It is hard to imagine we have lived without you for four years. You were here, then you were gone. You lived, you died, then you were born. It was too fast. You touched our lives in such a special way. We held you and kissed you and we said goodbye to you.
Then we had to keep living.
This was the hard part.
It took a long time to come out of the darkness that appeared the day you were born. You did not create this darkness. In fact, you were the glimmer of light that led us through our days.
For so long, we didn't know how to grieve your loss. We kept you inside our hearts and inside the walls of our house. We did not share you, or your story. We didn't have the words.
For so long it felt like others thought you were the bad thing that happened to us in our lives. Few people would speak your name, or acknowledge you as our child. Mommy is here to tell you that you were not the bad thing that happened to us. You are our son, and we are proud of you!
You were our miracle. You brought us so much joy and happiness. You lived a short life, but we know you felt our love. We know you still do.
I do not get to see you. But I feel you.
I do not get to hear you. But I feel you.
I do not get to hold you. But I feel you.
There are no trucks or superheroes in our house. There is no little boy running around with a soccer ball or hockey stick. There are no tiny muddy tracks through the house. There are no sticky fingers to wipe or scraped knees to fix. There is no little boy to take to preschool. I do not get to parent you in the physical world.
But you are here. You live within us. You are the butterflies that come to visit. You are the dragonflies at the cabin. You are the birds soaring through the air. You are the waves crashing against the shore and the leaves blowing in the wind. You are the buds of flowers in the spring. You are the feeling of warmth hugging me when I need to feel your presence.
365 days in a year times 4 years (plus 1 for leap year) is 1461 sleeps without you. Each night I talk with you and send you my love. Each night I long for you to be sleeping cozy in your room. I know you are not there, and you never will be...yet you are.
You are here, and you always will be. You are my son, and I am your mom.
I love you my dear sweet boy, no longer a baby, but a little boy...one who should be running and jumping and causing mischief. Wherever you are, I am holding you tight, and wishing you a happy birthday 4 year old. We will be singing you happy birthday and eating cake with you today as we celebrate the day you were born. To the moon and back James, we love you, we love you and we love you more.
XOXOXO
Showing posts with label Babyloss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Babyloss. Show all posts
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Friday, January 31, 2014
Today last year
And here we go again. Another year. This particular year starts on January 31st for me.
Today last year was truly an incredible day. Today last year we found out we were expecting.
I didn't quite believe it at first. I was so used to taking pregnancy tests and them being negative that it was just routine for me to take the test and not pay attention to the results because inevitably it would have only one line. That morning I took the test and then jumped in the shower. I went about my morning routine so we could get out of the house on time. Just before heading downstairs I looked at the test, braving myself for another disappointment. However when I looked there was not only one line, there were two. What? I actually grabbed the package to read the instructions I had read too many times but I thought maybe two lines meant something other than pregnant. Nope, that's what it meant. My husband already had left for work and was going to be occupied all day so he couldn't look at it. I called a girlfriend and asked if we could meet. I needed her to read it and make sure I wasn't just seeing things. I also took it with me to an appointment. Yup I was right. I was pregnant.
One may think that it was a completely joyous day. It wasn't. It couldn't be. It will never be for a mom who has already said hello and goodbye to her child in the same day. When you have walked the path of having a stillborn baby, a new pregnancy does not make you simply forget what happened to your much loved and cherished baby that died. Emotions run through you. Fear sets in. Belief that what happened before will happen again.
Today last year I was joyful. I was hopeful. I was scared. I was shocked. I was terrified. I was not excited. My husband was and he had to be for both of us. We were pregnant and we were having another baby, our third child, our rainbow.
That same day, I received other news. I had been through a long two month recruitment process for a new job that I had really wanted. I said to my husband that afternoon, "just watch how this day unfolds, I'm going to get a job offer today." He laughed, we both laughed. Twenty minutes later the phone rang and I was indeed offered the position I had hoped for.
So there it was. One day, two huge life changes.
It didn't take me long to know what I had to do about the job offer. I had been so ready to start a new chapter in my career. But I couldn't say yes. The job was with a new employer, a full time position and required travel, especially in the first six months of employment. I could not take that on. I needed the stability of my current role which I'd been doing for six years, it was part time and I knew I would have flexibility with all the extra doctor's appointments I would be having with this pregnancy. I had to say no for my baby. My fears told me that if I took a new job and if it was stressful and something went wrong with my baby that I would never forgive myself for putting my career over my child. My children come first. So, within the next few days, I declined the job offer.
Today last year. Here comes another year of reliving last year. Reliving Zachary's too short life. I have already done this once before, the today last year after James' stillbirth. I still have days in my mind from back in 2010, I guess that's today four years ago.
I know some people say not to look backwards, not to go there. Move forward they say. I am and I do everyday. I know it is January 31, 2014. I know I cannot dwell. But here's the thing, I don't believe I am dwelling on anything.
I remember days and events from years past in my living daughter's life. I have eight years of theses memories. It is perfectly acceptable for me to bring up these memories and talk about them and share them. No one ever says I am dwelling in the past when I share her history.
My memories of my sons will not disappear because they are dead. They will not disappear because they died before they were born. I have memories and just as with my daughter, when a certain day or date comes up, my memories appear. I welcome these thoughts.
I will enjoy many "today last year" thoughts of Zachary over the next six months. These are the days he lived. These are the days where I first heard his heartbeat, saw him inside of me, felt him flutter and move, had him wave at me during a ultrasound, had the maternal fetal medicine doctor tell me he was perfect, he was healthy and perfect. I will also have the unthinkable today last year memories. The ones where he wasn't moving where we found out he died, our afternoon of June 14 and the labour and birth of my perfect little boy on June 15. I will remember holding him in my arms and having his sister meet him and hold him. I will remember the following six months, and how life changed forever for us again.
