2010: The year from hell

It's only natural to recap the year as it draws to a close. I know I have always done that, never imagining I'd have a year like this one. As 2009 ended, I was ecstatic about life. I had life growing inside of me. I was thrilled to enter our daughter's birth year. I could not wait to reach June and have our baby in my arms, to finally be a mother. My biggest dream in life. We had no idea things would turn out so drastically different in just a matter of a few months. It's sad to think about how excited we were, having no clue that our world was about to crash down around us and shatter into the millions of pieces that we are still trying to put back together almost a year later. I long for the first two and half months of the year. When life was still normal. When Avery was still alive.

2010 definitely goes down in my history as the worst year. I thought I had things hard as a teenager, but this year taught me that I hadn't seen anything yet. I can't help but count off all the things in my head that happened this year.

Even while pregnant, in January, I was struggling with high blood pressure and had to be put on medication for it. That was stressful for me. Also that month, we had a falling out with one of our best friends and it remained that way until about September. But I did love being pregnant. It was dream come true. I didn't care if I didn't feel well or if my back hurt. I was getting what I have always longed for.

February was a perfect month. We got to see Avery on ultrasound twice. I feel guilty when I think back to how disappointed I was when they couldn't see what gender she was at our 20 week ultrasound. I actually cried because I had been so excited to finally put a name to our sweet baby and know who she was. Ha, I was about to get a real problem. On February 22, we were told there was a 80-90% chance that she was a girl. We started saying 'she' and 'her' but for the most part, we felt like waiting until we knew for sure before we made any huge gender-specific purchases or remodels. At this point, we were considering Sawyer Grace as her name, but were afraid of what people would think... whether it was too masculine or not. But we went to Target and Babies R Us to register for all girl things and we enjoyed it so much. We were so excited.

March started out good. My younger brothers' birthdays are the 1st (Sam) and the 4th (Shaun) so it started out with parties and fun. On the 5th, Daniel and I went to Orlando with his siblings and his dad to go to an amusement-type park called 'Magical Midway' to celebrate his dad's birthday. Being pregnant, I wasn't allowed on anything so I had a lot of time to sit and think to myself. I remember feeling impatient for June, just aching to be with our daughter and have her with us. I could not wait. After that, we went to Hard Rock Cafe for dinner. I was always craving guacamole, so I was sure to get it with the fajitas. I always ate fajitas when I was pregnant. It was our joke that it was Avery's favorite food. (It took me until late October to finally have them again.) When it was time to leave, we walked through City Walk. I was feeling sluggish and had a hard time keeping up. I remember Daniel's sister, Amber, asking me if I had felt the baby kick yet. I told her I had and I remember saying, "It feels just like you think it would." I had no idea I wouldn't be feeling her much longer. In one week and one day, she would be born.

That's when March got ugly. The search for the heartbeat. The dreaded horrific words of "Your baby is gone." Going  home and carrying your dead baby inside of you. Crying all night long. Being induced to deliver your dead baby, not knowing why she died, so you don't know if she will be deformed or disturbing to see. Being in pain all night and knowing you're not getting anything out of it. Having 16 tubes of blood drawn to try figuring out what happened. Delivering a tiny but perfect baby girl who can't look up at you, who can't cry, who can't grasp your finger. A baby girl who is cold and silent with death. Everyone passes her around but they're all crying with grief instead of smiling with joy. No one is cooing at her. No one is playing with her. There are no 'It's a Girl!' balloons or stuffed animals. The condolence flowers are being sent to your parents' house and the cemetery. You spend seven hours with your daughter... just seven. Instead of a lifetime. You know it's time to say goodbye when you have to stop taking pictures of her because her body is deteriorating too much. Her skin is peeling and her body is turning a deep bruised color. But you think she's beautiful. You memorize her face desperately and kiss her several more times, but it will never be enough. Reluctantly, you hand her back to the nurse, who lays her down in the bassinet and puts a blanket over her like a dead body. You don't get one last look as she is wheeled out of the room forever. You know the funeral home director will be picking her up but you wish you were taking her home. You recover a couple more hours and get ready to leave. You walk down the hall, hearing dozens of healthy living babies crying. Yours never will. As you reach those doors to exit, your arms are empty, painfully so, and you never thought you'd be one of those mothers. But you are. For the rest of your life. Mostly only strangers on your computer will understand. But for the most part, you will feel alone and left out, like a freak of nature. As if the hospital ordeal isn't enough, you have to plan your baby's funeral. You pick out the color of her casket (white) instead of the color of her crib or her nursery paint. You opt to design the funeral pamphlets and prayer cards yourself. Then the day comes and you just can't breathe.Your stomach is sick with devastation. The sun is shining but it's so dark. You sit in the first row, right in front of the tiny casket, knowing your baby is inside. She should be warm in your womb but she's about to go into the ground. The pastors speak but all you can do is sit there and fight to cry silently. You wonder if it's true that people can really die of a broken heart. You decide it's possible as you get up and touch the casket and you say goodbye along with your husband. You fall apart as two men pick up the casket and lower it into the ground. You think about how sick you feel and how unfair life is as you watch the dirt being shoveled over your baby, burying her. What did I do to deserve this? Why me? Why us? Why her? Each day soon after is just a blur of tears and headaches, sleepless nights, and pain. You are surprised to see how quickly everyone else moves on and seems to forget. But you can't. And you never will...

Suffice it to say, March was unpleasant. But April wasn't much better. Exactly a month and a day after Avery was born, I found myself in the emergency room. I had severe pain in my upper abdomen that was so excruciating, I thought I was dying. It hurt so bad, I couldn't breathe. It was scary. After eight hours of x-rays, ultrasounds that reminded me of being pregnant, and lots of waiting, we found out I had gallstones... caused by pregnancy. I could eat barely anything without getting an attack. It was awful. I quickly lost 25 pounds because I couldn't really eat and I was afraid to. My surgery to get my gallbladder removed was set for May 14th. I was actually looking forward to it. I couldn't wait to try being normal again... Well, my new normal anyway. I'm still not normal seven months later. To be honest, just about everything I eat goes right through me and I almost always have stomach aches and severe heartburn. I get sick from eating literally nothing some days. And it doesn't seem to discriminate. It happens with good foods and bad. I guess that's my new life as well.

In April sometime, I finally got all of my blood work results back and found out that I have both MTHFR and Factor II clotting disorders. That is the reason for Avery's death. A blood clot formed in her cord and cut her off from nutrients and blood supply. I try not to think about that. I don't know if she suffered. If she felt deprived... But now, knowing what is wrong with me, I am not guaranteed that this can't happen again. I try not to think about that either.

This is also when our landlords started being really mean. They truly gave me anxiety. Even until late November, dealing with them and even the idea of them stressed me out horribly. I didn't feel at home in my house. They took that away from me. It was an awful feeling. I think losing Avery has left me with that... More anxiety over things. Things bother me more, and more easily. Which reminds me... Also this year, around this time, I got to deal with "friends" that trashed me behind my back over the loss of my daughter, saying hurtful, awful things instead of being there for me. I must say that they made the death of my child worse. Nothing like being kicked when you're down.

