Losing Lucy

The Manic

2011-08-03T17:18:00.002-06:00

At this point I sort of know my own personal grief cycle like the back of my hand.

Today I pulled the tarp off the thrifted Barbie house that has been collecting dust in my backyard for a year, and uncontrollably went all Extreme Makeover: Home Edition on it.

Ah, hello mania. Nice to see you've shown up for the 2nd birthday party.
This is what my brain does. It picks something completely inconsequential and unnecessary and obsesses. I guess when it comes to coping mechanisms, it could be worse.

We haven't nailed down plans for "the big day" yet. But there will be cupcakes and balloons and birds. Lots of birds.

Life spirals

2011-06-21T14:43:00.006-06:00

I have a love/hate relationship with train wreck television.
I really try to not watch it. I do.
But when they tempt me with new episodes of hoarders I can't help myself. Once everyone is tucked into bed I pull out the chocolate, the tissues and indulge in an hour (or two if I'm really lucky) of pure devastation.
Last night I discovered Intervention. The episode featured a heroine addict who had basically lost all sense of self. She was doing literally anything for money to buy drugs. She didn't care if she lived or died. She is 22.
They talked a lot about the sexual abuse she endured as a teen, her non-existent mother, the lack of rules she grew up with. How all these things were the reason behind her heroine use.
Then they mentioned, in passing, that she started abusing drugs after she had a 7 month "miscarriage."

Beside the fact that 7 months is not a miscarriage, but a 3rd trimester stillborn.
No one ever mentioned the possibility that this loss caused her spiral. Before she lost her baby she was on the path to be a police officer. She was strong with purpose and a future.
Then her baby died and she became a drug addict, and never once did the interventionist, or her family, or herself put these pieces together. At least not on television.

There is no event more deserving of a life spiral than losing a child.
It really infuriated me to hear them justifying the drug abuse with the sexual abuse she endured, but never mentioning that losing her baby may have even so much as contributed.
My heart is still broken for this girl, even thinking about it now I can't stop the tears.
Yes, this is why I don't watch train wreck television. I get too attached.

Just as the media seems to be taking a giant step forward in recognizing baby loss and mother's grief (I have a mouth full to write about The Secret Life of an American teenager) I felt like Intervention pushed us all right back in the closet.
Oh you just lost a baby?
Pffft, call us when something real happens to you.

Post-Edit "But I don't know what to say"

2011-06-14T13:40:00.002-06:00

I posted "But I don't know what to say" last October. According to my blog stats, that post gets more hits than any other post on my blog. It's also the post I am most often contacted about.
It's refreshing to know that so many caring, loving people are concerned about what to and what not to say to a grieving mother. I hope that my thoughts have been helpful to some of you.

I've been meaning to add a post edit to it for a few months now. One late winter day I was reading Real Simple magazine, I don't remember the subject of the article, the issue, the author or the exact wording. She so beautifully summed up the general point I was trying to make in a very simple story.
The author shared that she came home after a hard day, if I remember correctly her mother had died. She curled up on her bed and her 2 cats immediately came to her. They snuggled in next to her and just stayed there. They (obviously) didn't say anything. They were just there. And she felt loved.

And that right there is exactly all you need to convey to a loss parent.
Your love.
Even if there are no words, but a hug, or a plate of warm cookies.
In the end it's not about what you say it's just about being there.

"What you do speaks so loud that I cannot hear what you say."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Right Where I Am project: 1 year 10 months 4 days

2011-06-09T21:55:00.002-06:00

I read about this project today and decided it is just what I need. For the exact same reasons Angie came up with the idea. I want to write about my baby Lucy, but I have little new to say.
From Angie's blog: "...You talk about right where you are in your grief and what it is like now, so new people can get an idea of the experience of grief further down the road, and so people further down the road can reflect on how far they have come in their grief."

And so here I am, 1 year 10 months and 4 days later.
Here's a short conversation I had with myself today.
"Self, how do I feel about Lucy's death?"
"Confused."

My own response caught me off guard.
That word isn't in my grief vocabulary and I'm not quite sure what to do with it.
Truth is, I am confused. I don't understand any of it. My rational brain can't compute how this sort of thing could happen and almost more so, how this sort of thing could happen and life could go on.
I'm struggling with the thought that perhaps I will always feel confused vs. the thought that I have taken a huge step backwards in the grieving process.
Or perhaps there is no backwards?
Maybe there are repeats, or new depths to old levels you thought you'd passed. 1 year 10 months and 4 days in, and I don't know yet.

Just so you know.

2011-05-28T16:41:00.003-06:00

We would have been there for you if the tables were turned.

We would still be there for you.

I learned something about my husband the other day.

He's not "over it."

And by "it" I mean the people. The people who weren't there. Who we thought would be there.

