December 29th was the first anniversary of my daughter's death. In some ways, the horror of that morning seems so fresh. In other regards, it seems so long ago and far away, I sometimes wonder if it really happened at all. Of course, I know it did happen: she is real, she was here in the flesh and she will always remain with me in spirit.
I decided that we would honor this day by showing Angeline that in spite of our profound grief, her mommy and daddy continue to love each other and are still trying to find joy in life, even though this life hasn't turned out the way we had hoped it would. With that in mind, we took a few days away, so that we could enjoy each other, her memory, and natural beauty in the world around us.
Below you will find a few of the peaceful scenes we encountered on an early morning walk on the first anniversary of our daughter's death.
I send peace and love to all of you, as well. I hope that 2012 proves to be a better year for all of us.
December 29th will mark one year since the worst day of my life. No, not just worst day. Most horrifying, surreal, earth-shattering moment of my life to date, and hopefully ever. It is still hard for me to fathom how much my life changed on that day.
I relived it a little today, because in 2010, the 29th was a Wednesday. The Wednesday after Christmas. The Wednesday before the New Year. The Wednesday my daughter died.
One year: 52 weeks or 365 days. Eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty hours. More than half a million seconds. I can't believe it, but here I am.
We survived the Christmas holiday without her this year. We surrounded ourselves with friends and family who are sensitive to all we have been through, and continue to go through. We made the best of things. I was actually able to find some peace and even joy in the celebration. It now seems so hard to imagine that it was meant to be Angeline's "First Christmas." Little did I know that last year would be her only Christmas with us.
The past few days we have remained positive, in spite of everything. We have had fun, laughed, loved, indulged... sort of the way the holiday season is meant to be. Only not quite. There is an underlying sadness and ache, but these days, it's just a part of me. Of us. Forever.
You might not realize it to look at us, if you didn't know. But life keeps rubbing salt in the wound. Like the couple sitting next to me at the restaurant last night, gushing about their one-year old twins, a boy and a girl. Carrying on about how lucky they are, they're "done," flashing pictures. That conversation quickly brought me back to reality and took the wind out of my sails. On the other hand, I am just getting used to it. Why wouldn't that happen to us 48 hours before the anniversary of our daughter's death? It would be too much to expect to enjoy an evening out in peace, I suppose.
I am hoping that tomorrow will be a peaceful day, which we plan to spend immersed in majestic natural beauty. Somehow I feel that this will lessen the pain and have a healing effect. In any case, I believe at the end of the day, I will still be standing.
Some of my last post may have been fueled by hormones. Not to say that my sentiments weren't completely valid...
I wanted to share a few of my favorite things, and a few special memorial ornaments. I love Christmas ornaments, and I have a couple new ones to honor Angeline's memory.
First, one of my favorite every day tributes to Angeline. Given to me by my dear friend K.W., it is a sculpture entitled,"Joy." It lives on my fireplace in my cozy living room.
Next, Angeline's 1st birthday cupcake ornament. A sweet treat for a sweet girl!
My dragonfly ornament. Of the symbolic creatures representing our lost babies, I favor the butterfly and the dragonfly. I found this ornament and thought it was a perfect addition to the tree for our first year without Angeline.
Finally, a unique and special piece given to me by my dear friend Cricket. It can only represent one thing, a loving mother and father embracing their angel. I love it!!
Well, it's official. Having the anniversary of your baby's death and Christmas in the same week really makes for a bad time in December. That's actually an understatement. There are few times during the year that a baby-loss parent feels worse than the build up to the anniversary and the Christmas holiday. Lucky me, I get them both together. Oh, and did I mention that I have no other living children? And not pregnant?
If you think I sound like I'm not in a good mood, you are correct. I am experiencing something of a resurgence in a lot of the feelings that had finally started to fade away. Just when I thought I could breathe again...
Not too long ago, a well-meaning person said to me, "I really believe that life gives us only what we can handle." Of course, this is like nails on a blackboard to some of us, so I politely (but firmly) pointed out that this simply is not this case, and indeed quite a few people are faced with burdens that they can't endure. Leading to outcomes like clinical depression and suicide, to name a few. She paused and then came back with, "Well, do you think life has given you more than you can handle?" I was a little taken aback. Surely, I have been through some absolutely horrifically painful experiences in this past year. But was I completely broken yet? Well, no, I guessed not. And I admitted that to her.
Meanwhile, now that this nightmare of a year is drawing to an end, I think I can honestly say that I really have had just about all I can handle. I am hoping that we can survive the next few weeks and that 2012 will bring better times for us.
I hope that all of you are holding up during this very difficult time.
It has been nearly one year...
Since she left this life.
Since I gazed at her beautiful face, her hands, her feet and was amazed that we had made her.
When my world came crashing down.
I can still remember the last time I was truly happy.
The time in which I have learned the depth of grief, unlike any emotion I have ever experienced.
I realized that in the midst of crisis, some people will disappoint you, others will pleasantly surprise you, while a rare and precious few will overwhelm you with their love and kindness.
Since I really understood that none of us is protected from instantaneous, life-changing tragedy.
I have tried to pick up the pieces of our life.
Every day, I have been challenged to carry on.
I have grown closer to sensing her daily presence.
In view of the difficult, painful year we have been living through, one might find it hard to believe that I am so extremely thankful today.
To be honest, I am a little surprised myself. How can it be? Instead of feeling sad and bitter, I feel grateful and appreciative.
Is it because lately I feel Angeline's presence so strongly? I am so thankful for the signs she sends me. I truly believe that she reaches out to me from another dimension, and that while we only had a short time together in this life, we will never be separated.
Maybe it's because I realize more than ever that each of us has a path to resolution of such a devastating loss. Some have been fortunate enough to become pregnant again very quickly after the loss of their baby. Others of us did not become pregnant within 3, 4, 5 or more months of trying. There were times when I thought this hindered our ability to heal. I realize now that this is not the case. I have come to know the stories of other BLM's who are unable to conceive in the near future owing to medical concerns or problems impairing fertility. I realize now that another baby does not heal the wound if we have not grieved and mourned our loss. I am grateful that I have had this time to devote completely to Angeline, while I look forward with hope to having another baby in the future.
As they say, "you can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family." I am so thankful for the family that was chosen for me. Their love and support has been unwavering. Today, however, I am particularly grateful for the friends I have chosen, and have chosen me. I have such an exceptional group of women who have been at my side throughout this devastating experience. They have come down with me into this dark, lonely place, and helped me to climb back out toward the daylight. Not because they had to, but because they wanted to. They have hurt with me, not just for me. They have cried with me, and made me laugh, too. They love and miss Angeline. In the words of one dear friend just a few days ago, "I will never let her memory go. She will always be a part of my thoughts, heart and life." I was so incredibly touched by these sentiments, because I know she genuinely means every word.
On this Thanksgiving, it is with love that I remember spending last year with my precious girl kicking inside of me, and reflect on the many things I still have to be thankful for.
Last Saturday, while out to lunch, I looked down and realized something was missing. From my memorial bracelet, a gift from my very dear friend, which I wear every day. I was very upset to see one of the charms was gone, worst of all, it was the silver heart engraved with "Angeline Our Angel."
I felt awful and couldn't believe this charm had come off the bracelet without my noticing it! I realized that I had only been to a few places so far that day. I looked around my bedroom, where I had changed my clothes. My study where I had been working on my computer. Out to the mailbox. I went back to the car wash, looked around and left my number and a description.
The next day, came the torrential rain. I figured if it was outside, it would surely have been washed away. I felt better knowing that the charm would probably have ended up in the drains that empty into the ocean. This was comforting, thinking that the charm would not be in the bottom of a sewer somewhere. In any case, I resigned myself to the fact that it was gone and I would never see it again. I reminded myself that it was only a thing, and that Angeline is always with me - charm or no charm.
I decided to get an exact replacement. I also selected a few new charms to symbolize Angeline and the journey we've been on these past 10 months. I am excited to be adding a special charm in honor of her first birthday in heaven, which is coming up in the end of December.