This year has also been hard because we have been trying for another baby and it still has not happened. We started trying in June and it's been eight failed cycles. I don't know why it's taking so long. We've tried the 'determined' approach and the 'whatever happens, happens' approach. We're always waiting. Our first plans for our wedding died and so did our first child. I've spent my life that way, actually. Watching everyone else get what I want and having to wait much longer until I get to have it. And the waiting isn't just easy... Things have to monumentally not work out (ie. cancelled wedding, death of baby, etc.). I've never understood it. But I have to trust God. That's all I have.

A few good things have happened this year. Daniel got certified as a CNA and got a good job. I got a new car. We moved into a new house that we rent from my parents. It's a sweet little house that I adore so much. I finally feel at home now. I have made some dear friends online that have been a huge help during all of this. We got a Nikon D90, fulfilling my dream of having a DSLR camera....

And then my mind goes back and I can't help saying... but our baby died this year.
That overshadows everything. It's what marks this year. This year maims our life. Can't wait 'til it's over...

Do they know?

Lately, I've really been struggling with feeling like people don't get it. I'm talking about the "normal" people out there. The ones whose lives haven't been ransacked and ravaged by the loss of their own child. I don't expect people to know what it feels like if they've never suffered through it, but I at least wish I knew for certain that there's understanding and remembrance. Acknowledgment.

Is this a projection that I'm forcing upon myself? Trying to sabotage myself into believing that those closest to me have forgotten the very thing that defines me? Yes, I am defined by the loss of my daughter. That's all I see when I look at myself. It laces every thought. It's always there. It doesn't go away. Right now, my life revolves around it. I'm not being pessimistic or dramatic. It's the truth. I am the childless mother. Everything everywhere points it out and re-reminds me constantly. And each month that passes and I'm still not pregnant, while so many around me find success, it eats at me.

Do people really know what goes on after the loss of a baby? It's so easy for everyone else to move on and return to their lives. But for Daniel and me... Avery was going to be our life. So what do we return to besides our empty arms? We buy Christmas decorations for a grave while the world around us buys 'Baby's 1st Christmas' bibs and onesies for their breathing, living bundles of life. We include our dead baby's name on our Christmas cards and we fear judgment and ridicule while others adorn their cards with sweet smiling photos of their chubby, thriving miracles. This is no longer "the most wonderful time of the year." It's tainted. Everything is. Someone is always missing. And it feels like no one remembers that. Why can't people mention Avery? Why can't anyone acknowledge that she should be here? Does anyone think about her without my mentioning her? Do people ever hug and kiss their babies and think of me, knowing I can't do that? Do they realize the blessing in their arms when they think of me? I don't think mothers like me are the only ones who appreciate their children. But I would like to think that those who know of what happened to our baby would be extra grateful for theirs. Or would give extra squeezes to their little ones after imagining themselves in my shoes. Maybe I would just like good to come out of something so wretched. If I can inspire extra gratitude... even a "Thank God I'm not Nicole" then that could be good, I guess. I think I just want to be acknowledged. And not for me. But for Avery. I don't want her to be forgotten, like she doesn't matter. Like she's not a part of this family.

I wonder if everyone thinks Daniel and I are okay. They see us laughing and acting like we used to. Do they assume we're "over it?" We have no choice but to act normal. Most times we like to avoid that awkwardness we're made to feel when mentioning our dead baby, though we do love to talk about her. We talk about her together all the time. We talk about what she should be doing, whether she'd be sitting with us or if she'd be napping. She's a part of our every waking thought. Why are people so afraid to bring her up?

But this is what has been plaguing me the past couple of weeks... Do people really know? Do they realize what a hell on earth this is? How much further than the funeral this goes? Do people just view me as 'not pregnant' anymore? Do they realize someone is missing from our family and always will be? Do they know when my husband cries because he misses our little girl, I feel incredibly guilty because it was something in my body that killed her? I know it's not my fault, but had he married probably anyone else, he'd have living children. I can't help but think about that. Do people understand the devastation this loss leaves in its wake? Just because Avery never took a breath in this world, doesn't mean we didn't know her enough to love her. I really believe that's how so many people view the situation. But those people also don't know that Avery was loved and so dearly wanted long before she was even conceived.

I don't know why I feel so defensive. No one has said anything ignorant or hurtful. Not many have really said anything. I think that's my problem. I really don't want to feel like Avery doesn't matter. She is our child. It doesn't matter how long she was here or how many people knew her or how much time passes since she died. We love her, she's ours, and that's all that should matter. I just wish I knew that people remember her and think about her. When you're in my shoes, acknowledgment is everything.

Seven and counting

I've been feeling more down about our situation in the last couple weeks. I guess it's been since we packed up Avery's room at the old house. And yes, Thanksgiving was difficult without her and feeling like no one even realizes someone is missing in our family. I'm sure feeling down is also inevitable now that Christmas time is here. And Avery isn't. It's hard knowing that she should be here all cute and dressed in Christmas colors. She should be on the Christmas cards we'll mail to our loved ones. I morbidly joked to Daniel that we should use a photo of her grave, now all decked out for Christmas, for our cards. I feel angry when I think about how that's all we have, when last year, we thought we'd have her.

This month was another fail on the TTC front. That puts us at seven months and counting. Daniel and I took it extra hard this month. I'm not exactly sure why. I don't know if it's because I originally wanted to be pregnant for Christmas. I don't feel like that's it. This time, I really felt like I could be pregnant. I even finally refilled my folic acid prescription and started taking my baby aspirin again, as if I had some strange instinct. For the first time in several months, I took two pregnancy tests because I really thought this could be it. But I was wrong. And it hit us hard. I know seven months is not long for women who struggle with infertility. But I don't have fertility problems so I just don't understand why it has to take so long for me. My problem is that my body wants to kill my baby. How nice. I just wish I could get a break. My baby died, can it please not take forever to finally have another one? I know God knows when the perfect time is, and of course I don't. I have never chosen the right time and have spent half of my life waiting for what everyone else has. But I have to believe it's for a good reason.

I have noticed that several of my babyloss mom friends are pregnant now. I am so happy for them and I am keeping them in my prayers. But I do think it makes my longing to be pregnant even stronger. It's exhausting: all the trying and waiting and hoping and disappointment... I should not be trying to get pregnant right now. I should be cherishing each moment with my five month old. I already went through all the trying and more than half of a pregnancy. Now we have nothing. What really makes me feel bitter is knowing how hard we try and how desperately we want a baby. And if/when we do finally get pregnant again, we're not even guaranteed that that baby won't die too. I hate it. Of all the many many "normal" moms out there, why couldn't I be one of them?

So final

As I mentioned in my previous post, emptying what little existed of Avery's room in our moving process was a very difficult and emotional task for us. Even though it was over a week ago, I still wanted to share that day with anyone reading. It was such a huge piece of our journey through this. And maybe it can be a little window into loss for those reading, who aren't aware of the severity of losing a baby and how it continues to impact life...