He told me that an old friend had caught him on facebook chat. They chatted for a bit back and forth, nothing serious, and ended it with "we should get our families together soon."
He told me he just wanted to say no. No, we don't want to get together with you. Because of all people, you should have been there, and nearing 2 years later you haven't been. Not even a word, and they know, oh yes they know.

I thought about it for a long time and the conclusion I came to is just this:
We would have been there for you.

The subsequent Pregnancy pt. 2

2011-05-10T14:59:00.002-06:00

April 16, 2010
I'm so scared.

Every twinge, every cramp.
I'm sure it's the end.

Last Friday I went on to base and had a blood test.
I was confident it would come back negative.

It did not, in fact. I was honestly surprised when they called to tell me it was positive and congratulations.

Every hour I go through without throwing up or feeling like death I am convinced it's all over. I am such a mess.

I was supposed to see my midwife Wednesday, but Tricare being the super quick, well oiled machine that they are, told me that my referral hadn't gone through yet.
So I had to cancel, and then Thursday morning I got a letter saying my referral was active as of the 12th.

So now I'm going next Tuesday and I am really anxious and nervous. I am figuratively holding my breath. I am fully expecting her to start the ultrasound and find nothing. Or a dead baby.

I wonder if I'll ever get over that?
Probably not.

Ben told me the other night he doesn't think that he'll sleep a wink through this entire pregnancy.
I guess it's nice to know I'm not the only one who's completely freaked out.

Oh how I wish I had my ignorance.

April 21, 2010
Update

Yesterday morning I woke up and felt horrible.
My feet and hands were gray.

But I had my first midwife appt at 10, so I got in the shower, and passed out.
The night before I had passed out too, in the bathroom. I was so sick Monday.

I spent 3 hours hooked up to an IV being rehydrated.

My appt went well, baby looks good. I can't even tell you what a huge relief it was to see that there is a healthy, growing baby in there. With a good, strong heartbeat.
I had spent so much time preparing myself for the worst, I was honestly surprised when it wasn't the worst.

I'm a little farther along than I thought, 8 weeks 3 days. Putting me due November 28.

May 5, 2010
10 weeks, 9 months

I haven't gained any weight, in fact I've lost 4 lbs.
But my belly has sort of rounded out, making my normal jeans uncomfortable. So fat jeans it is!

I'm still sick for the most part. But hoping that it's coming to an end.
I don't go see my mw again until the end of the month and I'm sort of regretting that choice. She is going on vacation the week I would see her, so I opted for the next week.

I am always giving myself too much credit. Turns out I'm sort of a basket case.

Today marks 9 months since the day I delivered Lucy.
I don't consider it the day she died, as morbid as it may seem. Because she was dead on the 4th, and potentially died in the night on the 3rd. We don't know for sure.
She has been gone as long as she was here.
It's strange and unbelievable, yet at the same time it feels like an eternity has passed since I held her.
I always spend the 4th and 5th of each month reliving the moments. I was waking up...I was laying on the swing...I was waiting at my midwife's office...we were telling the kids....I was being induced.
The 5th mostly consists of "I was holding Lucy...."
One of my vivid memories of that day, is just wishing that everyone would leave so Ben and I could be alone.
I wake up every morning missing her, and go to bed each night missing her. But my pain has changed into something I accept and appreciate. I never want to stop missing her.

May 11, 2010
Stress

I ordered a doppler today and I paid extra to get it tomorrow.
That's how psychotic I am.

I'm so incredibly paranoid.
I don't remember if I've talked about the nightmares here, but suffice it to say I've been plagued with nightmares ever since Lucy died and the last few nights they have been unrelenting, gruesome, vivid nightmares.
It sucks.

May 12, 2010

My doppler got here about an hour ago.
I haven't opened the box. Kyler excitedly brought the box to me and all I've been able to do is sit here next to it and cry.

The subsequent Pregnancy

2011-05-09T12:57:00.002-06:00

I privately blogged periodically during my pregnancy with Amelia.
I want to share everything that I wrote during that time.

1/12/2010
Ugh.

I cannot believe that in order to have a living baby I have to go through another pregnancy.
And even then nothing is certain.

3/29/2010

I am pregnant.

4/1/2010

I'll be 5 weeks along tomorrow, based on the first day of my last period.

And today the puking began. I felt sort of queasy all day yesterday. This morning it was full blown morning sickness.

Also 2 cups of coffee was clearly too much.

Bleck.

I think I'm going to brave the military bs and go deal with them tomorrow. They make you have a blood test, then take a class. It's 4 hours, and full of great information no one knows, like always put baby in a car seat, and don't shake your baby.
I plan to beg, plead, scream and cry. Whatever it takes to get out of the stupid class. It's not just for my well being, but also for the 20 year old first time moms who are 4 weeks along and have already bought the crib and travel system.
I'm sure they don't want me losing it and telling them all how babies die all the time, and their baby might die so they shouldn't count their chickens before they hatch.

