say is an ingenious idea, or try to find something to say and it ends up being more hurtful... and of course the ones that say nothing at all.
So before we get into all of that, let me tell you what the RIGHT thing to say is.
Repeat after me. " I know that these words don't take away the pain, but I am sorry for your loss and am here for you however you need me."
That's all. Pretty simple. Sadly, these words aren't said often..... instead, I heard:
"Oh my gosh, what did you do?"- I didn't do anything, you moron. I did everything I was supposed to. Thank you for blaming me.
"Well, there was something wrong with your baby. What if they would have been retarded or something? Man, that would have sucked for you. It's better this way." Excuse me, pea brain. Nothing is better this way. Nothing was wrong with my baby, and even if there was something "wrong", I would have loved them no less. What an insensitive comment. How do you look at yourself in the mirror everyday?
"At least you have Colin." Are you insinuating that this child was supposed to be Colin's replacement or something.... is that why you think that Colin replaces this child? I love my son with my whole heart, but no child ever replaces another. EVER.
" If you think this hurts, imagine how all of those people with infertility feel?" Wow.... where do people like you come from? I have several friends that have struggled with infertility for quite some time. My heart breaks with them. What does my baby DYING have to do with someone trying to get pregnant? These are two totally separate issues, and thank you for suggesting that I should be grateful somehow for what has happened.
"Don't worry... you'll have another baby." *sigh* here we go again talking about replacement children. The last thing I'm thinking about when I have just learned that my baby is dead is having another baby. I want MY baby back. Another baby will never replace this baby. Ever.
" I know of women that have had several miscarriages/stillborns, etc." Thank you for not only discrediting my pain, but for now putting the thought in my head that this will continue to happen over, and over, and over again.
"Well, I can see why you're sad. But don't worry, you'll get over it soon enough." Losing a baby is not something that you "get over". It's never something you forget. Why don't you go hang out with the people with the infertility and retardation comments.
These are just a few of the comments I've heard. They all hurt. They weren't asked for or needed. Yet, people like to say them. Why? I'll never know. Honestly, even just saying "I don't know what to say other that I'm sorry" is completely acceptable.
I digress. This is where the disappointment in people comes into play. People that were supposed to be some of our closest friends and even family members. I don't name names... this isn't an attack on anyone. This is mostly written for BLM's that are shocked at how people closest to them could say things like this, or people who know of someone that has lost.
Flowers were sent to us as were sympathy cards, and it was a bittersweet feeling. I thought of the flowers that should have been at the hospital after delivery and the "Congratulations!" cards that should have been arriving. Instead it was sorry for your loss and sympathy flowers.... but it also made me happy. I was so happy that other people could acknowledge our loss. That they understood how much our baby was loved.
But, with the people you are disappointed in comes the people who blow you away with kindness. Remember that bridal shower I talked about earlier, when I first thought I was pregnant? Well, that couple was married the week before the trip to the ER. A friend of mine, their photographer, took a picture of Mark and I at their wedding. It's the last picture of me pregnant. It's the "old me".... the me who was living a completely naive pregnancy and assumed that just because she was pregnant that she would give birth and all would end well. The me that had many months of nursery planning and baby naming and chocolate cake cravings in the middle of the night. The girl who still had some innocence left in her and had no clue what sort of darkness was right around the corner.
enter in the people who either don't know what to say, feel like what they think they have to say is an ingenious idea, or try to find something to say and it ends up being more hurtful... and of course the ones that say nothing at all.
So before we get into all of that, let me tell you what the RIGHT thing to say is.
Repeat after me. " I know that these words don't take away the pain, but I am sorry for your loss and am here for you however you need me."
That's all. Pretty simple. Sadly, these words aren't said often..... instead, I heard:
"Oh my gosh, what did you do?"- I didn't do anything, you moron. I did everything I was supposed to. Thank you for blaming me.
"Well, there was something wrong with your baby. What if they would have been retarded or something? Man, that would have sucked for you. It's better this way." Excuse me, pea brain. Nothing is better this way. Nothing was wrong with my baby, and even if there was something "wrong", I would have loved them no less. What an insensitive comment. How do you look at yourself in the mirror everyday?
"At least you have Colin." Are you insinuating that this child was supposed to be Colin's replacement or something.... is that why you think that Colin replaces this child? I love my son with my whole heart, but no child ever replaces another. EVER.
" If you think this hurts, imagine how all of those people with infertility feel?" Wow.... where do people like you come from? I have several friends that have struggled with infertility for quite some time. My heart breaks with them. What does my baby DYING have to do with someone trying to get pregnant? These are two totally separate issues, and thank you for suggesting that I should be grateful somehow for what has happened.
"Don't worry... you'll have another baby." *sigh* here we go again talking about replacement children. The last thing I'm thinking about when I have just learned that my baby is dead is having another baby. I want MY baby back. Another baby will never replace this baby. Ever.
" I know of women that have had several miscarriages/stillborns, etc." Thank you for not only discrediting my pain, but for now putting the thought in my head that this will continue to happen over, and over, and over again.
"Well, I can see why you're sad. But don't worry, you'll get over it soon enough." Losing a baby is not something that you "get over". It's never something you forget. Why don't you go hang out with the people with the infertility and retardation comments.
These are just a few of the comments I've heard. They all hurt. They weren't asked for or needed. Yet, people like to say them. Why? I'll never know. Honestly, even just saying "I don't know what to say other that I'm sorry" is completely acceptable.
I digress. This is where the disappointment in people comes into play. People that were supposed to be some of our closest friends and even family members. I don't name names... this isn't an attack on anyone. This is mostly written for BLM's that are shocked at how people closest to them could say things like this, or people who know of someone that has lost.
Flowers were sent to us as were sympathy cards, and it was a bittersweet feeling. I thought of the flowers that should have been at the hospital after delivery and the "Congratulations!" cards that should have been arriving. Instead it was sorry for your loss and sympathy flowers.... but it also made me happy. I was so happy that other people could acknowledge our loss. That they understood how much our baby was loved.
But, with the people you are disappointed in comes the people who blow you away with kindness. Remember that bridal shower I talked about earlier, when I first thought I was pregnant? Well, that couple was married the week before the trip to the ER. A friend of mine, their photographer, took a picture of Mark and I at their wedding. It's the last picture of me pregnant. It's the "old me".... the me who was living a completely naive pregnancy and assumed that just because she was pregnant that she would give birth and all would end well. The me that had many months of nursery planning and baby naming and chocolate cake cravings in the middle of the night. The girl who still had some innocence left in her and had no clue what sort of darkness was right around the corner.
There we are. The Moore's. Newlyweds in love, beaming over the joy of a little one on the way.
Until the rug was ripped out underneath us.
Back to the "new" newlyweds of the family. So Mark's cousin was married in March and afterwards, he and his new bride went to Jamaica on their honeymoon. His wife sent me the most amazing message.... she heard what had happened and was so kind to take time out of her joyous time in beautiful Jamaica to write me a message of sympathy. We arranged to meet for breakfast when they returned. I was so touched. Someone could make time for us thousands of miles away while some of the people closest to us didn't bother with an e-mail, text message, or phone call.
The wife and I are like peanut butter and jelly.... we just get each other. Much to our husbands' demise sometimes, but it's a beautiful relationship that I cherish.... and she's a big part of this story as well... more about that later.
As I mentioned in my very first post about being consumed by darkness, and finding just a little glimmer of light..... she was part of that little beam of sunshine, and I love her for it.
