Good-Bye 2013

Once again we've reached the eve of a new year... another year is coming to a close and leaving us with nothing but memories.

I wish I could look back on this year and see nothing but joy and feel perfectly at peace with its end.

Instead, 2013 will always be a year that ended with despair and emptiness. I wish I didn't feel this way, but I can't help but feel saddened and disappointed. I wanted so badly for this year to be one of redemption.

I remember at the start of this year that there was so much I wanted to do. So many goals were set that weren't reached. So many dreams were dreamed that weren't realized. So many wishes were made that weren't granted.

I guess ultimately I feel both relieved and reluctant to leave 2013 behind. Part of me is ready to move on, to leave this year in the past and cross my fingers that things are better in 2014. But part of me is desperate for more 2013, a little more time to try to recover what was lost. I feel cheated out of time with Poppy and the chance to have a rainbow baby.

Now time is up for 2013. And I'll never have another year with Poppy. And I'll never have the opportunity to have a baby in 2013. And I'll never again be able to end this year with a gain instead of a loss.

Nevertheless, it's time to say good-bye to 2013. I may not be completely ready for it to end, but at least this is one ending that is immediately followed by a new beginning.

~Last sunset of 2013~

Celebrating Today

Last Christmas, I think I honestly believed that I would have a baby in my arms today. At some point this year, I realized that having a baby in time for Christmas would be impossible and I held out hope that I would at least be pregnant. Eventually I gave up even that hope and I figured I would just experience another childless Christmas. And then the greatest thing happened. I got pregnant in October. I counted the weeks until Christmas and it seemed like the perfect day to tell everyone about Baby #2. I never thought that I would lose the baby before Christmas and end up doubly childless. I really didn't think it was possible to have an even emptier Christmas than the one following Gabriel's death last year.

So today I'm sad because I miss Gabriel and Poppy. And I'm sad because this isn't the Christmas I wanted. And I'm sad because I feel so extremely cheated out of everything that this day could have (should have) been.

But I also realize that today is not about me or what I want or the plans I made or the dreams I once had or all that I've lost. It's about celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ by showing kindness and love to others. It's about generosity and spreading joy and holiday traditions. It's about celebrating with family around a tree of lights. It's about embracing your life exactly as it is and being hopeful that the future will bring many more blessings.

So even though there is so much I wish I could change about today, I feel truly grateful for everything that I would never change. I am grateful to have had my children at all and I'm grateful for dear friends who will remember them with me today. I am grateful that I can help others who are also missing their children today. I am grateful for my loving family and to have somewhere I belong on Christmas Day. I am grateful for the Christmas dinner I'll share with them tonight. I'm grateful that I'm able to give presents to those who I love. And I'm grateful that despite all the sorrow in my heart, there is still so much joy and beauty in my life... and that is a gift worth celebrating today.

Poppy's Special Place

Yesterday, we decided that we would find a nice quiet place and bury Poppy. I honestly didn't know what else to do. Turning her over for medical testing seemed pointless and potentially disappointing and throwing her in the trash or down the drain just didn't feel right. She might be the tiniest person I've ever known, but I still think she deserves a special place. Also, I think it will be nice to have somewhere to go to feel close to her.

So, we wrapped her in a small blanket, buried her beneath the roots of a shady tree, placed a rock as a place-marker, said our good-byes, then scattered a handful of poppy flower seeds nearby. I'm not sure that any flowers will actually be able to grow but I thought it might be nice to try. Maybe one or two will somehow make it and then every spring, Poppy's place will be beautiful decorated with flowers.

Afterwards, we went to the beach and were blessed with a gorgeous sunset under which to write Poppy's name. Even though I wish more than anything else that I could still be pregnant, I feel truly lucky to have had any time at all with her. 

Happy Beginnings

I really truly believed with all my being that this pregnancy would have a happy ending. I know it sounds crazy, but I felt very little fear and apprehension during this last pregnancy with Baby #2. It's hard to explain. I felt certain in my heart that this baby was the one. The one who would survive. The one who would be born pink and screaming. The one who I could hold in my arms and never let go. I just couldn't help feeling like she was meant to be.

After waiting so long just to get pregnant, I was so happy and excited (and a little bit shocked) that I don't think worry had space to settle in. Part of me was concerned early on, but once I saw the baby's beautiful strong heartbeat, joy completely replaced all fear. I really wanted to enjoy this pregnancy and embrace it as a celebration of new life. This baby didn't deserve to be part of my grief. I didn't want her to live in the shadow of loss. I wanted to look forward to her birth, not fear that I might lose her too.

But just a couple of weeks after first seeing my tiny seedling, an ultrasound revealed she was gone. Another ultrasound confirmed it and a week later, my body finally let her go.

No matter what happens, this baby will always be a memory of joy in my heart. I will forever associate her with happiness, hope and pure love. She was a miracle from the beginning and even though I'll never understand why she died, I am so very grateful for the time we had together here on earth. And I'm glad that I let myself feel joy instead of fear and love instead of grief. We may have only had ten weeks together. But they were the most amazing ten weeks. And they were special.

So, no happy ending after all.

But the happiest of all beginnings.

A Bad Dream

I'm sitting in a dark room alone and I'm waiting for... something. I'm not exactly sure what it is. I've just been given the dreadful news and have been instructed to sit here and wait. I am confused and sad, disappointed and tired. It's been a long day and I just want to go home. I just want to get back to my life. But all I can do is wait here. I'm stuck in this place. I realize this is part of the process and sometimes these things just take time. I realize that sometimes joyous plans are interrupted and put on hold and all we can do is be as patient and hopeful as possible. I realize as unfair as this may seem, there is nothing anyone can do to change any of this, so feeling like a failure or hating the world are probably just going to make this worse for me. I keep telling myself it will be okay in the end. After all, the hardest part is over. Now I just have to wait for the darkness to relent so that I can wake up from this bad dream. But really, I'm just waiting for the end of what has sadly already ended.