Welcome to Avery's room. We found this sign a month or so after Avery was gone. It was probably not the smartest thing to do, marking a bedroom with her name after she was already gone, but to us, that was still her room. It barely got to be hers at all. So I guess we wanted to do a little more decorating for her... the decorating we didn't get a chance for.

This is really all that consisted of Avery's room. The little cart used to be out of the closet against the wall, but mine and Daniel's dads moved it into the closet a few days after Avery died so it wouldn't hurt to see it the next time we entered the room. It was a nice gesture, but there was nothing anyone could do to soften that blow. So here, in the closet, are all the things we had gotten for Avery in the 25 weeks she was with us.

The stack of books that used to sit on my night table. I loved flipping through these. I loved reading about names and reading about Avery's stages of growth and what she was doing each week. It was all so exciting.

Each week at the grocery store, I would pick up new items that I would need. I clipped coupons and loved stocking up and preparing for our baby.

This is the box that the fetal heart doppler came in. The one we ordered the night I believe Avery passed away. I ordered it on Amazon to ease my nerves. Note the date on the box. It's the day after we found out Avery was gone and the day before she was born.

And here it is. Never got to use it. I asked my doctor if I should sell it. She said I should keep it because I'll want to ease my worries in my next pregnancy. I liked that she was honest with me. I'm sure I'll be paranoid that another little heart will stop beating.

I really think she would have loved Mommy.

I adore these little shoes. I got them at Old Navy on sale. I could not wait to see a pretty little girl wearing these sweet little shoes on her chubby little feet. I pray I still get to someday.

We bought this dress to bring Avery home from the hospital in. It's newborn size but it still looked like it would be too big for her. Ha! It really was too big for her when she was born, huh? And she wouldn't be coming home from the hospital. She left there wrapped in a blanket. Not this pretty dress.

I LOVED this dress. I wish everyone could see how small those little bloomers are. When you see them, you laugh because they're so cute and little. I think this probably would've been my favorite outfit on Avery. It probably would have brought out her blue eyes.

Here's everything we had for Avery. It fits in one corner of the room. We didn't get a chance to do much for her. She was gone only a couple weeks after we found out she was a girl. And I didn't make it to my baby shower. I know it's better that way.

Daniel, sitting on the floor in Avery's room. He'd been avoiding packing up Avery's room all week. He wanted us to do it together so I waited until he was ready. Of course, I didn't want to do it either. But I knew it had to be done. And I kind of wanted to just get it over with since it would be hard to do.

I hate that what exists of our daughter is contained in boxes. This box is filled with things we have brought to her grave and have taken back home. It also has other things that remind us of her.

Here is everything, in two boxes. It took Daniel and I several minutes before we were ready to tape the boxes closed. I sat in front of the clothes box, tape in hand. That's when I finally broke down and cried. That's when I felt like this was all so final. We'd be moving out of the house she was alive in. The house where she had a bedroom. She would never again have a bedroom in our home. These boxes would be labeled 'Baby' instead of 'Avery's room.' I should have folded these clothes because I did laundry, not because I was finally packing them away, unworn, for a hopeful, eventual next sibling.

It was so weird to see the closet empty.

So empty. So final. We never even got to paint it for her.

And we made it through it.

I don't post all of these photos to make people sad or to make people feel sorry for me. I know my fellow babyloss moms out there can agree that emptying nurseries was a huge step in their grieving process. I happened to just wait forever to finally take this step. Daniel and I finally packing it all up was such a huge deal for us, I had to include it here on our journey.

I guess there's also another part of me that worries that non-babyloss moms/people don't know the severity of losing a baby. That they don't know the depths of loss's affect on us and what we have to deal with forever after. And they wouldn't know because they haven't been there. They shouldn't be expected to. How could they? But just to raise awareness of what goes on after losing a baby makes me feel better. 

So here's the extra bedroom at our new house (before we set it up, of course). It needs a paint job. I wish it was getting painted pink and that there was a crib in it. But I just have to hope for the future, when we can turn it into a baby's room. When it's more than just a closet half-full of clothes. When I have a baby in my arms that I can rock to sleep in this room. <3

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.” - John 14:1-4

Missing her

I'm not quite sure what it is, but lately, these past few days, I have missed Avery more than usual. I think it became my normal, not having her here. But right now, I feel like I hate it all over again. It feels harder not to have her with me, watching her grow, taking care of her. I think it all started when Daniel and I packed up her bedroom last week to get ready for our move to the new house. I planned to do a post about that, filled with photos of her things and her room, but I have been so busy and have no had internet access. Maybe I'll do it soon anyway... even if it is past due.

I also think it's hard to be without Avery because Christmas is coming. I was pregnant with her last Christmas, and it made the season so much more magical. When I think of Christmas last year, that's all I really remember. We first heard her heartbeat on December 8th. Our first ultrasound was December 11th. All these things colored last year so brightly. And this year, she's not even here.

I almost lost it in Wal-mart last night because I saw some really cute 'Baby's 1st Christmas' things. I picked one up and thought about how Avery would be spending Christmas in Heaven, not here with us. A part of me wanted to buy it, for sentimental purposes, I guess... Because it would have been her first Christmas... had she not died. I don't know what's appropriate or weird... I don't think there is any cookie cutter way to do anything. Because losing a baby is not natural. It's not supposed to happen. They don't sell 'Baby's 1st Christmas in Heaven' stuff. Maybe they should. Then maybe we wouldn't feel so left out. The wound wouldn't sting as much.

I saw my cousin's baby boy, Eli, yesterday. He was due three weeks before Avery was, so my cousin and I were pregnant together for a while. I always imagined that her baby and mine would be close since their ages would be so close. They live across the country so I hadn't seen Eli since he was a week or so old. All I could think about was that Avery should be here with us, getting her picture taken next to Eli and us comparing their sizes. Avery should be doing the same things that Eli can do. But she doesn't. She came and went before he was even born. They won't be little playmates. We won't see them grow up together. I did love holding him though. As much as it saddens me to be reminded of what I don't have, I cherish the chance to spend time with a baby. Someone's miracle. Someone's blessing. I love that there are babies that live. It astounds me. All I know of birth and pregnancy is death and dismay. I like surrounding myself with success stories. Even when it makes me feel left out or sad.

A friend of mine had her baby girl a couple days ago. I haven't seen her yet, but when I do, she'll be the first baby girl I will see since Avery. I wonder if that will be hard. I can't imagine what that's like... to bring your baby home and be so overwhelmed and overjoyed. I wonder what it's like to look into your baby's eyes and see her looking back at you. I'm so happy for my friend. She's going to be a great mother. I wish our little girls could be friends.

On a brighter note!! We moved on Saturday, November 13th. Avery's 8 month birthday. I am in love with our new home. It feels like a fresh start. And I like that. I have been toying around with the idea of starting another blog. One that's more general. I feel like this one is strictly Avery and our life without her. So my other blog, if I do it, will be more of life in general, day to day happenings, my marriage, that sort of thing. So be on the lookout!! ;)

Flashbacks

Today was strange. A dullness loomed over me for most of the afternoon...

