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

Beauty from ashes

These past few weeks, I have been visited by this nagging itch... An itch to do something with what has happened to us and our daughter. I want to reach out and make a difference in her name. That's why I started this blog in the first place, to hopefully speak a word that could encourage even one person. Or to bring awareness into this world where stillbirth is for the most part considered a taboo subject. But this blog alone has proven to not be enough. Yes, it has done some good so far and I have been so blessed by the comments and messages I have received from people. But there is still a nagging in my heart that there is more to be done.

I'm not quite sure what I am meant to do. But I know I am meant to do it. There are a lot of other Babyloss Moms out there who are putting their talents to good use for other fellow Moms out there, through websites, photography, jewelry making, etc. I have a love for photography. But when I consider that as an option, I draw a blank on what I could do with it. I think I'd even be willing to do what Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep does... going to hospitals to photograph families with their sleeping babies. I wasn't offered that when Avery died. Maybe that organization isn't available to my area.
I do feel like the hospital I delivered at was slightly ill-prepared for my situation. There would a lot of things that could have been done much differently, aside from the few amazing nurses I had that had once been in my shoes. But once their shifts were over and they had gone, it was a different story. Maybe I could put together a program for the hospital, and make myself available to counsel... Set up things to accommodate families that deal with pregnancy and infant loss. Is that even possible? Why would they allow me to do such a thing?

I'm not looking to make a job out of anything. I do not seek monetary gain for anything. I just desperately want to make a difference. I know how much an outstretched hand has made a difference for me. I want to pass that on to someone else. I don't want Avery's life to have meant nothing to this world. I want to do great things for her cause. I want to make her proud. I want to make beauty from these ashes.

Flashback 5.19.10

I was just looking through my personal journal, seeing how I've progressed in the past months since Avery has been gone. I have to say I am proud of myself, for how far I've come. The bad days are fewer and my outlook is brighter. I came across a poem I jotted down in the journal, during a very angry moment. It was just five days after my gallbladder surgery and six days after Avery's 2 month 'birthday.' I wrote it on May 19, 2010. I thought I would share it here:

Resounding loss,
shattered plans;
Desolate heart,
empty hands
Scarring wound,
gaping hole;
Wavering faith,
tortured soul
Broken dream,
darkened light;
Stolen hope,
tormented nights
Plaguing thoughts,
crippling fears;
Constant sinking,
burning tears
Forsaken wishes,
perpetual pain;
Silent void,
drowning rain
Exhausted suffering,
festering doubt;
Searing absence,
suddenly without
Vacant cradle,
unuturable tomb;
Childless mother,
aching womb.

4 Months

Today marked four months since Avery was born. Four months since we said goodbye. I really can't believe that much time has gone by since we last held our little girl. But on the other hand, I feel like I can't imagine a time before this was my life. Being pregnant feels like eons ago. It seems I can hardly recall what it's like to even be pregnant and to think our little girl was coming. Avery being gone feels so much more real than her being alive and I think that's really sad. The six months she was alive feels so surreal, like a foggy dream. I remember all the details but it feels like another life. It's so strange.

It's almost crazy to me that there was a time where we ever really thought we were having a baby in June. Sadly enough, it feels so normal that she's gone. I have now been conditioned to think it's rare to have a baby, instead of it being rare to have a stillborn. To me, it's hard to imagine that women so easily birth perfectly healthy living babies. It's so astounding. Each person you see walking down the street is such a miracle. I guess I should be encouraged that there are so many living people on this planet. That means billions and billions of successful pregnancies. I guess when I think of how many billions there are, I then want to ask, "why me?" And why Kelly? Why Daniele? Why Kristin? Why Danae? Why Jennifer? Why Angie? Why Dana? Why Andi? Why all of the beautiful, wonderful women I have come to know that have experienced this as well? I don't want to start the it's not fair rant.