Today, after a long and rather emotionally draining day, I came home and debated getting the mail. I decided to stop by the mailbox. It was dark, and I could barely see. A little glimmer caught my eye. There on top of the box was.... my charm! I couldn't believe it!! Someone had found it and left it exactly where I would find it. And find it, I did. In the dark, while feeling disappointed and sad. To me, it was a sign. Even when things seem hopeless, and you may be tempted to give up, there is hope.
Today it is the 29th. Ten months now since our nightmare started. I have come to a point where I try not to focus on the significance of this day. I don't see any point in giving special importance to this monthly date on the calendar, when I have a daily, ongoing pain. There doesn't seem to be any reason to exacerbate my baseline level of sadness and hurt by paying special attention to the fact that is once again the 29th of the month.
This is Halloween weekend. Last year, I was really starting to show by this time. I was about 22 weeks pregnant. We dressed up: A. was a Centurion and I was a Roman lady. It was the only costume I could find that didn't look absolutely ridiculous. This one had a nice high Empire waist that left room for my pregnant belly. Our friends had a very extravagant adults-only Halloween party which was great time. I remember talking with so many people at that party about our little one, and how excited we were. We have this great picture from the party with A.'s hand on my belly. He looks so happy and proud. This year, there are no costumes. We won't be observing Halloween festivities.
So begins what will probably prove to be a difficult time for us. It seems like once Halloween roles around, the holiday season comes barreling right behind. To be honest, I don't think the season will be all bad. This is because I remember the holidays last year as being some of the happiest times of my life. Angeline was very much with us at that time. I even know she liked eggnog! Things seemed so good. I was full of hope and anticipation. Little did I know that 2011 would be a year of grief and sorrow, rather than joy and celebration.
As the months have passed, I have wished and prayed that things would somehow change for the better. That there would be some relief. Most days I feel as I have simply had to bear up and survive. What relief has come has been in the form of wonderful, loving people supporting me. People who never expected that their role as friend or family member would include being there for me as I mourn the loss of my daughter. I am truly in awe of some of the amazing individuals who have surrounded me and helped me to keep going. I have been blessed to have access to the best doctors and professionals to help me sort through what has happened and how to continue on with my life. For these things I am grateful. Perhaps this is how God answers our prayers, by putting these special people in our lives.
October 15th is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day. I will get up early to attend the OC Walk to Remember memorial ceremony in honor of our lost children. This will be my first time, but I am told that the names of each of our precious babies will be read. I will be there in honor of my daughter. I have made a financial contribution to this organization, which funds perinatal loss support services in my area.
This has been a difficult week. I have had a hard time with my own grief, and have experienced the shock of having a violent tragedy in a neighboring community. We frequent Seal Beach on a regular basis. Having a blood massacre occur so close to home has been stunning and traumatic even though we have not been personally affected. My heart breaks for the victims and the families whose lives have been devastated. They will never be the same. Many people don't realize how profound a ripple effect comes from a tragedy such as this. It makes me sad to see letter and expressions of grief from loved ones left behind - particularly when I see them asking God why this happened. They don't know yet, sometimes there is no reason.
If you every have the opportunity to see Anjelah Johnson perform live, you must go. Do not bring your husband or significant other, unless he is very in touch with his feminine side. Bring a couple girlfriends. Ideally, don't be pregnant at the time, so you can enjoy a few adult beverages.
So, one of her most famous skits is the one about the nail salon. I will leave you to find that on your own. It's hilarious.
Today, I had occasion to think of another one of her skits. It is the one where she talks about people disguising gossip as prayer requests. Warning, this skit mentions pregnancy. Not pregnant-after-a-loss, planned, wanted pregnancy, but rather the oops, teenage, unplanned variety.
In all seriousness, the truth is that this kind of gossip is the most offensive type out there. As Anjelah says, "Gossiping is bad. Don't do it. Nothing good comes of it."
I finally got up the nerve. I have had this DVD for at least a few months now. I've been planning to watch it alone at some point, but I was afraid of how it might affect me.
Nicole Kidman (nominated Best Actress for this role) and Aaron Eckert star as parents who are eight months out from losing their four-year-old son. While this experience is, of course, very different from that of parents surviving a stillbirth, I wondered if this movie might strike too close to home.
So, I finally fired up the DVD player and watched it this morning. I thought it was an amazing, insightful and sensitive movie. From the very opening scene, I felt like I knew these people. What they were doing and saying, how they were acting. It was all familiar to me: their interactions, the conflicts of grief, the group setting, the reaction (or lack of reaction) from friends and acquaintances. I loved how the movie portrayed a couple trying to go on with some sense of normalcy, in spite of their heartbreak and suffering. Finally, I felt a message of hope and healing.
I wanted to share my impressions of this movie with you, because I would encourage you to consider watching it. I hope that you will find it as moving as I did.
Gosh, I have always hated this saying. I would practically cringe when I heard people say this overused and too-broadly-applied phrase. To be honest, maybe I do see a use for this expression.
At the moment, for me, it sort of expresses a level of acceptance I now have for my grief.
I am not referring to what happened to Angeline. I would never use these words to describe her death. I will never totally accept or be at peace with what happened to our daughter. I do however, understand that her little heart formed with a severe defect. I know that surviving to birth would have led to significant interventions, including major open heart surgeries. I believe that there is a strong possibility that she would have suffered and eventually died anyway. I regard the time I carried Angeline inside of me as the greatest and most important time in my life. I believe that her life was a gift, however short. I am truly grateful to be her mother.
My agonizing, mind-numbing grief began suddenly and without warning when we lost Angeline. The nine months that followed have been filled with sadness, anxiety, fear, disappointment, but also gratitude, love, appreciation and finally hope. Grief is truly a winding road, with obstacles, steep inclines, sharp turns and switchbacks. Surprisingly, you occasionally find beautiful scenery and restful settings along the way. There comes a point in profound grief when you realize that you are, in fact, surviving. Perhaps not happily. You come to a point which may possibly be the proverbial bottom. It is as if you look at your life and say: This is not what I had hoped for, not what I wanted, not what I expected, but it isn't all bad. There are still good things in my life, even in spite of my misery. You might actually look back on your suffering and say, "it is what it is."
Did it make me stronger, more compassionate, more empathetic, more loving, more introspective, more grateful?? I don't know. Probably. Was it worth the price of my precious daughter? Definitely not. I do miss being the person I was before this happened to us. That girl is gone and I am someone new.
I would like to take a moment to thank Franchesca Cox for her beautiful work on my blog design. She is truly gifted in media arts. More importantly, her talents touch so many bereaved mothers by helping to inspire creative and productive expressions of grief. Fran's work and dedication to our community is so truly remarkable!
You cannot quit me so quickly
There's no hope in you for me
No corner you could squeeze me
But I got all the time for you, love
The Space Between
The tears we cry
Is the laughter keeps us coming back for more
The Space Between
The wicked lies we tell
And hope to keep safe from the pain
But will I hold you again?
These fickle, fuddled words confuse me
Like 'Will it rain today?'
Waste the hours with talking, talking
These twisted games we're playing
We're strange allies
With warring hearts
What wild-eyed beast you be
The Space Between
The wicked lies we tell
And hope to keep safe from the pain
Will I hold you again?
Will I hold...
Look at us spinning out in
The madness of a roller coaster
You know you went off like a devil
In a church in the middle of a crowded room
All we can do, my love
Is hope we don't take this ship down
The Space Between
Where you're smiling high
Is where you'll find me if I get to go
The Space Between
The bullets in our firefight
Is where I'll be hiding, waiting for you
The rain that falls
Splash in your heart
Ran like sadness down the window into...
The Space Between
Our wicked lies
Is where we hope to keep safe from pain
Take my hand
'Cause we're walking out of here
Oh, right out of here
Love is all we need here
The Space Between
What's wrong and right
Is where you'll find me hiding, waiting for you
The Space Between
Your heart and mine
Is the space we'll fill with time
The Space Between...