Momma Bear comes swinging with claws out
My surgery was scheduled for Wednesday, March 30th, 2011.
I woke up on Tuesday morning, still shaken from my dream, and told Mark. He never once questioned me, and I love him for that. I know that the dream may sound far fetched for some, but I assure you it is absolutely true.
As it started to sink in that all of this really was happening, new questions came.
I called the doctors office. I asked what would happen after surgery. The response was one I wasn't prepared for.
I was told that everything would be taken to the lab.... but then what? Then everything would be taken care of. Taken care of as in how? The nurse sat on the other end of the line in total silence. I pressed her for more information. She told me that she would talk to the doctor and call me back.
Hours passed before that phone call came and, after she spoke with the doctor, she told me once again that "the prodcuts of conception" would be taken care of after the lab was done. When I asked exactly what that meant, she reluctantly told me. Everything would be diposed of. I realized what she was saying. They were putting my baby in a trash can, with God only knows what other fluids and lab specimens.
I told her that wasn't going to be acceptable and asked for my other options. She seemed taken a back. They didn't have any other options. I told her to talk to the doctor and call me when she had some answers as to what else I could do.
I got online and started looking at funeral homes. I made some phone calls and several places were happy to cremate her remains and bury them for us. I called the Arch Diocese. I called our parish priest. I finally called the hospital my OBGYN was associated with and spoke to one of the nuns there. Sister was so kind and understanding. She put me in touch with a woman who runs a program at the hospital for baby loss. I spoke with Maggie and she said that she would be honored to wrap our baby in her own blanket and bury her at Calvary with the other babies born to God. My dad's side of the family is buried there, and I felt at peace knowing that our baby's final resting place would be surrounded by family that had passed before her.
The nurse called back and said that, after speaking with the doctor, the fetus had been reabsorbed into my system and that there wasn't anything to bury. I threw a fit. We were just in the office not even 24 hours before and we could see our baby. There was no mistaking it. I told her not to insult my intelligence and that either the doctor was an idiot or the ultrasound technician was.... so who was wrong? She didn't want to answer that question. Instead, she countered it by telling me that even if the "fetus" had not been absorbed yet, there wasn't much of anything left to bury. The "fetus" was too small to do anything with.
Now, anyone that knows me knows that I'm one hell of a "momma bear". I've always been Colin's greatest advocate as we've struggled with teachers and doctors with his ADHD. You don't mess with Colin, nor do you mess with any child of mine.
My baby had a heartbeat. My baby was REAL. My baby was loved. How dare they insult our family and my child by saying that there wasn't "much of anything" and that they were "too small". I asked her if she had children. She replied she did. I asked her if she could sleep at night knowing that their final burial place was in a trash can, covered in other bodily fluids, and taken out to a dumpster.
"No, ma'am. I would never let that happen."
"Neither will I." I told her. I would NEVER let anyone do that to Colin, and I certainly won't let them do that to this baby either.
She told me that she didn't know if they could do that and that she'd talk to the doctor. I let her off the phone with my final words being "Don't ask the doctor. Tell him this is what I'm doing. It's my right as a parent." and hung up.
I fell apart. I would never be able to hold her, protect her, kiss her, fix a scraped knee, tell her that Mr. Right will come along after her first love broke her heart, reassure her when she was scared of the monster under the bed. All of these things were stolen from me when she died and I would never the oppourtinity to do for her what mothers are supposed to do for their children.... protect and comfort. The one and only thing I could do was protect her dignity.
It bothered me that the nurse acted like I was a crazed woman for wanting to bury my miscarried baby.... that she still thought of her as "products of conception". It was so hard for me to fathom that when all was well she was always referred to as "your baby" "your little peanut" "your angel".... and now they acted like she was nothing, worthy of nothing more than being tossed in a trashcan and waiting for the garbage truck to carry her away from the dumpster.
I was furious, hysterical, and heartbroken.
I woke up on Tuesday morning, still shaken from my dream, and told Mark. He never once questioned me, and I love him for that. I know that the dream may sound far fetched for some, but I assure you it is absolutely true.
As it started to sink in that all of this really was happening, new questions came.
I called the doctors office. I asked what would happen after surgery. The response was one I wasn't prepared for.
I was told that everything would be taken to the lab.... but then what? Then everything would be taken care of. Taken care of as in how? The nurse sat on the other end of the line in total silence. I pressed her for more information. She told me that she would talk to the doctor and call me back.
Hours passed before that phone call came and, after she spoke with the doctor, she told me once again that "the prodcuts of conception" would be taken care of after the lab was done. When I asked exactly what that meant, she reluctantly told me. Everything would be diposed of. I realized what she was saying. They were putting my baby in a trash can, with God only knows what other fluids and lab specimens.
I told her that wasn't going to be acceptable and asked for my other options. She seemed taken a back. They didn't have any other options. I told her to talk to the doctor and call me when she had some answers as to what else I could do.
I got online and started looking at funeral homes. I made some phone calls and several places were happy to cremate her remains and bury them for us. I called the Arch Diocese. I called our parish priest. I finally called the hospital my OBGYN was associated with and spoke to one of the nuns there. Sister was so kind and understanding. She put me in touch with a woman who runs a program at the hospital for baby loss. I spoke with Maggie and she said that she would be honored to wrap our baby in her own blanket and bury her at Calvary with the other babies born to God. My dad's side of the family is buried there, and I felt at peace knowing that our baby's final resting place would be surrounded by family that had passed before her.
The nurse called back and said that, after speaking with the doctor, the fetus had been reabsorbed into my system and that there wasn't anything to bury. I threw a fit. We were just in the office not even 24 hours before and we could see our baby. There was no mistaking it. I told her not to insult my intelligence and that either the doctor was an idiot or the ultrasound technician was.... so who was wrong? She didn't want to answer that question. Instead, she countered it by telling me that even if the "fetus" had not been absorbed yet, there wasn't much of anything left to bury. The "fetus" was too small to do anything with.
Now, anyone that knows me knows that I'm one hell of a "momma bear". I've always been Colin's greatest advocate as we've struggled with teachers and doctors with his ADHD. You don't mess with Colin, nor do you mess with any child of mine.
My baby had a heartbeat. My baby was REAL. My baby was loved. How dare they insult our family and my child by saying that there wasn't "much of anything" and that they were "too small". I asked her if she had children. She replied she did. I asked her if she could sleep at night knowing that their final burial place was in a trash can, covered in other bodily fluids, and taken out to a dumpster.
"No, ma'am. I would never let that happen."
"Neither will I." I told her. I would NEVER let anyone do that to Colin, and I certainly won't let them do that to this baby either.
She told me that she didn't know if they could do that and that she'd talk to the doctor. I let her off the phone with my final words being "Don't ask the doctor. Tell him this is what I'm doing. It's my right as a parent." and hung up.
I fell apart. I would never be able to hold her, protect her, kiss her, fix a scraped knee, tell her that Mr. Right will come along after her first love broke her heart, reassure her when she was scared of the monster under the bed. All of these things were stolen from me when she died and I would never the oppourtinity to do for her what mothers are supposed to do for their children.... protect and comfort. The one and only thing I could do was protect her dignity.
It bothered me that the nurse acted like I was a crazed woman for wanting to bury my miscarried baby.... that she still thought of her as "products of conception". It was so hard for me to fathom that when all was well she was always referred to as "your baby" "your little peanut" "your angel".... and now they acted like she was nothing, worthy of nothing more than being tossed in a trashcan and waiting for the garbage truck to carry her away from the dumpster.