What I Wish I Could Tell All Non-Babyloss Parents

This is not a tough day.

This is not a bad week.

This is not a terrible year.

This is one ridiculously, insanely, completely and utterly difficult life. 

The life of a grieving parent is one that you cannot possible fathom. You cannot imagine the kind of strength it takes just to get up each day and continue breathing.

I wish this was an exaggeration. 

The life of a grieving parent is hard. It is always hard. It is always a struggle. 

And worst of all, this life is constantly being misunderstood. 

We are being misunderstood. So I'd like to try to explain what it's like.

We are walking a road that we have ended up on unexpectedly and against our will. We were forced into this journey of babyloss. This was not our choice. This was never ever what we wanted. We did not ask for this. 

This journey has no end. This journey has no breaks. There are no resting spots. There is no relief, no point at which the heartache subsides, no point at which we can forget the pain or leave it behind. Babyloss is our baggage and it is an unbearably heavy thing to carry around for a lifetime. 

Imagine waking up every single morning with the profound understanding that your life is permanently incomplete. Imagine falling asleep every single night with the feeling that life will never be the same as it was before, that life will never be as it should be. 

We are desperately missing our children. Our beautiful, precious, irreplaceable, beloved children. They are gone forever. We will never have a chance to hug them, kiss them, rock them, play with them, or watch them grow up. Imagine if you could never hold your children again. Imagine what kind of hole that would leave in your heart. 

You may believe that it's possible, even easy, to get over the loss of a baby. You may think that you can't miss a person who you never really knew. You may not understand why losing a baby is devastating and traumatic. But imagine going to a routine ultrasound and being told your baby has a fatal condition. Imagine going into labor, arriving at the hospital and being told your baby has no heartbeat. Imagine experiencing a perfect pregnancy and losing your baby to an umbilical cord accident the day before his due date. Imagine giving birth, holding your baby and watching her die in your arms. Imagine trying to conceive for years, finally getting pregnant and then losing that baby. Imagine being told that you will never carry a baby to term. Imagine wanting a child more than anything else in the world but never being able to raise one here on earth. Can you even begin to imagine the sorrow and pain?

Losing a baby feels unnatural. It is unnatural. It is unfair and cruel and there is no explanation as to why some babies live and others die far too soon. Being told that babyloss is anything but devastating and awful just contributes to our grief and makes our lives so much harder. 

If you've never lost a baby, then you have no idea what it feels like. You can try to imagine. You can try to understand. You can show compassion. But you need to know that your ignorance and insensitive comments are hurtful. We don't need you to tell us how to grieve or tell us why we should be okay. You may be trying to help or unsure of what else to say, but honestly, you're just making it worse. We really are doing the best we can to cope and to move forward. But it's so much harder than you think it is.

The day our son was born was the only day we had with him. He died during labor and so all we ever had were a few hours to hold his lifeless body. We tried our best to create memories, something to treasure in the years to come.

We took pictures of him on the day he was stillborn. Those photos are literally all we have left of him. You probably have tons of photos of your children. You probably have lots of tiny outfits, dirty walls, colorful toys, sticky-paged books and preschool projects to show the world that you are a parent.

All I have are a handful of pictures. On the one day we got with our little boy, we took about 50 pictures. By the time he was born, he was already dead. He is dead in the photo of his daddy kissing his toes. He is dead in the photo of me cradling him close to my heart. He is dead in the photo of us holding his hands. You might think these photos are unpleasant or even offensive to look at. But they are all I have to show the world that my child existed. That I gave birth to him. That I am his mother. That he is a real person. That he is more than just a tragic loss.

Nobody wishes we had photos of him alive more than I do. Nobody. But I had no choice. These were the only photos I was ever allowed to take, the only memories we were ever able to make. I am so thankful that we have those photos. They are a comfort to look at and help keep him alive in my heart.

Please know that I am not sharing photos of my son to hurt you in any way. But if you are bothered by photos of my baby, imagine what it feels like for me to constantly see photos of your healthy, living children. Imagine how heartbreaking it is to see your children growing up here on earth, dressing up for Halloween, snuggling up in your arms. My photos may make you feel a little uncomfortable. But your photos remind me regularly of everything I am missing out on. Your photos hurt my aching, grieving heart.

When you complain about your children or your pregnancy symptoms or how hard it is to potty train a toddler, try to keep in mind that there are many many many people who would be willing to give up everything they have to trade places with you for one day. You get to take parenthood for granted. You get to take your children for granted. But please don't. Please cherish every moment you have with your children. Please tell them every day that you love them. And please don't tell me how hard it is to be a parent... because you have the type of life I can only dream about. You have something that all babyloss parents would die for. A chance to hold all of your children in your arms. We will never be able to do that.

This is not a tough day.

This is not a bad week.

This is not a terrible year.

This is one ridiculously insanely completely and utterly difficult life. 

It is tears in the middle of the day.

It is feeling helpless and alone all the time.

It is losing friends and family who don't know how to be supportive.

It is being told that our grief doesn't matter... that our children don't matter.

It is questioning all that you thought you knew.

It is missing someone more than you can ever imagine.

It is our children being forgotten by others as if they never even existed.

It is spending our entire lives in mourning while also trying to heal and move forward.

It is struggling to break the silence about a topic that no one wants to discuss.

If you have never lost one of your children, please be grateful for all that you have. Consider yourself beyond blessed and please show sensitivity and compassion to those who have lost a child. Please don't pretend like you know what it's like and that you know how we should feel or act. Please don't minimize our losses. Please try to remember that we have lost so much. That life is unbearable some days. That we so very truly envy you.