Over the past months I have done a lot of reading. I have read a number of books and memoirs on the subject of babyloss, grief, faith. Those of you who know me in real life have heard me speaking of a book called "When Bad Things Happen to Good People," by Harold Kushner. It is a widely known, bestseller with more than 4 million copies in print.
When I was in college, I was a biology major and a philosophy minor. I absolutely loved writing on philosophical principles. The chair of the department actually took me aside one time and said, "Are you sure you really want to go into medicine? Why don't you think about coming over to our department?" Years later, I still have a copy of one paper that I was particularly proud of. Looking at it now, I almost have a hard time understanding it! It is strange to think that I actually wrote it, what seems like a lifetime ago. But I digress...
So, I first heard about this book on another blog and though I would read it. A little background on my thoughts on religion: when I was an older teenager and into my college years, I was somewhat critical of organized religion and focused more on my own personal spiritual relationship with God. In my later twenties, I became involved with a progressive church on the East Coast and was quite openly religious (i.e. possibly annoying and offensive to non-believers). After relocating to California, I spent several years trying to find the "right" church, and after frequenting quite a few local churches, I more or less gave up on finding a place where I would fit in well. That being said, I had always subscribed to the philosophy of Christian values, belief in God's grace and perhaps most significantly the theory of God having a plan for each of us, whether or not we understood it. I tried to live my life accordingly.
Well, nothing gives you earth-shattering crisis of faith like the death of your own child. If you are yourself the parent of a lost child, I realize I am not telling you anything that you don't already know. As for those of you who automatically and unconditionally accept the death of your child as being "part of God's plan," sorry, I don't buy it. In my humble opinion, this type of response falls into the categories of shock and / or denial.
Which finally brings me to the book. As I mentioned, over the course of my life I have read quite a lot on topics of philosophy, religion and now grief, loss, death. I would say that this particular read is among the most intelligent and poignant books I have read on the aforementioned topics.
Harold Kushner was a young rabbi when his son Aaron was diagnosed at age three with a very rare and ultimately fatal condition called progeria, "rapid aging." After years of suffering, Aaron would die two days after his fourteenth birthday. Rabbi Kushner was inspired to write the book after experiencing the life-altering, aching pain of a parent facing the loss of his child. He very skillfully addresses the common questions that arise and reactions that most people experience when something truly devastating happens to them.
Kushner describes the usual imagery of God as a powerful father figure, treating as we deserve, punishing us when we do wrong. This concept can lead to so many negative feelings - self-blame, rejection, abandonment. He demonstrates that quite clearly, this vision of God is inconsistent with what human beings experience. One can see this in the Bible if one is so inclined, or simply look at the world around us. Many times the righteous do suffer, and suffer severely. Meanwhile, we see many selfish, unkind and quite possibly evil people enjoying a life of ease, comfort and harmony. Contrary to popular belief, things frequently don't even out in this lifetime - we don't all "get what we deserve."
In the tradition of my friend Kirsten, I will share a few common things that people say, and how they can practically be interpreted according to Rabbi Kushner.
When a bad thing has happened to you...
God has his reasons for making this happen, and you are in no position to judge. -The individual feels abandoned, betrayed. What reason would God have for doing this? What kind of higher purpose would justify their suffering? And if this was His plan, how could the individual ask God to help them?
God has caused this bad thing to happen to teach / change / influence other people. - Would a loving God exact the price of a child's life to teach a lesson? In Kushner's words, "The price is too high, and the reasoning shows too little regard for the value of an individual life."
God never gives us a burden that we cannot carry / will not give you a life you are not strong enough to lead. - Should the individual have been a weaker person? Would that have avoided such a tragedy? In addition, this is blatantly false. Tragedies such as the loss of a child destroy the lives of previously happy people, break up marriages, lead to depression, substance abuse, even suicide.
God has taken the loved one to a better place, where they are free of suffering. This is a reason to rejoice. - While it may be true that the lost child is free of pain and suffering, we have no way of knowing that, and if we choose to believe, it is through faith. This idea is of limited comfort to the surviving family who will miss that child's presence for every remaining day of their lives. It certainly does not address why that particular child had to suffer in the first place!
All of the above concepts suggest that God plays an active role in our suffering. Subjecting us to it, possibly deciding to relieve it... Rabbi Kushner explores the possibility that God does not choose for us to suffer and does not cause bad things to happen to us. In the third chapter, he explores a central concept to the book: "Sometimes There is No Reason." I have to wonder it the same can't be said for many of the good things that happen to us. Is it reasonable to say that we were chosen to have a "blessing" when we all realize we weren't necessarily chosen to bear a burden? I am not sure yet.
I cannot recommend this book strongly enough. I think it should be read by anyone who has experienced a life-changing tragedy, as well as anyone who believes they know the first thing about religion, regardless of denomination.
Wow. We are in the second half of August. That means that summer is drawing to a close.
It's been a while since I posted. I have done a lot of thinking, a lot of reading, a lot of talking to my therapist. But I have not done a lot of blogging. I really admire the women who consistently write thought-provoking and insightful blog posts on a frequent basis. I wish I could be more like you ladies!
Enough of my excuses...
For this summer, I have really made great efforts to (1) be positive, (2) avoid negativity whenever possible. Apparently in the sobriety circuit, they use the saying, "Fake it until you make it," meaning sometimes even if you don't yet wholeheartedly believe in something, you go through the motions and eventually your mind will catch up. I feel that this also applies in the babyloss journey. Sometimes you have try to smile instead of crying, and once in awhile you realize your smile is genuine after all.
While on the subject of catchy sayings... One the mantras I have learned and now subscribe to is: "I can only control my own behavior and actions." And of course, this mantra implies that I cannot control the behavior and actions of others. This refers to people very close to us such as our spouses and families, as well as people we work with, barely know, etc. So, I have to just keep on trying to take care of myself, and healing as best I can, rather than worrying about what other people say or do.
In July, I tried to have some fun celebrating the anniversary of our independence. Later in the month, we took a trip across country to have a week of R&R with my very good friend and her brood. It was a good time: sleeping in, relaxing on the beach, riding bikes, taking long walks, drinking wine, eating well. We had lots of time to catch up and get to know her little boys. They are adorable and well behaved children, just perfect to be on vacation with! I will admit that at times it was a little hard for me to see my friend worry about feedings and nap time, after all, I should be doing that! Overall, however, it was wonderful to spend time with them.
Next up, in August we had family in town. A house-full. It was actually quite nice, and things went smoothly. We had lots of family togetherness. Everyone got along, with no major meltdowns. That alone is pretty impressive, in my opinion. I took some time off from work. We did a few day trips. Again, overall, I would say it was a successful reunion of family from near and far.
So now things are settling down.
Let me start this next section by saying, phrases like "You just need to relax," and "You are just so stressed," should be eliminated from conversations with any babyloss mothers. Seriously. Yes, of course we need to relax and not be so stressed. Don't I wish it was that easy.
Those of you who know me in real life are aware that we have been trying to have another baby. So far, I have not become pregnant. While it has not been a truly prolonged period of time, by the standards of the OB /Gyn community, I would certainly say that this seems to be markedly different from our past experience. As most of you fellow babyloss mothers probably know, this is among our worst fears. When your child dies, the potential for fertility problems become a terrifying thought.
When you are "trying again," each month of failing to become pregnant results in a tidal wave of grief. You realize that not only are you very disappointed to not be pregnant, but really, you are once again slapped in the face with the agony of being the mother of a dead baby. Not a newly pregnant woman beginning to recover from a terrible loss, but simply the mother of a baby you will never see again in this life. It is positively breathtaking.
The people who can really understand this are few and far between. I would be so bold as to say that this is a special sort of hell that is reserved for mothers who have lost their first baby. I would never try to diminish the the pain of the amazing babyloss mothers I have known who have other living children. But I promise you, there is a different kind of emptiness that comes with losing your first and only child.