It will be a year of today last year moments. These are the moments of my sons' life. My son Zachary lived and these are the memories I have of him. I have loved him from before he was conceived, but today last year I fell in love with him. The day I found out he was living inside me, he was my child and the choices I made that day were because I loved him. I still love him. I will forever love him.
Today last year. It is a day we will remember always.
Today last year was truly an incredible day. Today last year we found out we were expecting.
I didn't quite believe it at first. I was so used to taking pregnancy tests and them being negative that it was just routine for me to take the test and not pay attention to the results because inevitably it would have only one line. That morning I took the test and then jumped in the shower. I went about my morning routine so we could get out of the house on time. Just before heading downstairs I looked at the test, braving myself for another disappointment. However when I looked there was not only one line, there were two. What? I actually grabbed the package to read the instructions I had read too many times but I thought maybe two lines meant something other than pregnant. Nope, that's what it meant. My husband already had left for work and was going to be occupied all day so he couldn't look at it. I called a girlfriend and asked if we could meet. I needed her to read it and make sure I wasn't just seeing things. I also took it with me to an appointment. Yup I was right. I was pregnant.
One may think that it was a completely joyous day. It wasn't. It couldn't be. It will never be for a mom who has already said hello and goodbye to her child in the same day. When you have walked the path of having a stillborn baby, a new pregnancy does not make you simply forget what happened to your much loved and cherished baby that died. Emotions run through you. Fear sets in. Belief that what happened before will happen again.
Today last year I was joyful. I was hopeful. I was scared. I was shocked. I was terrified. I was not excited. My husband was and he had to be for both of us. We were pregnant and we were having another baby, our third child, our rainbow.
That same day, I received other news. I had been through a long two month recruitment process for a new job that I had really wanted. I said to my husband that afternoon, "just watch how this day unfolds, I'm going to get a job offer today." He laughed, we both laughed. Twenty minutes later the phone rang and I was indeed offered the position I had hoped for.
So there it was. One day, two huge life changes.
It didn't take me long to know what I had to do about the job offer. I had been so ready to start a new chapter in my career. But I couldn't say yes. The job was with a new employer, a full time position and required travel, especially in the first six months of employment. I could not take that on. I needed the stability of my current role which I'd been doing for six years, it was part time and I knew I would have flexibility with all the extra doctor's appointments I would be having with this pregnancy. I had to say no for my baby. My fears told me that if I took a new job and if it was stressful and something went wrong with my baby that I would never forgive myself for putting my career over my child. My children come first. So, within the next few days, I declined the job offer.
Today last year. Here comes another year of reliving last year. Reliving Zachary's too short life. I have already done this once before, the today last year after James' stillbirth. I still have days in my mind from back in 2010, I guess that's today four years ago.
I know some people say not to look backwards, not to go there. Move forward they say. I am and I do everyday. I know it is January 31, 2014. I know I cannot dwell. But here's the thing, I don't believe I am dwelling on anything.
I remember days and events from years past in my living daughter's life. I have eight years of theses memories. It is perfectly acceptable for me to bring up these memories and talk about them and share them. No one ever says I am dwelling in the past when I share her history.
My memories of my sons will not disappear because they are dead. They will not disappear because they died before they were born. I have memories and just as with my daughter, when a certain day or date comes up, my memories appear. I welcome these thoughts.
I will enjoy many "today last year" thoughts of Zachary over the next six months. These are the days he lived. These are the days where I first heard his heartbeat, saw him inside of me, felt him flutter and move, had him wave at me during a ultrasound, had the maternal fetal medicine doctor tell me he was perfect, he was healthy and perfect. I will also have the unthinkable today last year memories. The ones where he wasn't moving where we found out he died, our afternoon of June 14 and the labour and birth of my perfect little boy on June 15. I will remember holding him in my arms and having his sister meet him and hold him. I will remember the following six months, and how life changed forever for us again.
It will be a year of today last year moments. These are the moments of my sons' life. My son Zachary lived and these are the memories I have of him. I have loved him from before he was conceived, but today last year I fell in love with him. The day I found out he was living inside me, he was my child and the choices I made that day were because I loved him. I still love him. I will forever love him.
Today last year. It is a day we will remember always.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Halloween
I've never really been a halloween person, not even as a kid. It was never my favourite "holiday". Then I became a mom. That changes everything. For my daughter's first few years, we had so much fun picking out her costume and dressing her up. We would decorate and take her trick-or-treating. We reminisced at dinner tonight about all her costumes over the years. She's been a ladybug, a pink dragon, elmo, strawberry shortcake, and then there were her princess years, two as Sleeping Beauty and another as Belle. Last year she went a bit scary and was a vampiress and tonight she was a "kind" witch. She loved talking about all her costumes and hearing stories of her first years of trick-or-treating. I was having a fun time, remembering with her. She even asked about what my costumes were as a kid. I started to list a few, and then I started remembering what I was one year, and what my sister and brother wore that same year. All of a sudden I was overwhelmed. I went into the bathroom to try to pull myself together. I was overcome with sadness. Tonight, my daughter should be sharing with her brothers. I envision James would probably have wanted to be Batman or some other superhero at three and a half and Zachary, I would have found a cute little pumpkin costume to put him into. Trick-or-treating shouldn't have been as easy as it was tonight. I should have been pushing a buggy, and chasing after a three year old who was chasing after his big sister. These days meant for children, they are hard for babyloss families. We enjoy the moments, but at times they are difficult and overwhelming. I accept that this is the way it is. I just wish it wasn't so...
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Awareness Walk, Sunday October 13
Today we will walk. We will walk in memory of our two precious sons/brothers/grandsons, James and Zachary and for all babies who have died too soon. Stillbirth and infant death is real, and it affects so many families. It is a silent traumatic grief that families have to live with. Grieving mothers, fathers, siblings, grandparents and extended family and friends should not have to live in silence and should not have to walk through their grief alone. There are others, too many others that are living without their precious children. Grief support and bereavement services for this type of child death are hard to find. Three years ago, when my son James was stillborn, I felt I was on my own. I didn't find the support I was searching for. This year, after the stillbirth of my son Zachary, I have found support. Just over a year ago, a non-profit organization called Still Life Canada formed here in Vancouver. I am so thankful for the community of support it provides. Today, Still Life Canada will hold its Second Annual Awareness Walk. The purpose of the walk is to come together in mutual support to celebrate and remember our babies and connect with other families affected by stillbirth and neonatal death. Please click here to find all the details.
