Today was the day you were supposed to be born alive and healthy and perfect and beautiful. You were supposed to be the baby who came home with us. The one with pink skin and chubby cheeks. The one to restore joy where it's melted away. The one to grow up here on earth. The one to melt our hearts with your cries and laughter. You were supposed to be the one.
Of course today you're not being born. You died many months ago and I'm still not sure why. I don't know if I failed you or if I could have saved you. I don't know why you had to leave so soon.
I miss you and I miss who you could have been. I'm sad knowing that I'll never get to hold you or hear your voice or touch your skin. I'm lost because I have no answers. Just a deep void where you once filled my world with hope.
But today I am also feeling blessed. Because of you so much love and beauty has come into my life. You came to me at a time when I needed you and for that I will always be grateful. I may never be able to tell you that I love you or show you how much you mean to me, but you'll always hold a special place in my heart. I will never stop thinking about what you would have looked like or who you would have grown up to be.
I wish I was giving birth to you today. I wish I could sing you Happy Birthday and that your big brother could hold you on his lap and give you lots of kisses. I wish that everything could be different and I'm sorry that I never got to give you the beautiful life that I dreamed of giving you.
You are so very loved little one. You are missed and thought of often. And I will always and forever consider you one of the greatest gifts of my life.
Showing posts with label babyloss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label babyloss. Show all posts
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Thursday, March 13, 2014
A Journey of Love
I never really expected life to be easy. I never expected it to go my way all the time. I've never been incredibly lucky or lived in the type of world where things have just been handed to me. Growing up, I knew that being successful would take hard work and dedication and time and perseverance. When I was in college, I worked hard to get good grades and graduate on time. I wanted to have a successful career, to make loads of money, to be the CEO of my own company one day. I dreamed of a life of working my way to the top. When I got out in the real world, I realized that it wasn't enough to dream. There were a lot of young college graduates who were just as smart as me, just as ambitious, and just as eager as me to start climbing the ladder to the top. I knew it would be a challenge. I knew I would have to work everyday to reach my goals.
Just as I knew that I would have to work for many things. Jobs. Promotions. Money. Success. Friendships. Marriage. I never believed that anything would just be handed to me. I knew I would have to work hard to have a good life. To be the person who I wanted to be.
But never once did I think that becoming a mother would one day be the most difficult challenge of my life. I assumed that when I was ready, when I decided that I wanted to have children, that it would just happen. I thought that having children was supposed to be easy. That raising them was the hard part.
But as I look back over the past three years all I see is a bumpy windy road of failures where I've attempted motherhood again and again. A three year journey to motherhood that is both endless and nonexistent. I've worked and I've tried and I've persevered and I've given it my all, but I'm still here waiting for the day when all of this will pay off. I used to believe that not giving up was the key to success. But now, I realize that when it comes to babies, a huge part of it is just plain luck.
Some people are so lucky. So blessed. Some people have lots of babies without any issues. Without ever having to say good-bye to one of them. Some people never struggle with infertility. Some people go their whole lives without ever knowing that babyloss exists.
And others work and work and try and try and invest all their money and all their time and all their hope and still don't have what everyone else seems to have so easily.
Some people struggle for years to experience the joy that others get in just 9 months. It doesn't seem fair. It doesn't seem right.
But I'll tell you one thing that I've learned over the past 3 years. That the things we feel like we have to work the hardest for... successful careers, money, cars, popularity, fame... are in fact the things that matter the least in the world. If there's one thing that is truly worth working for, sacrificing everything for, enduring despair and loss for, it's your children. I wouldn't walk this journey for anyone else. If one day I'm able to reach the end of this road, I'll know that it was not luck, nor hope, nor perseverance, nor hard work that got me there.
But love.
Love which not only makes the journey possible, but makes every minute of it a lesson that teaches me everyday that children are the most precious gift... that they alone give meaning to life's greatest sufferings and pave the way for life's most beautiful moments.
Just as I knew that I would have to work for many things. Jobs. Promotions. Money. Success. Friendships. Marriage. I never believed that anything would just be handed to me. I knew I would have to work hard to have a good life. To be the person who I wanted to be.
But never once did I think that becoming a mother would one day be the most difficult challenge of my life. I assumed that when I was ready, when I decided that I wanted to have children, that it would just happen. I thought that having children was supposed to be easy. That raising them was the hard part.
But as I look back over the past three years all I see is a bumpy windy road of failures where I've attempted motherhood again and again. A three year journey to motherhood that is both endless and nonexistent. I've worked and I've tried and I've persevered and I've given it my all, but I'm still here waiting for the day when all of this will pay off. I used to believe that not giving up was the key to success. But now, I realize that when it comes to babies, a huge part of it is just plain luck.
Some people are so lucky. So blessed. Some people have lots of babies without any issues. Without ever having to say good-bye to one of them. Some people never struggle with infertility. Some people go their whole lives without ever knowing that babyloss exists.
And others work and work and try and try and invest all their money and all their time and all their hope and still don't have what everyone else seems to have so easily.
Some people struggle for years to experience the joy that others get in just 9 months. It doesn't seem fair. It doesn't seem right.
But I'll tell you one thing that I've learned over the past 3 years. That the things we feel like we have to work the hardest for... successful careers, money, cars, popularity, fame... are in fact the things that matter the least in the world. If there's one thing that is truly worth working for, sacrificing everything for, enduring despair and loss for, it's your children. I wouldn't walk this journey for anyone else. If one day I'm able to reach the end of this road, I'll know that it was not luck, nor hope, nor perseverance, nor hard work that got me there.
But love.
Love which not only makes the journey possible, but makes every minute of it a lesson that teaches me everyday that children are the most precious gift... that they alone give meaning to life's greatest sufferings and pave the way for life's most beautiful moments.