As far as the assistance of medical professionals is concerned, I say, sometimes there may not be a medical reason for more aggressive interventions, but maybe there is a psychological reason. Just throwing that out there. For any babyloss mother who is less than completely satisfied with the care she is receiving, I say move on and find someone who appreciates what you are going through.
The same is true for getting the help you deserve in terms of psychological support, spiritual needs, physical care. I recently went for a massage for the first time since I was about 20 weeks pregnant last fall. It was amazing, and much needed. We need to do things like that more often, girls.
Hoping that you are taking good care of your(amazing)selves.
At this time last year, I had a teeny, tiny Angeline inside of me - I just didn't know it yet. It would be a few days later that I saw the two pink lines. Then came the lab visits for beta-HCG levels and anxiously awaiting phone calls from my doctor's office. They were all good, rising perfectly! Thus began the happiest time of my life.
The greatest joy of my life came to an abrupt and devastating end on December 29th, 2010. We are now approaching the 6 month mark. Although I delivered Angeline on December 31st, it is the 29th that will be the painful anniversary of her death. I have decided that this will always be our day of mourning, and we will try to celebrate her life on the 31st.
It always amazes me how much can happen in a year. For me (for us), this year has included the highest high and the lowest low. I am humbling asking God to please, please let this next year show us a light at the end of this long, lonely tunnel. I am praying that we will be able to look back on June 2011 and say, "Do your remember how hopeless and sad we felt? And now, see how happy we are?" Of course, I know very well that this isn't completely realistic, and I also don't think we'll be "happy" in the strictest sense, but maybe we will have more to be happy about. I am hoping that at some point, something really gives us joy again. I know it happens for other people who have been where we are, so maybe it will happen to us, too.
I've heard this song so many times, and on each occasion it brings tears to my eyes.
"Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh and life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no - ain't even grey, but she buries her baby... The sharp knife of a short life, well, I've had just enough time..."
I sincerely doubt this is a Happy Father's Day for any father to an angel. Maybe fathers with other living children can celebrate this day and truly enjoy it. For fathers to babies who have gone too soon, today is a day which only serves to magnify their pain and add weight to their burden.
Fathers of angels didn't get to proudly hold a pink,screaming newborn. They never had the chance to give bottles and learn to change diapers. They didn't wear a Baby Bjorn carrier for walks on the beach. No bedtime stories or calming after a nightmare. Never got to scoop up their crying child after a fall and kiss a scraped knee. No soccer games, birthday parties, swimming lessons. No parent-teacher conferences. They didn't have the opportunity to share all of the things they could teach a child. And this is only for the first several years... not to mention the other milestones of teenage and adult years.
I would guess that most of these fathers don't say much about they feel on Father's Day. I can't help feeling sad and resentful today. I felt miserable on Mother's Day, and today I feel almost as bad. I wish I had Angeline dressed up in a pink onesie that says, "I'm Daddy's Girl" or something silly like that. We would have done something to make this a special day for her daddy. Today she should be almost 4 months old. Instead of our beautiful baby girl, we have a pile of ashes in a box.
I am so tired, absolutely drained, by being sad on days that make most everyone else happy. So far we have suffered through New Years Eve, Valentine's Day, Adrian's birthday, Easter, my birthday, Mother's Day, now Father's Day. I feel like I am sort of in a daze on these holidays. I could meltdown and burst into tears at the drop of a hat. I just hate it.
Thank you to my lovely fellow baby-loss mothers who have sent special greetings today and good wishes for Adrian. I love you all and I hope that the fathers in your life are getting through this difficult day.
This had been a favorite movie of mine since first seeing it a number of years ago. I was looking for a DVD today, when I picked it up and remembered the whole story...
We are going on five months since the worst day of my life. I know this is not a long time in the grand scheme of the universe, or even a lifetime. In some ways, it feels like it was just yesterday. In other ways, it seems like an eternity.
I have done a lot of "grief work," as our group leader says. In keeping with my habit of holding myself to relatively high standards, I wanted to do this "the right way," not that there is such a thing. Even in the midst of my in induction of labor, I was leafing through the books they gave me on how a mother should mourn the loss of her baby. I knew I would hold my baby, look at her, tell her she was wanted and loved. I was less sure about the photographer, but thankfully, I decided to have her pictures taken.
After delivering our beloved girl, I stayed home and recovered for a couple of weeks before facing my usual daily life. I started going to the Perinatal Loss Support group the Tuesday after I delivered. I read books about how to survive the death of your baby. I told my story via email to my colleagues at work and to my extended family and friends. I joined online message boards on pregnancy loss. I read blogs of other baby-loss mothers. I started a blog myself. I came to know and love other mothers of angels in real life. I have joined organizations and clubs with the goal of increasing awareness of our issue and developing a network of support to benefit families like ours. I have spoken out on our issue to help educate others who have not been touched by such a tragedy. I will never stop working to raise awareness of the issue of stillbirth and perinatal loss.
I created a memory box with all of the mementos from the hospital, such as her little pink knit cap, baby blanket, hand and foot prints on paper and in ceramic, discs with many photos of Angeline. I also included pictures from my ultrasounds, invitation from my baby shower, cards from baby gifts, sympathy cards, photos of floral arrangements sent. I designed an bound album of her photos, and later a "baby book" style photo album. I obtained copies of Angeline's certificate of still birth, death certificate, autopsy report.
When you lose a baby, your entire world is instantly devastated. We had enjoyed a wonderful Christmas full of excitement and anticipation. Before the New Year, we were in the depths of misery. The thing that mattered more to me than anything, ANYTHING, in the world was suddenly gone. Because in a situation like ours, you feel so out of control and vulnerable, it is natural to set your sights on small, manageable achievements and milestones. The two-week follow-up visit with the OB. The six-week visit. When the bleeding stops after the birth. The results of the pathology report. The appointment with the perinatologist. The resumption of the menstrual cycle. Surviving the due date. Being given clearance to attempt to conceive again. Living through Mother's Day with an angel baby. Seeing friends with overlapping pregnancies deliver their own healthy babies.
I thought of little gestures of thanks I wanted to extend to certain special people for what they had done to help me through this dark time. A gift for my friend who insisted on flying down from her ski vacation to place my epidural when she heard I had lost Angeline. A gift for my cousin who stayed with us through the emotionally draining labor and delivery. Small tokens of thanks to my amazing nurses on L&D. A letter commending the hospital's excellent Perinatal Loss program.
I received a number beautiful gifts meant to commemorate Angeline. A couple are particularly special to me. One is a bracelet designed for me by a very dear friend; its charms say, "Baby Girl," "Angeline our Angel." To this I added another charm sent by a different friend, which has a flower and "December" written on it. My very closest girlfriend sent me a small sculpture of a couple holding a baby with angel wings, which sits in the center of my coffee table. Another friend sent me an absolutely precious statue of a little girl with an upward gaze, holding a bird in her hands; it is entitled "Joy" by the artist who designed it. Adrian and I designed a ring with diamonds alternating with Blue Topaz (December birthstone), which I wear in my left ring finger.
All of these things are acts that serve to affirm my daughter's life and loss. The mementos and gifts are tangible reminders of Angeline. I have done these things, met these marks, surrounded myself with reminders of her existence. You are then faced with the inescapable reality: it is really OVER.
So what comes next? The truth is, I am still aching. I don't expect that I will ever truly heal in this life. I know I will carry the heaviness of this loss through the rest of my days. I have been told by some that the burden become lighter in time, that the pain is not so raw and open. I have heard from others that when a first child is lost, a subsequent child does help facilitate healing. I believe that this will be true in my case. I feel that another pregnancy resulting in a healthy baby is the only human, earthly experience that will allow me to escape this misery and have any hope or joy in life. Though we have only just started trying, so far, this has not happened. I am not pregnant and my agony is as present as ever.
Many times I will hear a song that reminds me of my grief. I have hear this song many times before, but while driving today it really spoke to me.