As part of the Awareness Walk, Still Life Canada asks you to consider bringing a new pair of children's shoes to donate in memory of a child who was stillborn or died after birth. On Saturday I went shopping to find shoes to donate in memory of James and Zachary. I wanted to donate shoes that I would have purchased for my sons, if they were here with us today. It was a difficult trip to the shoe store because when buying shoes for Marissa, I always have her with me so she is there to try them on. James and Zachary were there with me, but I kept wandering back and forth between sizes, wondering, moreso for James, what size would he be wearing today. We finally decided on a pair of rainboots for James. He would be three and a half, and most certainly jumping in puddles through the winter. Marissa loved the Spiderman ones for James, and was so excited to have picked them out for her brother. For Zachary, she picked a little pair of runners, with Elmo on them. It was a moment where she got to be a big sister. I loved seeing the thoughtfulness she put into picking the perfect shoes for her brothers.
We are all looking forward to the walk. It is important to connect with other babyloss families, to celebrate and remember their babies and ours, together.
A glimpse of what should be.
As part of the Awareness Walk, Still Life Canada asks you to consider bringing a new pair of children's shoes to donate in memory of a child who was stillborn or died after birth. On Saturday I went shopping to find shoes to donate in memory of James and Zachary. I wanted to donate shoes that I would have purchased for my sons, if they were here with us today. It was a difficult trip to the shoe store because when buying shoes for Marissa, I always have her with me so she is there to try them on. James and Zachary were there with me, but I kept wandering back and forth between sizes, wondering, moreso for James, what size would he be wearing today. We finally decided on a pair of rainboots for James. He would be three and a half, and most certainly jumping in puddles through the winter. Marissa loved the Spiderman ones for James, and was so excited to have picked them out for her brother. For Zachary, she picked a little pair of runners, with Elmo on them. It was a moment where she got to be a big sister. I loved seeing the thoughtfulness she put into picking the perfect shoes for her brothers.
We are all looking forward to the walk. It is important to connect with other babyloss families, to celebrate and remember their babies and ours, together.
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| Rainboots to be donated in memory of James |
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| Baby shoes to be donated in memory of Zachary |
Friday, October 11, 2013
Today
Today...I was supposed to hear you cry for the first time.
I never heard you cry.
Today...I was supposed to hold you in my arms for the first time.
I held you in my arms for the first time and the last time, on the same day.
Today...I was supposed to nurse you.
I never got to nurse you. My milk came but you were already gone.
Today...I was supposed to be in awe of your little fingers and toes and the way you wiggle your nose.
I was in awe. I loved your fingers and toes and your nose and every inch of you.
Today...I was supposed to smile with excitement.
Excitement is not a word for me today. I will smile. I remember you and I smile.
Today...I was supposed to introduce you to your big sister.
She got to meet you, to hold you and to feel her place as a big sister.
Today...I was supposed to be tired after a long nine months, and labour and delivery of you.
I am tired. Grief is tiring.
Today...I was supposed to welcome you.
I already had to say goodbye.
I love you Zachary.
I miss you today, always and forever.
I never heard you cry.
Today...I was supposed to hold you in my arms for the first time.
I held you in my arms for the first time and the last time, on the same day.
Today...I was supposed to nurse you.
I never got to nurse you. My milk came but you were already gone.
Today...I was supposed to be in awe of your little fingers and toes and the way you wiggle your nose.
I was in awe. I loved your fingers and toes and your nose and every inch of you.
Today...I was supposed to smile with excitement.
Excitement is not a word for me today. I will smile. I remember you and I smile.
Today...I was supposed to introduce you to your big sister.
She got to meet you, to hold you and to feel her place as a big sister.
Today...I was supposed to be tired after a long nine months, and labour and delivery of you.
I am tired. Grief is tiring.
Today...I was supposed to welcome you.
I already had to say goodbye.
I love you Zachary.
I miss you today, always and forever.
Monday, September 16, 2013
3 Heartstrings
The UPS man came to the door. I was not expecting anything. No idea what was in the package. I opened the package. And this is what I pulled out...
It is beautiful. My eyes swelled with tears and I let it all out. My daughter was home from school already. She witnessed the grief full on. It was such a powerful moment. I was looking at all three of my children's names together for the first time, and probably one of the only times. I felt such sadness and such joy. To see all three of my children's names engraved on a beautiful pendant holds such deep meaning for me. Acknowledgement. So many babyloss families never have their babies acknowledged. This pendant represents so much to me.
Looking further at the pendant, I saw 3 hearts, each on a string. My emotions overflowed. There was a note inside with the pendant:
Jaime, This is called 3 heartstrings, for those that hold onto our heart & have heard it. Love Jodi
Heartstrings. This has become an important term to our family in the past year. Our daughter had developed a high sense of anxiety. She had a fear of being alone or left alone, an intense fear of something going wrong or an occurance of a natural disaster such as an earthquake or fire and a fear of a lockdown happening at school. The anxiety she was having was becoming more intense for her. We tried numerous strategies of how to help her get through these anxieties, but to no avail, we could not alleviate or help her through these times. We actually had started to enable her fears and anxieties further by giving in to her rituals that she had created to help her cope through them. We knew we had to do something other than what we were doing. So, last fall, about a year ago, we found a Counselor that specializes in working with children with fears and anxiety and is also a Play Therapist. It didn't take long and the strategies that her Counselor used started to help her. Heartstrings was one such strategy.