I was furious, hysterical, and heartbroken.
Gabby's third gift..... the dream
I cried myself to sleep that night..... this would be a common trend in the weeks and months to come. I cried myself until the total point of exhaustion. I cried out to God to please let me see my baby.... just once. My eyes were nearly swollen shut from all of the tears and I finally gave in to the exhaustion that was pulling me in.
I've always been a firm believer in dreams. Not all of them have meaning... but there are always those few that stay with you. Tonight was one of those nights.
At some point in the wee hours of the morning, I had a dream that I was playing with my son and a bunch of other little children... some I recognized and some I didn't. Colin was a few years older in the dream, maybe 9 or 10. We were all playing hide and go seek and everyone was laughing and having a great time.
Then it was my turn to be "it". I started counting, chuckling to myself about how ridiculous this game is but the kids just love it, and once time was up I started out on my hunt for the munchkins.
I moved past a bush and heard the sweetest little giggle. I saw the most adorable little girl, just a few years old, with a short little bob of brown hair and the most beautiful blue eyes. I'd never seen her before. I asked what her name was and she gave me a sheepish grin and said "Gabby."
"Well hi Gabby. I'm Kelly. It's nice to meet you. You have such pretty blue eyes."
What the little girl in my dream said to me next blew me away.
She started giggling, and said "I know who you are Momma. Daddy gave me his eyes."
I stood there in shock and she ran away from me, screaming out to the other kids "She's coming, she's coming! Hide!" and once I finally understood what she said I started running after her, screaming her name. Colin ran up to me and asked what was wrong. I asked him where Gabby went. He looked at me and said, "Mom, Gabby's dead."
And I woke up. In cold sweats and shivering and in tears.
Where did Gabby come from? I don't know any Gabby's. If we were having a girl the name we had always picked out was Charlotte.
I realize that God had answered my prayers. He allowed me to see my daughter just as I had asked. And let me tell you something.....
She's gorgeous.
And so, my sweet baby girl, thank you for coming to visit me that night. I needed to see you. You're one pretty little lady. Thank you for such an amazing gift.
P.S. I will catch you in hide and go seek when I meet you up there.... just so you know.
Love,
Momma
I've always been a firm believer in dreams. Not all of them have meaning... but there are always those few that stay with you. Tonight was one of those nights.
At some point in the wee hours of the morning, I had a dream that I was playing with my son and a bunch of other little children... some I recognized and some I didn't. Colin was a few years older in the dream, maybe 9 or 10. We were all playing hide and go seek and everyone was laughing and having a great time.
Then it was my turn to be "it". I started counting, chuckling to myself about how ridiculous this game is but the kids just love it, and once time was up I started out on my hunt for the munchkins.
I moved past a bush and heard the sweetest little giggle. I saw the most adorable little girl, just a few years old, with a short little bob of brown hair and the most beautiful blue eyes. I'd never seen her before. I asked what her name was and she gave me a sheepish grin and said "Gabby."
"Well hi Gabby. I'm Kelly. It's nice to meet you. You have such pretty blue eyes."
What the little girl in my dream said to me next blew me away.
She started giggling, and said "I know who you are Momma. Daddy gave me his eyes."
I stood there in shock and she ran away from me, screaming out to the other kids "She's coming, she's coming! Hide!" and once I finally understood what she said I started running after her, screaming her name. Colin ran up to me and asked what was wrong. I asked him where Gabby went. He looked at me and said, "Mom, Gabby's dead."
And I woke up. In cold sweats and shivering and in tears.
Where did Gabby come from? I don't know any Gabby's. If we were having a girl the name we had always picked out was Charlotte.
I realize that God had answered my prayers. He allowed me to see my daughter just as I had asked. And let me tell you something.....
She's gorgeous.
And so, my sweet baby girl, thank you for coming to visit me that night. I needed to see you. You're one pretty little lady. Thank you for such an amazing gift.
P.S. I will catch you in hide and go seek when I meet you up there.... just so you know.
Love,
Momma
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Confirmation
Colin stayed with Grandma and Grandpa that night. As much as I wanted to cling onto my son with dear life, I was so afraid of him seeing me such a mess. I knew with them that he would be happy and have fun and needed the time to figure out what was going on so I would be prepared to tell him what had happened.
Mark and I went to the doctor the next day and, because he was in an emergency c-section with another patient, we had no choice but to sit in the waiting room. We watched other families come out of their ultrasounds with their black and white photos, looking over them with their spouses, families, and young children.... in total bliss with the discovery of the genders of their babies. We saw other patients come in for their post delivery follow ups beaming over their newborn babies and everyone cooing over the little bundles of joy that they had with them.
For a moment I forgot what had happened the night before in the emergency room. I thought about how Mark and I would feel when we found out the gender of our baby and had the gender reveal party we had been planning over Memorial Day weekend. I thought about everyone stopping us to say how beautiful our baby was and us glowing with joy.
But then I remembered. I sat in silent tears barely able to breathe as I watched the clock go by. Nearly an hour since my appointment time had passed and it took all of my effort to continue sitting in a waiting room, feeling taunted by all of the joy and happiness in the room when my world was falling apart.
Finally a nurse must have noticed my beat red face and the pile of tissues I held in my hand and graciously offered to move me to another room while we waited. We were only in that room for a few minutes until they took us back for another ultrasound.
For just a split second I felt hope again. I told myself that last night was just really bizarre and that Mark and I would walk out of this room feeling even more grateful for the beating heartbeat of our little one. I told myself that the resident didn't know what she was doing the night before and that the tech would find the heartbeat without any problems.
I held my breath as the ultrasound started, and because the screen was once again turned away from us the only thing I could study was the face of the ultrasound tech. I could tell she didn't have the news I had so hoped for.
I asked if she saw a heartbeat. I asked if I was miscarrying. I asked if maybe we just needed to come back a different day. The only answer she had was " I'm sorry".
I asked if I could please see the screen and she turned it towards us. I stared at the black and white picture, trying to cherish it as much as I could. Still having a hard time believing that the flutter we saw before was completely gone.
We met with the doctor and said he would have someone from the surgery center call to set up a D&C.
Colin came home that evening. I held it together long enough to tuck him in bed and closed the door, just to crawl in bed and cry some more.
Mark and I went to the doctor the next day and, because he was in an emergency c-section with another patient, we had no choice but to sit in the waiting room. We watched other families come out of their ultrasounds with their black and white photos, looking over them with their spouses, families, and young children.... in total bliss with the discovery of the genders of their babies. We saw other patients come in for their post delivery follow ups beaming over their newborn babies and everyone cooing over the little bundles of joy that they had with them.
For a moment I forgot what had happened the night before in the emergency room. I thought about how Mark and I would feel when we found out the gender of our baby and had the gender reveal party we had been planning over Memorial Day weekend. I thought about everyone stopping us to say how beautiful our baby was and us glowing with joy.
But then I remembered. I sat in silent tears barely able to breathe as I watched the clock go by. Nearly an hour since my appointment time had passed and it took all of my effort to continue sitting in a waiting room, feeling taunted by all of the joy and happiness in the room when my world was falling apart.
Finally a nurse must have noticed my beat red face and the pile of tissues I held in my hand and graciously offered to move me to another room while we waited. We were only in that room for a few minutes until they took us back for another ultrasound.