"Fix You"
When you try your best, but you don't succeed
When you get what you want, but not what you need
When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep
Stuck in reverse
And the tears come streaming down your face
When you lose something you can't replace
When you love someone, but it goes to waste
Could it be worse?
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
And high up above or down below
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
Tears stream down on your face
When you lose something you cannot replace
Tears stream down on your face
And I...
Tears stream down on your face
I promise you I will learn from my mistakes
Tears stream down on your face
And I...
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you
Two precious, little, beautiful girls. Newborn daughters of my good friend. I remember when I first learned that she was expecting. I was already finishing up my first trimester. We were so looking forward to "our girls" playing together! They would have been about two months apart.
They are gorgeous. One of them looks like her mommy, one like her daddy. Both their parents are totally in love with them. Today was the first that I have seen them. I held each of them for awhile. Already, they have distinct personalities. One baby seems so easy and laid back. The other makes a lot of funny faces, furrows her brow, looks like she's thinking. "What on earth could you be thinking about??" I asked her.
I am genuinely happy for my friends on the arrival of their twin girls. In some ways, I expected it would have been harder to see these little girls, but it wasn't hard at all. I thought they were beautiful and precious. I didn't really feel so much sadness for myself. I hope that one day I will have the joy of holding my own live baby in my arms, but today I had the great pleasure of holding my friend's little princesses.
Today I was so fortunate to celebrate International Babylost Mother's Day with some of the truly amazing women I have come to know in these past four months. Though in some ways we are just getting to know each other, in other ways, I feel like we have known each other for years. I believe we will share a special bond for life. I hope that in the future we will celebrate the arrival of one rainbow baby after another and think about how far we have come since first knowing each other. I feel so blessed to be in this circle of women. None of us ever dreamed we would be here, but now we are. I love the words Carly Marie wrote, "United in grief, we find love and strength." (http://internationalbabylostmothersday.blogspot.com/)
I was reminded today of some of their personal qualities, to name just a few of the many reasons why these women are so special:
Beauty inside and outside.
Spirit of generosity.
Talent for expression through art.
Honesty of experience.
Open and forthcoming.
Commitment to healing.
Solemn and serious.
Joyful laughter.
Hopeful optimism.
Faithful.
Who can say for certain
Maybe you're still here
I feel you all around me
Your memory, so clear
Deep in the stillness
I can hear you speak
You're still an inspiration
Can it be?
That you are mine
Forever love
And you are watching over me from up above
Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile to know you're there
A breath away not far
To where you are
Are you gently sleeping
Here inside my dream
And isn't faith believing
All power can't be seen
As my heart holds you
Just one beat away
I cherish all you gave me everyday
'Cause you are my
Forever love
Watching me from up above
And I believe
That angels breathe
And that love will live on and never leave
Fly me up
To where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile
To know you're there
A breath away not far
To where you are
I know you're there
A breath away not far
To where you are
Some of you have noticed I haven't posted in a few weeks. I am not completely sure why that is, but I think I have been waiting for the inspiration to write new words. Thoughts of new clarity, hope, healing.
We have just passed the three month mark for Angeline's loss. There are moments where I still experience a wave of horror when it occurs to me that this really did happen. On the other hand, I have gotten to a point where I can usually tell my story without becoming extremely emotional, without tears. There are still tears in private sometimes, of course. When I see parents who have experienced a very recent loss, I appreciate the progress I have made in the past several months. Mercifully, I have the sense that time has been passing very quickly, and I am thankful for that.
I do not really subscribe to the Kubler-Ross "stages of grief" model. Why? Well, to start with, she developed this concept with regard to terminally ill patients confronting their own mortality, not the loss of a loved one. Obviously, coming to terms with your own death is very different than coming to terms with your child's death (or the loss of any other loved one). In addition, as I understand it, Kubler-Ross conceptualized these stages after interviewing a relatively small group of terminally ill individuals and these stages have not been clearly demonstrated in subsequent psychology research. These things being said, I think anyone suffering the loss of their child does experience shock / denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. Not necessarily in that order, nor does every individual experience every phase.
For me, the entire first month was a blur. I don't know that I was ever in denial, per se, but I was certainly in shock. I don't even know how I was able to get through those early days. I went from being as happy as I have ever been in life, to the depth of misery that I had never before experienced. It seemed so perverse, so unnatural, so horrifying.
I have experienced some anger. I think that my anger was most apparent around the time of my due date. It wasn't so much that I was angry at God, or angry at my fate. I had long ago come to learn that very bad things can happen to anyone, and frequently they have done absolutely nothing to deserve it. In this case, it happened to us. I became angry with the insensitivity and thoughtlessness of certain people around me. (See my previous post, "An Open Letter.") In the past few weeks I have been letting go of those feeling a little bit. I realize that there are many people out there who simply do not have the emotional and/or intellectual capacity to begin to imagine what I have gone through. The cannot appreciate how hurtful their words and actions may be. Rather than being angry, I have realized that I have a few options. One would be to educate and inform them of why these things are so offensive. Another would be to basically write them off as people I cannot concern myself with and try to avoid them. Both of these are reasonable options to consider on a case-by-case basis.
Bargaining. Now that one might apply well to people confronting their own mortality. It doesn't work so well in this scenario. My daughter is gone, and is not coming back. There is no way to bargain for her safe delivery into her parents' loving arms. Any bargaining I may have done seems to have been in terms of my own recovery. I have focused on signs of my body recovering to help motivate me to keep moving forward psychologically. Maybe that doesn't make sense to some people, but without signs of physical recovery, I don't know if I would have made as much progress in my emotional recovery.
Some degree of depression has been a constant for me since Angeline's death. Only another mother of loss can relate to the heartbreak I am referring to. The constant ache. We all know the profound sense of emptiness that comes immediately upon the death of a baby. Being a mother was the most important thing I have ever done. I loved my baby more than anything else in this world in my entire life. Suddenly, she was gone, without warning. This experience is justification for depression by just about anyone's standards. The intensity of depression waxes and wanes. Early on, it was hard to even get out of bed at times. Later, waves of deep sadness would crash over me. As time is moving on, I do continue to experience these feelings of emptiness and sadness, but with less intensity overall.
In my mind "acceptance" does not necessarily refer to a complete sense of peace with what has happened, but just a willingness to acknowledge a new reality. I don't think I will ever be totally at peace with the fact that my daughter had a fatal cardiac defect that took her life at 31 weeks. However, I have come to a point where I can accept the fact that her life may have been very painful and difficult if she had lived. I know that had Angeline been born alive, she would have required extreme measures to save her, and she may have died in spite of our best efforts. There is one thing I do have a sense of peace with regard to, and that is that God did not put me in a position of having to make the heartbreaking decision to withdraw care on my own child. I often think that if Angeline had been born alive, I might have eventually been put in that position so that her suffering could end. Instead, God took her home as a beautiful angel while she was still inside of me, the only life she had ever known. I am grateful for that, in a strange way. So, in a sense, I do accept what has happened. I know that it very well may have been the lesser of evils.
Three months out, I accept that we have been chosen to bear this extraordinary burden, the reasons for which I do not know. That is the way this life is. We don't know why we are chosen to carry such a heavy load, nor do we known why we are blessed with good fortune in other areas.
If you haven't yet seen it, consider watching the movie "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button." It is a wonderful story of love, acceptance, forgiveness, sacrifice... It will make you smile and make you cry. There are so many beautiful moments in this movie. I will quote the scene in which after years of hard living Captain Mike has come to the end of his life and says,
"You can be as mad as a mad dog at the way things went.