She taught our daughter that even though we may not always be with her physically, we were always with her, in our hearts. The strategy was simple: when she began to feel alone or scared or that something bad was going to happen, she just needed to pull on her heartstrings, and by doing so, mommy and daddy would feel her pulling them, and we would pull on our heartstrings so she would feel us too. It was a strategy that she was to use that would be like giving a virtual hug to mommy and daddy even when we weren't there. It is a magical strategy that has worked amazingly well over the past year. She learned many more coping strategies and we are so proud of the work she has done to help herself. Her fears and anxieties are now under control and manageable. Our concerns have been alleviated. And, our family always has our heartstrings to pull on when we need to. Sometimes Marissa asks if I felt her heartstrings during the day, and other days, I ask her. It is part of our vocabulary.
I had never translated this over to my boys. Never. Not until I received this pendant. This made me cry even more. Of coarse! Why hadn't I thought of it myself?! I can pull my heartstrings when the pain of loss is so intense, so that James and Zachary can feel it and know that their mommy misses them so very much. I can pull my heartstrings when we are having a joyous day, and I am wishing my boys were here to experience it. If I can pull my heartstrings, and I know they will feel it, then they too can pull their heartstrings so I can feel it. Another connection to my boys has just opened up.
Going back to the note I received with the necklace...for those that hold onto our heart & have heard it...I hadn't thought of this before. I hadn't thought specifically that Marissa, James and Zachary have all heard my heart from the inside. They know me from there, they have heard my heart beat and they know my heart beats for them, for each of them. Magical, meaningful words that I will hold in my heart and my head as I move forward.
I cannot write this post without thanking the person who sent me this most treasured piece of jewellry. This is a person whom I love very much. She tracked the delivery of this piece and knew that I had received it. She didn't hear from me for days. She was worried she had offended me or angered me for sending it. She started second guessing herself. I simply couldn't call at first. Each time I took the necklace and note out of the package, I wept. It was tears of grief, tears of love and tears of joy. I couldn't call because I knew I couldn't talk about it without breaking down. She finally called me, as she couldn't wait to hear if I liked it. It was to her great relief to hear of my love for the pendant. This treasure was sent to me by my sister, Jodi. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I have pulled my heartstrings to thank you, and know that your nephews have pulled theirs too. They are happy that you have given them another gateway to their mom.
I am grateful for my 3 heartstrings, today and always.
It is beautiful. My eyes swelled with tears and I let it all out. My daughter was home from school already. She witnessed the grief full on. It was such a powerful moment. I was looking at all three of my children's names together for the first time, and probably one of the only times. I felt such sadness and such joy. To see all three of my children's names engraved on a beautiful pendant holds such deep meaning for me. Acknowledgement. So many babyloss families never have their babies acknowledged. This pendant represents so much to me.
Looking further at the pendant, I saw 3 hearts, each on a string. My emotions overflowed. There was a note inside with the pendant:
Jaime, This is called 3 heartstrings, for those that hold onto our heart & have heard it. Love Jodi
Heartstrings. This has become an important term to our family in the past year. Our daughter had developed a high sense of anxiety. She had a fear of being alone or left alone, an intense fear of something going wrong or an occurance of a natural disaster such as an earthquake or fire and a fear of a lockdown happening at school. The anxiety she was having was becoming more intense for her. We tried numerous strategies of how to help her get through these anxieties, but to no avail, we could not alleviate or help her through these times. We actually had started to enable her fears and anxieties further by giving in to her rituals that she had created to help her cope through them. We knew we had to do something other than what we were doing. So, last fall, about a year ago, we found a Counselor that specializes in working with children with fears and anxiety and is also a Play Therapist. It didn't take long and the strategies that her Counselor used started to help her. Heartstrings was one such strategy.
She taught our daughter that even though we may not always be with her physically, we were always with her, in our hearts. The strategy was simple: when she began to feel alone or scared or that something bad was going to happen, she just needed to pull on her heartstrings, and by doing so, mommy and daddy would feel her pulling them, and we would pull on our heartstrings so she would feel us too. It was a strategy that she was to use that would be like giving a virtual hug to mommy and daddy even when we weren't there. It is a magical strategy that has worked amazingly well over the past year. She learned many more coping strategies and we are so proud of the work she has done to help herself. Her fears and anxieties are now under control and manageable. Our concerns have been alleviated. And, our family always has our heartstrings to pull on when we need to. Sometimes Marissa asks if I felt her heartstrings during the day, and other days, I ask her. It is part of our vocabulary.
I had never translated this over to my boys. Never. Not until I received this pendant. This made me cry even more. Of coarse! Why hadn't I thought of it myself?! I can pull my heartstrings when the pain of loss is so intense, so that James and Zachary can feel it and know that their mommy misses them so very much. I can pull my heartstrings when we are having a joyous day, and I am wishing my boys were here to experience it. If I can pull my heartstrings, and I know they will feel it, then they too can pull their heartstrings so I can feel it. Another connection to my boys has just opened up.
Going back to the note I received with the necklace...for those that hold onto our heart & have heard it...I hadn't thought of this before. I hadn't thought specifically that Marissa, James and Zachary have all heard my heart from the inside. They know me from there, they have heard my heart beat and they know my heart beats for them, for each of them. Magical, meaningful words that I will hold in my heart and my head as I move forward.
I cannot write this post without thanking the person who sent me this most treasured piece of jewellry. This is a person whom I love very much. She tracked the delivery of this piece and knew that I had received it. She didn't hear from me for days. She was worried she had offended me or angered me for sending it. She started second guessing herself. I simply couldn't call at first. Each time I took the necklace and note out of the package, I wept. It was tears of grief, tears of love and tears of joy. I couldn't call because I knew I couldn't talk about it without breaking down. She finally called me, as she couldn't wait to hear if I liked it. It was to her great relief to hear of my love for the pendant. This treasure was sent to me by my sister, Jodi. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I have pulled my heartstrings to thank you, and know that your nephews have pulled theirs too. They are happy that you have given them another gateway to their mom.
