One month

Can it already be that time again? Am I really sitting here staring at her tiny stocking thinking again that she should be here? Imagining her soft skin, her tiny curls, little bows in her hair...and that little Christmas dress. That beautiful baby girl whose laughter should be ringing in my ears this holiday season....but it's not. And it won't be. Ever. Remembering that sucks. As if that wasn't crappy enough all on its own, December means that next month is her birthday, and my darling, angel baby girl will be 2 years old. Its hard to believe that its been that long when many days I find myself still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she's actually gone. I've been putting a lot of thought this year into how I want to celebrate my little girl's birthday and I keep coming up short. The only thing that really stands out in my mind is that I want her to have somewhere. Ever since I did a little research, I realized I could have had her buried...and a gravestone is something I so badly want for her. I want somewhere to go when missing her gets to be just a little too overwhelming. I want somewhere I can run to when I need her too badly. I want somewhere beautiful where I can take her flowers, and decorate on holidays, and bring her cupcakes on her birthday. I want her to have something more than balloons and a memory. I need that. I've had her on my mind nearly non stop this month...there's just so much to miss.
Little Owen kicking and moving in my belly is bittersweet. It makes me so happy and so grateful that he's here and that he's OK...on the other hand, his kicks remind me of the way she used to kick me, the way she used to play with her daddy...the feeling I used to have just knowing she was there. Sometimes I find it hard to separate the two. I wonder if that's a normal thing. Since I lost Bella, a few of my friends have joined me in our silent ranks, in the pain that only a grieving mother or father can know. It feels different to now have people who I can really share this experience with. People who can really say "yea I get that." And they're close to me...and they are not just words....they really do get it. And so we talk, and we remember...and we know that everyday is a battle but we fight it. Its nice to no longer be fighting alone.
Christmas is a hard time of year for me. It reminds me of all I don't have...and all I can't have. But it also reminds me of all my blessings. Family, my beautiful children, my husband...all those things that make it worth it when I have to get out of bed each morning and face a world that doesn't have her in it. Yes, there's much to rejoice in this year, and every year after. She's not with us in body, but we have an ever present, very real angel to adorn the top of our tree...and that's pretty special.

Bella, Baby G, Owen, and Hope.

Pregnancy Week 22. I've been waiting for this week, this post for awhile now. A lot of thoughts, and emotions have been poured into it, I've been working on it...in pieces for weeks now. Week 22 is bittersweet for me, it's hard. Here's the thing about losing a child. Once it happens, the "what if's" never really go away. So...here we are, smack dab in the middle of a (for the most part) healthy pregnancy, with a baby boy who, every single week proves to me how strong, determined, and permanent he is. And yet....so did she. All throughout our pregnancy with Bella, it never occurred to me that something could go wrong...until it did. And now, it's hard for me to imagine that a pregnancy CAN go ok, that things WILL be fine, and that we WILL hold our son...crying screaming and BREATHING.
         I saw the doctor yesterday, and they used the doppler to listen to his little heartbeat. Believe me when i tell you that his heartbeat is a sound I will NEVER get tired of listening to. There were a LOT of things about this appointment that were hard for me. Firstly, we're rapidly entering the point of the pregnancy where things went badly for my only daughter. Secondly, we've officially crossed into the difference between a miscarriage and a stillbirth which means, that's right, our little Owen is a person. (Not that we didn't always see him that way, just as far as legalities go.) Thirdly, they took me into the same little room they had me in right AFTER they told me that Baby G was gone. This little room, to me, signifies all things bad in pregnancy. Don't put me in that room anymore. Don't remind me of all the bad...I'm reminded of that everyday. Remind me of the good. Of the positive. Of what WILL be, of what SHOULD be...not of what wasn't, and what can never be.  
        So this week, will be a challenge for me. It will be full of trying to be optimistic, trying to focus on the good things. All the while, I'll be counting every kick, freaking over every ache and pain, tripping over anything out of the ordinary, and generally getting myself all worked up for what is likely NOTHING. Here are the facts. There's literally a .4 percent chance that the same thing that happened to Bella would happen to Owen. This chance is lessened dramatically by the fact that there is no exidence of placenta previa with this pregnancy. In fact, my placenta is as far away from my cervix as it's possible to be at this point in the pregnancy. That's GREAT news...and it means that what happened to Bella pretty much CAN'T happen again. And yet here I am....a week and a half from that point...around nearly the same time in the year that we got the news about Bella's and my condition. Needless to say, I'm freaking out. Every appointment has me on edge, waiting for the bad news...waiting for the shoe to drop....and then breathing the sigh of relief when, this week, we found his heartbeat, it's strong, he's still kicking, and i DON'T have to say goodbye to him. Yet. 
        Is it possible that God has decided we're ready for him? That Daniel may finally be blessed with the child he's always wanted, and that I may have done enough suffering...that my losses have been enough? Is it possible that this is really happening? That we'll get to hold him and touch him, and kiss him? That we'll watch him grow?  That years from now, I'll be watching him graduate preschool and start kindergarten? Is that really in the cards for us? Is Owen to be our rainbow baby? You can see I have a busy, busy brain. 
         So this week, I ask for prayers. I ask for love, support and understanding as I worry, fret, and freak needlessly. I ask you to understand, although I know many of you truly can't. I ask you to know that I don't try to be a downer, i don't TRY to look for the negatives...I just pray. Everyday I'm grateful for everything that Owen is, and everything I'm SURE he'll be...as soon as I get past everything that isn't, wasn't, and can't be. If you understand, tell me that, share your story, sympathize with me. If you don't understand, but you want to...ask. Nothing helps more than talking about her...about him, about it all. 
           Today, Tomorrow, And Yesterday.....we choose Hope. We remember. We keep moving forward, bringing the past with us, rather than living in it. We choose faith. We love, we lose, and we learn to live again. Every single day.     

