The Struggle

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

Today, I held a baby.

Today, I held a baby. Two, to be more accurate.

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.

International Babylost Mother's Day

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.

They are beautiful mothers, every one of them.