We finally got a "cold front" here in Florida. It is no longer 80-something degrees... Well, for the time being anyway. Last night was in the 50s and today has been chilly as well. The weather has brought the temperature of my house to around 70 degrees, which doesn't sound too bad but for some reason, in my bedroom especially, it feels cold. So there I was, heading to my bedroom to get ready for the day, and as soon as I walked in, I was struck by a familiar feeling, a deja vu of sorts. The chill that hung in my room took me back to last winter, living in this same house, pregnant. And I was wearing an old long-sleeved shirt of my husband's and a pair of sweatpants, the same exact cozy outfit I frequented last winter... while I was pregnant. It was such an odd notion, almost like I was taken back to that time, not just remembering what it was like to be there. I walked to my night table, almost expecting to see "My Belly Book" journal and a copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting."

I cannot explain the feelings I was getting, but it was unlike any flashbacks I have had recently. Being pregnant and thinking I was actually going to bring a living child into the world feels like such a distant dream, almost like it never happened. The further I get from the time I was pregnant, the more vague those memories get. Avery's death feels so much more real than anything else about my pregnancy. So today, between my cold room and my choice of loungewear, the memories returned. I really remembered what it felt like.

I walked into the bathroom, turning sideways and looking at myself in the mirror. I thought about how much I used to do that. How I'd faithfully take a photo of myself each Tuesday to document my growing baby bump. I forced myself to stop looking in the mirror, as if I were trying to sabotage myself into getting upset. I am still not pregnant with my rainbow, afterall. I got in the shower, reluctantly, since my bathroom was so frigid. Again, I felt like I was reliving last winter. Feeling freezing despite the hot water. It's silly how something so unimportant can revive thoughts and memories of the past. But it did. I remembered my showers from when I was pregnant. I would think a lot in the shower, especially about the baby. It was so weird how real it all felt. I even touched my stomach to see if I could pretend she was there and make myself believe it. But no. Not even a reverie could be strong enough to erase what my life has really come to. And I let all of that cast a shadow over the rest of my day. Feeling sorry for myself that my baby is gone. Lately, I have just let it become my way of life. It's what I'm used to. It's just the way it is. But today I let it make me sad again for a while.

I just sat here and looked up my old Xanga blog that I began in 2004 and stopped using in early 2006 (I am brave enough to share the link!). It was such a time warp to go back and read through. My life was world's different. I pined to find love, I longed to get married and have babies. I was so innocent and naive, having no idea that my life, 4-6 years later would be this. One of my entries was on March 13, 2005. I just happened to go to a baby shower that day. I talked about how it made me feel lonely because I could not wait to have a baby and share that gift with my husband, to devote my time and my love to my child... And I had no idea that exactly five years later, to the day, I would give birth to a dead baby. Wow... Sometimes I'm still in shock that this is my reality. If you told me, the 21 year old Xanga blogger, that my first baby would die... I don't know what I would have done... or said. I never dreamed that could be me. In all my posts about waiting for 'the one,' I romanticized everything (I was right about the marriage part though... That, for me, is perfect). Even down to having babies. All their names were picked out (Avery was on the list). How many of each gender (Three boys and one girl... A boy first)... To think you can have a say in what you get... I think it might be nice to be that naive again.

Real Fall

On Tuesday, I got back from visiting Levittown, Pennsylvania with my parents and two of my brothers (Shaun & Sam). We were there for six days. It was difficult for me to be away from Daniel, but I did manage to enjoy myself. It was hard not to, what with all the beauty of an actual Fall.

I was born and raised in Florida... Before this past week, I had never seen colored leaves. Well, television doesn't count. I was amazed by the shades of red, orange, and yellow. In Florida, our trees stay green sometimes as late as December. They go from green to dead and brown. Nothing pretty in between. It's really not fair.

The weather in PA was beautiful. I went from wearing shorts, sleeveless shirts, and flip-flops to jeans, cardigans, and actual shoes (which were all purchased before we left for the trip). And since I have returned home, I have been back in shorts and sleeveless shirts! (We are getting a cold front for tomorrow, though, so the 60-something degree weather will be nice.)

Being in PA, in another place that I haven't been to in five or six years really gave me a break from myself and my life. My life as the grieving mother, not the happy wife. I don't need a break from Daniel or our life together. But I didn't realize that I did need a break from who I am and how I feel about my life since Avery died. I didn't realize how much of my thoughts are consumed by her absence or how much I notice how everyone else has what I long for. While I was away, I didn't dwell on any of that. Sure, I had some thoughts that Avery should be there with me, all bundled up with a cold pink nose. I should have taken photos of her in the orange leaves. But I didn't dwell on that there. I guess being there was a bit of a time warp for me. I grew up visiting there frequently in the summers with my family. This was the first time I'd been there since I've even known Daniel. So maybe a part of me felt like I was still a kid, with my parents and my brothers... Not the mother who lost her baby. It was nice not to feel like such a freak, such a left out person. A childless mother. Never fitting in with all of the other moms. I didn't have to deal with that. I liked it.

I loved learning how to use my new Nikon D90 camera. I loved catching scenes I have never seen before, in all their glory. I felt proud of myself and excited that I was seeing my talent play out. I missed Daniel fiercely, wishing so badly he could share it all with me too, but I loved being away from this place.

I turned 27 on October 23rd. I don't mind getting older. I think it's a priviledge to grow old, especially alongside the love of your life. But what bothers me about my age is that I am not where I wanted to be by now. My birthday last year was perfect. I was pregnant and had nothing to wish for when I blew out my candles. This year I did. I wished for another baby. A healthy one I could keep this time. (I'm still not pregnant, by the way... We're now at 6 months and counting as far as trying goes.) I always wanted to have all of my children in my 20's... or most of them anyway. Will I be able to have any that stay in the next three years? Funny how we think we can plan our lives when we're kids... "I want to be married at 23 and have all of my kids before I'm 30," I would say. I got married five days before 25 and I'm 27 with no living kids to show for. We definitely don't get to choose... Well, it seems like mostly everyone else does get to choose, but for some reason, I have never been able to.

I guess I had a lot of time to step back and look at my life while I was away. I felt so removed from everything I have been going through. I guess it was easy to feel like I was in another world, another reality. I didn't feel defined by my loss. I didn't find myself in any settings where I was reminded my arms are empty. It was nice for once. It was like I could think on the sweet things of Avery instead of the sad ones.

Regardless of how much easier it was "to be me" while I was away, I could not wait to get home to Daniel, to be with him again. It was the longest we'd been apart since 2006. I didn't think it was possible, but we bonded and grew even closer through being apart for six days. I may be without my child, but I am definitely not without the love of an amazing man I am blessed to call my husband and my best friend.

One year ago

Yesterday, the 16th, was a big day for Daniel and me. It struck a bigger chord for us than the previous day, Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Day. Yesterday was the one year anniversary of finding out I was pregnant with Avery.

I remember that Friday morning so perfectly. It was our fifth cycle trying and we were just ready to finally have our precious baby on the way. I got up early with Daniel as he got ready for work so I could take the test with him. We huddled together in our little, outdated, 80's blue bathroom at our old house, waiting for the digital screen to answer the way we dreamed of. And it did.