That really wouldn't benefit anyone.

Post Note: I did end up not having to take that class. I did not have to cry or beg. After I told the nurse I saw about Lucy he gave me a free pass. I have noticed that in some situations men are more compassionate about loss than women.

Mother's Day

2011-05-08T17:38:00.002-06:00

I wanted to pop in and wish all my fellow loss mamas (and all mamas) a Happy Mother's Day. As happy as possible.

Holidays are always hard, holidays that focus on family are harder, and holidays that are all about the little people you do or do not have in your life are hardest.

Past lives

2011-02-03T10:04:00.002-07:00

While looking through the archives of my private blog, looking for pregnancy related posts I found this post. I didn't share it here because I was worried about people's reactions. But I realize I don't really care about that anymore.

I've been interested in the idea of past lives for....ever.
Lately especially, and I find a lot of loss mamas are like this, fixated with the idea that perhaps their baby will come back into their lives in some way.

This post isn't about Lucy.
It's about Sophia.

Tonight she was sitting in the kitchen with me, singing a song. I thought she made it up, so I asked her about it and she told me it was a song she remembered I sang to her when she was a baby.
Well no, but she's 3 so I don't argue.
Then she told me "I used to have such a pretty cuckoo clock, but the cuckoo kept making me cry so you got rid of it, remember?"

And this story just struck me. We've never had a cuckoo clock, or anything that could be associated with one.
I realize little kids tell stories, but there was just something about this that was so, real. It has sort of freaked me out....in a good way.

I had all but forgotten about this experience until I read this old post.
I wonder a lot if Amelia is Lucy.
I read a blog not long ago where the writer mentioned that her mother always told her that the world was not ready for her the first time she tried to come, and that pregnancy resulted in a miscarriage.
Was the world not ready for Amelia the first time she tried to come? Where we not ready? Did we need to learn something first?
I will possibly never know. But it gives me something to wonder about.

To you.

2011-02-01T12:17:00.004-07:00

This morning I wandered over to my own blog and started reading posts, and replies.
I used to spend a lot of time reading loss blogs. I would read until I couldn't see through the tears. Until I felt like my heart was literally broken.
Today it was a strange shift to be reading my own words.

I was moved to say something I'm not sure I've said enough. Or perhaps at all.

Thank you.

Thank you to every person who has ever and will ever read my blog. Thank you for taking a moment, or a few moments of your time to think about my family and our sweet baby Lucy. Thank you for your comments, or your silence. Your tears, your heartache and your thoughts.
All mamas ever want is for their babies to be remembered.
I am so grateful to be reminded that through this blog and it's readers Lucy is remembered.

Thank you for being patient with me as I try to piece together the last year and how to share it.
Thank you for your love.

Deep Breath

2011-01-13T14:23:00.006-07:00

I have sat down at least twenty times in the last 2 months to write this post.
I have 3 half-written posts saved.
I have been worrying over what to say, how to say it. Knowing it needed to be done.

Then I realized what my hang up was. I have been trying to over complicate it. I have been trying to fit a year's worth of information into one post.
I needed to simplify.

11.14.2010
We welcomed a rainbow into our family.
Amelia Grace. 6 lbs 13 oz, pink and screaming. Perfect from head to toe.

Everyone is Smitten.

I will be back soon to take you back over the past year and share this excruciating, painful, hopeful and rewarding journey.

...but I don't know what to say

2010-10-16T21:57:00.003-06:00

Post-Edit Here

We went to visit Lucy's grave today.
Surprised and sad to see 2 new baby graves very near her. One was very fresh, still covered in wilting flowers. The other had a stone up already. August 27th, 2010 I believe was the date. A stillborn baby girl.
We are from a small town/community, which is where Lucy is buried. We moved away from that town many years ago. But still the chances of us knowing the parents of these babies are very good. So I made note of the names on the stone, and when we returned home plugged them into Google.
I couldn't come up with anything, other than a blog post by some acquaintance of the parents of the baby girl. Stating that these people had a stillborn baby girl and that the blogger knew nothing she could say would ever help ease their pain so she would say nothing.

This post has been compiling in my mind for some time, and is spurred to fruition by that statement.
The most common question I see/hear is What do I say when someone's baby dies?
The most common excuse I hear is "I don't/didn't know what to say."

The answer is both simple and complex at the same time. Most people (myself included) really don't know what to say. A few people seem to have the gift of speech and eloquently express themselves. But most of us stumble around and try to come up with something divine. We over complicate it. I am no expert, I am rarely eloquent unless I'm quoting someone else. But here is my two cents on the subject.