For just a split second I felt hope again. I told myself that last night was just really bizarre and that Mark and I would walk out of this room feeling even more grateful for the beating heartbeat of our little one. I told myself that the resident didn't know what she was doing the night before and that the tech would find the heartbeat without any problems.
I held my breath as the ultrasound started, and because the screen was once again turned away from us the only thing I could study was the face of the ultrasound tech. I could tell she didn't have the news I had so hoped for.
I asked if she saw a heartbeat. I asked if I was miscarrying. I asked if maybe we just needed to come back a different day. The only answer she had was " I'm sorry".
I asked if I could please see the screen and she turned it towards us. I stared at the black and white picture, trying to cherish it as much as I could. Still having a hard time believing that the flutter we saw before was completely gone.
We met with the doctor and said he would have someone from the surgery center call to set up a D&C.
Colin came home that evening. I held it together long enough to tuck him in bed and closed the door, just to crawl in bed and cry some more.
Shock
After I came back to my senses in the ER, my husband and I held on to each other and sobbed. Utter heartwrenching sobs from a place deep within us that I never knew existed.
I've lost people close to me before. All four of my grandparents are deceased. One of my good friends from high school was killed in a drunk driving accident a few years ago. Those deaths were difficult enough.
But this overwhelming sense of grief and loss felt unbearable. I felt dead and empty. I felt like a zombie. My vision was blurred, my heart literally hurt, and my insides felt like stone.
I realized I still had the IV and was in a gown covered in blood. I got up and went out to the nurses station.
As I watched all of the nurses happily chatting away about this, that, and the other, I grabbed the arm of the man closest to me. He just stared at me and finally said "Ma'am, can I help you?"
"Take out the IV" I told him. "Take it out and give me my discharge papers. I am going home."
He asked who my nurse was and I took a quick look across the room. I had never paid attention to the woman who had been in my room before. All I knew is that she had red hair and was female.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around. It was her. "Ma'am you need to go back in your room. We'll be with you shortly."
The tears came flowing again. "Take out the IV" I kept insisting. They were the only words that I could bring to my lips. I heard her saying something, but I kept repeating myself over and over again, until finally I had enough.
"There's nothing you can do for me here. Can you make my baby's heartbeat start again?"
"The doctor said that everything will be just fine. Your baby is okay. You need to calm down and just relax."
"How am I supposed to relax when my child is dead inside of me? How is that even physically possible?" I asked her.
" You don't know that the fetus is dead. The doctor said...."
" Don't you dare call my child a fetus. It's a baby. I don't care what the doctor said. I just saw my baby and there is no heartbeat. I'm miscarrying. Unless you can bring them back, I'm going home."
" I didn't realize you had the ultrasound. I'm sorry."
I just stared at her and again told her to come in the room and take out the IV and walked away. About a half an hour later a new man came in and took it out and I got dressed. The nurse came in with discharge papers, and as soon as I looked at them the only thing I saw on that white piece of paper was "spontaneous abortion".
Now, I understand that spontaneous abortion is a medical term, but complete rage built up inside of me.
This baby wasn't aborted. There was no place for the term "abortion" when it came to my family. This baby was so very wanted and loved. Why was I staring at a term, with my name and information on it, that has the meaning of something completely opposite than what was going on?
Never once did the doctor come back. I never saw him again. I was never told what would happen next, or reasons why this could have happened. Just papers with "spontaneous abortion" plastered on them.
I left with my husband and we rode back in silence. The only sound I remember is Mark on the phone with his parents telling them that we lost the baby, and I curled up in the passenger seat and did the only thing I was capable of doing at the time. I cried until there weren't any tears left in me.
I've lost people close to me before. All four of my grandparents are deceased. One of my good friends from high school was killed in a drunk driving accident a few years ago. Those deaths were difficult enough.
But this overwhelming sense of grief and loss felt unbearable. I felt dead and empty. I felt like a zombie. My vision was blurred, my heart literally hurt, and my insides felt like stone.
I realized I still had the IV and was in a gown covered in blood. I got up and went out to the nurses station.
As I watched all of the nurses happily chatting away about this, that, and the other, I grabbed the arm of the man closest to me. He just stared at me and finally said "Ma'am, can I help you?"
"Take out the IV" I told him. "Take it out and give me my discharge papers. I am going home."
He asked who my nurse was and I took a quick look across the room. I had never paid attention to the woman who had been in my room before. All I knew is that she had red hair and was female.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around. It was her. "Ma'am you need to go back in your room. We'll be with you shortly."
The tears came flowing again. "Take out the IV" I kept insisting. They were the only words that I could bring to my lips. I heard her saying something, but I kept repeating myself over and over again, until finally I had enough.
"There's nothing you can do for me here. Can you make my baby's heartbeat start again?"
"The doctor said that everything will be just fine. Your baby is okay. You need to calm down and just relax."
"How am I supposed to relax when my child is dead inside of me? How is that even physically possible?" I asked her.
" You don't know that the fetus is dead. The doctor said...."
" Don't you dare call my child a fetus. It's a baby. I don't care what the doctor said. I just saw my baby and there is no heartbeat. I'm miscarrying. Unless you can bring them back, I'm going home."
" I didn't realize you had the ultrasound. I'm sorry."
I just stared at her and again told her to come in the room and take out the IV and walked away. About a half an hour later a new man came in and took it out and I got dressed. The nurse came in with discharge papers, and as soon as I looked at them the only thing I saw on that white piece of paper was "spontaneous abortion".
Now, I understand that spontaneous abortion is a medical term, but complete rage built up inside of me.
This baby wasn't aborted. There was no place for the term "abortion" when it came to my family. This baby was so very wanted and loved. Why was I staring at a term, with my name and information on it, that has the meaning of something completely opposite than what was going on?
Never once did the doctor come back. I never saw him again. I was never told what would happen next, or reasons why this could have happened. Just papers with "spontaneous abortion" plastered on them.
I left with my husband and we rode back in silence. The only sound I remember is Mark on the phone with his parents telling them that we lost the baby, and I curled up in the passenger seat and did the only thing I was capable of doing at the time. I cried until there weren't any tears left in me.
FYI, and reminder to myself
As I just typed out our horrifying experience in the emergency room when we discovered our daughter's heart was no longer beating, it brings me to the question of why I am here writing this blog.
And so.... here goes.
The death of my daughter and my son has taught me so many life lessons. It's made me aware of the baby loss community and the lack of not only awareness and understanding but lack of respect from the general population.
All forms of baby loss have been going on for centuries. It's even mentioned in the Old Testament. If it's such a "fact of life" as the medical community likes to say, then why is it something that so many are afraid to talk about?
Did you know that 1 in 4 women has experienced some form of baby loss, whether it be a tubal pregnancy, chemical pregnancy, molar pregnancy, miscarriage, stillbirth, death after the baby's birth, or SIDS and others? 1 in 4. That's quite a ratio. Think of your three closest friends of family members. The statistics state that 1 in 4 of you will experience the loss of your child. Wow. Even more shocking... 80 people EVERY SINGLE HOUR have experienced baby loss. That's just in the U.S. alone.
As I will take from a baby loss friend of mine, and Jaime I hope you do not mind,
And so.... here goes.
The death of my daughter and my son has taught me so many life lessons. It's made me aware of the baby loss community and the lack of not only awareness and understanding but lack of respect from the general population.
All forms of baby loss have been going on for centuries. It's even mentioned in the Old Testament. If it's such a "fact of life" as the medical community likes to say, then why is it something that so many are afraid to talk about?