You could swear, curse the fates, but when it comes to the end,
Just ten weeks ago my daughter died. My precious angel, my first born, my little girl. I awoke one morning and felt her still. I tried to wake my baby up. She didn't move. I called the doctor and rushed to the hospital, still not believing it could be true. I remember the shock, no, the horror I experienced the moment the doctor stared too long at the screen. He turned the monitor for me to see myself: her body floating gently. After hours of agony waiting at home, I went in for my induction. To the Labor and Delivery Unit, head hung low, they were waiting for me. I remember the gush when they broke my water many hours later, I cried because this was the first time I felt that warm rush of amniotic fluid, and the circumstances were so different than what I expected. I delivered my baby's lifeless body just moments after midnight, they said she must have been waiting for New Year's Eve. Maybe she wanted me to know that a new beginning would come at some point. The truth is, I remember every moment of this like it happened yesterday. I can so quickly return to that devastating, life-changing instant during the ultrasound. "I am so sorry," my doctor said.
And what do you subject me to? Conversations and remarks that I would hope could pause as you see me round the corner. The thoughtless comments that you make. The excessive celebration of other mothers' good fortune - yes, I am happy for them, but for how long do we need to post their newborn's photo in the workplace? Must you really carry on about your easy labor and how you enjoyed maternity leave? Why ask me about the choice of beverages for a friend's baby shower? I am nowhere near ready for that, as you know very well.
You should know better, but since you don't, I will tell you. Even when I am laughing, I am aching inside. Every day is an effort to get through. Perhaps my outward demeanor gives you the impression that I am "over it." In fact, I will never be over it. The pain will become duller and less sharp over time, I believe. There will always be a void in my life, the space left by the loss of my first child, my beloved daughter. I will survive. But sometimes surviving is not easy. It takes every ounce of strength that I have. I didn't realize it would be so soon that you would lose interest in all that I have gone through.
Finally, I would like to remind you that mothers of loss are everywhere. We are your friends, your colleagues, your relatives, your neighbors, your clients... Do not assume that life has been kind to everyone you meet. Have a little sensitivity and compassion.
Today was my official due date. How many times did I say, "The first week of March," after being asked when I was due? March 4th, 2011.
How different a day this turned out to be.
Not a bad day. I had a lovely evening surrounded by four of the most important people in my life. Certainly, it was not how I had expected to spend this day. I thought I would deliver early (most likely), or be anxiously awaiting the onset of labor.
Instead, I am picking up the pieces of broken hopes and dreams.
Lately, I have heard myself laughing sometimes. A couple times upon being asked, "How are you?" I have replied, "Good." Without thinking, without hesitance. Is it possible that I am healing, even a little bit?
I don't mean to say that I am suddenly better. Not at all. I still feel agonizing pain over Angeline's death, and my mind can wander into some very dark places if I let it. I don't expect that these feelings will ever go away, but maybe I am learning what it is like to live with this.
I recently spent an evening out with a group of mothers of lost babies. It was a girls night, where we talked about our babies and all sorts of unrelated things. We laughed a lot. I left with such a feeling of awe in the potential for recovery of the human spirit. We've all been through hell and back, yet there we were: talking and laughing, eating, having a couple drinks. I realized that in spite of the heavy weight of our respective losses, we still have the capacity for happiness, friendship, love. Maybe we are even better at those things, because we realize how fleeting life can be.
I learned that one of the incredibly strong baby-loss mothers who I know is now expecting. I felt such excitement and joy for that family. They are simply so deserving of a healthy baby to take home with them. I have heard of other new babies on the way for mothers in our online community. Each announcement gives me hope for the future for all of us.
It seems like there is a glimmer of hope lighting a dark passageway.
At the bottom of the page is a blog-hop listing, courtesy of Franchesca, of Small Bird Studio. She has organized this list of "Small Miracles, Celebrating Hope." Franchesca also inspired me to share a link to one of my favorite popular Christian songs.
It speaks of praising God not only in times of happiness and harmony, but also in times of despair and loneliness. It reminds us that God both gives and takes away.
I don't know why Angeline couldn't stay with us in this life. I choose to believe that she has been spared a human life of pain and difficulty related to her severe cardiac defect, and that she is now in a better place.
One line that seems especially relevant now,
"Blessed be Your name on the road marked with suffering,
though there's pain in the offering, blessed be Your name."
At times like this, you really do have to take it "one day at a time." Or maybe "one hour at a time," as one of my colleagues said to me. It's true. There's nothing like the shocking loss of your baby to get you to face the reality that you have little to no control over what happens to you. Instead of directing, controlling and planning as you used to do, you are suddenly in the position of taking life one hour at a time. This is not entirely a bad thing.
Since I realize that nothing is guaranteed in life, I have been reflecting on the time I did have with Angeline while she was alive. I loved her like crazy, from the moment I believed she was conceived. I was caring and careful. I think she knows how much her mother loves her. I think about how she loved the foods I fed her - I know she liked eggnog! I remember how it almost seemed like she would kick when I willed her to. I would just stop and touch my belly and think, give me a big kick - and she would! I took her to Jack Johnson concert, and thought how cool it was that my baby heard Jack Johnson live even before she was born. She went to the Grand Canyon and New York. Angeline went on a girls weekend to Vegas. Two of us were pregnant, carrying three babies altogether. We stayed up late, talking like girls do. She spent time with my family, even my brother who lives in Australia. She was loved by so many people before she was born. I am grateful for every second she lived inside of me.
On days where I am really feeling down, I have decided that I will focus on trying to be a mother that would make my daughter proud. I will never have the chance to raise her to be the woman she would have been. Somehow, I believe she still knows me. I want to be the example I would have been for her had she lived.
I know that if our daughter had grown up, she would have been a smart, practical and intelligent woman. One day, when we grew old, she might have cared for us. I know that our daughter would not have wanted us to suffer and agonize over her loss.
Angeline is with us in spirit now, and always will be.
Grief is strange. Just when you think you might be doing a little better, it comes out swinging.
This past week I had some ups and downs. The week got off to a bit of a slow start, which is probably not a bad thing for me these days. I am trying to go easy on myself, so to speak. On Tuesday, I had time for coffee with my cousin in the morning, a mid-day Pure Barre class and then went to the Perinatal Loss support group on Tuesday. I really like the group - the moderator is excellent, and I have met a number of inspiring, brave mothers suffering from losses similar to my own. I am excited to get involved with our local community network and hopefully help other parents. I was feeling reasonably good going into Wednesday, however, it is amazing the emotions that are stirred up by a trip to the OB's office. I am very fortunate to have a very sensitive, caring OB. I really do love her. She was wonderful throughout my pregnancy, and was really there for me when we lost our daughter. On this visit, she moved me up to squeeze in my appointment before rushing off for a delivery, so I wouldn't have to reschedule. She still had time to look at my photo book of Angeline's NILMDTS pictures. I was sad and thankful, but we also talked about more positive things, such as planning for the future. I left the office with copies of my baby's autopsy report. When I studied fetal and neonatal circulation all those years ago, I never knew one day I would be reading the description of my own baby's heart on an autopsy report. That was hard. Thursday was a longer day at work, but it actually felt good to be getting back into the usual groove of a long busy day. By Friday, I actually felt like I could go so far as to say I'd had a "good day." A busy day at work, laughed with people who kept the mood upbeat. The ring that Adrian and I designed in memory of Angeline was finally done. We had dinner plans with some good friends; plans originally made before we had lost our baby. This couple had their own difficulties and challenges before having their two young children. They were able to discuss our loss with compassion and understanding. They were reassuring and encouraging without minimizing the significance of our current pain. We had a wonderful dinner, drank wine, laughed a lot.
