I can't believe it's already been a year since we found out our baby didn't have a heartbeat. Some days it feels like life has always been this way, but most others feel like it just happened yesterday. I can say from my experience with Colin that being a parent is a very selfless sort of love... I don't think children ever truly appreciate all that you do for them, but regardless you wouldn't change a thing. I believe that being a baby loss parent is even more selfless.... you love someone you never could hold, who will never hug you back or return your "I love you's". Many other people don't recognize you as a parent to the child that you lost... some think that you may be down for a few days but you'll be back to your old self. I often think of everything prior to March 27, 2011 as "old me" and every day after as "new me"... a new me I'm still getting to know. Just when I think I have it all figured out I still catch myself off guard sometimes. I don't think that grieving your child is ever something that you truly "figure out"... I think it is an ongoing process that changes as time passes.
I have dreaded this day for the past year. I like to think of Gabby having the most fabulous birthday party with all of the other babies who were lost too soon and the joy they must be experiencing celebrating the day that she went to heaven. The incredibly petty part of me kicks in and I want to be the person to throw her that birthday party.... to decorate and plan a huge bash celebrating the anniversary of the arrival of my little girl. Colin and I picked up a little round birthday cake yesterday from the store so that the three of us can sing "Happy Birthday" tonight. The woman at the store asked Colin who the cake was for and he simply told her it was for his little sister in heaven and that Jesus was throwing her a HUGE party. I'm sure it wasn't the answer she was expecting. I am so incredibly proud of my son and his pure honesty. He tells everything as if it's a fact of life, and sadly the fact in our lives is that he does have two other siblings who have died before we could get to know them. I am envious of his honest view of life that doesn't allow for the complications of the adult mind. He doesn't see anything odd about having a birthday cake... in fact he wanted the plates and napkins and balloons.... the whole nine yards. He greeted me this morning with "Momma... it's Gabby's birthday!!!!" just as he would if she was sitting right next to him.
So the question I was presented with today was "how do you celebrate a life that had barely started?". The best answer I can give today is you keep going. You keep loving and you keep remembering.... even if that love isn't being returned..... even if no one else remembers or thinks it's bizarre that you do. You honor your child by speaking of them, or by a moment of silence, or your silent tears that noone sees. There are so many ways to celebrate the tiny little miracle you carried inside of you and none of them are wrong.
And so to my baby girl.... Happy happy first birthday in heaven, my angel. Words can't tell you how loved and missed you are. I can't wait until the day I can celebrate with you.
All my heart, soul, and love,
Momma
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Reagan at 24 weeks
I went for another ultrasound last week with Colin in tow to check her growth (it's a concern with babies who only have one umbilical artery). She was measuring in the 29th percentile so the doctor was happy (and I was relieved!). The ultrasound tech said she was measuring exactly to date and that she weighs about 1lb 5 oz. She also saw that she's been swallowing (another good sign!) and that she's been practice breathing. I was told that they look for that at 28 weeks so to see it now made everyone very happy campers.
Before the ultrasound Colin and I went to IHOP for breakfast and were surrounded by a ton of older women in there for their weekly coffee clutch. As ususal he was a big hit and they fawned all over him, and he boasted that he has a baby sister in his momma's belly. Then one of them asked if this was his first little sister and immediately the panic mode in me set in all over again. Colin looked up from our "tic tac toe" game on the table and smiled at her and said "No, I already have a baby sister. Her name is Gabby. She lives in heaven with my brother Ryan and God." Then he went back to beat me in yet another game and didn't think to see anyone's reaction. I was so incredibly proud of my son.... I envy his ability to speak the truth with such innoncence and honesty and not think twice about how anyone would react.
After the ultrasound we went to "Build A Bear" and Colin made Reagan her first teddy bear.
I can't wait until she's here and he can give it to her. Just 12 more weeks until we go in to be induced.
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
my little leapster
Dear Ryan,
Today is so beautiful outside. For February 29 it's nearly 70 degress outside, your momma has her legs exposed for the first time in months, and the sun just keeps shining. I couldn't be happier to see such nice weather. I'm not one for cold weather anyway, but especially not today.