Did you know that 1 in 4 women has experienced some form of baby loss, whether it be a tubal pregnancy, chemical pregnancy, molar pregnancy, miscarriage, stillbirth, death after the baby's birth, or SIDS and others? 1 in 4. That's quite a ratio. Think of your three closest friends of family members. The statistics state that 1 in 4 of you will experience the loss of your child. Wow. Even more shocking... 80 people EVERY SINGLE HOUR have experienced baby loss. That's just in the U.S. alone.
As I will take from a baby loss friend of mine, and Jaime I hope you do not mind,
And then there was darkness...
Mark's parents came over on March 27, 2011 to help us install a new back door.
Little did Mark know but I wasn't feeling so hot that day. Two days before, when I went to the restroom, I thought I noticed some discoloration on the toilet paper. I chalked it up to poor lighting and paranoia.
The next day, I thought I saw it again, but when I checked for it there was nothing.
However, that day, I saw it. For sure. I tried to calm myself by saying over and over again in my head that there was nothing to worry about. Plenty of women notice spotting and the pregnancy is perfectly fine.
Folks, I'm not a calm person. Ask Mark. I drive him insane.
I called my doctor. He told me it was probably nothing and that if it worsened to give him a call.
Sure it enough, there was more.
The doctor told me to relax, put my feet up, and if it got any worse or I started cramping to call.
An hour later the cramping began.
We went to the ER. Colin stayed with Grandma and Grandpa. I prayed the entire car ride. I tried telling myself I was crazy and insane and a basketcase and a worry wart.
We arrived at the ER and checked in at the desk. I told them I was just past 10 weeks pregnant and the doctor told me to come in for spotting and cramping. They sat me in a wheelchair, started an IV, and I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
4 hours Mark and I waited as I watched pregnant woman after pregnant woman rush by in labor followed by their families, the proud daddies catching the whole life changing experience on camera. I watched newborn after newborn come in.
And it finally started to hit me. What if something really IS wrong? What if I get back there and it's not all ok like I keep telling myself.
I was finally taken back and changed into a gown, just to wait some more. The doctor finally came in checked me. He said that the spotting had returned back to brown (old blood) and that everything should be just fine. He told me to follow up with my obgyn in the morning. And then he tried to leave.
I stopped him and told him I wasn't leaving until there was an ultrasound or at least a doppler. Everything "should be" okay wasn't cutting it for me. I didn't wait almost 5 hours until this point to hear "should be".
Another hour past, and with it my anxiety heightened. In came a resident with the ultrasound machine. I laid back and tried to relax but was staring hard at the screen.
"There's your little peanut! See? Everything's just fine!"
A wave of relief came over me, just to be followed with more anxiety.
I realized I didn't hear her gorgeous thumping heartbeat as we had heard twice before.
"Where's the heartbeat? Is the baby's heartbeat okay?"
She turned the screen away from us, and after complete silence for several minutes other than me asking louder and louder "Where is my baby's heartbeat?!" she finally said the most horrifying words anyone should ever have to hear.
"I'm sorry. I can't find a heartbeat. I'm so very sorry."
My world stopped. Everything came screeching to a halt. All of my concerns over stupid everyday things were gone. I heard nothing but ringing in my ears.
My God, my child is dead. How is my baby dead. No, NO. This isn't happening. Why did you do this God? Why did you take our baby from us? Why are you punishing me? What have I done so wrong that you would hate me enough to take my baby from me? WHY? Where are you when I need you?
My child was dead, and a part of me died as well.
Little did Mark know but I wasn't feeling so hot that day. Two days before, when I went to the restroom, I thought I noticed some discoloration on the toilet paper. I chalked it up to poor lighting and paranoia.
The next day, I thought I saw it again, but when I checked for it there was nothing.
However, that day, I saw it. For sure. I tried to calm myself by saying over and over again in my head that there was nothing to worry about. Plenty of women notice spotting and the pregnancy is perfectly fine.
Folks, I'm not a calm person. Ask Mark. I drive him insane.
I called my doctor. He told me it was probably nothing and that if it worsened to give him a call.
Sure it enough, there was more.
The doctor told me to relax, put my feet up, and if it got any worse or I started cramping to call.
An hour later the cramping began.
We went to the ER. Colin stayed with Grandma and Grandpa. I prayed the entire car ride. I tried telling myself I was crazy and insane and a basketcase and a worry wart.
We arrived at the ER and checked in at the desk. I told them I was just past 10 weeks pregnant and the doctor told me to come in for spotting and cramping. They sat me in a wheelchair, started an IV, and I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
4 hours Mark and I waited as I watched pregnant woman after pregnant woman rush by in labor followed by their families, the proud daddies catching the whole life changing experience on camera. I watched newborn after newborn come in.
And it finally started to hit me. What if something really IS wrong? What if I get back there and it's not all ok like I keep telling myself.
I was finally taken back and changed into a gown, just to wait some more. The doctor finally came in checked me. He said that the spotting had returned back to brown (old blood) and that everything should be just fine. He told me to follow up with my obgyn in the morning. And then he tried to leave.
I stopped him and told him I wasn't leaving until there was an ultrasound or at least a doppler. Everything "should be" okay wasn't cutting it for me. I didn't wait almost 5 hours until this point to hear "should be".
Another hour past, and with it my anxiety heightened. In came a resident with the ultrasound machine. I laid back and tried to relax but was staring hard at the screen.
"There's your little peanut! See? Everything's just fine!"
A wave of relief came over me, just to be followed with more anxiety.
I realized I didn't hear her gorgeous thumping heartbeat as we had heard twice before.
"Where's the heartbeat? Is the baby's heartbeat okay?"
She turned the screen away from us, and after complete silence for several minutes other than me asking louder and louder "Where is my baby's heartbeat?!" she finally said the most horrifying words anyone should ever have to hear.
"I'm sorry. I can't find a heartbeat. I'm so very sorry."
My world stopped. Everything came screeching to a halt. All of my concerns over stupid everyday things were gone. I heard nothing but ringing in my ears.
My God, my child is dead. How is my baby dead. No, NO. This isn't happening. Why did you do this God? Why did you take our baby from us? Why are you punishing me? What have I done so wrong that you would hate me enough to take my baby from me? WHY? Where are you when I need you?
My child was dead, and a part of me died as well.
Scare in the family, second ultrasound and the game of baby naming
My husband had to go out of town for work, and while he was 4 hours away he called me one night and I could tell in his voice that something was wrong.
His younger brother was in the Emergency Room having a heart attack.
Heart attacks are scary. Period. But for a man in his early 20's? Wow.
I laid in bed rubbing my belly praying to God that everything would be okay. I prayed for my brother in law, my husband, and the entire family.
I took Colin to school the next morning and went straight to the hospital. I sat there with Mark's brother as long as I could until it was time to pick up Colin from aftercare. I watched the nurses come and go, I heard the statistics of men his age having heart attacks and the survival rates, I saw the many sticky pads plastered across his chest.
Please Lord, do not do this to our family.
I stayed with him as much as I could while Colin was the school the next few days. Mark was so anxious to get home.... after all his job their entire lives has been to protect his little brother and he was stuck in a place where he couldn't come to the rescue. My husband, like most men, is a "fixer". This was something he couldn't fix.
By God's grace my brother in law was released from the hospital and as soon as Mark came home we went to visit him. The sense of relief when he saw his brother living and walking was so obvious on his face, and I prayed that this was a one and only occurence.