And please teach your children how precious and meaningful all life is, no matter how brief or small it may be... so that perhaps one day, grieving parents won't have to feel alone and misunderstood, but rather free to share and speak about their precious babies.

<3

Finding Grief in the Shadows of Healing

Feeling happy... even though life is always bittersweet.

Feeling strong... even though my heart is still broken.

Feeling hopeful... even though the future is terrifyingly uncertain.

Feeling grateful... even though I have lost so much.

Feeling brave... even though my soul is filled with fear.

Feeling optimistic... even though remaining positive can be exhausting at times.

Feeling at peace... even though worrisome thoughts swirl around in my mind.

Feeling blessed... even though I am constantly fighting jealousy and bitterness.

Feeling restored... even though part of me is more fragile than ever.

Feeling triumphant... even though I still have a long way to go.

Feeling mended... even though the journey to healing is long and bumpy.

Making progress... even though this grief is never-ever-ending.

My Stance on the Ribbon Petition

I haven't found an official story online, but it appears that the breast cancer community is considering changing their ribbon color from pink to pink and blue to include men. There is a petition circulating around Facebook to ban the use of pink and blue awareness ribbons by the Breast Cancer community. Supporters of the petition feel that Breast Cancer Awareness overshadows P.A.I.L. Awareness (both are officially recognized in October) and that sharing a ribbon color will only make it worse.

While I completely and wholeheartedly understand that many of us in the babyloss community feel like we do not get the attention that other communities get, I don't really see how colors of a ribbon will make any difference. In my opinion, the reason why it's so difficult to raise P.A.I.L. Awareness has nothing to do with the fact that our ribbon colors are pink and blue or that we share October with Breast Cancer Awareness.

The unfortunate reality is that the loss of a baby is a topic that most people feel uncomfortable talking about. On top of that, it's difficult for people to understand or sympathize if they have not experienced the loss of a baby. Many people don't feel like they are supposed to talk about babyloss, not because they are cruel or insensitive, but because they don't believe it's an appropriate topic of conversation. None of this is the fault of the breast cancer community.

I've never had cancer, but I know that I don't ever want it. I know that it destroys lives and I know that it kills way too many people every year. I also know that funding for cancer research has saved countless lives and that it may one day save my life or the life of someone I care about. I read recently that 50% of Americans will be diagnosed with cancer at some point during their lives. With research and treatment, many of those people will survive and one day in the future there may even be a cure for this terrible disease. Breast Cancer Awareness campaigns raise millions of dollars every year. The money is being used to find that cure.

I think it would be an incredible gesture of kindness and acceptance to change the Breast Cancer Awareness ribbon color to make men feel more included. I also think it would help save lives. There are many men out there who don't get screened for breast cancer or don't think much of a small lump in their chest because they don't know that they are also at risk of getting breast cancer. Over 2000 men are diagnosed with breast cancer every year in the United States. I know that doesn't compare to 26,000 stillbirths or 600,000 miscarriages but just like men are often overlooked in the babyloss community, I can see why they may feel left out in the breast cancer community.

Before signing the petition, please consider how hurtful it would be if something similar happened to us. What if the babyloss community decided to change our ribbon color in order to include those who feel left out and another community distributed a petition that made us seem like we were doing something wrong? Wouldn't that feel like they were being insensitive or naive? Wouldn't that make us hurt more than we already do? Wouldn't we feel like telling them to mind their own business? Wouldn't we think, what's the big deal? It's just a ribbon color.

I'm sorry if any of you feel upset by my opinion of this matter. I don't ever want to cause anyone additional grief. If you want to sign the petition because you feel strongly about P.A.I.L. Awareness ribbon colors and if you think it will make you feel better, then by all means I think you should. Truly, I do. Everyone grieves differently and I think everyone should do what feels healing to them.

But just keep in mind that you don't need a ribbon or a color or even a community to spread P.A.I.L. Awareness. You can do so every single day in little ways. You can share you baby's story with others. Speak her name. Include him in your daily life. Donate to charity in her name. Take the time to educate someone else on babyloss. Support films and organizations whose missions are to raise P.A.I.L. awareness. Participate in a Walk to Remember. Perform random acts of kindness in memory of your child. Do what you can to eliminate the taboo of babyloss. Focus your time and energy on keeping your child's memory alive in your heart and the hearts of others. And remember that just as you miss your baby, someone else misses their loved one lost to breast cancer.

The One Year Anniversary of His Due Date

Today is one of those days that I'm not sure how I should be feeling. It's not his birthday. It's not a day that I expect anyone to remember. It's not a day in which anything significant occurred. In actuality, it's just an estimate of when he would have been born had he gestated for exactly 40 weeks.

But still it's one of those days that will always mean something to me. It will always represent what could have been if things had gone the way I wanted them to. More than that, it will always be the anniversary of the day I looked forward to for several months. The day that promised me a child and the beginning of a beautiful new life.

Part of me feels sad because that day never came. Because everything was perfect and then something changed and that day was erased from my life. But part of me feels like I should take joy from what that day represented. Because it had the potential to be the best day of my life.

Irregardless of the meaning of today, whatever that may end up being, for now it is simply a date that I associate with Gabriel. For many weeks I counted down to October 3, 2012 as I anxiously awaited the birth of our baby. I remember when it felt so far away, so unattainable. I remember thinking that time was moving at an unbearably slow pace. How strange that now it feels like an entire lifetime ago.

I suppose that's partially why acknowledging these anniversaries feels necessary. Anniversaries place little bookmarks on the important moments in our lives so that when we flip through the pages of our past, we know exactly where to turn first. They highlight the significant moments, the days we want to remember over and over again. Some days are marked for the events that took place during them. And others, for what never did.