I am grateful for my 3 heartstrings, today and always.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Beautiful family
For a long time I have grappled with feelings that my family is not or does not feel complete. I have believed that adding another child or children will give me that feeling of "complete". Over the past couple of days, I have come to the realization that no matter how many more children I have, or if I don't have any more, that physical feeling of completeness will never come. It cannot. There will always be two missing pieces to our family. Two very important and loved souls, who are not with us here physically. There will always be empty chairs, beds, backpacks, halloween costumes, stockings and easter baskets. There will always be less arms to hug, scrapped knees to fix, sports games to attend. I live each day with my arms 1/3 full. However, in the same breath, they are here. They are here in our hearts, in our words and in our actions. James and Zachary will always be a part of our family, and they do complete it. My arms may be 1/3 full but my heart is full and overflowing.
I was talking to my Doctor of TCM the other day, someone who has become a trusted friend along this path. I was telling him of some doubts and fears that I had about next steps whatever that may look like. One of the things he said to me is "you have a beautiful family." I cannot remember most of the other words we spoke that day, of where I am at and what I am working on and towards. But I do remember these words: you have a beautiful family. I have repeated that over and over in my head, and it has now become: I have a beautiful family. Sometimes we just need simple words and nudges to help us work through and resolve complex thoughts.
Last night was one of those difficult nights. Nights where I remember everything and question everything. I was back in the doctor's office, the ultrasound room, the delivery room. I was back in the place where I realized that my baby had died, two of my babies had died. I was so overcome by my grief. Then I was angry. How could this have happened to us? How could this have happened to us, twice? I want my babies with me. I want them home, here, with us, with our family. Chris was there with me as I walked through these dark moments. He sat with me, he talked with me, some of his words comforted me, others just made me more angry, others so grateful. He made it a safe place to be. He reminded me of a time when it was just the two of us, struggling to build our family. We were a beautiful family then, the two of us. He remembers me saying, why can't we just have one baby, why is this so difficult? That is many years and many difficulties ago. I did eventually have that one baby I so desparately wanted, and she stole our hearts. She made us into our beautiful family of three. To some, that is all they see, and all they will ever know and see of our family. But there is more to the story and more to this beautiful family. More years and struggles later, a tiny little boy made our beautiful family grow into four. He too stole our hearts and took a piece of them with him. This year, our family grew once more. We welcomed another little boy into our beautiful family. There are now five of us, eventhough some only see three. I have a husband who I cherish and love, I have a daughter who I adore and who taught me how to be a mom, and continues to teach me daily what love and compassion are, I have a son who has taught me more about myself than anyone before him and I have another son who has given me courage and strength that I didn't know I have. That does make me feel complete. It doesn't yet answer the question where do we go from here, but that's okay. I have a beautiful family, and for that I am grateful today and always.
I was talking to my Doctor of TCM the other day, someone who has become a trusted friend along this path. I was telling him of some doubts and fears that I had about next steps whatever that may look like. One of the things he said to me is "you have a beautiful family." I cannot remember most of the other words we spoke that day, of where I am at and what I am working on and towards. But I do remember these words: you have a beautiful family. I have repeated that over and over in my head, and it has now become: I have a beautiful family. Sometimes we just need simple words and nudges to help us work through and resolve complex thoughts.
Last night was one of those difficult nights. Nights where I remember everything and question everything. I was back in the doctor's office, the ultrasound room, the delivery room. I was back in the place where I realized that my baby had died, two of my babies had died. I was so overcome by my grief. Then I was angry. How could this have happened to us? How could this have happened to us, twice? I want my babies with me. I want them home, here, with us, with our family. Chris was there with me as I walked through these dark moments. He sat with me, he talked with me, some of his words comforted me, others just made me more angry, others so grateful. He made it a safe place to be. He reminded me of a time when it was just the two of us, struggling to build our family. We were a beautiful family then, the two of us. He remembers me saying, why can't we just have one baby, why is this so difficult? That is many years and many difficulties ago. I did eventually have that one baby I so desparately wanted, and she stole our hearts. She made us into our beautiful family of three. To some, that is all they see, and all they will ever know and see of our family. But there is more to the story and more to this beautiful family. More years and struggles later, a tiny little boy made our beautiful family grow into four. He too stole our hearts and took a piece of them with him. This year, our family grew once more. We welcomed another little boy into our beautiful family. There are now five of us, eventhough some only see three. I have a husband who I cherish and love, I have a daughter who I adore and who taught me how to be a mom, and continues to teach me daily what love and compassion are, I have a son who has taught me more about myself than anyone before him and I have another son who has given me courage and strength that I didn't know I have. That does make me feel complete. It doesn't yet answer the question where do we go from here, but that's okay. I have a beautiful family, and for that I am grateful today and always.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Looking ahead to September
I've been here before. I've thought ahead, and planned for September. I did it in 2010 and I did it again this year. I tried not to, I really did, but it happened.
For many people, September is the real start to a new year. The September to June year...school. Not only is my daughter headed into grade 3 this year, but September brings my husband returning to work in the classroom each fall. Most years I actually look forward to this. I like to get back to our regular schedule, with routines and set schedules in place. I find it helps me stay grounded.
As a babyloss mom, I've learned not to plan for many things. I learned that planning ahead doesn't always help. I learned that the hard way.