We went a few days later for our second ultrasound. Gabby's heart was beating even stronger and they told me that my estimated due date was October 21st, 2011. I found that such a coincidence. Colin was born two days after my birthday, and now my second child would be due on my little brother's birthday. A very blessed day, indeed.
I felt in the clear. The chances of miscarriage drastically go down after hearing the baby's heartbeat.... and now we were lucky enough to hear it twice!
The "art" of baby naming is a special one. Think of the responsibility! What a task.... giving someone a name that they will carry with them forever. Is it feminine enough, too feminine? Masculine enough, too masculine? Do the initals stand for anything that they could be made fun of later? Gabrielle wasn't always named Gabrielle. In fact, the name we had chosen wasn't even close. Gabrielle wasn't even on our "potential" or "backup" lists. I'll explain how we came up with her name later. It's a very special story with so much meaning and I can't wait to share it with all of you.
Mark's mom invited us to dinner the night of the ultrasound... a dinner to "celebrate life". A dinner to celebrate our baby growing inside of my womb and the health of my brother in law after battling a heart attack and myocarditis. We surely had much to celebrate.
The dinner was fabulous, but the company, as always with family, was spectacular.
"There's baby... in his/her little house, with their best friend the fetal pole. "
His younger brother was in the Emergency Room having a heart attack.
Heart attacks are scary. Period. But for a man in his early 20's? Wow.
I laid in bed rubbing my belly praying to God that everything would be okay. I prayed for my brother in law, my husband, and the entire family.
I took Colin to school the next morning and went straight to the hospital. I sat there with Mark's brother as long as I could until it was time to pick up Colin from aftercare. I watched the nurses come and go, I heard the statistics of men his age having heart attacks and the survival rates, I saw the many sticky pads plastered across his chest.
Please Lord, do not do this to our family.
I stayed with him as much as I could while Colin was the school the next few days. Mark was so anxious to get home.... after all his job their entire lives has been to protect his little brother and he was stuck in a place where he couldn't come to the rescue. My husband, like most men, is a "fixer". This was something he couldn't fix.
By God's grace my brother in law was released from the hospital and as soon as Mark came home we went to visit him. The sense of relief when he saw his brother living and walking was so obvious on his face, and I prayed that this was a one and only occurence.
We went a few days later for our second ultrasound. Gabby's heart was beating even stronger and they told me that my estimated due date was October 21st, 2011. I found that such a coincidence. Colin was born two days after my birthday, and now my second child would be due on my little brother's birthday. A very blessed day, indeed.
I felt in the clear. The chances of miscarriage drastically go down after hearing the baby's heartbeat.... and now we were lucky enough to hear it twice!
The "art" of baby naming is a special one. Think of the responsibility! What a task.... giving someone a name that they will carry with them forever. Is it feminine enough, too feminine? Masculine enough, too masculine? Do the initals stand for anything that they could be made fun of later? Gabrielle wasn't always named Gabrielle. In fact, the name we had chosen wasn't even close. Gabrielle wasn't even on our "potential" or "backup" lists. I'll explain how we came up with her name later. It's a very special story with so much meaning and I can't wait to share it with all of you.
Mark's mom invited us to dinner the night of the ultrasound... a dinner to "celebrate life". A dinner to celebrate our baby growing inside of my womb and the health of my brother in law after battling a heart attack and myocarditis. We surely had much to celebrate.
The dinner was fabulous, but the company, as always with family, was spectacular.
We were so thankful for our blessings this day.
Gabby's second gift
Pretty soon after finding out I was pregnant, actually within the same week, we had to tell the world. My pregnancy with Colin, as stated before, was flawless.... I was 25. I was still "young". What did we have to be afraid of?
Mark and I put our heads together and went straight to work. He ordered me a shirt online...
I told you. Pathetic. As I was flipping them out of the pans the dog charged by and knocked me, which knocked the cake out of the pan and tore it. Yes, my emotional pregnant self broke down into tears.
Again, Mark gave me the look of "wow.... she's really lost it."
And so, Gab, thank you for showing your mommy how awesome asparagus is! Especially marinated in basalmic vinagrette and put on the grill.... fabulous.
Love,
Momma
Mark and I put our heads together and went straight to work. He ordered me a shirt online...
and we invited his mom's family over for dinner. It took them a second, but when they finally realized what the shirt meant the tears and smiles came all over again. Phone calls went to Grandma and everything felt just right.
We then saw his dad's side of the family the following day, and as Mark showed them the picture "Hey, look at the shirt I got for Kelly"... it took them a minute until it all sank in.
Everyone was happy....and we were over the moon
We went in for our first appointment with the OBGYN... the same one who delivered Colin 5/12 years prior, and although we didn't expect to see much on an ultrasound, there she was!!!!
And her heartbeat just thumping away. It was such a moment of awe.... to see my little lima bean's heart just a fluttering, and especially when we didn't expect to see anything at all that day!
They told me to come in the following week to remeasure and check her heartbeat once more to make sure that everything was right on track.
Are you curious what Gabby's second gift could be?... it's something I never expected....
ASPARAGUS. That's right.... that green stick of a vegetable. You know, I've always said that you cook somewhat like your mother when you become an adult. My mother made all sorts of vegetables.... and I mean all. Yes, even brussel sprouts and turnips. She never made asparagus, though.
For some reason, I craved asparagus and started researching how to prepare it.
And spicy food. Buffalo anything and Mexican galore. I'm not typically a spicy food type of person, but I couldn't get enough of the stuff.
And chocolate cake. In fact, one night I was so bothered by this craving for chocolate cake that I can't bear it anymore. I'd been salivating over the thought of it for hours until I finally broke down, went to the store, and walked out with cake mix and frosting. Now that I look back, it was pathetic how excited I was for slice of it. I was so excited I even took a picture of it baking.
Again, Mark gave me the look of "wow.... she's really lost it."
And so, Gab, thank you for showing your mommy how awesome asparagus is! Especially marinated in basalmic vinagrette and put on the grill.... fabulous.
Love,
Momma
In the beginning.....there was overwhelming joy!
So I've already told you the names of my 3 children.... but they are much more than just names.
Colin Michael was not a "planned" baby. I was 19 years old when I found out I was pregnant with him and boy, was I scared. How was I going to support him? What would I do?
There was no question in my mind for a split second that he would be with anyone but me. I loved that little boy with every ounce of my being. Outside of terrible morning sickness the first trimester, my pregnancy with him was easy as pie. I went in to the ER around 3 months along because I was experiencing some cramping. They wheeled in the ultrasound and there he was, hiccuping and sucking his thumb.
....total euphoric love....
After a very long labor with him, Colin came kicking and screaming into the world and I was filled with a whole new sense of purpose and a whole new kind of love. As I stared into his big brown eyes and ran my fingers through his head full of hair I felt the greater meaning of life.
Soon after we returned from the hospital, I received a phone call from the pediatrician's office. Colin had galactosemia... a genetic metabolic disorder where he does not produce the enzymes to break down galactose. Over time, the galactose builds up in his system and becomes like a poison. My world came to a standstill as I heard things such as "learning disabilities, mental retardation, death." He was perfect. He was gorgeous. He was MINE. This couldn't be happening!
After seeing a genetic specialist, we learned that (praise God!) he has a mild variation of it, called duarte galactosemia. It is passed on from both parents, and although not common, his biological father and I were carriers. Because they were not testing for it until the late 1980's, and because we were both born before the routine testing began, we had no idea.