Friday, January 24, 2014
Starting Over
It's hard to admit this to myself, but there are days when I really wish I could start over. I wish I could rewind my life and go back to January 2012. That's when the first domino toppled over: Gabriel's conception. That's when all of this was first put into motion. That's when everything changed far beyond my control, when my life slowly started to fall apart.
I wish I could get a re-do on the last two years of my life. I wish I could have one chance to take back one choice. Because I am constantly wondering what my life would be like now if I had done one thing differently. Could one choice made differently have had the power to change my fate?
This time, two years ago, I remember wanting a baby so badly. I was so anxious to get pregnant. I was naively planning to have three children and I wanted to get started before I turned 30.
Now, I wonder what could have been if I had been more patient. If we had conceived one month later, would that have made all the difference in the world? Would that baby be a happy, healthy 15 month old squirming in my arms while I blog about cloth diapers instead of stillbirth?
I think I will always question what could have been if I had been patient and waited a couple months... if those two months could have spared me the suffering I've endured over the past two years.
It's heartbreaking and frustrating to know that I am exactly where I was then. Two years ago I was sitting here wishing for a baby, scouring the internet for fertility tips, trying with all my being to make my greatest wish come true. It's been two years and no progress has been made on the baby front. Nothing has been given in exchange for 24 agonizing months of loss and disappointment and failures and hopelessness and tears. I have nothing to show for years of trying relentlessly to have a family.
I want to scream at the universe. What else do I have to do?! Why can't this just be easier?! Over the past two years, I have had to watch every single person I know have healthy babies while I am STILL waiting for mine!! This is not fair!! This is not right!!
I look back over the last 24 months and I see so many tears, so many lost moments, so many empty days. I see my heart breaking over and over again, my faith dwindling, my hope fading, my dreams melting as my ovaries just continue to age and age.
It's becoming harder and harder to imagine what could have been. It's almost impossible to imagine my life turning out how I thought it would. I feel like over the past two years I've drifted further and further away from that life. I can barely remember what it felt like to dream of a future, to make plans, to have the luxury of choosing to have children. I often wonder if the universe actually laughed at my 3-children-before-35-plan.
Sometimes, I wish I could go back to that time when my dreams had no boundaries just to remember for a moment what it felt like to have endless possibilities in front of me. That blissful time before I knew the risks of embarking on a new journey. Before I knew just what the road to motherhood had in store for me.
I think of everything I've been through on this journey, and I can't help but wish it had been different. I wish it had been easier... a lot easier. I wish I had been given a different baby, a healthy one that I could have kept.
But then my heart sinks knowing what I would have to sacrifice. And I realize that even if I could start over, I could never choose another path. I could never knock down a different domino. As hard as this life is, I could never give up the two babies I carried, the two babies who I love with all my heart, the two babies who aren't here but who I think about every single moment of every single day. Because even though I wish things were different, I don't wish for a life without them.
Even with the enormous pile of hardships that weighs heavily on my soul, this is the only life I have with them in it. This road is the only one that could have led me to both of my precious children. Whatever choice I made two years ago that has landed me here, I know in my heart that I could never choose differently.
Because they're my babies. And I'm their mother.
And that's the one thing that I would never want to change.
I wish I could get a re-do on the last two years of my life. I wish I could have one chance to take back one choice. Because I am constantly wondering what my life would be like now if I had done one thing differently. Could one choice made differently have had the power to change my fate?
This time, two years ago, I remember wanting a baby so badly. I was so anxious to get pregnant. I was naively planning to have three children and I wanted to get started before I turned 30.
Now, I wonder what could have been if I had been more patient. If we had conceived one month later, would that have made all the difference in the world? Would that baby be a happy, healthy 15 month old squirming in my arms while I blog about cloth diapers instead of stillbirth?
I think I will always question what could have been if I had been patient and waited a couple months... if those two months could have spared me the suffering I've endured over the past two years.
It's heartbreaking and frustrating to know that I am exactly where I was then. Two years ago I was sitting here wishing for a baby, scouring the internet for fertility tips, trying with all my being to make my greatest wish come true. It's been two years and no progress has been made on the baby front. Nothing has been given in exchange for 24 agonizing months of loss and disappointment and failures and hopelessness and tears. I have nothing to show for years of trying relentlessly to have a family.
I want to scream at the universe. What else do I have to do?! Why can't this just be easier?! Over the past two years, I have had to watch every single person I know have healthy babies while I am STILL waiting for mine!! This is not fair!! This is not right!!
I look back over the last 24 months and I see so many tears, so many lost moments, so many empty days. I see my heart breaking over and over again, my faith dwindling, my hope fading, my dreams melting as my ovaries just continue to age and age.
It's becoming harder and harder to imagine what could have been. It's almost impossible to imagine my life turning out how I thought it would. I feel like over the past two years I've drifted further and further away from that life. I can barely remember what it felt like to dream of a future, to make plans, to have the luxury of choosing to have children. I often wonder if the universe actually laughed at my 3-children-before-35-plan.
Sometimes, I wish I could go back to that time when my dreams had no boundaries just to remember for a moment what it felt like to have endless possibilities in front of me. That blissful time before I knew the risks of embarking on a new journey. Before I knew just what the road to motherhood had in store for me.
I think of everything I've been through on this journey, and I can't help but wish it had been different. I wish it had been easier... a lot easier. I wish I had been given a different baby, a healthy one that I could have kept.
But then my heart sinks knowing what I would have to sacrifice. And I realize that even if I could start over, I could never choose another path. I could never knock down a different domino. As hard as this life is, I could never give up the two babies I carried, the two babies who I love with all my heart, the two babies who aren't here but who I think about every single moment of every single day. Because even though I wish things were different, I don't wish for a life without them.