It's so odd how not a single woman I've met who's experienced this tragedy has even remotely "deserved" it. I don't want to use that word, because no woman ever deserves to lose their baby. But for lack of a better word, there it is. It seems like it's never the woman who neglects her children or abuses them. Never the woman who's addicted to drugs and alcohol while she's pregnant. Never the girl who got pregnant at 15. Never the woman who was going to abort her baby but only kept it because she chickened out. Never the woman who got pregnant who got pregnant sleeping around... Now again, no one deserves to lose their child, but if anyone does, why is it always the woman who is a great mother? The woman who has a beautiful marriage? The woman who spent months trying so hard to get pregnant with her husband? The woman who truly adores children? The woman who kept herself as healthy as possible during pregnancy? The woman who would even hold her breath when walking by cigarette smoke, to keep her baby safe? The woman who spent her entire life dreaming of the day she'd have a baby?

I guess these trying times only befall the strong. I'm not trying to speak highly of myself, but when I look at all the women I know who are struggling down this path, I know it's true. These women are good and honorable. I guess it takes a special woman to be the Mom of a baby in Heaven. We've been entrusted with these precious babies that could only stay for a moment. We have the capacity to honor and love them as they deserve... And in that, they live on forever.

"I miss the years that were erased..."

I had the priviledge of spending a few hours shopping with my mom today. You see, my mom is not just any mom. She is my best friend. Spending time with her is such a treat, no matter how often I get the chance. Of course it's easy to think about how Avery should have accompanied us today on our outing, but at least she was there in our conversations and in our hearts. That is something I love so deeply about my mom. She loves Avery as if she were her own child. Honestly, she is one of the few people besides Daniel who still seems affected by Avery's absence. And that brings me to what I have been thinking about... something my mom and I talked about today.

Some people just don't get it. That probably sounds mean or uncaring, but it's just the general truth. Maybe some think someone like me should have "moved on" by now. Many people probably compare my situation to be the same as a miscarriage. Not to downplay the devastation of a miscarriage, but what I went through is not the same at all. To have your baby die in your womb and then have to go through labor and deliver that baby, and see and hold that baby, and pick out a casket and bury that baby... It's much more extensive, to be honest. People may want to say that I never got to know my baby... so how could I be so upset about losing her? I know everyone is different. Some mom's don't truly bond with their babies until birth, and that's okay. But in my case, I have loved Avery since before she was conceived. I wrote letters to her before I was even pregnant with her. That's how much she was wanted! It doesn't matter if I only knew her in my womb, she is my child! My flesh and blood! And when she came out, she had Daniel's face! I love her as if she's been by my side my whole life.

Someone who loses a baby isn't just "not pregnant" anymore. Whether it's a miscarriage, stillbirth, or early infant death, it's the loss of so much more than people may realize. It's the loss of a lifetime of memories and joy with that child. A line from a Lifehouse song comes to mind: "I miss the years that were erased..." It's the constant realization of all the things they will never do... and all the things you'll never do with them. It's seeing so many women around you having everything you want, some ungrateful... just to add insult to injury, it would seem. It's all the unworn, still-tagged baby clothes hanging in the closet, in a bedroom kind of frozen in time. It's all the dates that are hard to face: first, the weekly "I should be ___ weeks pregnant today but I'm not," the due date, the anniversary of the day you found out you were pregnant, etc. It's the holidays and special days without your baby, feeling so consumed with their absence, knowing they should be there. It's all the pictures you can't take. It's the little toes you can't tickle and the chubby belly you can't kiss. It's the first teeth and the first steps and the first words that won't ever happen. The list goes on... It's so much more than being "unpregnant" and just "getting over it" or just "having another one."

I can't speak for every mother who has lost a baby, but I would rather those around me acknowledge Avery and even the fact that she's gone. I'd love to know she's missed. To bring her up wouldn't make me sad. It's not like I forgot my baby died and you reminded me! I enjoy talking about Avery. I feel like it keeps part of her alive. I'd rather people be more concerned about how my heart is healing over the loss of my daughter, than how my health is after my gallbladder surgery in May. I don't want people to pretend everything is normal. Because it isn't. I've lost my baby. And you don't "get over" that. It is not a "this too shall pass" situation.