A New Tradition

Starting the month after Gabriel died, for one year, my husband and I released balloons on or around the 19th of every month as a way to celebrate Gabriel's one month birthdays. Releasing balloons became something of a monthly tradition that helped us to remember Gabriel in a meaningful way and it also became a source of healing. Honestly, I'm not sure why I found it so therapeutic. I suppose it was partially the time and work that went into buying the balloons and driving to a nice place to release them. I think it just felt good to physically do something once a month that revolved around Gabriel. It was a brief pause each month from normal life that allowed us both to do something to parent our child together, to keep him alive in our hearts and to make sure he was remembered on his special day. And for awhile it felt really important and necessary.

But now that the first year is over and I'm in a new place in my grief journey, I feel that monthly balloon releases probably won't be as healing and meaningful as they originally were. I mostly associate balloon releases with the weeks that followed Gabriel's death when they gave us an outlet to grieve at a time in our lives when we were lost and hopeless. Since that time, I've worked really hard to grow and progress on this journey and I hope that I can continue moving forward. I also feel like the guilt of harming the environment and potentially hurting or killing wild animals overshadows any healing I would experience. I just don't want to cause any further destruction or suffering on our planet especially after a year of learning to appreciate and finding joy in nature.

Therefore, as we move forward into our second year without Gabriel, I wanted to start a new tradition that would better reflect where I am now. So instead of monthly balloon releases, my husband and I decided that each month on or close to the 19th, we're going to go to the beach and watch the sunset together. I think this tradition will continue to help us heal and will give us a chance to remember Gabriel and honor his life in a peaceful and meaningful way that doesn't entail polluting the earth.

Last night we started this new tradition by celebrating Gabriel's 14 month birthday at the beach. It was a warm summer evening and the sunset could not have been more gorgeous. We lit candles and wrote his name in the sand and watched the birds flying over the sea. It was all so lovely, like the start of something new and wonderful.

Dear Rainbow

My Child,

I have been thinking a lot about you recently so I thought I'd write you a letter which I hope you will be able to read one day. Some may say that it's strange or even a little crazy to write to someone who doesn't even exist yet. But I want you to know that before anyone else could see you, before anyone knew your name, I could feel you growing and stirring in my heart. I've held you in my heart for so long and I think about you everyday, always imagining how beautiful life will be once you are here with us.  

If you ever get to read this, I hope you already know there is nothing in the world I would rather have than you. I hope you know how truly loved you are and that my love for you was born long before you were. I hope you know that I'm proud of you. That I'm eternally grateful for you. That you are the greatest blessing, the answer to countless prayers, the light of my life. That there is no one else like you. That no one could ever take your place in my heart or our home. But most importantly, I hope you know that I feel so very lucky to be your mother. 

If there ever comes a day when you question my love for you, I hope that you'll read this and realize there is nobody I could love the way I love you. I know there will be times when it will be difficult for you to see that everything I do, I do for you. But I hope that some day you will understand that all I want is for you to be safe and happy. I want you to have an amazing life. The life that I dreamed you could have. The life that I begged God to give you.

Not a single day has gone by that I've forgotten to remind God how much I desperately want you. How much I want to share my life with you. How much I want to teach you to walk. How much I want to see you spread your wings and fly. 

Whether you show up in a month, a year or a decade, I will never give up on the dream of having you. I will never stop longing for you. I will never lose faith that one day you will be here with us. And even if that takes a lifetime, I want you to know that you, sweet child, were worth the wait. And you were worth trying so hard to have, because in the end, my life and our family could never have been complete without you. 

I'm so sorry that you're not here yet. I'm so sorry that it's taking so long for you to arrive. Every day I live without you, you are so very missed. But know that never for a moment are you absent from my heart. You are my child now and always and even if I never know what you look like or get to hold you in my arms... unconditionally, I will always love you.

Please come be with us soon, little one.

Love, 

Your Mommy

Fall 2013 School Update

The Fall semester actually began last week but I didn't want to post an update until I had everything figured out. Things were a little crazy and uncertain in the beginning, but I've managed to sort out all the issues and I now have my schedule finalized.

The reason it took me so long to get my class schedule figured out is that this semester there were 2 classes I desperately needed to get into. For those of you who don't know, my goal is to be able to apply to the sonography program next May. In order to apply to the program there are 8 prerequisite classes that I'll need to complete either before or during the next Spring semester. This seems straightforward enough, but it's not quite as easy as it sounds. There are 2 challenges. The first is that I need to complete some of the classes before I'm allowed to register for other ones. The other problem is that there are not enough classes available for all students (thank you California budget). As a continuing student I do get priority registration, but there are still so many other students who get to register before me which makes it very difficult/nearly impossible for me to enroll in the classes I need to take.

So, this semester the 2 classes I was planning to take were Anatomy & Physiology and Survey of Medical Terminology. The reason being that next Spring I have to finish my last 3 prerequisites and yes, you guessed it, I can't move forward without A&P and Medical Terminology. You might be wondering why it's so important that I be able to apply to the sonography program next May. The reason is that my college only accepts applications in May, which means if I don't get in next May, I'll have to wait an entire year for a chance to apply again. Not only will this delay graduation and future career plans by 1 full year, but I won't have any classes to take during that year. I only have 3 prerequisite classes left to take and once those are finished, I'm not sure what I could do while waiting for May to roll around again. Most likely, it's just going to be a gigantic waste of time.

Thanks to my horrible registration appointment date, I started this semester with 0 of the 2 classes I needed. Not the greatest way to begin this very critical semester. But with a little bit of effort, I was able to find a Medical Terminology class at another college which will transfer over. And I lucked out in that it's an online class which means no extra driving or parking pass to worry about. I was also able to get on the wait list for A&P and even though I was certain that I wouldn't get in, I showed up on the first day of class, praying that 6 registered students wouldn't show up, and to my surprise, the teacher came out and announced that there were 7 available spots. I was 6th on the wait list so (miraculously) I got into the class. Needless to say, I was ecstatic!