We were so used to seeing 'Not Pregnant.' It was amazing to see otherwise. As soon as the single word appeared, I let out something between a shriek and a laugh, and I threw my arms around Daniel, tears of sheer joy streaming down my cheeks. Daniel cried too. This was it. Our dream was coming true. We were having a baby.

After Daniel left for work, I tried going back to sleep for a few hours but it was so difficult! After finally succeeding for a little while, I got up and started writing in my pregnancy journal, The Belly Book, that we had purchased back in June when we'd first started trying. I was thrilled to be able to start answering the questions. It was like a dream come true. I pulled out "What To Expect When You're Expecting" and started reading it again, this time meaning so much more since I was actually pregnant.

Daniel didn't want me to tell anyone without him. He wanted to be there. I thought that was sweet, but I was dying with this news!! I called my brother, Shaun, planning to just see what he was up to, and maybe if he wanted to hang out to distract me from the news I couldn't yet share. BUT! I ended up telling him on the phone. I couldn't help myself! I was way too excited! This was the ONE thing I wanted my whole life besides finding Daniel. How could I keep it to myself??

My first belly pic at five weeks. I know, I already look pretty pregnant. I'm not blessed with a nice body, so most of that fanny pack you see is just me. (Please excuse the hideous blue toilet.)

So, Shaun met up with me and we went out to lunch together and then to the Hallmark store. I wanted to let mine and Daniel's parents know in a creative way. I ended up with a frame and a photo brag book.

The frame for my parents

The brag book for Daniel's parents

The inside of the brag book

I could not wait to share these little gifts with our parents and let them know they were going to be grandparents. I had to wait until the next day, a year ago today, the 17th, to tell all of them. It was our 1st wedding anniversary weekend and we were making our rounds to see our families. We were about to head off to Orlando for the night to celebrate our anniversary. First we went to Daniel's parents' house and told them and his brother, Andy. It was such a happy time. Tears of happiness. Lots of hugs.

At my family's house, we gave them their frame and they were overjoyed as well. My mom knew it. :) They took us out to lunch at Guido's to celebrate our coming baby and our anniversary. We went to the same restaurant Daniel proposed to me at, the same one we had our wedding rehearsal dinner at. I started calling cousins and other family members, sharing our news. Everyone was so happy. We felt so special.

After lunch, it was off to Orlando for Daniel and me. It felt so magical. So perfect. So surreal. But it felt like this was exactly the way it was supposed to be. We thoroughly enjoyed our night in Orlando, spending the next day, October 18th, our anniversary, on cloud nine. Maggiano's for lunch. Wonderworks for Daniel. Seeing 'The Stepfather' at the movies. Long walks up and down International Drive. Strolling around the shops at Pointe Orlando. We talked about the baby so much. All the joy that was awaiting us. We were beyond ecstatic. So ready. So happy. So excited.

Us after arriving at our hotel room. We don't get to do things like go on vacation, so this was an even more amazing treat for us.

Our 1st wedding anniversary. So in love and so much to celebrate.

Taking a walk down International Drive, so silly and happy. :)

We knew our lives were about to change completely... but just not in the way that it did. Over the next several weeks, I worried about miscarriage, like most newly pregnant women do. But after I got past the first trimester, losing the baby wasn't a thought in my mind at all. I didn't mind feeling like crap, throwing up after brushing my teeth, feeling exhausted... I welcomed it all because it meant I was about to get everything I have ever wanted. A beautiful baby with the man I love. What more could anyone want?

So now, a year later... about to celebrate two years of marriage, life is much different than we thought it'd be last year. We should have an almost four month old. We should have to get a sitter tomorrow night when we go out to dinner. I wouldn't be typing this. I probably wouldn't even have a blog. I would have Avery. We would be taking countless pictures of her, instead of her grave as we redecorate it. We'd be dressing her in Fall colors and taking her to a pumpkin patch for our own little photo shoot. We'd be picking out an adorable Halloween costume for her. She'd be at my birthday next weekend.

I can't believe it's been a year since we found out Avery was coming. And we didn't know it would be just five more months until we found out she wasn't here to stay.



October 15th - Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Day

Thinking of all of our precious babies today. <3

(Click to enlarge!)

This photo was taken by my husband, Daniel. This sycamore tree is very important to us. It shades "The Garden of Angels" in the cemetery where the babies, including Avery, rest. <3

Wishing all of you love and sending hugs on this day. Our babies will never be forgotten.

"... I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before Me." - Isaiah 49:15

I'm Still Here!

I have been very absent from this blog. I don't know if anyone noticed or missed me, but here I am. ;)

I guess a lot has happened in the last month. Daniel got a nurse's assistant job at a health and rehab center. He works nights though and that has been a tough thing for us. All last week, I cried when Daniel was leaving for work. It was pathetic! I just couldn't stand being alone all night and going to bed without him. Through this, we have realized all over again how very very VERY much we love each other. We're crazy about each other and I love that. I think I have the best husband in the whole world! :) He truly is my best friend.

Our rainbow has still not come to grace us with hope but I am okay with that. Five cycles and counting, more than it took with Avery. But... I am okay with that too.

Today (well, yesterday, since it's well after midnight, but to me it's still "today" since I have not gone to bed yet) was seven months since Avery was born. I really cannot believe that it's been that long since we last saw her and held her. But then again, it does feel so foggy and far off. Being pregnant and perfectly blissful feels like another lifetime ago.
Today, I actually went to the hospital, and to the labor and delivery suites to visit my cousin who had her baby boy, Parker, on Tuesday. It was the first time I had been past the lobby since the day Avery was born. I walked right down the same hall my amazing nurse, Daniele, led me down exactly seven months and one day before. It played out in my head, Daniele's arm around me, leading me to my room to get ready to deliver my still baby girl. How I cried and leaned on her, my husband and parents trailing behind us. The smell of the hallway struck me instantly, bringing me right back to that day as if it were happening again. It was so strange. I almost got upset. But I pressed on. My cousin was three rooms sooner than the room I'd been in. I was glad I didn't have to walk past it and that she wasn't in that room. That just would have been too much.
I was proud of myself for staying cool. But that all too familiar feeling crept in. That feeling of dread and reluctance and longing... It's so hard to explain. The one where you just hate your circumstance and you feel so desperate and anxious to change it. I feel that way a lot lately. I feel left out in my own family. I've noticed that lately. When my entire (large) extended family gets together, I feel so alone. Of the many grandchildren that live locally and come to our gatherings, I am one of four females that doesn't have any children to show for. The other three are ages 17, 15, and 6. Nice. My cousins and aunts are always chatting about kids and pregnancy and childbirth and some things apply to me but even when I pipe in, I feel like I'm just the girl talking about her dead baby again. And the longing returns. And I wish I was rocking a four month old Avery in my arms as I offered my opinion on epidurals or shared how long it took for my baby to sleep through the night. It's just hard. And it's easy to feel like people forget...