Even with the enormous pile of hardships that weighs heavily on my soul, this is the only life I have with them in it. This road is the only one that could have led me to both of my precious children. Whatever choice I made two years ago that has landed me here, I know in my heart that I could never choose differently.
Because they're my babies. And I'm their mother.
And that's the one thing that I would never want to change.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
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
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 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
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
I Wish I Was Her
She has all of her children with her here on earth.
She has no clue that millions of babies die each year.
She's never heard of anencephaly, T-18, hydrocephalus, skeletal dysplasia or any of the other thousands of complications that cause death in unborn babies every single day.
She's never left the hospital with a memory box instead of her baby.
She blogs about her living children instead of her dead ones.
She has the luxury and good fortune of being able to plan out how many children she wants.
She's never been on a TTC journey.
She doesn't wonder if she'll ever having a living baby.
She gets pregnant after barely trying for a month.
She carries her baby fearlessly for nine months.
She's never heard her doctor utter the words, "incompatible with life" or "there's no heartbeat."
She's never read the book Empty Cradle, Broken Heart.
She's never been told that her child is in a better place.
She has never worn a piece of memorial jewelry with her child's name engraved on it.
She doesn't dread the simple question, how many children do you have?
She's never prayed for a rainbow baby.
She's never celebrated an angelversary.
She's never had to choose between burying or cremating her child.
She doesn't have a drawer full of baby clothes that will never be worn.
She doesn't cry on her child's birthday.
She doesn't melt down every time a Facebook friend announces that she's pregnant.
She can go to her friends' baby showers.
She can show off pictures of her baby without making others feel uncomfortable.
She gets to watch her children grow up.
She's never known what it feels like to lose a piece of herself.
She doesn't wonder every second of everyday how much better her life could have been if her child was still alive.
She has no clue that millions of babies die each year.
She's never heard of anencephaly, T-18, hydrocephalus, skeletal dysplasia or any of the other thousands of complications that cause death in unborn babies every single day.
She's never left the hospital with a memory box instead of her baby.
She blogs about her living children instead of her dead ones.
She has the luxury and good fortune of being able to plan out how many children she wants.
She's never been on a TTC journey.
She doesn't wonder if she'll ever having a living baby.
She gets pregnant after barely trying for a month.
She carries her baby fearlessly for nine months.
She's never heard her doctor utter the words, "incompatible with life" or "there's no heartbeat."
She's never read the book Empty Cradle, Broken Heart.
She's never been told that her child is in a better place.
She has never worn a piece of memorial jewelry with her child's name engraved on it.
She doesn't dread the simple question, how many children do you have?
She's never prayed for a rainbow baby.
She's never celebrated an angelversary.
She's never had to choose between burying or cremating her child.
She doesn't have a drawer full of baby clothes that will never be worn.
She doesn't cry on her child's birthday.
She doesn't melt down every time a Facebook friend announces that she's pregnant.
She can go to her friends' baby showers.
She can show off pictures of her baby without making others feel uncomfortable.
She gets to watch her children grow up.
She's never known what it feels like to lose a piece of herself.
She doesn't wonder every second of everyday how much better her life could have been if her child was still alive.
Saturday, March 30, 2013
The Window
In my heart, in my soul, I feel cheated, maybe a little more-so than others. I feel entitled to be bitter at times because what happened to me wasn't fair. I feel like nothing makes sense anymore. I've analyzed my belief in God up and down, left and right and still can't put together a "God" that I recognize or understand. I feel comfortable with the belief that death is a part of a life, and that mistakes are an unfortunate (but necessary) part of nature. But where God fits in, I don't know. And because of that, I feel a little bit lost.
In my heart, in my soul, I wish my circumstances had been different. If I was destined to lose a child, I wish that it didn't have to be my firstborn ~ my only. I wish I knew that I could at the very least, have healthy children, a question to which the answer might very well be no. I wish I was younger. I wish I had more child-bearing years ahead of me than I have behind me. I wish I had more hope that everything will be okay.
In my heart, in my soul, I hate that nobody can tell us what happened to Gabriel, not even from a medical perspective. I hate that I have to wonder why my child died. I hate that this had to happen to me and my family. I hate that I have only questions; no answers. I hate death.
In my heart, in my soul, I hate that nobody can tell us what happened to Gabriel, not even from a medical perspective. I hate that I have to wonder why my child died. I hate that this had to happen to me and my family. I hate that I have only questions; no answers. I hate death.
In my heart, in my soul, I am angry at fate or the universe or God or the world in general. We're taught to believe that if we do everything right, things will turn out alright. That happy endings exist for those who work hard and follow a certain path. But I did everything right, and my baby died anyways. I'm angry that my life has fallen apart and now I have to start over again, slowly piecing broken fragments back together. I'm angry that abusive, unfit, negligent parents get to keep their children, and for inexplicable reasons, I did not.
In my heart, in my soul, I miss all that I will never ever have. I miss my baby boy. I miss watching him grow up. I miss hearing his cry. I miss holding his tiny hands. I miss feeling his warmth, his life. I am missing so much, too much, that there is no possible way to write down all that I am missing. And because of this, I feel sorrow and resentment.
In my heart, in my soul, I'm a swirling cloud of grief and healing, past and present, love and hate. I'm not who I was or who I will be, but stranded in a confusing state of limbo. I'm searching for balance, for peace, for truth, but feel lost in the midst of a storm. I'm both more alive and less. I'm looking both into and out of the same window.
And I realize that it's my hand that's keeping the window shut; it's been my choice to keep it locked all along. I'm holding on to pain, sealing it in my heart, my soul. It's been my prisoner, but somehow it has imprisoned me as well.