The weekend has been something of a mixed bag. Pure Barre again on Saturday morning. I love this class - it is essentially a technique that fuses Pilates, yoga and ballet barre set to great music, in a motivating all-women environment. I always feel good after a Pure Barre class. Yes, I did feel a little sad when I realized there was a pregnant woman in the class. That was me, what feels like a lifetime ago. We enjoyed the rest of the day doing our usual Saturday stuff. Early dinner and fell asleep watching movies - I think we were both just exhausted. Sunday has been a little tricky. Started out nice: farmer's market, brunch. I had the unpleasant task of turning down a lunch invitation. I just don't feel ready for an outing with an expectant friend, who is quite understandably over the moon with excitement for the birth of twin girls. I love her and her husband. They were some of the first friends I had when I moved out to California. She has been very supportive and concerned for me during this time, and it's not that I don't want to see her or talk to her. It's just that she is as happy as she has ever been in life, and I have really never been so miserable. At times it seriously hurts to breath, and it is a huge effort to maintain an upbeat demeanor when you really feel like crawling into a hole. As such, I didn't think lunch was the best idea. So, that started my downward spiral this afternoon. Later, I was looking at Valentine's Day cards, already not in the best of moods. The cards seemed so silly and superficial. I imagined walking up to the salesperson and saying, "Excuse me, do you have Valentines for parents who just lost their baby?" Instead I wandered over to the blank cards and non-Valentine love cards. I found the perfect card for Adrian. It said, "Life may not always be perfect, but your love is enough to give me hope." When I got home, he asked me if I was okay, and then wrapped his arms around me.
In the midst of my crisis, I have realized how fortunate I am in certain areas. I will focus on the big three for tonight.
My love:
Through this terrible loss, I have felt a new bond with Adrian. Prior to this, we were much like any couple happily anticipating the birth of their first child. After experiencing such pain and agony together, I feel that if we can rise out of this, we could overcome just about any challenge together. Just the other day, we were out for a walk when it started to downpour. We kept walking, and I had said, "If I had to walk in the rain with anybody, I'd want to walk in the rain with you."
Our family:
Our parents were so excited about their little granddaughter! They were completely devastated when she was lost. Their sorrow was compounded by their pain for their own children's broken hearts - they hurt because we hurt. We have felt so much love from our parents, our siblings, our extended families. Some relatives in my extended family have remarked on the time that Angeline spent with us on a family trip in Arizona. She was only 18 weeks along at that time, yet her presence was with us! It means so much to me that she is a recognized member of our family and her loss is felt by our entire extended family, across the US, over to Europe and down under to Australia.
My friends:
I have some really wonderful girlfriends. Several I have been close with for a long time, we've been through ups and downs together. Love and heartbreak, of course. Weddings and divorces. Milestones. Illnesses. Births and losses. They have been here for me as completely as a girlfriend could. Other friends from many years past resurfaced unexpectedly when they heard of my tragedy. A phone call, a card, flowers, a thoughtful gift. Still other friends in my current circles, have drawn closer. It is amazing how certain people really rise to the occasion of being a strong, caring friend in a setting of crisis. Finally, I have been privileged to make new friends with some incredibly courageous parents of other lost babies.
Other things that I am positive about and grateful for: work that I love, an amazing group of colleagues and staff, living in one of the most beautiful parts of the country, my health. So, while each and every day presents its difficulties and sadness, I recognize that I am greatly blessed in so many areas of my life.
It has been almost one month. On December 28, I had a nice lunch out with Adrian and I remember the baby kicking away while we sat in the restaurant. "She likes Tilapia," I said. After lunch, Adrian dropped me off at my OB's office for my routine check. Angeline's heart rate was checked (normal). My exam was as expected. I had a relaxing evening at home that night, I was lounging around, watching a movie. The following morning I woke up and she was gone. Just like that.
What a month...
It seems that the autopsy may yield some answers after all. Although we do not have the full conclusive report yet, I have received a preliminary report. It seems that Angeline's heart had some significant abnormalities, which probably resulted in her death. Other findings suggested that she had been in stressful conditions for some time, I believe she was hanging on and fighting for as long as she possibly could.
This came as a surprise. As I have mentioned before, none of my screening tests raised any suspicion of cardiac abnormalities. I had routine ultrasounds which were apparently normal. I actually had repeat ultrasound imaging of the outflow tracts of the heart at 22 weeks. Not because anything was thought to be abnormal, but just because she was moving so much at the 20 week scan, there was some difficulty in actually getting the views they needed. No one suspected a cardiac problem at any point.
In a sense, I believe learning of Angeline's heart defect will give us some peace. First of all, I have decided that nothing is worse than knowing nothing. In more than half the cases of stillbirth in the US, families never learn why their baby died. Not knowing is such a terrible haunting experience. The pain of thinking that your normal, healthy baby was lost for unknown reasons is excruciating. This past month I have suffered with the belief that our healthy girl was lost. It appears that our case will be one where we are afforded the opportunity for a sense of closure as regards the cause of her death.
This finding presents the possibility that Angeline's loss before birth was the lesser of two evils. If she were to have been born with a severe heart defect, she may have been subjected to surgeries and invasive procedures as an infant, maybe to survive, but maybe not. What would have been the quality of her life? It would have been infinitely harder to watch my infant girl suffer and die after trying to fix her broken heart...
So strange... Of all the things I was worried about with my pregnancy, this wasn't one of them. I was very anxious about a first trimester loss. I was a little worried about genetic problems such as Down's Syndrome. As time went on, I worried about the possibility of preterm labor - of course, by the time I was almost 31 weeks I felt I was almost in the clear. A few more weeks and she would probably do just fine, even if I went into labor early. It never even occurred to me to worry about congenital heart disease. I actually have a friend whose baby was born with Tetralogy of Fallot, and thanks be to God, did very well with his repair surgeries and is now thriving. How unlikely it would be for my baby to have a congenital heart defect!
This just goes to demonstrate something my mother and I have said many times: it just doesn't make much sense to worry, because it is not the things that you worry about, but the things that you least expect that come up and really take you down. I have experienced this and seen this time and time again.
To know that little Angeline's heart had not formed properly at a very early stage of development reinforces the fact that every life is a complex and miraculous victory. The development of a healthy baby is absolutely nothing short of a miracle. In Angeline's case, I believe that she hung on as long as she could. In doing so, she touched so very many lives here on earth.
I will close with I lovely sentiment from the website of Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep:
"There is no foot too small that it cannot leave an imprint on this world."
Twice this week I was asked the same question by two different people, "Where are you with God on this?"
Sometimes a tragedy can result in loss of faith, or doubt in one's beliefs. Alternatively, one can turn to religion for comfort. In my case, I think I have experienced a little of both, and also a third phenomenon: coming to the inevitable conclusion that we have little to no control over our path in life and making the choice to resign ourselves to that relative helplessness. So called "letting go." Whether you want to think of this as God's plan ("let go and let God"), succumbing to fate / destiny or random chance, the bottom line is, try as we might, we don't have much control over the course of our existence. At times, it is hard to remember that it works both ways - that is to say, we neither have control over what we perceive as good, nor what we believe to be bad experiences in our lives. While on some level, I am angry and upset that my child was taken away from me, I am also grateful that I have been blessed with the ability to conceive and carry a child at all, something that many couples struggle with. I am fortunate that I found a partner that I want to raise a child with. I am appreciative for the time I had to nurture my daughter, to bond with her. My feelings remind me of a popular Christian song, "Blessed Be His Name," in which the lyrics say, "He gives and takes away..." Even if you do not accept God as being in control of your life, the truth is you had no control over the circumstances you were born into, nor most of the things that led you to your current position in life. Certainly, you did not choose the parents you were born to, the opportunities you were given as a child, etc. Not to mention, so many chance encounters and occurrences along the way to reaching your current place. Some of them good, some of them bad. In my own case, I can think of many seemingly random, chance events without which I never would have carried Angeline at all. This is not to say that we have no responsibility for where we are, or that our actions cannot alter our course in some ways. My point is that there are many circumstances beyond our control that have significant bearing on our course.
In answer to the question, "Where are you with God on this?" I have answer that I don't know why God has given us the pain of this loss to bear. I am not sure why we are now heading down this new path that is so much different than the one we expected. I hope that somehow my little Angeline has been spared from pain and suffering, I hope that she is in a good, peaceful place now. I hope that her loss, that has touched so many people, brings all of us new respect for the sanctity and the miracle of life, as well as appreciation for so many blessing that have been bestowed on us. I hope that this difficult experience changes us in ways that are positive - to become more loving, more compassionate individuals. Though we did not choose this experience, it is now a part of us.