Wow, I sound like I'm not doing well, reading back over what I have typed! I am actually better than ever, believe it or not! I've never felt more like the old me than I do now. I feel so trusting of God and whatever He has next. I've been pretty happy, which is why I have stayed away. I think about my loss enough on my own without being reminded or dwelling on it. I have stepped back from blogging and Facebook because I have really felt the need for more privacy and more independence. I love all of my BLM friends but I have just needed to take a step back to work on myself and my emotional health. I need to be as positive as possible while trying again and preparing for a second baby. I guess paying so much attention to the losses just makes me feel so much more fearful that it could happen again. It makes me feel like loss is the norm and that a living baby is the rarity. I hope that all makes sense without me sounding like a jerk! :)

But I'm still here... Picking up the pieces... and not moving on, but living on.

6 months

Avery was born six months ago today. I really cannot believe it's been half a year already since we saw her and held her. Time goes by so fast. I was six months pregnant when she passed away. Six months, one week, and one day to be exact. I think I will have a hard time when I hit the day where Avery has been gone longer than she was here with us. It's sad how it won't take long to get there. She was here for such a short time. Should have been so much longer.

I went out with my mom today to buy things for our new house. Paint. Light fixtures. Bathroom mirror. Ceiling fans. It made me really happy and excited, but of course, I couldn't help thinking about how Avery should be shopping with us. Our day should have been revolving around her nap and her feedings. I really wish that's how the day was. I guess we will always think of our "alternate universe" life. How the days should be.

Avery isn't here. She never will be. As the months go on, that reallization becomes more and more 'normal.' The monthly anniversaries of her birth get easier as time flies by. But I still miss her like crazy.

While shopping at Kirkland's with my mom today, I found a sweet ornament with an 'A' on it. So perfect for Avery. I am dreading this Christmas without her. But this will be a lovely way to remember her and celebrate her during the holidays.

Happy 6 months in Heaven, sweet baby. Mommy & Daddy love you.

Another No

Another month gone. Another month with no rainbow.

I try not to get too sad but I really can't help it. Today was really hard for me when I found out that I wasn't pregnant. Again. I know it's only been four cycles. My amazing cousin went through 43 cycles before she had her sweet son through IVF, so I know I should not be complaining. But still... After a loss, it's so hard to be patient and wait for what we should already have in our arms. I am grateful that I have the ability to get pregnant... But it's the staying pregnant that's the issue.

It took five cycles with Avery. I got pregnant in September. Found out in October. If I were to get pregnant next cycle, it would be the same exact timing as with Avery. The fifth cycle trying. Due in June. I don't know if I could do that. I think it would be sad to experience the same milestones at the same times of the year but with a different baby. Would it be confusing to me? Would it be too 'deja vu' and not feel like a second child, but (if this makes sense) Avery again? I wonder if we should take a TTC break for the next month... But time is ticking away. And this takes long enough without prolonging it and taking time off.

I spoke to another cousin of mine today (my best friends are my cousins and siblings, just a little FYI) and she said that maybe getting pregnant around the same exact time I did last year might just be a blessing in disguise. How would I feel if October 16th (the day we found out I was pregnant) came around and still no baby? (Of course that day is preceded by Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Day, so I am in for a treat!) I think my cousin has a point... I really just think that I would like to pregnant by Christmas. The thought of the holidays makes me feel sad and I'm actually dreading Christmas this year. It just reminds me of being pregnant with Avery and thinking that it would be our last Christmas without her... Actually, it was our only Christmas with her.

Anyone who has tried to conceive knows how frustrating and tiring it can be month after month. How much 'work' it gets to be. The money spent on pregnancy tests, ovulation predictor kits... (And the insult of having to buy tampons after every negative!) Again, I am grateful to be able to do so, but I am just in awe and wonder over how people get pregnant on accident. How does it not happen month after month when trying on purpose but for some people it can just happen on accident when they're not even paying attention to their cycle? Awesome for them! But it's so disheartening to me.

There have been some articles online that some lovely BLMs have passed on to me or mentioned to me about taking baby aspirin while TTC and how it might affect ovulation. I stopped taking my baby aspirin a couple weeks ago so if it was affecting my ovulation, this could be why we have had no success yet. Maybe without it, next month will be another story. My hematologist did tell me to start taking it after I find out I'm pregnant anyway. Who knows...

This post may have been somewhat pointless... Mostly just my rambling on and on and on. Nothing eloquent or moving. Nothing life-changing or profound. But these are my thoughts, late at night. And this is my blog so here it is. :)

Confession

*Caution: Possible triggers*

There's something I have been keeping to myself lately. Keeping it from my blog is omitting a huge piece of my journey toward healing. That's what this blog is all about. I only ever want to depict my true self and be nothing but honest and real. So here it goes... Since June, Daniel and I have been trying to conceive our Rainbow Baby.

For those unfamiliar with BLM (that's 'Baby Loss Mom') terms, a 'Rainbow Baby' is a baby that comes after a loss... The rainbow after the storm.

I have been keeping this to myself because I've been afraid what others might think or say about it. Will people I know pass judgment on us because we're trying to have another baby? Will they think we don't miss or love Avery anymore? That we're over her? Will they think I'm too unstable to handle it? Will they not trust that a lot of prayer and thought and discussion has gone into this decision to try again? On top of living without Avery, and the worry of a repeat and all of the care and stress that will go into a second pregnancy, I don't think I can take any unsupportive judging chatter (that's unfortunately probably inevitable). So we have only told family and close friends so far.

And then I worry about my lovely fellow BLMs... Some are still very tender, with such raw pain, and deservedly so. I don't ever want to cause them any extra pain by throwing a topic in front of them that they are not ready to think about. I know the mere thought of another baby killed me when we first lost Avery. I would get upset at people who suggested it so soon after her passing. I couldn't imagine allowing another child to grow in my womb... To me, at that time, my womb was still hers. So, I've been afraid to put this out there for someone to stumble upon and have it hurt them in any way. I care so much about this community. I hope this post doesn't cause any anguish to anyone that may read it. I just didn't know how to document my journey without including this.

Taking the leap of faith into trying again is a huge step in the healing process. It took a lot to arrive at this point. We are in the middle of my fourth cycle of trying and each month that it hasn't happened, my husband and I have dealt with much disappointment and some sadness. Each month, I have wanted so badly to document these emotions here, but just wasn't sure if "the world" should know. Til now, I guess. It's such a big part of this story. How can I leave it out? Soon, there will be more of us taking this leap of faith and maybe my words can help them. I always long to help others in my shoes. It's become my purpose lately. I guess that's why I fear my news alienating or triggering pain for anyone or making me irrelevant to any of the Moms I have loved ministering to.

I am definitely scared to death, to be honest. Of course it crosses my mind often that this could happen to us again. That is my biggest fear. I pray to God that I never know what it's like to lose another child. But I can't hide from it forever. I can't let the fear win. Having a baby has been my dream in life for as long as I can remember. I will not lay down and die. I refuse to let go of that dream. Some days I'm not sure I can handle the risk. Other days, I feel so strong and sure. I know it will fluctuate constantly. I know there will be joy and fear in my next pregnancy. There will never again be any pregnancy bliss that I only knew with Avery, before I ever dreamed that I could lose her. But this time we'll know the precautions. I trust that God will give us strength.