I'm also take a Health class to fulfill my Physical Education requirement, which is the only G.E. that I have to take. I don't need to take it to get my sonography certificate, but I'll need it if I want an Associates degree. I figured since I have the time this semester I should just take it and get it out of the way in hopes of being accepted into the sonography program next May.

So how are all my classes?

I'm happy to report that they're all going great. This semester is definitely going to be the most challenging one so far, but somehow my schedule worked out perfectly. I have Health on Mondays and Wednesdays and A&P on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Medical Terminology is online so I think it's going to become my weekend class. Health is my easiest class and my teacher is really funny and makes the class interesting and exciting. I'm not exactly sure how Medical Terminology will be. So far, it seems like a lot of memorization but there's a lot of terms that I already know which makes me think it won't be as hard as I originally thought. Anatomy is going to be my most time-consuming class. There is a lot of information to memorize and learn and there's really no way to get around this. Even though it's going to be a lot of work to keep up and do well, I'm excited and extremely grateful to be in the class.

I know that I'm so lucky and blessed to be in school and to be taking the classes I need. I'm one step closer to accomplishing my goal but at the same time I can't help but feel like there is so much more that needs to be done. I still have to complete these classes with good grades and I'll need to get into all 3 of the remaining prerequisite classes next semester, and then I'll need to go through the application process. And all that only gives me a chance of getting into the sonography program, which itself only gives me a chance of having a career as an ultrasound technician.

It's hard knowing there are no guarantees. All I can do is work hard, pursue my dreams as best I can, and trust that God has a great plan for me. In the end, I just hope this journey is a happy and fulfilling one. And that no matter how long it takes me, when it's over, I hope everything I've learned and all the challenges I've overcome along the way will have made me the person who I wanted to become when I first started out.

The Change

I had an unexpected epiphany the other day. I don't know why I never realized it before, but somehow over the course of the past 13 months, I lost my BLM rookie status. I'm no longer the newly bereaved mama who lost her baby a couple months ago or the person who cries uncontrollably everyday, crippled by grief. I'm no longer the newcomer in an unfamiliar land, too frightened to move forward, too lost to find my way.

Lately, I've noticed a lot of new babyloss blogs and ministries have been created and it seems like the internet is full of heartbreaking stories of recent losses. Reading these stories makes my loss feel so distant, like it occurred ages ago. I've become so used to seeing 2011 and 2012 loss dates that I'm slightly taken aback whenever I see a 2013 loss date. I guess I just naturally associate babyloss with the year 2012 because that's the year when my loss occurred. Because of this, I never really gave much thought to the fact that 2013 would sadly be for many, what 2012 was for me.

This shift is a change I never thought much about. I know that sadly, not a day goes by where babies are not lost. I'm aware that pregnancy and infant loss is something that occurs every minute of everyday. I guess I just didn't realize how much time has an effect on where we reside in the babyloss community. I'm finding it difficult to describe what this change is like. It feels a little bit like returning to high school as a sophomore and watching the new freshmen class curiously wander the hallways where I've already roamed for an entire year. Seeing them makes me realize how far I've come in a year, but it also reminds me of what I was like when I first got here.

Honestly, there are days when it's just too painful to think about the past. To allow myself to reflect on the days following Gabriel's death when I cried so much that my face physically hurt. It's difficult to think about how depressed I once felt, how confused I once was, how weak and scared I used to be. But knowing that I survived and seeing how far I've come gives me hope for the future and wisdom to help others.

Even though I will always be grateful for the strength that I gained and the lessons that I learned when I was a timid newcomer in this strange new land, I feel so blessed to have come so far, to be able to leave part of the pain in the past, to lead where I once followed and to look back and see where once I was too fearful to take one step, I have now taken thousands. Where once I walked around aimlessly, I have now found a purpose in this journey and a reason to keep going.

Alaska Vacation Photo Journal

For our summer vacation this year, we went on a cruise to Alaska with the rest of my family. My parents, sister and brother-in-law all went with us which was really nice. We went on Holland America's Westerdam ship which sailed from Seattle to Juneau, Glacier Bay National Park, Sitka, Ketchikan and Victoria.

The weather was really warm and sunny for most of the trip which felt really strange. I was expecting it to be much colder and rainy, but we ended up having gorgeous weather the whole time.

As for Alaska itself, it was absolutely breathtaking and like nowhere I've ever been before. It was so exciting to get so close to nature and wildlife and see animals in their natural environment. Overall, our trip was adventurous but also really relaxing and peaceful. The cruise moved at a slow pace which was nice and we had plenty of time at each of the ports to experience each city.

Of course we took tons of photos and wrote Gabriel's name whenever we had the chance to. Even though he couldn't be with us physically, he was definitely there in spirit.


Here is the photo journal of our Alaskan vacation:

Alaska
August 10  - August 17, 2013

SUNDAY:

On our first morning at sea, we woke up early to watch the sunrise from our balcony. It ended up being the only really good sunrise the entire trip. Most mornings it was just too foggy or cloudy to see anything.

About five minutes later, we watched the sun rise again as it peeked out from behind the mountains. 

MONDAY:

Our first port of call was Juneau, Alaska which was a lot smaller than I thought it would be. The downtown area is mostly comprised of shops, bars and restaurants. 

We took the Mount Roberts Tramway 1800 feet up to the top of Mount Roberts. Once there we took the trail further up the mountain. It felt like we were standing on top of the world. 

There, we carved Gabriel's name in the wood of the ledge overlooking the port. 