When pregnant with James, I planned a lot about the first year in my head. We had moved when we were pregnant with him, so our daughter would be starting kindergarten in our new neighbourhood. We would meet new people, as we walked to school. I remember thinking how I would enjoy walking her to school, pushing the stroller with her baby brother inside. I was glad I was going to be on maternity leave for her kindergarten year. It would be a good transition year, for both of us. Sadly, that did not happen. She started kindergarten that year, but there was no baby stroller walking with her to school. Instead, there was a mom who drove her daughter to school as close to the bell as possible so that I could race back home to bed as soon as I dropped her off. That mom tried to avoid eye contact with other moms because she knew how painful those first conversations were going to be. The conversations when you meet other parents: "how many kids do you have?", "what grades are your kids in?", "is she an only child?" ...those questions. I couldn't avoid all contact, no matter how hard I tried. So, over time I met a few other moms, mostly due to their persistance of saying hello, and I'm not one to not say hello if someone says hello to me. At first, I took what I thought was the easy road and just agreed that Marissa was my only child. It tore me apart though, not acknowledging my precious son, who I'd held in my arms just months prior. I felt a lot of guilt, for a long time. Slowly as I got to know a few moms, I shared a little bit more of my story with them, and that I had a son as well who had been stillborn. I am so thankful for those handful of moms who made me feel safe enough to share. These are the same moms I stand with now, a few years later at drop-off and pick-up. I must admit, I still try to avoid too many conversations with moms I don't know, as those new conversations are still tough for me.
That was September 2010. Here we are, three years later, September 2013. My planning in my head earlier this year was that I would begin my maternity leave at the beginning of this month. Marissa and I would have some time transitioning into grade 3, and we anticipated her brother joining us mid-late September (he was due October 11, but 36 weeks had been our goal). I would most likely not be walking her to school this month, but was looking ahead to October. Once baby had arrived, we would do that walk together, that one I dreamed of doing back in 2010, pushing her brother in the stroller, walking her to school. That won't be happening again this September.
September has to be planned differently again this year. I need to re-think the plan, re-word the plan. I myself am not just beginning my maternity leave this month, rather, I soon will be finishing my maternity leave, returning to work mid-October. I look today at the month ahead of me, and I ask myself, what do I do? I have this whole month that is mine and mine alone.
Alone.
That is what scares me. That is what is giving me some anxiety right now.
Zachary was born still on June 15. Chris only worked a few days at the end of June, and has been off all summer. Marissa finished school at the end of June, so has been home all summer. My parents were here for the first few weeks after Zach was born and we have been blessed to spend quite a bit of time with them this summer. Add all this up, and I have not been alone, not one day, since Zach died.
This year, September doesn't bring anticipation as it was planned. It brings "alone".
So, in looking ahead to the month of September, I have made a new plan...yes another plan!
My plan is ME. I am calling it a month for me! I've decided that I will not repeat September 2010. I will not race home to go back to bed after taking my daughter to school. My plan is simple and not at all complete. My plan is to let September flow, take each day, each moment as it comes. I plan on walking to school some days. I plan on getting back to the gym. I plan on getting ready for the gym each morning and going there or to a park for a walk right after school drop-off. This way I am not going home to be alone there quite so early in the day. I plan on having tea or lunch dates with friends when it works in our schedules. I plan on working outside in the yard. And I plan on getting creative, working on some scrapbooking and mixed media art projects that I have been wanting to delve into. I plan on cooking fresh, healthy dinners for my family. I plan on having one goal each morning that I have for the day. I will not plan these ahead of time, but rather decide that day what it looks like. Some days may be bigger or smaller goals than other days. After accomplishing my exercise and my goal for the day, if I feel like having a nap, I will. It won't be an every day thing, or an all day thing, it will be a sometimes I just feel like a nap kind of thing. This is a month that I want to look back on and say, yeah, I had a month all to myself, all for myself, and feel like I used the time on my own to help me move through my grief.
So there it is, my new September 2013 plan. Not how I had imagined or planned for...but a plan nonetheless.
For many people, September is the real start to a new year. The September to June year...school. Not only is my daughter headed into grade 3 this year, but September brings my husband returning to work in the classroom each fall. Most years I actually look forward to this. I like to get back to our regular schedule, with routines and set schedules in place. I find it helps me stay grounded.
As a babyloss mom, I've learned not to plan for many things. I learned that planning ahead doesn't always help. I learned that the hard way.
When pregnant with James, I planned a lot about the first year in my head. We had moved when we were pregnant with him, so our daughter would be starting kindergarten in our new neighbourhood. We would meet new people, as we walked to school. I remember thinking how I would enjoy walking her to school, pushing the stroller with her baby brother inside. I was glad I was going to be on maternity leave for her kindergarten year. It would be a good transition year, for both of us. Sadly, that did not happen. She started kindergarten that year, but there was no baby stroller walking with her to school. Instead, there was a mom who drove her daughter to school as close to the bell as possible so that I could race back home to bed as soon as I dropped her off. That mom tried to avoid eye contact with other moms because she knew how painful those first conversations were going to be. The conversations when you meet other parents: "how many kids do you have?", "what grades are your kids in?", "is she an only child?" ...those questions. I couldn't avoid all contact, no matter how hard I tried. So, over time I met a few other moms, mostly due to their persistance of saying hello, and I'm not one to not say hello if someone says hello to me. At first, I took what I thought was the easy road and just agreed that Marissa was my only child. It tore me apart though, not acknowledging my precious son, who I'd held in my arms just months prior. I felt a lot of guilt, for a long time. Slowly as I got to know a few moms, I shared a little bit more of my story with them, and that I had a son as well who had been stillborn. I am so thankful for those handful of moms who made me feel safe enough to share. These are the same moms I stand with now, a few years later at drop-off and pick-up. I must admit, I still try to avoid too many conversations with moms I don't know, as those new conversations are still tough for me.
That was September 2010. Here we are, three years later, September 2013. My planning in my head earlier this year was that I would begin my maternity leave at the beginning of this month. Marissa and I would have some time transitioning into grade 3, and we anticipated her brother joining us mid-late September (he was due October 11, but 36 weeks had been our goal). I would most likely not be walking her to school this month, but was looking ahead to October. Once baby had arrived, we would do that walk together, that one I dreamed of doing back in 2010, pushing her brother in the stroller, walking her to school. That won't be happening again this September.