Don't be afraid to talk to me, to ask me questions, to ask me how I'm doing and mean it. I know some people have been curious about certain things concerning Avery and I have encouraged them to ask. As long as you approach it in love and not ignorance, and it's a legitmate, caring question, there's no way you could say something wrong. And no one is expected to say the perfect thing. I know most people around me have no idea what this is like and I like it that way. I do not expect anyone to have some profound, healing statement for me. In fact, it's actually worse to attempt one of those. I wish people didn't think they had to try so hard to say something good. All you need is, "I'm sorry... I don't know what to say... But I am here for you..." To hear you're thinking about me and I'm in your prayers... It really means a lot! Just understand that I have my good days and my bad days. Sometimes I'm laughing and sometimes I'm really down. I have moments where I am angry and some where I seem out of character (like maybe now?). Don't try to convince me that I need to move on or get over it. Don't tell me I need to be positive when I'm having a dark day. Don't expect that there's a time limit for grief. Don't make me feel like my child is any less of a child because she never took a breath on this earth. Please don't let me feel like Avery has been forgotten. And please don't forget that I am a Mom, even though my baby is no longer here. No matter how optimistic I may appear, I'm still hurting so deeply and missing my baby girl every single second of every single day.


PS I apologize if any of this post was harsh. I wasn't really sure where this post was going when I started it, but I guess I have a few feelings pent up from over these last four months. None of this was out of anger or bitterness. Maybe I just want to help others understand without walking in these awful shoes?

Fireworks Never Looked So Dull

Yesterday was so hard for us.

It hit me as I packed a tote bag for Daniel and me with our bathing suits and my camera... I shouldn't be packing a tote bag. I should be packing a diaper bag. We were heading to my parents' house for the Independence Day festivities. It probably would have been Avery's first outing. I pictured her while we there at the BBQ. I imagined that she would have been wearing a patriotic sundress, all red, white, and blue. Maybe a matching bow in her hair, if she had enough hair. Everyone would be passing my beautiful newborn around, smiling at her and cooing over her. I'd be taking pictures of her to commemorate her very first 4th of July.

But that's not how it went.

To commemorate Avery and make her a part of it, I wrote her name in the air with a sparkler and saved what was left of the burned out stick. I watched the fireworks, feeling so empty and sad. Yes, fireworks never looked so dull... I shouldn't have been able to watch them. I should have been inside with my baby. She'd be too little to be around them. They'd be too loud for her. I wouldn't mind missing the fireworks for Avery. What I wouldn't do for her...

I feel like I miss Avery a lot more lately. I feel like there are more "bad days" mixed in again. I think it's changing because I know she's supposed to be here now. I got used to the "I should be pregnant right now" sadness. But now I have entered into the "she should be here now" sadness. It's a rough life to live, I must say. Not many people understand, which is actually a good thing, because you'd have to have walked in my shoes to really get it. I'd rather walk this road alone than have someone go through it and understand.

Just A Thought...

Daniel and I went out shopping today for baby stuff for a friend. It was a little hard, I have to admit. Daniel walked away a lot, and I knew it was because he was feeling upset. I teared up several times too, looking at sweet little baby girl outfits (even though we were shopping for a baby boy), knowing Avery should be able to wear it. It's so sad that she's not here. I should have been way too busy today with my new baby to even go out shopping. I think about that all of the time. How each day would be completely different with Avery here. She would definitely be here by now. Each day should be so exciting with her here, getting to know her, loving on her, taking pictures of her, showing her off, just being with her.
I long to hold my baby in my arms. My warm, chubby, moving, breathing, living baby. I can't wait to experience that and to know that we made it. I just have to give that to God. He will decide when it's time. But I know as happy as it will make me to be pregnant again, it will also bring about so much fear. I have to try not to think like that though. It wouldn't help a thing.