Also, in Juneau, we had dinner at a local salmon bake which was held in this beautiful rainforest. About 100 feet from where we ate, we discovered this beautiful waterfall. 

We used a river rock to write Gabriel's name and then left it in the stream.

TUESDAY:

We spent the entire day at sea while the ship sailed around Glacier Bay National Park. We were blessed with an amazing view from our stateroom balcony. 

We stopped for about half an hour at Margerie Glacier which was spectacular. We got there just in time to witness an enormous piece of ice break away from the glacier and fall into the sea. 

This is a video my sister took of the glacier calving. 

WEDNESDAY:

Our next port of call was Sitka, Alaska. We pulled into the port very early in the morning and the weather was extremely cloudy and foggy. 

But by the time we got off the ship, it was hot and sunny. 

We had a little bit of time before our scheduled boat tour, so we decided to take a walk to Swan Lake, where we saw dozens of ducks (but no swans). 

Before leaving, we used stones to spell out Gabriel's name on the bank of the lake. 

Then we headed back to the port to meet up with my sister and brother-in-law. The four of us spent the remainder of our time in Sitka on a boat tour that took us around the islands where we saw sea otters, humpback whales and bald eagles.

THURSDAY:

Our final Alaskan port of call was Ketchikan where we took a guided hike through the Alaskan Rainforest Sanctuary and got our first glimpse of Alaskan rain. 

Most of the tour was learning about the plant life in the rainforest, but we were lucky to see a black bear catching salmon in a stream near the trail. 

I also spotted a purple cosmo just as we were leaving the rainforest... a little reminder that Gabriel is with us wherever we go :)

FRIDAY:

We spent the majority of our last day at sea sailing out of Alaska and into Canada. The sky was especially beautiful as we sailed down to Victoria. 

Before stopping in Victoria, we spelled out Gabriel's name on our balcony window as we passed by the coast of Washington. 

We ended up getting to Victoria later than expected due to stronger than expected headwinds. Because of the delay, it was dark by the time we got there so we only spent about an hour off the ship. 

We decided to go for a walk and ended up at Fisherman's Wharf.

SATURDAY:

Saturday morning, we had to disembark the ship in Seattle where we had boarded just one week prior. 

Even though the time went by way too quickly, I'm so grateful for the opportunity to visit such a beautiful and magical place. I hope that one day I'll be blessed to return to Alaska.

Waiting in the Wind

There are moments when I sense that he is still here.

I can't see him, but I can feel that he is close. I feel the breeze on my neck, hear it whooshing past my face, and I can't help but wonder if this is his way of communicating with me. His way of staying close to me.

Is he trying to tell me that he's okay? That he's still alive.

That his spirit is all around me. That his soul is immortal. That he is part of every breath I take.

Or is it just the wind? The same wind that even mothers who have never lost a baby can feel.

Sometimes I wonder how much of the mystery of heaven is truth, how much is faith and how much is grief trapping me in denial for my own sanity. How much of his presence is my subconscious mind, unable to ever let him go.

This is why I question my own faith. Because I don't know if I have faith because I believe or because I need to believe. Because I am desperate beyond rationality.

I don't know if I feel him in the wind, see him in the glow of the sunset, hear him in the crashing waves because he is always on my mind, because it is I who is seeking a glimpse of him.

Or because it is him who has come back to find me. Is heaven perhaps not a palace in the sky, but rather the freedom to fly in the wind that brushes against those who need you most.

Though the truth is a mystery never to be solved, I like to think that I feel him close by during certain moments because he is with me.

Because it's hard to accept that someone who is so loved could ever die.

Because it's so much sweeter to imagine that he never really left.

Because maybe he's not lost.

Maybe he's just waiting in the wind.

Gabriel's 1st Birthday

As most of you know, yesterday was Gabriel's 1st birthday. I'm still in disbelief that a whole year has passed already. I hate to use cliches but it really does feel like it was just yesterday that I was laying in the hospital bed preparing to give birth to him. It feels so strange to think that if Gabriel had survived, I'd have a 1 year old baby today. It's difficult to even imagine what that would be like and how different my life would be. But even though he couldn't be here, we wanted to make the day as beautiful and joyous as possible.

Thank you RaeAnne

Since this was his 1st birthday, I really wanted it to be extra special and a day to start new traditions. I didn't want to spend the day being sad or missing him. Instead, I wanted it to be all about Gabriel and celebrating his precious life and I think for the most part it was. The entire day was very peaceful and beautiful and we were able to do everything that we had planned.

The most important thing was getting his birthday video uploaded to YouTube on time. For the past few months, we've been working on a video using photos that we've been taking to symbolize Gabriel's life and legacy. I haven't been keeping track of how much time we've spent, but my guess is that it took us about 100 hours, maybe a bit more if you count the photos that were taken but not included in the final video. Needless to say we've been working really hard the past few weeks to make sure it would be finished by Gabriel's birthday. That's been our goal all along and though that seemed reasonable three months ago, it definitely became very challenging towards the end.

I stayed up late on Thursday night to finish editing the video and uploaded it to YouTube before I went to bed. When I woke up yesterday morning it was ready to share. I was so happy to be able to successfully share the video on the morning of his birthday. (You can read more about it and watch it here if you'd like.)

The other thing we had to do yesterday morning was to finish his cake. We decided we wanted to decorate his cake to look like a beach and then "write" his name in the sand. I thought making an angel food cake would be a cute tradition to start, so that's officially become the cake we'll be making each year for Gabriel's birthday. The top of the cake is decorated with lots of frosting, as well as cookies, whipped cream, graham cracker crumbs, brown sugar and white sugar. My husband, being the chef in the family, ended up doing most of the work and I think he did such a good job, especially with the little decorations.