So I wonder, if I never let the pain go, can I ever be free? And if I'm unwilling or incapable of opening the window, will love and joy ever find a way to flow back in?
Nothing about the past will ever change. Sadly this is true. But the years ahead have not been written. This life, the unwritten one, can be spent inside a prison with sorrow and heartache, agonizing over what has been lost. Or it can be spent opening the window and finding the courage and strength to leave the pain behind and fly free.
In my heart, in my soul, I miss all that I will never ever have. I miss my baby boy. I miss watching him grow up. I miss hearing his cry. I miss holding his tiny hands. I miss feeling his warmth, his life. I am missing so much, too much, that there is no possible way to write down all that I am missing. And because of this, I feel sorrow and resentment.
In my heart, in my soul, I'm a swirling cloud of grief and healing, past and present, love and hate. I'm not who I was or who I will be, but stranded in a confusing state of limbo. I'm searching for balance, for peace, for truth, but feel lost in the midst of a storm. I'm both more alive and less. I'm looking both into and out of the same window.
And I realize that it's my hand that's keeping the window shut; it's been my choice to keep it locked all along. I'm holding on to pain, sealing it in my heart, my soul. It's been my prisoner, but somehow it has imprisoned me as well.
So I wonder, if I never let the pain go, can I ever be free? And if I'm unwilling or incapable of opening the window, will love and joy ever find a way to flow back in?
Nothing about the past will ever change. Sadly this is true. But the years ahead have not been written. This life, the unwritten one, can be spent inside a prison with sorrow and heartache, agonizing over what has been lost. Or it can be spent opening the window and finding the courage and strength to leave the pain behind and fly free.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Italy Vacation Photo Journal
For those of you wondering how our vacation went, it wasn't nearly as bad (or sad) as I was expecting it to be.
The weather was freezing, but also very sunny and surprisingly there was no wind or snow, which is unusual especially during winter.
We were very busy the entire time as this trip was only 1 week long. We spent most of the time with family and friends in Genova, but one day we were able to go to Cinqueterre which was beautiful. Of course, the entire time I missed Gabriel and everywhere there were things that reminded me of him. I often found myself wishing he could have been there with us, but it made me feel better to do nice things to remember him.
Here is a photo journal of our vacation (specifically the parts that included Gabriel)... I apologize for the length but I'm kind of a picture fanatic.
Genova, Italy
December 6 - December 12, 2012
THURSDAY:
We arrived in Milan after 16 hours of traveling! (I've taken this trip so many times and it never gets any easier)
For fun, we drove to Como and were planning to spend the day there, but since we couldn't find anywhere to eat that was open and it was freezing, we ended up just walking around for about an hour.
Before we left, we wanted to write Gabriel's name some way. There were tons of autumn leaves on the ground so we decided to write his name on a leaf and then drop it into the lake. I really like to do things that symbolize that he has returned to the earth.
Then we went for a walk around the park and I just happened to notice a corner of the lake (Lake Como) where the water had receded, uncovering a small patch of sand. I couldn't believe it. I was so excited that I ran to find a stick so I could write Gabriel's name in the sand. (I'm a little obsessed with writing his name in the sand.)
FRIDAY:
We spent the day relaxing with Corrado's parents as we slowly acclimated to the time difference. We went downtown for some quick shopping and while there, we decided to go to San Lorenzo Cathedral and light a candle for Gabriel.
SATURDAY:
We had a small party with close friends and family in honor of Gabriel. It was held at a restaurant on the sea and everyone we invited came, so we ended up with a pretty big group of people. We had a "family style" lunch and for dessert we shared a cake that we made and also one that we bought (ours didn't turn out that great, so we brought a back-up.)
After lunch, we gathered outside on the beach for a balloon release. We spelled out Gabriel's name using 7 balloons and a different person held each letter. It was so special to do something as a group to remember Gabriel. I'm so touched that everyone wanted to participate.
After taking a few photos, we released the balloons along with several others.
It was such a sweet surprise to see them drift out over the sea. Usually there is a strong wind that comes from the sea (and by usually, I mean always), but that afternoon it was so calm and the balloons were able to float freely over the water.
After everyone left, we stayed to watch the sunset. It had been such a gorgeous sunny day and watching the sunset was the perfect way to end the day.
SUNDAY:
We took the train to Cinqueterre. As soon as we got off the train in Monterosso, we crossed the street and unexpectedly discovered this beautiful beach.
We weren't planning to write names in the sand at this beach (originally we were going to go to Santa Margherita), but we figured it would be difficult to find a beach as perfect as this one, so we spent the next 30 minutes writing names in the sand.
I really wish we could have written more names, but since we weren't planning on writing names at all, we were limited by time. Now that we know about this beach, I'd love to go back during our next trip and write more names.
After spending a couple hours in Monterosso, we took the train to the next town, Vernazza, which is my favorite of the 5 Cinqueterre towns. Isn't it beautiful?
We accidentally ended up climbing up to Castle Doria which was lucky for us. From Castle Doria (located at the top of the cliff), you can see the entire coast of Cinqueterre and the view of the sea is endless.
We thought that watching the sunset from up there would be gorgeous, but decided instead to go down to the beach. Like most of the beaches in this part of Italy, it was covered in rocks (as you can see above).
We gathered a few white rocks and spelled out Gabriel's name and photographed it just as the sun was setting.
MONDAY:
We went to the cemetery to visit Corrado's grandfather, great-grandmother and high school friend. It took us awhile as the cemetery is huge (a little more than a square kilometer).
As we were walking around, we stumbled across the baby section. It was so heartbreaking to see the headstones of so many babies, especially the matching headstones of triplet babies who had just recently grew their angel wings. I imagined their parents coming to the cemetery to bury their 3 babies and I realized how deeply I knew that pain. As a BLM, it's impossible to not ache for all of the other babyloss parents out there missing their precious children.