Day 31: Sunset

Day Thirty-One: Sunset

Every morning, the sun comes up. Every night...it goes down. It brings a new day, and it ends that day. There are hard times, there are easy times....it's an adventure, it's life. The sunset reminds us that although we have struggled and dealt with trials, tribulations and pain...tomorrow is a new day. A chance to erase and start over. We are made stronger, and hopefully better by what they day has brought us, yet we have the chance to start each day again. It's a clean slate. In this picture, The clouds come together like chalk on a used chalk board. Erasing the problems, statistics, and issues of the day and readying tomorrow for what is new. As a grieving parent, that's all we have. All we can do. End each day, and begin a new one. So here's to that.

 

Day 30: Your Grief: Tell The World

Day Thirty: Your Grief: Tell The World

I'm going to let this picture speak for itself. These are both of my angel babies. Two reminders of why the world isn't perfect...and two reminders of why it's still beautiful. You can see, easily, the hurt...the feeling, the emotion. I don't need to explain it. I share my grief with all of you, regularly. Everyday. I don't hide it, I never will. It's how we raise awareness, how we share with others. How i keep them alive. It hurts, it's raw, but it's what is. No matter how hard that is.

 

Day 29: Music

Day Twenty-Nine: Music

This song still chokes me up....and takes me right back to that day. Makes me think of her...of holding her, of everything i didn't get to do. It brings tears to my eyes, and a pain in my heart...yet...it makes me remember. And you'll catch me listening to it often. If you do, You'll know she's on my mind....and that maybe you should hold me. A hand on my shoulder, a hug. If you hear me playing this song, I'm a mother missing her daughter....empty arms longing for something to hold. Be that something.

Day 28: Memory

Day Twenty-Eight: Memory

I posted this picture for one of the earlier days this month, but it's the memory of her that follows me everywhere. Anytime i see or smell strawberries, i think of her. Anytime i have cream cheese for anything, i think of her. I always think of her, and this particular thing....always owns me. Always takes me back. 

Day 27: Artwork

Day Twenty-Seven: Artwork

This is probably the closest to artwork I'm going to get. I built her shadow box from scratch, picked the outfit and then added the flowers, butterflies and other embellishments. It was a labor of love, and I'm still proud of it.