September has to be planned differently again this year. I need to re-think the plan, re-word the plan. I myself am not just beginning my maternity leave this month, rather, I soon will be finishing my maternity leave, returning to work mid-October. I look today at the month ahead of me, and I ask myself, what do I do? I have this whole month that is mine and mine alone.
Alone.
That is what scares me. That is what is giving me some anxiety right now.
Zachary was born still on June 15. Chris only worked a few days at the end of June, and has been off all summer. Marissa finished school at the end of June, so has been home all summer. My parents were here for the first few weeks after Zach was born and we have been blessed to spend quite a bit of time with them this summer. Add all this up, and I have not been alone, not one day, since Zach died.
This year, September doesn't bring anticipation as it was planned. It brings "alone".
So, in looking ahead to the month of September, I have made a new plan...yes another plan!
My plan is ME. I am calling it a month for me! I've decided that I will not repeat September 2010. I will not race home to go back to bed after taking my daughter to school. My plan is simple and not at all complete. My plan is to let September flow, take each day, each moment as it comes. I plan on walking to school some days. I plan on getting back to the gym. I plan on getting ready for the gym each morning and going there or to a park for a walk right after school drop-off. This way I am not going home to be alone there quite so early in the day. I plan on having tea or lunch dates with friends when it works in our schedules. I plan on working outside in the yard. And I plan on getting creative, working on some scrapbooking and mixed media art projects that I have been wanting to delve into. I plan on cooking fresh, healthy dinners for my family. I plan on having one goal each morning that I have for the day. I will not plan these ahead of time, but rather decide that day what it looks like. Some days may be bigger or smaller goals than other days. After accomplishing my exercise and my goal for the day, if I feel like having a nap, I will. It won't be an every day thing, or an all day thing, it will be a sometimes I just feel like a nap kind of thing. This is a month that I want to look back on and say, yeah, I had a month all to myself, all for myself, and feel like I used the time on my own to help me move through my grief.
So there it is, my new September 2013 plan. Not how I had imagined or planned for...but a plan nonetheless.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Our family's trips to the Zoo...
The Zoo is not somewhere we visit often. I am not really a fan to be honest. I much prefer animals live where they are supposed to, in the wild, in the country and region where they are native to. Before becoming a mother, I struggled with the decision of whether I would ever take my children to the zoo because I feel so strongly about natural habitats and the humane treatment of animals. However eventually I did decide that we would make a few trips to the zoo over the years. My reasoning for this is that I wanted my children to discover and love nature and natural things just as I do. I want them to respect the environment and all that lives and breathes in it. I want them to discover the vast world we live in and the diversity of it and all that this world offers. I decided that in my lifetime I would not be able to take them to all the places I wanted them to see and discover the truly incredible biodiversity that exists: Africa, Asia, the Rainforests of South America, the Galapagos, Australia, Antarctica and so many more. The Zoo was going to help take them there and give them a glimpse to what exists out there. I believe if we don't get to see and experience these creatures that roam our earth and oceans, we won't learn about them as we should. A book can only take us so far. We need to see and smell the animals of the wild to truly appreciate their awesomeness.
We are in Seattle for a few days. Yesterday we decided to go to the Woodland Park Zoo. We had never been there before.
As a family we have been to the Portland Zoo back in 2009, when Marissa was our only child. I can remember it being a fantastic day, full of fun and laughter and discovery.
In 2010 we went to the San Diego Zoo on our first vacation after James' stillbirth. It was a difficult day as I remember thinking that I should be one of those moms pushing a stroller with my son in it. I know I put on a brave face that day for my daughter, my husband, my family. But I can't remember thinking at any point that it was a fun day.
That brings us to yesterday. Yesterday the zoo was a bittersweet day for me. We did have a good day together, discovering and learning. There was even some laughter. But it was hard too. I had tears on numerous occasions. It seemed as though it was pregnancy day at the zoo. It didn't matter where we were, there was one, two or more mom's who were expecting. There were even more mom's pushing strollers. Then there were the families...the ones I really noticed were the ones with an older daughter and two younger sons, or an older daughter, a younger son and a pregnant mom. I wasn't bitter or angry at seeing these people or families. I was saddened. I was saddened because of the other family that should have been there, our family. At one point I sat on a bench and as Marissa was running around discovering things, Chris came and sat beside me. He said I looked sad. I was sad. I was watching Marissa, and thinking that she should be holding her brother's hand, or chasing after him, or telling him that the animals can't hurt us at the zoo, so not to be afraid. I was really missing James. I would look for little boys that I thought were around 3, and watch in awe of their discovery of things. Then, I would touch my belly, longing for the kicks that should be there with Zachary. I missed him too, very much. I should be that mom, with her daughter and son in tow, and another on the way. Sadly, I'm not.
I am the mother watching her daughter, in awe of her energy, her desire to learn, and her uncanny ability to give me a hug exactly when I need it. I am the mother who grieves that her two boys are not there. I carry them with me in my heart, and let them know how much they would have liked the family trip to the zoo. I am the mother who sits on the bench, taking a break, reading a grief book when walking to each exhibit was too much for me because it meant either seeing the new cubs who had recently been born or hearing about the giraffe who is due any day now. I am the mother who smiles and laughs at the same time as my heart aches and tears fall.
Our family trips to the Zoo...3 trips...one kid, two kids, three kids. Its interesting to me, this whole parenting after loss world, and parenting our children who are no longer here. Yesterday I did take my three kids to the zoo. They each got a piece of me, just as they should. The trips to the zoo have definitely been full of discovery, and certainly most of which has nothing to do with the animals.
We are in Seattle for a few days. Yesterday we decided to go to the Woodland Park Zoo. We had never been there before.
As a family we have been to the Portland Zoo back in 2009, when Marissa was our only child. I can remember it being a fantastic day, full of fun and laughter and discovery.
In 2010 we went to the San Diego Zoo on our first vacation after James' stillbirth. It was a difficult day as I remember thinking that I should be one of those moms pushing a stroller with my son in it. I know I put on a brave face that day for my daughter, my husband, my family. But I can't remember thinking at any point that it was a fun day.