Saying a special prayer for all the sweet angels buried at Cimitero monumentale di Staglieno.
TUESDAY:
We went to the local church near Corrado's parents' house in Genova. Inside, there is this beautiful altar and church members can light candles and leave small pictures of their deceased loved ones.
After Gabriel died, Corrado's parents added a photo of him next to the photo of Corrado's maternal grandfather. It's such a precious reminder that they are together in Heaven.
Before we left, we lit a small candle for Gabriel and his great-grandfather.
The weather was freezing, but also very sunny and surprisingly there was no wind or snow, which is unusual especially during winter.
We were very busy the entire time as this trip was only 1 week long. We spent most of the time with family and friends in Genova, but one day we were able to go to Cinqueterre which was beautiful. Of course, the entire time I missed Gabriel and everywhere there were things that reminded me of him. I often found myself wishing he could have been there with us, but it made me feel better to do nice things to remember him.
Here is a photo journal of our vacation (specifically the parts that included Gabriel)... I apologize for the length but I'm kind of a picture fanatic.
Genova, Italy
December 6 - December 12, 2012
THURSDAY:
We arrived in Milan after 16 hours of traveling! (I've taken this trip so many times and it never gets any easier)
For fun, we drove to Como and were planning to spend the day there, but since we couldn't find anywhere to eat that was open and it was freezing, we ended up just walking around for about an hour.
Before we left, we wanted to write Gabriel's name some way. There were tons of autumn leaves on the ground so we decided to write his name on a leaf and then drop it into the lake. I really like to do things that symbolize that he has returned to the earth.
Then we went for a walk around the park and I just happened to notice a corner of the lake (Lake Como) where the water had receded, uncovering a small patch of sand. I couldn't believe it. I was so excited that I ran to find a stick so I could write Gabriel's name in the sand. (I'm a little obsessed with writing his name in the sand.)
FRIDAY:
We spent the day relaxing with Corrado's parents as we slowly acclimated to the time difference. We went downtown for some quick shopping and while there, we decided to go to San Lorenzo Cathedral and light a candle for Gabriel.
SATURDAY:
We had a small party with close friends and family in honor of Gabriel. It was held at a restaurant on the sea and everyone we invited came, so we ended up with a pretty big group of people. We had a "family style" lunch and for dessert we shared a cake that we made and also one that we bought (ours didn't turn out that great, so we brought a back-up.)
Gabriel's grandparents had the bakery write his name on top of a Sacher cake. It was really beautiful. Unfortunately I didn't take a very good picture.
After lunch, we gathered outside on the beach for a balloon release. We spelled out Gabriel's name using 7 balloons and a different person held each letter. It was so special to do something as a group to remember Gabriel. I'm so touched that everyone wanted to participate.
After taking a few photos, we released the balloons along with several others.
It was such a sweet surprise to see them drift out over the sea. Usually there is a strong wind that comes from the sea (and by usually, I mean always), but that afternoon it was so calm and the balloons were able to float freely over the water.
After everyone left, we stayed to watch the sunset. It had been such a gorgeous sunny day and watching the sunset was the perfect way to end the day.
SUNDAY:
We took the train to Cinqueterre. As soon as we got off the train in Monterosso, we crossed the street and unexpectedly discovered this beautiful beach.
We weren't planning to write names in the sand at this beach (originally we were going to go to Santa Margherita), but we figured it would be difficult to find a beach as perfect as this one, so we spent the next 30 minutes writing names in the sand.
It was such a lovely sunny day and the sea was so calm, I can't help but believe that Gabriel was there with us.
I really wish we could have written more names, but since we weren't planning on writing names at all, we were limited by time. Now that we know about this beach, I'd love to go back during our next trip and write more names.
After spending a couple hours in Monterosso, we took the train to the next town, Vernazza, which is my favorite of the 5 Cinqueterre towns. Isn't it beautiful?
We accidentally ended up climbing up to Castle Doria which was lucky for us. From Castle Doria (located at the top of the cliff), you can see the entire coast of Cinqueterre and the view of the sea is endless.
We thought that watching the sunset from up there would be gorgeous, but decided instead to go down to the beach. Like most of the beaches in this part of Italy, it was covered in rocks (as you can see above).
We gathered a few white rocks and spelled out Gabriel's name and photographed it just as the sun was setting.
MONDAY:
We went to the cemetery to visit Corrado's grandfather, great-grandmother and high school friend. It took us awhile as the cemetery is huge (a little more than a square kilometer).
As we were walking around, we stumbled across the baby section. It was so heartbreaking to see the headstones of so many babies, especially the matching headstones of triplet babies who had just recently grew their angel wings. I imagined their parents coming to the cemetery to bury their 3 babies and I realized how deeply I knew that pain. As a BLM, it's impossible to not ache for all of the other babyloss parents out there missing their precious children.
Saying a special prayer for all the sweet angels buried at Cimitero monumentale di Staglieno.
TUESDAY:
We went to the local church near Corrado's parents' house in Genova. Inside, there is this beautiful altar and church members can light candles and leave small pictures of their deceased loved ones.
After Gabriel died, Corrado's parents added a photo of him next to the photo of Corrado's maternal grandfather. It's such a precious reminder that they are together in Heaven.
Before we left, we lit a small candle for Gabriel and his great-grandfather.
Then we walked down to the shore to see the sunset and since the sea was calm, we wrote Gabriel's name in the sand. (See, I'm obsessed!)
WEDNESDAY (our last day):
We spent our last evening in Genova at the beach. We thought it would be nice to write baby names on sea stones and photograph them at sunset. Again, I wish we could have written more names, but unfortunately it took awhile to photograph each name and before we knew it 2 hours had passed and the sun was gone.