After finishing the cake, we walked to our local diner and had breakfast. Another tradition I wanted to start this year was to eat bacon and eggs for breakfast, because that's what I was preparing the morning I went into labor with Gabriel. I didn't get a chance to actually eat breakfast that morning but for some reason bacon and eggs is the one meal that reminds me of Gabriel the most. Even though my husband doesn't really like bacon (I know he's weird) and even though I'm not really supposed to be eating it, we both agreed that it was must-do for Gabriel's birthday. 

After breakfast, we went to buy his birthday balloons. We decided to release them at the Korean Bell of Friendship here in San Pedro, which looking back, probably wasn't the best location to choose. It's always really windy there because it's located on a hill overlooking the ocean. It was a struggle to hold onto the balloons but I really wanted to wait to release them at precisely 2:11 so they would be flying at the exact time that Gabriel was born. Waiting totally paid off! Right before we released the balloons, a huge flock of 20 or so pelicans soared by in the background. It was so special that they flew by at just the right time. 

On the way home, we stopped at the church to visit Gabriel's memorial candle. We haven't been in awhile, so it was really nice to be able to go to just pause for awhile and reflect back on the day of his birth. 

After that, we went home because we both desperately needed to take a nap before going to the beach for the evening. The one thing that I absolutely had to do yesterday was watch the sunset at the beach. I was really hoping for a cloudless evening, but as usual there were storm clouds over the horizon. We were able to take a picture of his name in the sand just as the sun was peeking out from underneath the clouds. And just as the sun was setting beneath the horizon, it turned a glorious bright red. It was spectacular to watch, but not especially easy to photograph.

Just like the past year, the day went by so quickly! I'm grateful that I was able to spend the entire day with my husband celebrating our beautiful little boy and to have friends and family who thought of him as well. 

Thank you to everyone who remembered Gabriel's birthday yesterday and for all the lovely comments and photos. 

Thank you Shauna

Celebrating Gabriel

For the past few months, my husband and I have been working really hard, taking hundreds of photos in order to create this video for Gabriel's 1st Birthday. I'm so glad that we were able to finish it on time to share it on his birthday.

This is the story of Gabriel's gestation, life, birth, death and legacy, told through the animation of 1,357 photographs.

Thank you for watching and for keeping Gabriel in your heart today on his special day.

YouTube version (with option to watch in HD):


Vimeo Version (for cell phones):

Celebrating Gabriel from Catherine McVerry on Vimeo.

(Music by Helen Jane Long // All photographs are subject to U.S. standard copyright laws // All photos taken with iPhone 4s and Hipstamatic)

All I Know

As the months go by, it's getting increasingly harder to imagine what he would look like. He was such a tiny little thing when he was born that there's just no possible way to know what he would have looked like as an almost-12 month old baby. It saddens me to know that I probably wouldn't even recognize him if I were to see him today. He'd be crawling, giggling, curiously eyeing the world through big brown eyes. He'd have lots of dark hair and chubby cheeks. He would have his own set of baby teeth and would be snacking on Cheerios and bananas. But who he would be is a person that sadly, I'll never know.

He doesn't have a favorite toy or a favorite book. He doesn't love to sing or dance. He doesn't have a first word. He isn't a happy baby or a squirmy baby or any kind of baby. He's my son, my very own flesh and blood, but I don't know him. All I know is that no matter who he would have been, I would have done anything to make him happy. I would have held his hand as he struggled to take his first steps. I would have cuddled him close during the difficult weeks of teething. I would have read him his favorite story ten times a day. I would have taken him to the beach and dipped his feet in the water. I would have shown him the birds and the flowers and the clouds.

In my mind, there's a long list of things I would have loved to do with him. But really it's the little things that I wish for the most. If only I could have heard him cry, or watched him wake up in the early morning, or taught him how to say "mama," then maybe, just maybe I would have some understanding of who he is.

There's so much that I'll never know.

All I know is that I love him with my whole heart.

And that I would do anything to have him back.

My Report on Hirschsprung's Disease

Our final assignment for Human Biology was to write a paper about a disease of the human body, specifically how it's diagnosed, treatment options and patient prognosis. Because Gabriel was diagnosed with it, I decided to write about Hirschsprung’s Disease. After spending weeks learning about the human body, I feel like I have a much better understanding of how and why things sometimes go wrong and after writing this paper I have an entirely new perspective on this disease. I understand now that we truly have no control over our genes and the chromosomes that randomly combine to form our children. As much as I wish Gabriel had been a healthy baby, I also realize that there is no other combination of genes that could have resulted in him. In other words, there is no version of Gabriel without Hirschsprung’s Disease. And for some reason, that makes me want learn more about Hirschsprung’s, to spread awareness of it, and to shed my feelings of anger and bitterness towards it. 

(We were supposed to write our papers in "normal" non-medical language, but it was surprisingly difficult to do so after being immersed in anatomy for the past month. But hopefully this is a pretty comprehensible report even if you don't know anything about the digestive system.)

Hirschsprung’s Disease

Hirschsprung’s Disease is a rare gastrointestinal disorder that affects the large intestine, most commonly the upper rectum or both the rectum and the sigmoid colon. Undigested food, water and other waste products are moved through the large intestine via peristalsis, which is a wave-like motion that propels stool forward so that it can be eliminated from the body. In order for the brain to coordinate peristalsis in the gastrointestinal tract, it relies on special nerve cells called ganglion nerves that line the walls of the entire gastrointestinal tract. During early fetal development, these ganglion nerves are formed throughout the entire GI tract, beginning with the mouth and ending with the anus. In babies affected by Hirschsprung’s Disease, the ganglion nerves do not finish forming during fetal development, resulting in an inability for the brain to induce peristalsis in the lower part of the intestinal tract. Because there is no other way for stool to pass through the large intestines, oftentimes it will become obstructed in the area where ganglion nerves are absent.