Colin was put on a galactose free diet until he reached one year of age and, on his first birthday, we were to start introducing foods that contained galactose and come in to run tests again to see if he could tolerate them.
No need for the testing... after a rush to the ER (because he was barely breathing after some yogurt before his nap and his skin was so swollen it was a dark shade of plum) we discovered that Colin is allergic to milk.
Raising Colin as a single mom did not come without it's challenges. There were many sleepless nights, many days I didn't eat because I'd rather sleep, and working two part time jobs while I went through school and a divorce was by no means easy.
But I wouldn't change it for the world. He has truly been my saving grace.
These days, Colin is in the 1st grade and exceptionally smart. He has a wonderful sense of humor, and compassionate heart, and his little brain is faster than my calculator.
Colin has wanted a brother or sister for the longest time..... and here is where Gabrielle Elizabeth enters the picture.
My husband and I were married, after knowing each other for 4 years, on November 27, 2010. We had the big church wedding and all, and it was such a beautiful day that I will always remember. My husband, Mark, is one of the most understanding, forgiving, and loving souls that I have ever known. He has accepted Colin as his own and loves that little boy with every ounce of his being.... and believe me when I tell you that Colin reciprocates those feelings. Daddy and Colin are two peas in a pod.... to the point where sometimes I even feel left out! I couldn't ask for a better husband, companion, or father for my children.
And so, with that being said, we decided to start trying right away. After December's cycle I drove myself crazy with pregnancy tests... to no avail.
I told myself to take a chill pill.... I stopped watching cycle days. I told myself to just enjoy the whole process.
At family member's wedding shower (who is one of my best friends and I adore.... more about her later) I saw this little girl dressed up in the cutest winter coat and little fur hat on.... and for whatever reason I started wondering if I was pregnant. When the little girl looked at me it took my breath away and really made me start thinking about whether I should test.
I ran home to get "the boys" as we were going to a Super Bowl party and kept telling myself it was too early and to quit doing this to myself. If I missed a period then I would test.... or so was my agreement with myself at the time.
I went to work the next day, and as I ran out on my lunch break I had this overwhelming urge to take a test. As I looked down the aisle of wide selection, and promised myself not to buy 5 boxes like I had the previous month, I finally selected a box of two tests. Even though I had told myself to wait until the next morning.
Anyone that knows me knows that a pact like that (especially made between me, myself, and I) won't fly. Who was I kidding? I ran to the nearest bathroom and told myself I wouldn't look until the 3 minutes was up (again, another bogus pact)....
And there it was. Two gorgeous pink lines stared back at me.... and on came the tears of joy and pleasure and complete happiness.
I wheeled around that store grabbing anything that said "I love Daddy" on it, a book for Colin about being a big brother, some Valentine's Day cards, one for each of my guys, and Valentine's gift bags and tissue paper. I thought, as we were about a week away from Valentine's Day, that I would set it up as an early Valentine's Day gift.
I wrote Mark and Colin a message from the baby, followed with "Can't wait to meet you in October!" and wrapped up the gifts, jumping with joy and watching the clock tick until it was time to go home.
Colin, as always, was excited at the thought of a gift. My husband gave me the "She's crazy and she's lost her mind" look when I kept pressing him to open his.
Watching his face as he read the card is still one of my most beloved memories. The look of...."what? Wait, I'm confused.... is she serious? Oh my gosh.... she's really serious?" will forever remain with me. We started crying and laughing and smiling, and Colin was so tickled to finally be a big brother like he had always wanted.
"Momma, all of my intentions at church have been that I have a brother or sister!" to which I replied "See honey, God really does listen to our prayers!"
This was Gabby's first gift to us. Our first glimspe of joy and love and hope that I cherish and replay over and over again in my mind.
And Gabrielle, my sweet little girl, thank you honey. Thank you for giving us that day. It will forever be one of my favorites.
My heart, as always,
Momma
Colin Michael was not a "planned" baby. I was 19 years old when I found out I was pregnant with him and boy, was I scared. How was I going to support him? What would I do?
There was no question in my mind for a split second that he would be with anyone but me. I loved that little boy with every ounce of my being. Outside of terrible morning sickness the first trimester, my pregnancy with him was easy as pie. I went in to the ER around 3 months along because I was experiencing some cramping. They wheeled in the ultrasound and there he was, hiccuping and sucking his thumb.
....total euphoric love....
After a very long labor with him, Colin came kicking and screaming into the world and I was filled with a whole new sense of purpose and a whole new kind of love. As I stared into his big brown eyes and ran my fingers through his head full of hair I felt the greater meaning of life.
Soon after we returned from the hospital, I received a phone call from the pediatrician's office. Colin had galactosemia... a genetic metabolic disorder where he does not produce the enzymes to break down galactose. Over time, the galactose builds up in his system and becomes like a poison. My world came to a standstill as I heard things such as "learning disabilities, mental retardation, death." He was perfect. He was gorgeous. He was MINE. This couldn't be happening!
After seeing a genetic specialist, we learned that (praise God!) he has a mild variation of it, called duarte galactosemia. It is passed on from both parents, and although not common, his biological father and I were carriers. Because they were not testing for it until the late 1980's, and because we were both born before the routine testing began, we had no idea.
Colin was put on a galactose free diet until he reached one year of age and, on his first birthday, we were to start introducing foods that contained galactose and come in to run tests again to see if he could tolerate them.
No need for the testing... after a rush to the ER (because he was barely breathing after some yogurt before his nap and his skin was so swollen it was a dark shade of plum) we discovered that Colin is allergic to milk.
Raising Colin as a single mom did not come without it's challenges. There were many sleepless nights, many days I didn't eat because I'd rather sleep, and working two part time jobs while I went through school and a divorce was by no means easy.
But I wouldn't change it for the world. He has truly been my saving grace.
These days, Colin is in the 1st grade and exceptionally smart. He has a wonderful sense of humor, and compassionate heart, and his little brain is faster than my calculator.
Colin has wanted a brother or sister for the longest time..... and here is where Gabrielle Elizabeth enters the picture.
My husband and I were married, after knowing each other for 4 years, on November 27, 2010. We had the big church wedding and all, and it was such a beautiful day that I will always remember. My husband, Mark, is one of the most understanding, forgiving, and loving souls that I have ever known. He has accepted Colin as his own and loves that little boy with every ounce of his being.... and believe me when I tell you that Colin reciprocates those feelings. Daddy and Colin are two peas in a pod.... to the point where sometimes I even feel left out! I couldn't ask for a better husband, companion, or father for my children.
And so, with that being said, we decided to start trying right away. After December's cycle I drove myself crazy with pregnancy tests... to no avail.
I told myself to take a chill pill.... I stopped watching cycle days. I told myself to just enjoy the whole process.
At family member's wedding shower (who is one of my best friends and I adore.... more about her later) I saw this little girl dressed up in the cutest winter coat and little fur hat on.... and for whatever reason I started wondering if I was pregnant. When the little girl looked at me it took my breath away and really made me start thinking about whether I should test.
I ran home to get "the boys" as we were going to a Super Bowl party and kept telling myself it was too early and to quit doing this to myself. If I missed a period then I would test.... or so was my agreement with myself at the time.
I went to work the next day, and as I ran out on my lunch break I had this overwhelming urge to take a test. As I looked down the aisle of wide selection, and promised myself not to buy 5 boxes like I had the previous month, I finally selected a box of two tests. Even though I had told myself to wait until the next morning.