We didn't have time to photograph Gabriel's sea stone, so I'm just going to share a couple pictures of the sunset.
We left all the stones on the shore as the tide was rising so that within a few hours they would be taken by the sea.
We left all the stones on the shore as the tide was rising so that within a few hours they would be taken by the sea.
Afterthoughts:Though I was anxious to go on this trip, I'm happy we went. This vacation made me realize how easy it is to find Gabriel in the beauty of the world. I think of him whenever I witness a glorious sunset, whenever a balloon floats up to the sky, and whenever the waves of the sea roar and calm. It doesn't matter where I am in the world, somehow, we always manage to find each other.<3 Gabriel <3
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Our First Family Vacation
It's almost time for us to leave on our vacation. This is the first vacation (besides Faith's Lodge), that we've taken since Gabriel. For the majority of my pregnancy, we were both busy working and then I was on bed rest for the last few weeks. Then Gabriel died and planning a vacation just didn't land high on the list of priorities.
Planning this trip has been so bittersweet.
For many reasons, I am happy to be going. We get to see our family and friends that we haven't seen in a couple years. We can eat the world's greatest pizza and focaccia. I'm looking forward to the party we're having in Gabriel's honor. We're going to make a special cake for him and release balloons with friends and family. We're going to write his name in the sand close to the house where Gabriel's daddy grew up. And that will be special.
Christmas will surely be in the air everywhere we go. Nobody celebrates Christmas like Italy celebrates Christmas. If you've never been there during the holidays, it's something you should add to your bucket list. They really go all-out there. And not in the commercial-corporate-mustbuymore- kind of way that we have here in the U.S. They just really love Christmas over there and I'm excited to be a part of that.
But of course, I can't help but feel that Gabriel should be going with us. I am sad that he will be with us only in our hearts during this vacation. Had everything gone according to plan, he would be 2 months old now. We'd be that couple struggling to get through the security line at the airport with a stroller and an overstuffed baby bag. I'd be that new mama on the plane trying to console an infant screaming at the top of his lungs during take-off.
Instead, it will just be the two of us... no strollers, no bottles, no fussy baby. Just two people easily passing through security with only boarding passes and passports to worry about. There will be no new baby to show off to our family and friends. There will be no grandchild to hand off to his grandparents at the airport. Only memories, thoughts, wishes, and the occasional mention of his name.
And then there's the fact that Gabriel will never know Italy. He'll never travel to the land that was in his blood. He'll never have the chance to step foot on the soil where his ancestors once roamed, where his great grandparents lived and died, where his daddy grew up and his parents traveled across together.
Once again, he is missing so much and we are left only missing him.
Will it ever be possible to take a family vacation without being heartbroken that such a significant piece of our family is missing?
*sigh*
This should have been our first family vacation.
Unfortunately instead, it's our first Missing-A-Precious-Member-Of-Our-Family Vacation.
Planning this trip has been so bittersweet.
For many reasons, I am happy to be going. We get to see our family and friends that we haven't seen in a couple years. We can eat the world's greatest pizza and focaccia. I'm looking forward to the party we're having in Gabriel's honor. We're going to make a special cake for him and release balloons with friends and family. We're going to write his name in the sand close to the house where Gabriel's daddy grew up. And that will be special.
Christmas will surely be in the air everywhere we go. Nobody celebrates Christmas like Italy celebrates Christmas. If you've never been there during the holidays, it's something you should add to your bucket list. They really go all-out there. And not in the commercial-corporate-mustbuymore- kind of way that we have here in the U.S. They just really love Christmas over there and I'm excited to be a part of that.
But of course, I can't help but feel that Gabriel should be going with us. I am sad that he will be with us only in our hearts during this vacation. Had everything gone according to plan, he would be 2 months old now. We'd be that couple struggling to get through the security line at the airport with a stroller and an overstuffed baby bag. I'd be that new mama on the plane trying to console an infant screaming at the top of his lungs during take-off.
Instead, it will just be the two of us... no strollers, no bottles, no fussy baby. Just two people easily passing through security with only boarding passes and passports to worry about. There will be no new baby to show off to our family and friends. There will be no grandchild to hand off to his grandparents at the airport. Only memories, thoughts, wishes, and the occasional mention of his name.
And then there's the fact that Gabriel will never know Italy. He'll never travel to the land that was in his blood. He'll never have the chance to step foot on the soil where his ancestors once roamed, where his great grandparents lived and died, where his daddy grew up and his parents traveled across together.
Once again, he is missing so much and we are left only missing him.
Will it ever be possible to take a family vacation without being heartbroken that such a significant piece of our family is missing?
*sigh*
This should have been our first family vacation.
Unfortunately instead, it's our first Missing-A-Precious-Member-Of-Our-Family Vacation.
 |
| The Moon and the Sea (Genova, Italy) |
Friday, November 9, 2012
The Autopsy Results
During the past three months since Gabriel's death, I have been hoping that his autopsy would reveal what caused the downward spiral that ultimately led to his death. I honestly thought that the autopsy report would bring me peace of mind and I was looking forward to receiving a little bit of closure, or at the very least some answers.
Gabriel was diagnosed prenatally with meconium peritonitis which is basically a spontaneous rupture of the intestines. Several perinatologists agreed with this diagnosis, but none of them could confirm with certainty. Several ultrasounds revealed that he also had extremely severe abdominal ascites, but again doctors could not explain why. Lastly, by 20 weeks gestation, he had lost almost all of his amniotic fluid, a complication known as oligohydramnios. This is what made his case fatal. Without fluid, his lungs could not develop, making oligohydramnios the trump card of his diagnosis.