Because a person is born with Hirschsprung’s Disease, doctors can usually diagnose a baby with this condition shortly after birth. Newborns are often suspected of having Hirschsprung’s Disease if they are unable to pass meconium (the substance that is responsible for a newborn’s first bowel movement), within 24-48 hours post-birth. Oftentimes this inability to pass meconium is accompanied by one or more additional symptoms such as vomiting, abdominal distention, diarrhea, jaundice, fever and lack of appetite. Nowadays, babies are not permitted to leave the hospital if they are unable to pass meconium and it is routine to check for disorders including Hirschsprung’s Disease if a newborn baby presents any of these symptoms. 

Doctors can run a few basic tests to confirm the diagnosis of Hirschsprung’s Disease. Because Hirschsprung’s Disease is characterized by the absence of ganglion nerve cells in the large intestine, a biopsy of intestinal tissue is the best way to verify suspicions. Doctors remove a small piece of the lining of the large intestine and then use a microscope to check for the presence of ganglion nerve cells. If ganglion nerves are seen, then Hirschsprung’s Disease can be ruled out as an explanation for the blockage. Instead if ganglion nerves are missing, the doctor can confirm that the child does indeed have Hirschsprung’s Disease.

There are a few other tests that doctors can perform if they believe that a baby has this condition. Abdominal x-rays are sometimes used to check for intestinal dilation which signifies an intestinal blockage. Abnormal dilation of the colon is called megacolon, the presence of which can be an indication of a serious GI disorder such as Hirschsprung’s Disease. For some x-rays, doctors may administer a barium enema beforehand, which involves injecting barium (a metallic liquid) into the rectum and then using an x-ray to view the intestines. The barium gives doctors a clearer image of the intestinal wall. Also, if Hirschsprung’s Disease is suspected in an older child, a doctor may order an anorectal manometry test. During this test, a small sensor is placed in the rectum and a computer is used to measure the pressure and strength of the anal and rectal muscles. Often, children with Hirschsprung’s Disease have a failure of the relaxation reflex of the internal anal sphincter, a small muscle that relaxes in order to initiate the elimination of stool from the body. In this case, a rectal biopsy would be necessary to confirm the diagnosis of Hirschsprung’s Disease.

If a baby is diagnosed shortly after birth, there is a high chance that they will respond well to treatment. Current treatment involves surgery in which surgeons remove the segment of the colon and rectum that is missing ganglion nerve cells. They then surgically attach the end of the remaining intestine to the anus. Depending on how much of the intestinal tract is missing ganglion nerves, doctors may be able to perform laparoscopic (minimally invasive) surgery or they may be able to perform a transanal “pull-through” in which they operate on the intestines through the anus. Other times, they may need to make an incision through the abdomen in order to remove the necessary part of the intestines. In some cases, a child may also require an operation called an ostomy if the doctors are concerned about an infection in the intestines or if the intestines are extremely dilated. An ostomy involves making a small opening in the belly, called a stoma, and attaching the end of the intestines to this opening. This allows stool to pass out of the body into an attached pouch, so that the intestines can be washed out and have time to heal. It usually takes a few months to a year for the intestines to fully heal and once they do, doctors can then perform the necessary pull-through surgery. After surgery, children are administered pain medication temporarily, but they do not require any lifelong medication.

Fortunately, most patients are able to fully recover from surgery and go on to have normal bowel habits. In some cases, people may suffer from chronic constipation, diarrhea or enterocolitis, which is an inflammation of the large intestines. Some children will die from complications related to having Hirschsprung’s disease such as intestinal failure, intestinal rupture and severe enterocolitis. The mortality rates increase with the severity of the disease and among those children who have other problems such as a congenital heart defect or Down syndrome. In mild cases where only a small section of the colon is missing ganglion nerves and surgery is able to be performed early on, children have an excellent rate of survival and recovery and will ultimately grow up to have normal lives. In some instances, children may be put on a special diet to reduce constipation or other GI problems, but for the most part, they do not require any further treatment.

Hirschsprung’s Disease is an extremely rare congenital disorder that only occurs in 1 in every 5000-7000 live births. It affects males five times as often as females and children with Down syndrome and other chromosomal anomalies are at higher risk of having it. The exact cause is unknown, however the majority of scientists agree that it is a genetic disorder. There is a lot of evidence to support the theory that Hirschsprung’s Disease has a hereditary factor. For example, a couple who has a child with Hirschsprung’s Disease has on average a 3%-25% chance of having another child who also has it. Also if one parent has the disease, there is a greater probability that their children will be affected. Newer research suggests the possibility that Hirschsprung’s Disease may be autosomal dominant (resides on a non-sex chromosome and only requires inheritance from one parent) in some families and may be caused by a genetic mutation in other cases. Some scientists believe that Hirschsprung’s Disease requires the mutation of at least two genes residing on two different chromosomes. It is also possible that it is carried on the X chromosome since it affects males at a significantly higher rate than females. Since boys only have one X chromosome, they are more susceptible to X chromosome diseases than girls who have two X chromosomes.

Rates of recurrence in a family vary depending on the affected child’s gender and disease severity. A couple is most likely to have another child with Hirschsprung’s Disease if they already have a daughter with the most severe form of the disease, especially if the next child is a boy. Instead if they have a son with the least severe form, they may have as low as a 1% chance of having another child with Hirschsprung’s Disease.

Despite growing research, the exact cause is still unknown. So far, there are no known ways to prevent the inheritance of Hirschsprung’s Disease and no external environmental factors seem to be involved. There is also no cure, but genetic testing is available for couples who want to know their risk of having a child with the disease.