You've been on my mind so much lately, and were the first thing I thought of when I woke up this morning.
Today was your due date.
It would have been a beautiful day to bring you into the world, too. It makes me sad that neither of us will ever experience that.
I remember when I first found out I was pregnant with you and was told that you would be due on February 29. At first I thought it was so neat that you would be a leap year baby, but then I wondered how you would feel about it... only having a "true" birthday every few years. It was so petty of a thought... as long as you were here safe and sound it doesn't matter what day you came on.
I found the little socks that I bought after I found out you were coming. I had a feeling you were a boy, and now that your sister is due to come in June I don't know what to do with them. They sit on the corner of the dresser. I think I'll keep them there.
I'm sorry I couldn't hold you for the first time today. I love and miss you so much.
All my heart,
Momma
Today is so beautiful outside. For February 29 it's nearly 70 degress outside, your momma has her legs exposed for the first time in months, and the sun just keeps shining. I couldn't be happier to see such nice weather. I'm not one for cold weather anyway, but especially not today.
You've been on my mind so much lately, and were the first thing I thought of when I woke up this morning.
Today was your due date.
It would have been a beautiful day to bring you into the world, too. It makes me sad that neither of us will ever experience that.
I remember when I first found out I was pregnant with you and was told that you would be due on February 29. At first I thought it was so neat that you would be a leap year baby, but then I wondered how you would feel about it... only having a "true" birthday every few years. It was so petty of a thought... as long as you were here safe and sound it doesn't matter what day you came on.
I found the little socks that I bought after I found out you were coming. I had a feeling you were a boy, and now that your sister is due to come in June I don't know what to do with them. They sit on the corner of the dresser. I think I'll keep them there.
I'm sorry I couldn't hold you for the first time today. I love and miss you so much.
All my heart,
Momma
Monday, February 27, 2012
the dreaded question
Pregnancy, for some reason, in ways becomes an invite to a lot of unwanted questions about your personal life. At work, I ignore these people or fire back with some snide remark as some of these questions are completely inappropriate and quite frankly, noone's business. But then there's the most common question.... the one I used to ask others and not think twice.... and it's a question that is asked out of complete curiousity; noone meaning you any harm.
How many children do you have?
For most people, they can answer this question in a totally natural way. Not me. Not anymore. Do I lie or do I tell the truth? I almost immediately go into panic mode, with my brain going a million miles a minute thinking how thing conversation could take so many different turns and which one I was prepared for at that specific moment.
I think back to "old me"... I would happily say that I had one son, named Colin, and bring out my phone to show off pictures of my incredibly handsome baby boy.
All of that has changed in the past year. The truth now is that I have two sons, and two daughters. The response I would expect is "oh my!" or "You're awfully young to have 4 children already" or for someone to ask me for pictures. I could easily bring forth a picture of Colin.... I have about 50 on my phone alone. I can show them Reagan's ultrasound, or they can see my visible protruding bump. I don't have pictures of Gabby or Ryan. I never will.
It always poses internal complications when someone asks how many children I have... The easy answer for conversational reasons is to say one with one on the way... and then my heart breaks. Like I've denied Gabby and Ryan's existence... like they didn't deserve to be acknowledged. Or I can come back with the honest and complicated answer. The truth. I have 4. One here, one on the way, and two in heaven. Which ususally is followed by uncomfortable silence for the person who asked. But at least my heart feels free.
How many children do you have?
For most people, they can answer this question in a totally natural way. Not me. Not anymore. Do I lie or do I tell the truth? I almost immediately go into panic mode, with my brain going a million miles a minute thinking how thing conversation could take so many different turns and which one I was prepared for at that specific moment.
I think back to "old me"... I would happily say that I had one son, named Colin, and bring out my phone to show off pictures of my incredibly handsome baby boy.
All of that has changed in the past year. The truth now is that I have two sons, and two daughters. The response I would expect is "oh my!" or "You're awfully young to have 4 children already" or for someone to ask me for pictures. I could easily bring forth a picture of Colin.... I have about 50 on my phone alone. I can show them Reagan's ultrasound, or they can see my visible protruding bump. I don't have pictures of Gabby or Ryan. I never will.