First of all, I went back to work this week. I stayed home for roughly two weeks after delivering Angeline. The physical recovery from delivery was not too bad. For two weeks I devoted myself to grieving for the loss of our daughter, reading books on the topic, educating myself on potential causes of this tragedy, reading the stories of other women, spending time with my immediate family and a few close friends. I let myself be completely miserable sometimes, and to sleep as much as I needed to. The fog started to clear. I realized that I could literally think about this all day every day if I allowed myself to. For me, it seemed right to try to start to get back to my usual routines. So, I returned to work. The first day, I felt pretty good. The second day, I cried on the way home. Ups and downs are to be expected, I think. I am so fortunate to work with a wonderful group of people, who have been incredibly supportive and sympathetic. Even those I have not been close with have simply approached me, saying, "I'm so sorry, we love you," and hugged me, which has meant so much to me. It is just so hard to keep my head up and keep smiling, though.
Mid-week I started to become slightly more anxious about the results of Angeline's autopsy. Although her body was released to us the first week of January, the pathologist has not given any report to my obstetrician as of yet. We had hoped to have a full report early this week. We have heard absolutely nothing, and the pathologist has been quite difficult to contact, from what I understand. On Thursday, the staff at my OB's office was finally able get though to the pathologist's office and speak to one of his staff. It seems that the results are in progress, but may take up to sixty days for a full report. Can you imagine? Sixty days to hear why your baby died. To me, this seems like a very long time for a bereaved family to wait to hear any explanation. I am trying my best to be patient.
Today, I had my hair done. At times when you feel absolutely horrible on the inside, sometimes it helps to look good on the outside at least! Not to mention that any good hair stylist is a great listener and part psychologist. In my case, I also have a stylist who is deeply religious. So, it was a good experience all around.
For the time being, I am going to try to go easy on myself. I am not going to hold myself to my usual standards for efficiency and busyness right now. I am going to relax over the weekend, get rest, read, spend quality time with those close to me.
Well, it seems like I am experiencing a little anger, after all. Not anger at any one individual. I am becoming increasingly angry about how the issue of pregancy loss, both miscarriage and stillbirth, seems to be neglected and devalued by our society at large, including the medical profession. I am wondering just how many babies have to die, and how many families have to endure untold pain and suffering, before due attention is paid to this issue. In a society of our wealth and resources, you would think that a little more could be directed at saving the lives of our unborn children and protecting the health of pregnant women. In the past few weeks, I have learned more than I ever wanted to know about these issues. I have been astounded to learn how common certain disorders that may contribute to pregnancy loss are. In particular, I have to wonder why women aren't screened for some of these risk factors preemptively. How much could it cost? I had to lose one child in an early miscarriage, and lose my unborn daughter at 31 weeks. This earned me an evaluation for risk factors for pregnancy loss. Isn't that too high a price to pay?! I now have to wonder if my daughter's death could have been prevented with more extensive screening for these risk factors.
I recently learned of a website called "Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope." See their link on the right side. The women featured on this website share their stories to raise awareness of issues related to miscarriage and infant loss. I give these mothers so much credit for sharing their private heartbreak in a public forum. Other women, and men too, need to hear about these issues, which are all too common. Please consider visiting the website and reading some of the stories.
In spite of what I believe to be legitimate anger and frustration, I constantly remind myself that nothing can bring Angeline back. Time is passing. It has been more than two weeks since I held her and said goodbye. We received her ashes and brought her home. The prevailing wisdom among many of those around me seems to be that it will help me to get my mind off of this a little. I have tried following my own advice from my last post. We have gotten out of the house now and then, tried to distract ourselves in various ways. I still feel that I could think about what has happened every minute of the day, but I know this won't change anything. It is time to try to pick up the pieces and start putting my life back together.
I think that there is definitely something to be said for immersing oneself completely in grief. For some period of time, I think this is the right thing, and the healthy thing to do. After a loss, sometimes being consumed by grief and not running away (or trying to hide) is the only way that the new reality sinks in. My new reality: "my baby died," and "yes, I have a child, she died." As horrible as it feels to say these things, it is the truth and it is now a part of who I am.
But what about the rest of who I am? What about all the things that made me who I was before I became pregnant with Angeline? As one of my girlfriends recently reminded me, those things are important, too. The sad fact is that nothing can bring my daughter back, nothing can change what has happened. While respecting my loss and experiencing a period of grief, we must somehow pick up the pieces of our shattered expectations and move forward. Not move on, exactly, but move through. Part of moving forward will be trying to take an interest in things I cared about before this terrible tragedy happened.
To be honest, it is hard to force myself to feign interest in going to dinner with a friend. I am not too hungry, and I don't know what we'll talk about. I will go, however, because my friendships are still important to me, just as they were before - probably even more so than before. I realize just how valuable good friends are; relationships need to be cultivated and should not be neglected.
The same is true of one's relationship with their partner. In Dr. Davis's book, she says, "Remember that before you were parents, you were friends and lovers." Even though we are both hurting very deeply, I think that we need to try to take an interest in things and activities we previously enjoyed together. We need to remember what we loved about each other in the first place.
I will be going back to work soon. Work has always been a large part of my identity, since it took so long for me to train to become the professional that I am now, and it consumes so much of my time. I will be re-entering my work environment as a changed person. I think that going back will help me to remember who I was before this happened.
So, in these next few days, I will be focusing on remembering who I was before while still acknowledging who I have become.
It has only been two weeks since our nightmare began. It seems like much longer. It was two weeks ago on that fateful Wednesday morning that I suspected something was wrong and went to the hospital for the ultrasound that would change our lives forever.
From the very beginning, I have tried my best to deal with this devastating experience in a way to minimize the collateral damage. Even as I underwent my induction of labor, I started reading parts of the book "Empty Cradle, Broken Heart: Surviving the Death of your Baby," by Deborah Davis, Ph.D. This book deals with the subject of pregnancy loss and infant death in an extremely sensitive and insightful way. I considered the book's recommendations for affirming my baby and creating memories. I was fortunate to be delivering at a hospital that has an excellent program in place for perinatal loss. In addition to compassionate care from experienced Labor and Delivery nurses, the hospital protocol encouraged and helped me to acknowledge my baby, the loss of her life and to create tangible reminders of our experience. After the delivery, I held her and took time to look at her delicate, lifeless body. The nurses took pictures of me with the baby and the baby alone. They created a keepsake box with various items such as her baby blanket, her pink hat, hospital bracelets, a small photo album and a CD of many other photos. A photographer from Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep came in the morning; she created beautiful images that I already cherish.
I have been so grateful to the many expressions of support and sympathy from family, friends and colleagues. I received many calls, texts and emails even while in labor in the hospital. From the time we came home, 12 hours after the delivery, we started receiving cards, flowers and food from our network of support. My mom flew across country to spend the week with us. Several of my girlfriends have been particularly wonderful - we have been through thick and thin in the past, and they have been there for me at this time I needed them the most. My colleagues at work covered for me and encouraged me to take off as much time as I needed. In the midst of our agonizing grief, I have not felt that we were alone.
We have had some very hard days. The day we went to the mortuary to sign paperwork allowing our daughter's body to be released was very difficult and affected me deeply. I chose an urn for her ashes: "size appropriate for infants up to six pounds." We still anxiously await results from pathology and autopsy. We have no answers, to this point we believe she was a normal, healthy girl.
I have started attending a perinatal loss support group. It meets on Tuesday evenings and is very well attended. I have been impressed with how constructive this one hour session seems to be. I plan to keep going and I expect it will help me significantly with the process of grief and eventual recovery.
We put away our baby things. I viewed this as an act of hope - our little Angeline won't need these things, but we hope that someday we will use them for her little sister or brother.
We went for long walks. We talked about how we felt. Although we have different styles of coping, I think we are both doing as well as can be expected.