That brings us to yesterday. Yesterday the zoo was a bittersweet day for me. We did have a good day together, discovering and learning. There was even some laughter. But it was hard too. I had tears on numerous occasions. It seemed as though it was pregnancy day at the zoo. It didn't matter where we were, there was one, two or more mom's who were expecting. There were even more mom's pushing strollers. Then there were the families...the ones I really noticed were the ones with an older daughter and two younger sons, or an older daughter, a younger son and a pregnant mom. I wasn't bitter or angry at seeing these people or families. I was saddened. I was saddened because of the other family that should have been there, our family. At one point I sat on a bench and as Marissa was running around discovering things, Chris came and sat beside me. He said I looked sad. I was sad. I was watching Marissa, and thinking that she should be holding her brother's hand, or chasing after him, or telling him that the animals can't hurt us at the zoo, so not to be afraid. I was really missing James. I would look for little boys that I thought were around 3, and watch in awe of their discovery of things. Then, I would touch my belly, longing for the kicks that should be there with Zachary. I missed him too, very much. I should be that mom, with her daughter and son in tow, and another on the way. Sadly, I'm not.
I am the mother watching her daughter, in awe of her energy, her desire to learn, and her uncanny ability to give me a hug exactly when I need it. I am the mother who grieves that her two boys are not there. I carry them with me in my heart, and let them know how much they would have liked the family trip to the zoo. I am the mother who sits on the bench, taking a break, reading a grief book when walking to each exhibit was too much for me because it meant either seeing the new cubs who had recently been born or hearing about the giraffe who is due any day now. I am the mother who smiles and laughs at the same time as my heart aches and tears fall.
Our family trips to the Zoo...3 trips...one kid, two kids, three kids. Its interesting to me, this whole parenting after loss world, and parenting our children who are no longer here. Yesterday I did take my three kids to the zoo. They each got a piece of me, just as they should. The trips to the zoo have definitely been full of discovery, and certainly most of which has nothing to do with the animals.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
My Side of the Rainbow - a poem
At the end of a rainbow there is a pot of gold, an unknown magical something.
My baby boy died in my womb. He was a bright lively light in my life.
He left too soon. My world went silent.
Three years later, my rainbow baby was conceived.
They said:
He will bring you joy.
He will help you heal.
He is what you need.
I said:
Do not put all these pressures on my rainbow.
That is far too much to place on my little boy.
He will be himself.
He will just be.
I will be.
He was a gentle soul. Kind to his mama.
Calm.
Determined.
My beautiful baby boy, full of hope and promise and a little something on the other side of the rainbow.
One month, two, three, four and five, then came six.
Healthy, strong, perfect.
In an instant, dead.
My rainbow baby didn't come home with me.
He went to be with his brother.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
My side of the rainbow looks a little different.
I bring home grief.
I bring home memory boxes.
I bring home footprints, handprints, hats and blankets.
I bring home ashes.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
I bring home a lifetime in a moment.
I bring home anger.
I bring home emptiness.
I bring home sadness.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
I bring home silence.
I bring home a broken heart.
I bring home shattered dreams.
I bring home empty arms.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
My rainbow went to heaven too.
My side of the rainbow?
Darkness.
My baby boy died in my womb. He was a bright lively light in my life.
He left too soon. My world went silent.
Three years later, my rainbow baby was conceived.
They said:
He will bring you joy.
He will help you heal.
He is what you need.
I said:
Do not put all these pressures on my rainbow.
That is far too much to place on my little boy.
He will be himself.
He will just be.
I will be.
He was a gentle soul. Kind to his mama.
Calm.
Determined.
My beautiful baby boy, full of hope and promise and a little something on the other side of the rainbow.
One month, two, three, four and five, then came six.
Healthy, strong, perfect.
In an instant, dead.
My rainbow baby didn't come home with me.
He went to be with his brother.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
My side of the rainbow looks a little different.
I bring home grief.
I bring home memory boxes.
I bring home footprints, handprints, hats and blankets.
I bring home ashes.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
I bring home a lifetime in a moment.
I bring home anger.
I bring home emptiness.
I bring home sadness.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
I bring home silence.
I bring home a broken heart.
I bring home shattered dreams.
I bring home empty arms.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
My rainbow went to heaven too.
My side of the rainbow?
Darkness.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
The ONE who RUNS
...and swims and bikes and so much more! This past weekend, my eight year old participated in and completed her first triathlon. It was amazing! Obviously it was age appropriate distances but nonetheless, she did it and we are so proud of her! Below are a few pictures from the day:
My daughter's name is Marissa. She is my firstborn. She too has a complicated story of birth that over time I will share. She too has a story of loss, the loss of her two brothers, the loss of the promise that she would be a big sister in the conventional sense, and the loss of her "old mommy", twice. Marissa reminds me all the time that she is a big sister, and her brothers live in our hearts. She reminds me that I am not alone. She reminds me that I am wrapped in love. She does all this, most times not knowing how much she is helping her mommy get through the days. I am so grateful for this very special, brave, confident little girl, and am so proud to be her mommy.
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| One hour before triathlon..."the nerves" were just setting in... |
 |
| In the pool... |
 |
| Transition between swim and bike |
 |
| Heading out to ride |
 |
| Just about finished on the bike |
On the home stretch...
The finish line!
My girl and me
My daughter's name is Marissa. She is my firstborn. She too has a complicated story of birth that over time I will share. She too has a story of loss, the loss of her two brothers, the loss of the promise that she would be a big sister in the conventional sense, and the loss of her "old mommy", twice. Marissa reminds me all the time that she is a big sister, and her brothers live in our hearts. She reminds me that I am not alone. She reminds me that I am wrapped in love. She does all this, most times not knowing how much she is helping her mommy get through the days. I am so grateful for this very special, brave, confident little girl, and am so proud to be her mommy.
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