It always poses internal complications when someone asks how many children I have... The easy answer for conversational reasons is to say one with one on the way... and then my heart breaks. Like I've denied Gabby and Ryan's existence... like they didn't deserve to be acknowledged. Or I can come back with the honest and complicated answer. The truth. I have 4. One here, one on the way, and two in heaven. Which ususally is followed by uncomfortable silence for the person who asked. But at least my heart feels free.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Dear Reagan
Hey baby girl. : ) You're quite the mover and shaker today... it may sound a bit muffled in there but your brother and I like to read "Mr. Seahorse" to you at night.... the book by Eric Carle about daddy fish taking care of their babies.
We saw you yesterday at the doctors office and it made for such an awesome Valentine's day. I could stare at you forever. You are just beautiful.
Daddy felt you kick for the first time the other night... keep up those big kicks little girlfriend!
I worry often if you can sense sadness inside of me, and I just want you to know that I'm not sad about you AT ALL. Sometimes I get sad because I miss your brother and sister and because I worry about losing you. I can't bear it. I'm doing my best to be strong, and I need you to be strong too sweetheart. Please.
The doctor says that we're being induced on June 1st. I can't believe it.... that's only 3 1/2 months away. Stay strong my darling. We have a whole life to live together.
Love,
Momma
We saw you yesterday at the doctors office and it made for such an awesome Valentine's day. I could stare at you forever. You are just beautiful.
Daddy felt you kick for the first time the other night... keep up those big kicks little girlfriend!
I worry often if you can sense sadness inside of me, and I just want you to know that I'm not sad about you AT ALL. Sometimes I get sad because I miss your brother and sister and because I worry about losing you. I can't bear it. I'm doing my best to be strong, and I need you to be strong too sweetheart. Please.
The doctor says that we're being induced on June 1st. I can't believe it.... that's only 3 1/2 months away. Stay strong my darling. We have a whole life to live together.
Love,
Momma
Please don't....
Please don't tell me that you understand, when you have no idea. When you haven't lost a baby. Don't tell me you can understand what it is like to have to call around town to find a place to bury your child and actually have to have the words " my baby" come out of your mouth when the director asks who you are looking to bury.
Please don't tell me what it's like to see a baby on the ultrasound screen and realize there's no movement... to hear the words "I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat" ringing in your ears. That all of the hopes and dreams that you once had have gone up in flames and will never, EVER, come to fruition. That you understand jumping out of bed in the middle of the night because you thought you heard a baby crying. That you dream, or have nightmares rather, of seeing your deceased babies and chasing after them as some stranger takes them away from you.... but you never catch up.... and they are gone forever.
Please don't tell me that you know what it's like to try to cut a deal with God and ask him to take you instead so that they can have a chance... that you really, truly, come to a point of being completely okay with dying if you know that your babies will be alive.
Please don't tell me that you "know" or that you "understand" what it's like when you haven't lost a child. Be so grateful that you haven't. Be jubilantly grateful. Be so thankful that there is not a missing hole in your heart that nothing and noone can fill. Be happy that people don't avoid you or just stop talking to you all together. Be glad that people don't excuse themselves from the room or quickly change the subject when you bring up your child's name... like just hearing their name means the black plague.
Tell me that you're sorry. Tell me that you're here for me. Tell me that my feelings are "understandable". But please, I beg of you... please do not tell me that you understand when you do not. You cannot.
Please don't tell me what it's like to see a baby on the ultrasound screen and realize there's no movement... to hear the words "I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat" ringing in your ears. That all of the hopes and dreams that you once had have gone up in flames and will never, EVER, come to fruition. That you understand jumping out of bed in the middle of the night because you thought you heard a baby crying. That you dream, or have nightmares rather, of seeing your deceased babies and chasing after them as some stranger takes them away from you.... but you never catch up.... and they are gone forever.
Please don't tell me that you know what it's like to try to cut a deal with God and ask him to take you instead so that they can have a chance... that you really, truly, come to a point of being completely okay with dying if you know that your babies will be alive.