I know another baby will never fix the wounds Avery's death left on our hearts. But another baby might be able to put band-aids over them... Maybe stop the bleeding. I know a new baby would bring about a whole new heap of things... showing us what we never got to experience with Avery. Or how she's not here to meet her little brother or sister. And lots more I won't find til we get there. But if we can get that baby home, alive and safe in our arms forever, it will bring a sure piece of true joy to our hearts.

After sharing all of that, I hope that it hasn't bothered anyone. If it has, I am so sorry. <3
I would like to ask anyone reading to keep Daniel and I in your prayers. This is such a huge step in our lives and we need all the help we can get. We are making ourselves vulnerable and putting our hearts on the line once again. I know once I am pregnant, times will be hard, some days will be scary. I ask for encouragement, prayers, and support if you're willing to offer it! Thank you so much. With everything I am, I thank you. <3

Back on a brighter path

This rollercoaster is such a crazy thing. It's so weird how sad I can be one day and be better the next. My last post, I was very down. I hadn't cried that hard in a while. Three days later, I feel okay again. Oh I miss  my little girl, but it's not paralyzing or suffocating. Not today anyway.

I noticed so many little things that kept happening on Friday while I was having such a hard day. It was almost like God was trying to send me little things to ease my pain. After my post, I decided to drag myself out of my bed to get myself together. My pastor called to remind me about the men's breakfast the next morning if Daniel was interested. But then he asked me how I was doing. It was so genuine and so specific. I knew exactly what he was referring to. I love when people remember to ask how my heart is. How I am doing without my baby. I told him I had been having a hard time the past few days and he was so kind and encouraging. He used the personal experience of losing his mother years back and how it still affects him to this day.

Also on Friday, I got a card from one of my BLM Penpals in the mail. Perfect timing!! I got a call from my brother, wanting me to come over and spend time with him. He's always a breath of fresh air. He's such a crazy guy with such a great personality. It's hard to be too down around him. Get all three of my brothers together and forget it! :)

There's a difference now when I return to darker moods. Before, when these wounds were fresher, the mood was so much more hopeless and horrible. Now, even when I am crying and feeling desperately sorry for myself, I still have this knowledge that God is there beside me, broken because I am broken. He feels about us how we feel about our children. He hates to see us in pain. In the beginning, I wanted to blame Him, but now I know to put all of my trust in Him. He knows what's ahead on my path. I don't. I would never want to walk this road without Him.

Relapsing rant

I've been doing so well... But not these past few days. I'm not sure why I've been so down and sad lately.

Oh wait.

Of course I do. My baby died.

But I really had been doing well. Feeling happy. No tears for weeks. Of course I missed Avery and thought about her constantly during those good weeks. But I felt hopeful and joyful. And I was so grateful to be able to feel those wonderful emotions so soon after losing my most precious gift. My Avery.

Maybe my happiness stemmed from the excitement of the new house. Maybe the plans to get in there and clean and paint distracted me from my pain. Now I realize there isn't much left to do to the house until we can finally move in November. So now that the house excitement has died down, is that why I'm feeling sad again? No distractions to divert the attention from my empty arms?

This happened back in May as well. I was having gallbladder attacks because my pregnancy had triggered gallstones. It was awful but it distracted me from what was going on in my heart. I was preparing for the surgery, all the while living in fear of having another attack. I could barely eat anything; I mostly lived on lettuce. I lost a good 18 or so pounds and felt excited about that. Then came my surgery. And I was special again because I'd been through that. Everyone wanted to know how I was doing and how it went. The attention felt great again because it hadn't lasted long enough when we lost Avery. But then it was over. I wasn't immobile anymore and my incisions were healing. Distraction gone. Pain returned.

So I wonder if that's all my happiness ever is. If I'm just distracted long enough to believe that I'm so much better. I don't know... I don't want to be down. I don't want to be sad. I think people expect me to be okay and to be strong. I feel sometimes like I have to  perform and put on a happy face. I feel like there are people out there that I have to prove something to, because they insist on thinking evil about me, judging me through this without even knowing how I really am. Because they're not even there for me. But please tell me why I have to worry about what other people think? How come we're expected to cater to their feelings when this happened to us? God forbid it ever happened to them. Then they'd expect us to be completely accommodating. All we want is to grieve as we may. However we feel, that's how we feel. We have the right to have recurring sadness. It doesn't mean we're insane. We're not dangerous or deranged because our babies died. We love babies and hold them more sacred than we ever have.

I guess I've just noticed this trend. All of the wonderful baby loss moms I'm friends with struggle with so-called friends being vicious to them over their loss. Expecting them to move on and not be so "negative." I'm sorry... When did the death of a child become so insignificant? Why do people act like it's not worth aching over? I didn't bury a pet when my daughter died. She was my flesh and blood. She looked like my husband. We made her together out of love and she was ours. No one should ever act like I don't have the right to grieve her without deeming me unstable or... dangerous. My baby died. How does that make me a bad person? Do I really deserve the ridicule when all I need is for people to reach out in love? Have I not endured enough from the loss of the only thing I have ever really wanted out of life besides my sweet husband? Having a baby was the dream I have lived to see come true ever since I was a little girl. Avery has been wanted since I was a child... Not since we started trying to conceive. My love for her goes back a long ways... Back to the playing house with my cousin, Heather, days.

I miss those naive days. When you had no idea anything bad could ever happen to you. When you thought getting pregnant happened easily, and that getting pregnant meant you were having a baby in nine months. When you thought only old people passed away. Funerals were only for grandparents. Way back before life really got a hold of me and showed me what pain is.

Day of Hope

Today is August 19th, the Day of Hope we've all been preparing for. I really wanted to donate some memory boxes to the hospital Avery was born at, but right now money is super tight. That doesn't mean I can't do something down the road though! All of us can still make a difference, on August 19th or any other day. I hope we never lose that drive we have, to do great things in our babies' names. I hope we can continue to raise awareness and abolish the taboo that society still holds over infant and pregnancy loss. We have just as much a right as any parent to talk about and share our children with the world.

I think about all of the wonderful women I have met in these past few months and how each of us has such a similar story. We are all battling the same feelings and pains. We're all so different, yet so alike. "Friends become strangers, and strangers become friends." It's so true. I have never felt more supported than I do by this community. No one wants to be a part of it, but we do cherish what we share together. There really is such a bond.

On this day, I hope my fellow BLMs really do vision it as a Day of Hope. There is hope. I have begun to find it. It didn't happen overnight, and sometimes I lose sight of it. But we do have to hope for a better, happier tomorrow. I always think, our sweet babies want that for us. It's okay to cry for them, but they would love to see smiles on our faces and joy in our hearts. :)

To all the sweet babies in Heaven that I know Avery calls her friends: Stella, Stevie, Leila, Julia, Evan, Jonathan, Kamryn, Liam, Logan, Brody, Wyatt, Patrick, Alyssa, Kenny, Ailis, Noah, Eli, Hannah, Isaac, Laken, Harper, Acacia, Brodie, Isabella, Blaine, Ciaran, Wyatt, Drew, Kennedy, Natalie, Lyra, Jacob, Aiden, Aidan, Charlotte, Caroline, Audrey, Lillian, Bailey, Mikayla, Sawyer, Jack, Valentina, Caleb, Mason, Gabriel, Tristan, Angelika, Jackson, Jayden, Emily, Blake, David... just to name too many. <3

And to all their Mommies and Daddies who love them so.