Since four different perinatologists couldn't tell us what was wrong with our baby, we consented to an autopsy, in hopes that a pathologist could.
Our primary questions were:
What caused him to lose his amniotic fluid?
Was the prenatal diagnosis of M.P. correct?
What is the likelihood this will recur in subsequent pregnancies?
Unfortunately none of these questions were answered.
Instead, Gabriel was diagnosed with Hirschsprung's Disease, which is a disorder of the intestines, characterized by an absence of ganglion nerve cells. H.D. symptoms in newborns include constipation, inability to pass meconium after birth, and abdominal distension. H.D. presents itself in 1 in 5000 live births, predominantly in males. It is not considered to be a fatal disease and in some cases it is so mild, it goes undiagnosed until later in life.
Most importantly, H.D. is not known to cause any issues prenatally and there is no link between H.D. and stillbirth. H.D. offers an explanation for the dilated intestines (seen on the ultrasound), but fails to explain the oligohydramnios and the ascites.
Basically the diagnosis of H.D. has led us to more questions instead of the answers we were hoping for. It is likely that we will never know why our son was taken from us. It could simply be the worst case of spontaneous bad luck ever, but since the autopsy results couldn't prove this one way or the other, we'll never know for sure. I suppose in the future, new research could tell us something, but I'm not holding my breath.
The doctor who delivered Gabriel has been an OB since the stone ages and he said that he has never even heard of a case like Gabriel's and that he doesn't see a reason why we can't have healthy babies. I guess this should make me feel better.
But it doesn't.
I still cannot envision giving birth to a healthy baby. I am still terrified at the thought of losing another baby. I still worry all the time even though I'm not even pregnant yet. I still wonder how I will survive the loss of another child.
And I still want to know why Gabriel died. Why did an innocent, helpless, beautiful baby have to die?
Babyloss...
Why???
Gabriel was diagnosed prenatally with meconium peritonitis which is basically a spontaneous rupture of the intestines. Several perinatologists agreed with this diagnosis, but none of them could confirm with certainty. Several ultrasounds revealed that he also had extremely severe abdominal ascites, but again doctors could not explain why. Lastly, by 20 weeks gestation, he had lost almost all of his amniotic fluid, a complication known as oligohydramnios. This is what made his case fatal. Without fluid, his lungs could not develop, making oligohydramnios the trump card of his diagnosis.
Since four different perinatologists couldn't tell us what was wrong with our baby, we consented to an autopsy, in hopes that a pathologist could.
Our primary questions were:
What caused him to lose his amniotic fluid?
Was the prenatal diagnosis of M.P. correct?
What is the likelihood this will recur in subsequent pregnancies?
Unfortunately none of these questions were answered.
Instead, Gabriel was diagnosed with Hirschsprung's Disease, which is a disorder of the intestines, characterized by an absence of ganglion nerve cells. H.D. symptoms in newborns include constipation, inability to pass meconium after birth, and abdominal distension. H.D. presents itself in 1 in 5000 live births, predominantly in males. It is not considered to be a fatal disease and in some cases it is so mild, it goes undiagnosed until later in life.
Most importantly, H.D. is not known to cause any issues prenatally and there is no link between H.D. and stillbirth. H.D. offers an explanation for the dilated intestines (seen on the ultrasound), but fails to explain the oligohydramnios and the ascites.
Basically the diagnosis of H.D. has led us to more questions instead of the answers we were hoping for. It is likely that we will never know why our son was taken from us. It could simply be the worst case of spontaneous bad luck ever, but since the autopsy results couldn't prove this one way or the other, we'll never know for sure. I suppose in the future, new research could tell us something, but I'm not holding my breath.
The doctor who delivered Gabriel has been an OB since the stone ages and he said that he has never even heard of a case like Gabriel's and that he doesn't see a reason why we can't have healthy babies. I guess this should make me feel better.
But it doesn't.
I still cannot envision giving birth to a healthy baby. I am still terrified at the thought of losing another baby. I still worry all the time even though I'm not even pregnant yet. I still wonder how I will survive the loss of another child.
And I still want to know why Gabriel died. Why did an innocent, helpless, beautiful baby have to die?
Babyloss...
Why???
Saturday, November 3, 2012
Being a BLM in GIFs (Halloween Edition)
So today I went to Trader Joes just to pick up a few things
And I started chatting with the really sweet checkout girl
Everything was just fine and dandy
Until she asked me how my Halloween was
If I told her the truth, this would have happened
And then this would have happened
And then, inevitably I'd have to avoid her
Maybe I'd even have to find a new supermarket
So I just smiled and pretended it was all good
Thank God I decided to buy that box of chocolate macaroons!
Maybe I'd even have to find a new supermarket
So I just smiled and pretended it was all good
Thank God I decided to buy that box of chocolate macaroons!
I have to give full credit to BLM, Annie at Carpenter Rebuilt for brilliantly creating Babyloss in Gifs on her blog. I loved the idea so much I just had to steal it :)
Thanks Annie!!
(I don't own any of these pictures. To find the original source, click on the pictures.)
(I don't own any of these pictures. To find the original source, click on the pictures.)
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Capture Your Grief, Day 14: Community (Faith's Lodge)
I've been meaning to write about our trip to Faith's Lodge for awhile. If you're not familiar with Faith's Lodge, here is a brief description from their website:
"Faith's Lodge provides a place where parents and families facing the serious illness or death of a child can retreat to reflect on the past, renew strength for the present, and build hope for the future. In its North Woods setting, Faith's Lodge provides a peaceful escape for families to refresh their minds and spirits while spending time with others who understand what they are experiencing."