Please don't tell me that you "know" or that you "understand" what it's like when you haven't lost a child. Be so grateful that you haven't. Be jubilantly grateful. Be so thankful that there is not a missing hole in your heart that nothing and noone can fill. Be happy that people don't avoid you or just stop talking to you all together. Be glad that people don't excuse themselves from the room or quickly change the subject when you bring up your child's name... like just hearing their name means the black plague.
Tell me that you're sorry. Tell me that you're here for me. Tell me that my feelings are "understandable". But please, I beg of you... please do not tell me that you understand when you do not. You cannot.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
20 weeks
Not too long ago, Bob and Michelle Duggar went in for their anatomy scan, only to find their baby girl no longer had a beating heart. They planned a beautiful memorial service to honor their little one, who they named Jubilee Shalom, and at that service had very tasteful pictures of her. For some reason, these pictures spread like wild fire and with them came much criticism. It was very difficult for me to see and hear such terrible things said about this family as they suffered such a great loss. In many ways blaming the Duggars for what had happened, and saying that the child was better off in the grave than with them, completely infuriated me. The focus lost all priority: instead of being on an innocent life that was taken too soon, it became a personal bashing fest of the entire Duggar family. Regardless of how someone feels about the way they choose to live their lives, or how many children they decide to create, why couldn't a simple sentiment of "this family is grieving the death of their child" take the forefront?
Saying that a picture of Jubilee's perfect tiny feet is "morbid" and "disgusting" literally makes me ill. I can promise you one thing: if I would have been in their position I would have done the exact same thing. Their home will never be filled with baby pictures of Jubilee, or her first birthday, or her first day of school, or her prom, or her wedding. This is the only picture they have to remember her by. Shame on people for being so critical, especially considering they have never been in this position. Like I've said many times, if you don't like it, then don't look at it. Pretty simple.
Mark and I were watching TV last night after Colin had gone to bed and had the TLC channel on. During the commercial break a season preview of the Duggars came on and it was very upsetting to me for a multitude of reasons. One, they found out Jubilee had passed at their ultrasound, which Mark and I just had ours 5 days ago. Two, seeing her and Bob crying reminded me all over again of laying in the emergency room with my husband and begging and pleading with God to wake me up from my nightmare. I don't expect people to understand who haven't had to experience something like this, but I would expect a little humanity and respect.
Tomorrow is also my fellow BLM friend's daughter's 3rd birthday in heaven. Sydney was born at 20 weeks and lived for two hours. Sydney's mother has taken the trajedy and the pain of her death and has decided to do something with it... she is such an advocate for baby loss families and an amazing support system. Her strength in fighting for her daughter's memory is truly inspirational. So Sydney, happy happy birthday sweet baby. You are so very loved.
Saying that a picture of Jubilee's perfect tiny feet is "morbid" and "disgusting" literally makes me ill. I can promise you one thing: if I would have been in their position I would have done the exact same thing. Their home will never be filled with baby pictures of Jubilee, or her first birthday, or her first day of school, or her prom, or her wedding. This is the only picture they have to remember her by. Shame on people for being so critical, especially considering they have never been in this position. Like I've said many times, if you don't like it, then don't look at it. Pretty simple.
Mark and I were watching TV last night after Colin had gone to bed and had the TLC channel on. During the commercial break a season preview of the Duggars came on and it was very upsetting to me for a multitude of reasons. One, they found out Jubilee had passed at their ultrasound, which Mark and I just had ours 5 days ago. Two, seeing her and Bob crying reminded me all over again of laying in the emergency room with my husband and begging and pleading with God to wake me up from my nightmare. I don't expect people to understand who haven't had to experience something like this, but I would expect a little humanity and respect.
Tomorrow is also my fellow BLM friend's daughter's 3rd birthday in heaven. Sydney was born at 20 weeks and lived for two hours. Sydney's mother has taken the trajedy and the pain of her death and has decided to do something with it... she is such an advocate for baby loss families and an amazing support system. Her strength in fighting for her daughter's memory is truly inspirational. So Sydney, happy happy birthday sweet baby. You are so very loved.
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