The joy of the Lord is my strength

There's been a change this week.

I can feel it. I can feel something deep inside of me. I can see it. I can see it in my face... in my eyes. I can hear it. I can hear it in my laugh... in my voice.

It feels, looks, and sounds a lot like something familiar. Something I knew once upon a time.

Happiness.

Yes. I don't know why the sudden, more frequent shift has taken place, but I know that it has. I welcome it with open arms. I know God is healing me, running His sovereign loving hands over my wounded heart. Today, for the first time since we lost Avery, I feel genuinely happy.
I never thought I would ever feel that way again... or at least not so soon anyway. But there is no denying what God has done in me. I have prayed for it and hoped for it. I have wanted to live happier for my daughter's memory. I want to think of her and smile, instead of cry. I feel like I am finally beginning to achieve that. I know I owe it to God, but also to the people who have really been there for me, and that also includes this beautiful community of "Baby Loss Moms." Surrounding myself with so many lovely women who know exactly what this is like has done so much for my heart. (I love you all.)

By no means possible am I "over" my daughter and what has happened to us as a family. I will always miss her, despise her absence, ache for her presence... But that doesn't mean that I have to dwell in an empty shell of a person, as a sheer suggestion of who I used to be. Happiness does not mean I love or miss Avery less. It is okay for healing to take place.

It's been just about five months since I last held Avery. In the beginning, I embraced my pain and didn't desire progress or improvement. I just wanted to drag myself into a dark hole and fall asleep forever or pray to pass away. I think that's part of the grieving process. At first, we don't want to get better. Getting better feels like moving on or not caring, but really it isn't. We do reach a point though... a turning point... Where we are willing to try. Willing to get better. I reached that "willing" place at the end of May, almost two and a half months after losing Avery. Now, I think I have crossed out of "willing" into "being." I'm being more myself, being happier, being more alive.

No one is the same. No one has the same time frame. There's no limit on grieving time or healing time. I believe I will grieve Avery as long as I live. But that's just the thing. I am still living. I have to live the life Avery never got to. I want to live for her. I want to smile all the smiles she'll never smile. I want to laugh all the laughs she'll never laugh. Well, not this side of Heaven anyway.

Sometimes

Sometimes I think I'm really good at my new life. Sometimes I think I can do this. Sometimes I think I'm fine. Sometimes I think it's not so bad to carry this burden and be a witness or an encouragement to whoever I come across. Sometimes it hurts less. Sometimes I'm distracted enough to forget to hurt.

Other times, I can't stop thinking about what has happened. Other times, I am fully aware that my world is fraught with brokenness. But all the time? I miss her. I know that's never going to go away. The triggers are everywhere. I am reminded everywhere I go that Avery is not here.

But sometimes I feel stronger and triggers don't have as much of a physical impact as they did in the early days. But at least now, I just seem to have bad/sad moments and not bad/sad days... Or bad weeks. I'm more myself now, which surprises some people. I'm not psychotic or dangerous. I'm not suicidal or depressed. I'm still me. I just have a lot of pain in my heart.


Last night, my husband and I were having one of those 'stronger' moments and we decided it was time to look at the CD we actually requested from the hospital, with the images from the ultrasound that confirmed that Avery was gone. It brought me back to March 11th. How I felt to be laying there, knowing in my heart what they weren't saying. Oddly enough, seeing these images made me feel closer to Avery. To read the notes of her measurements. To see her little body as it was for the last moments in my womb. I cried a lot last night.

One of Avery's last ultrasounds where they could not detect her heartbeat (no fhr seen). You can see the line over her heart, trying to find a tone, and the flatline across the bottom. :(

My husband then got out our photos of Avery and we went through all of them. And I cried even more. It's amazing how much emotion we can hold back with these flood gates. It's crazy how easy it is to let them all out every once in a while. But I think that's good. I think it's part of the healing process, to have a good cry every so often.
I actually think if I stopped getting sad sometimes, it would upset me. I know it probably sounds silly, but I feel like if I never got sad over Avery's absence, then it means she's less a part of me. Like I'm less connected to her. I don't ever want to be okay with her absence. Sure, maybe it could hurt less as the years go on, but I wouldn't mind in the least, if her sweet face could still bring me to tears when I show her photos to my grandchildren.

Letter to God

Dear God,

I know things were a little rough between us four months ago, but I know You understand. I used to be kind of upset with You because I couldn't believe You would allow something so horrific to happen to Daniel and me. But now, as my deep wounds have stopped bleeding and I have let You wipe the tears from my eyes, I can see that You were holding me all along and that You did not bring harm our way. You are all-knowing, so You knew it was coming, but You didn't snap Your fingers and make it happen to our little girl. I believe You are at work, trying to help me make something beautiful out of this catastrophe. Something to further Your Kingdom. I thank You for staying by my side, even when I forgot to invite You in.

Thank You for allowing me to see who my true friends are. Those who did not falter, or leave me by the wayside, or cause even more grief during the most difficult time in my life. Please give me the strength and the patience to accept those who do not understand and who slander or offend. Thank You for the family and the friends who have not ceased to pray for us, who let me be myself, and who encourage and help in the healing process. Thank You for bringing back those who didn't know how to be there, but still loved and prayed behind the scenes. Thank You for all the beautiful, fellow Babyloss Moms out there who have been a tremendous support and precious new friends. It amazes me how compassionate strangers can be, when you share a common heartache. Lord, please comfort each and every one of those sweet Mamas who are missing their babies. Bring peace to their hearts and show them Your love. Thank You for the lives Avery has touched and the lives she will continue to touch with the story of her little life. Please let others see how precious and fragile life is, and learn to appreciate the blessings they have instead of focusing on things that don't matter. Please use Avery in any way You can, to reach as many people as possible for the good.

I thank You for our sweet daughter. Even though she wasn't here long, her life with us was the happiest times I've ever had. I don't understand why this had to befall us but I know that You will make the best of it. I am so grateful to You that You allowed me to be the mother of that sweet, perfect little girl. She was the greatest thing I have ever accomplished. I am so proud to be her mother. Thank You for knitting her so lovingly in my womb. I know she's there with You right now. I know You're taking care of her and she's happier than earthly minds can fathom. Give her a little hug for me? Tell her Mommy loves her? Thanks, God.

I pray that You work in me. Continue to heal my heart and Daniel's heart. Please heal my body and shield our future children from the hazards of my blood clotting condition. Please, Lord, never allow us to know what it's like to go through this a second time. Strengthen us and prepare us for the things You have for us in the future. We place it in Your hands. Thank You for remaining at my side, even when I blamed You for our demise. Thank You for never letting go. I love you, Lord. And even with this broken heart, I will praise Your Name.

Love, Your child,
Nicole