Anyone that knows me knows that a pact like that (especially made between me, myself, and I) won't fly. Who was I kidding? I ran to the nearest bathroom and told myself I wouldn't look until the 3 minutes was up (again, another bogus pact)....
And there it was. Two gorgeous pink lines stared back at me.... and on came the tears of joy and pleasure and complete happiness.
I wheeled around that store grabbing anything that said "I love Daddy" on it, a book for Colin about being a big brother, some Valentine's Day cards, one for each of my guys, and Valentine's gift bags and tissue paper. I thought, as we were about a week away from Valentine's Day, that I would set it up as an early Valentine's Day gift.
I wrote Mark and Colin a message from the baby, followed with "Can't wait to meet you in October!" and wrapped up the gifts, jumping with joy and watching the clock tick until it was time to go home.
Colin, as always, was excited at the thought of a gift. My husband gave me the "She's crazy and she's lost her mind" look when I kept pressing him to open his.
Watching his face as he read the card is still one of my most beloved memories. The look of...."what? Wait, I'm confused.... is she serious? Oh my gosh.... she's really serious?" will forever remain with me. We started crying and laughing and smiling, and Colin was so tickled to finally be a big brother like he had always wanted.
"Momma, all of my intentions at church have been that I have a brother or sister!" to which I replied "See honey, God really does listen to our prayers!"
This was Gabby's first gift to us. Our first glimspe of joy and love and hope that I cherish and replay over and over again in my mind.
And Gabrielle, my sweet little girl, thank you honey. Thank you for giving us that day. It will forever be one of my favorites.
My heart, as always,
Momma
Monday, October 3, 2011
Here goes nothing...
I've learned through my losses that life is too short. There are no guarantees. That every breath we breathe is a gift on it's own. Not to expect much of anything.... from anyone.
I should be delivering a baby in 18 days. I should be cleaning like a fool and double checking my bag to make sure everything is ready for the hospital.
These things won't be happening in 18 days. I miscarried 166 days ago... it's been a long 166 days of pain, anger, grief, tears, screaming, nightmares, and total exhaustion. It's been full of disappointment in God, the world, the medical system, family, and friends.
However, through the darkness there has been some light. It didn't shine brightly at first, but as I count down the days to when we should be welcoming our baby into the world it somehow seems to get brighter. Somedays not as much as others, but it's still there.
It's been a hard thing to explain... this "light". And it has only occurred to me as I sit and type this that this "light" is a whole new sense of love. A radiant, glowing sense of love that has humbled me in so many ways. We'll talk about that later.
In the meantime, I would love to tell you about my children. Colin Michael was born in June of 2005.Gabrielle Elizabeth was born to the heavens in March 2011, and three months to the day later her brother, Ryan James, followed her in June 2011.
For my husband and I being newlyweds, this experience has been a true test of our marriage. It's been a test of my faith, both in God and myself. It's been the hardest thing I've had to go through.
There were days I thought I would die of a broken heart. There were days that I felt I couldn't breathe. There were days where I thought I would go blind from all of the tears.
But I'm here. I'm alive. I'm surviving. It's not easy, but somehow it's happening. There is still so much for me to do here on this Earth, and believe me when I tell you getting to this point was by no means easy. It's a journey that I am still on.
And everyday Gabby and Ryan are with me on this journey in spirit. I feel them in laughter, in the breeze, and in the sunshine. I see them in flowers, rainbows, and butterflies. And only a mother who has lost a child can understand these feelings.... of just knowing that they are with me. Some may call me crazy.... I just say I'm a mother head over heels in love with my babies.
I write this blog not just about sadness, but about the joyous lessons that my daughter and son have taught me and continue to teach. I don't believe that they died for no reason.... I am determined to take this experience and if it can help just ONE person, then they didn't die for nothing.
And so this will conclude my first of many posts. I have every intention of telling my entire story, the story of Gabrielle and Ryan, the feelings of despair, and tearful moments of joy, the disappointment in doctors, nurses, family, and friends, and the wonderful relationships and people that my children have introduced me to along the way.
Some may not agree with my feelings or my ideas, some may not understand, but that's perfectly okay and I accept that! These are MY feelings and this blog is my expression of them. With that being said, as I respect that people grieve in many different ways and none of them are right or wrong, I beg you to keep that in mind as I start out on this little quest.
And to Gabby and Ryan, as I am teaching your big brother how to tie his shoes, I think of how I won't be able to teach you how to tie yours. I can practically hear you two giggling at us as we're talking about bunnies running around and going through holes and getting frustrated. Behave, you two.
All my love, as always,
Momma
I should be delivering a baby in 18 days. I should be cleaning like a fool and double checking my bag to make sure everything is ready for the hospital.
These things won't be happening in 18 days. I miscarried 166 days ago... it's been a long 166 days of pain, anger, grief, tears, screaming, nightmares, and total exhaustion. It's been full of disappointment in God, the world, the medical system, family, and friends.
However, through the darkness there has been some light. It didn't shine brightly at first, but as I count down the days to when we should be welcoming our baby into the world it somehow seems to get brighter. Somedays not as much as others, but it's still there.
It's been a hard thing to explain... this "light". And it has only occurred to me as I sit and type this that this "light" is a whole new sense of love. A radiant, glowing sense of love that has humbled me in so many ways. We'll talk about that later.
In the meantime, I would love to tell you about my children. Colin Michael was born in June of 2005.Gabrielle Elizabeth was born to the heavens in March 2011, and three months to the day later her brother, Ryan James, followed her in June 2011.
For my husband and I being newlyweds, this experience has been a true test of our marriage. It's been a test of my faith, both in God and myself. It's been the hardest thing I've had to go through.
There were days I thought I would die of a broken heart. There were days that I felt I couldn't breathe. There were days where I thought I would go blind from all of the tears.
But I'm here. I'm alive. I'm surviving. It's not easy, but somehow it's happening. There is still so much for me to do here on this Earth, and believe me when I tell you getting to this point was by no means easy. It's a journey that I am still on.
And everyday Gabby and Ryan are with me on this journey in spirit. I feel them in laughter, in the breeze, and in the sunshine. I see them in flowers, rainbows, and butterflies. And only a mother who has lost a child can understand these feelings.... of just knowing that they are with me. Some may call me crazy.... I just say I'm a mother head over heels in love with my babies.
I write this blog not just about sadness, but about the joyous lessons that my daughter and son have taught me and continue to teach. I don't believe that they died for no reason.... I am determined to take this experience and if it can help just ONE person, then they didn't die for nothing.
And so this will conclude my first of many posts. I have every intention of telling my entire story, the story of Gabrielle and Ryan, the feelings of despair, and tearful moments of joy, the disappointment in doctors, nurses, family, and friends, and the wonderful relationships and people that my children have introduced me to along the way.
Some may not agree with my feelings or my ideas, some may not understand, but that's perfectly okay and I accept that! These are MY feelings and this blog is my expression of them. With that being said, as I respect that people grieve in many different ways and none of them are right or wrong, I beg you to keep that in mind as I start out on this little quest.
And to Gabby and Ryan, as I am teaching your big brother how to tie his shoes, I think of how I won't be able to teach you how to tie yours. I can practically hear you two giggling at us as we're talking about bunnies running around and going through holes and getting frustrated. Behave, you two.
All my love, as always,
Momma
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