Faith's Lodge was established by Susan and Mark Lacek in memory of their baby girl, Faith, who died in June of 2000 from a cord accident. It is located on an 80 acre property in northern Wisconsin. Parents and families who have either lost a child in the past three years or who currently have a child with a serious illness may apply to stay there for up to five nights. There are different programs throughout the year, so that the week you attend, you will be among other couples or families who have faced a similar type of loss.
For example, we were there for the "infant loss" weekend of September 13-16, along with seven other couples who had all lost babies (either stillbirth or neonatal loss) in the past three years. We haven't had the chance to attend any events in the babyloss community yet, so this trip so far, has been our only experience with meeting a group of other BL parents.
Our group was diverse. Couples ranged from late teens to late 30's and losses occurred as early as 20 weeks GA to as late as 2 1/2 months old. All of our stories and situations were different and yet we were able to bond over our grief for the children we lost and our common devotion to keeping their memories alive.
During our time there, we spent a lot of time doing group activities such as painting heart-shaped rocks with our babies' names, decorating journals, making garden stones and painting birdhouses. We also had evening bonfires where we would gather, toast marshmallows and share stories.
We found comfort, support, and hope at Faith's Lodge. We got to be around people who understood how we felt, who wanted to hear about our son, and who didn't think we were crazy. It was nice to feel normal for a change.
The thing I liked most about Faith's Lodge was that we got to spend so much time honoring and remembering the children we've lost. It felt so healing to be able to talk about Gabriel and to work on crafts in his memory. The entire time, I felt like I was in a sacred place where babies and children are never forgotten.
The whole weekend was so much fun and it flew by so quickly. Nobody wanted to leave and go back to reality. I wish we could have stayed there forever, but in order for others to be able to go, we knew we had to leave.
Our time at Faith's Lodge lasted just a few days, but we hope to have made long-lasting friendships and to be able to hold onto beautiful memories for the rest of our lives.
If you ever get the chance to go, I highly recommend it.
Now for pictures... because it's impossible to describe just how breathtaking this place is!
The small heart-shaped rocks given to us to provide comfort during our group meeting. I'm using these as a representation of our group because I don't feel comfortable sharing pictures of other people.
Faith's Lodge:
The outside of Faith's Lodge:
Watching a beautiful sunrise from the bench swing in front of the lake. So peaceful!
Standing on Sophia's Bridge
The garden stone we made in remembrance of Gabriel:
To learn more about Faith's Lodge, please visit their website: www.faithslodge.org
"Faith's Lodge provides a place where parents and families facing the serious illness or death of a child can retreat to reflect on the past, renew strength for the present, and build hope for the future. In its North Woods setting, Faith's Lodge provides a peaceful escape for families to refresh their minds and spirits while spending time with others who understand what they are experiencing."
Faith's Lodge was established by Susan and Mark Lacek in memory of their baby girl, Faith, who died in June of 2000 from a cord accident. It is located on an 80 acre property in northern Wisconsin. Parents and families who have either lost a child in the past three years or who currently have a child with a serious illness may apply to stay there for up to five nights. There are different programs throughout the year, so that the week you attend, you will be among other couples or families who have faced a similar type of loss.
For example, we were there for the "infant loss" weekend of September 13-16, along with seven other couples who had all lost babies (either stillbirth or neonatal loss) in the past three years. We haven't had the chance to attend any events in the babyloss community yet, so this trip so far, has been our only experience with meeting a group of other BL parents.
Our group was diverse. Couples ranged from late teens to late 30's and losses occurred as early as 20 weeks GA to as late as 2 1/2 months old. All of our stories and situations were different and yet we were able to bond over our grief for the children we lost and our common devotion to keeping their memories alive.
During our time there, we spent a lot of time doing group activities such as painting heart-shaped rocks with our babies' names, decorating journals, making garden stones and painting birdhouses. We also had evening bonfires where we would gather, toast marshmallows and share stories.
We found comfort, support, and hope at Faith's Lodge. We got to be around people who understood how we felt, who wanted to hear about our son, and who didn't think we were crazy. It was nice to feel normal for a change.
The thing I liked most about Faith's Lodge was that we got to spend so much time honoring and remembering the children we've lost. It felt so healing to be able to talk about Gabriel and to work on crafts in his memory. The entire time, I felt like I was in a sacred place where babies and children are never forgotten.
The whole weekend was so much fun and it flew by so quickly. Nobody wanted to leave and go back to reality. I wish we could have stayed there forever, but in order for others to be able to go, we knew we had to leave.
Our time at Faith's Lodge lasted just a few days, but we hope to have made long-lasting friendships and to be able to hold onto beautiful memories for the rest of our lives.
If you ever get the chance to go, I highly recommend it.
Now for pictures... because it's impossible to describe just how breathtaking this place is!
The small heart-shaped rocks given to us to provide comfort during our group meeting. I'm using these as a representation of our group because I don't feel comfortable sharing pictures of other people.
Faith's Lodge:
The outside of Faith's Lodge:
We woke up early every morning to watch the magnificent sunrise over the lake. This is the view from our balcony:
Watching a beautiful sunrise from the bench swing in front of the lake. So peaceful!
8 dandelions to represent our 8 children:
Sophia's Bridge - where most people leave their children's rocks:
The garden stone we made in remembrance of Gabriel:
Corrado holding the sign he made during the mens' woodworking activity:
The angel statue garden where we left Gabriel's rock:
The heart-shaped rock we painted with Gabriel's name and birthdate
A tree in the forest at Faith's Lodge:
The steps leading down to the path in front of the lake:
The table where we shared pictures of our babies:
The common room where we would talk and play board games:
Toasting marshmallows at the bonfire:
One last picture in front of Faith's Lodge, right before we left:
To learn more about Faith's Lodge, please visit their website: www.faithslodge.org
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