The absolute worst thing you can say is nothing at all. Silence is deadening, both literally and figuratively. I can name names of the people who I considered close to me that have never once uttered a word to me about my dead daughter. Most of those people I haven't seen since before Lucy's death.
Our relationship is dead, it was snuffed out by the elephant in the room. When I randomly run into someone who hasn't said anything, but knows what happened, there is so much awkwardness. Discomfort. The elephant is there, staring us both down. Them with their immense guilt and me with my "so once I thought you'd be there for me through anything, and then my baby died and oh hey you weren't there." It's never the same again. Or maybe it is and I've just yet to hit that point. It's easier on everyone, and means a whole lot more if you say/write something as soon as you can.
Not to mention if you say nothing you're likely to spend a great deal of time with a heavy heart and deep regret. It's good for the soul to reach out to others, to offer what comfort you can in their time of need.

What you need to say:
I'm so sorry for your loss.
Really, that's all. Or some semblance of that statement.

Do not offer up an explanation, or reason why their baby died.
Baby death doesn't make sense, and it isn't fair or just. It just is, and it sucks and there is no explanation that justifies it. Trying to do so often just causes hurt feelings. Don't give them religious reasons unless you are VERY FAMILIAR with their personal religious beliefs.

Don't make empty promises of grand gestures.
In the moment we all have the best intentions. We're going to make them dinner, clean their house, watch their kids, groom their dog and water their lawn for the next 3 summers.
But then reality steps in, life gets busy and before you know it their dog is unrecognizable and their lawn is dead. It doesn't make you a bad person, it makes you human. But it's best not to promise the earth, moon and sky unless you are prepared to deliver on the spot.

Don't ask if you're not prepared to hear.
For a lot of us, once we've buried a child our vocabularies change. Things we once considered upsetting to talk about are now a part of our lives. They are more than that, they are our precious children. I remember thinking from a young age that stillborn was the most painful word to hear or say. It was an ugly, terrible word and I hated it. Couldn't they come up with something more...I don't know cheerful?
Now that word is my daughter. She is also dead. A dead baby. More words I tip toed around and now throw about in day to day conversation. Don't expect a grieving parent to edit themselves to spare your feelings. Their feelings have yet to be spared, and when it comes to dead babies no one's feelings matter even a smidgen as much as the parents. So the best bet is to not ask if you're not prepared to hear it all.

Don't tell them you know how they feel if you don't.
Just don't.

It is perfectly okay to not want to talk about it.
I am probably one of the few people in the world who still believes that ignorance is often times bliss. I don't watch the news because I choose to not know all the horrible things that happen on a daily basis. I have never googled stillbirth. I don't even google myself because I'm petrified I'd find someone speaking badly about me/my business. It's okay to protect yourself from things you know are too much for you to deal with. If you don't want to hear the details, or look into the mother's broken eyes send a card, an email or a text message. Don't let your fear stop you from reaching out in some way.

It is perfectly okay to ask if the grieving parent wants to talk about it.
It doesn't mean they will, but if you're unsure and tip toeing around the topic just ask. They're not going to be offended, they're likely to be grateful you cared enough to take into consideration that they may not want to talk about it.

It's good to reach out to people, even if you don't know them well.
It took me a little while to brave the internet after Lucy died. But when I did I had a heartfelt message on facebook from a woman whose husband works with mine, whose first child, also a baby girl was stillborn. I was deeply touched by her kindness and thoughtfulness and most of all her bravery. It's not easy to reach out to someone you don't know and share a piece of your soul. But her words, her comfort and her heart ache over our situation had such an impact on my life. She inspired me to reach out without abandon and it has made my life undeniably better. Don't ever doubt the impact your simple words of compassion can have on someone, even if you never hear back from them.

Don't expect a response.
You might get one, you might not. If you don't it doesn't mean your words/gesture was unappreciated or unreceived. The weeks and months following the loss of a child is difficult, to put it mildly. In every way, and every thing. It's confusing and messy. We all do our best to make it through and often times those Thank You cards are left to gather dust.

In short,
Say SOMETHING. Don't over think it. Speak from the heart. Keep it simple and honest.

And you'll do fine, and the parents will always remember that you were there in the best way you could be.

One of those things...

2010-09-02T16:59:00.002-06:00

I didn't intend to fall off the face of the blogging earth after the 1 year Anniversary. Truly the last month has been a bit surreal. I have found myself lost in the catacombs of my mind daily. Trying to remember. Grasping for how I was feeling, what I was doing a year ago.
How quickly we forget that which in the moment we think we will always remember.
Pain, there was a lot of pain, a lot of tears. A lot of brain deadness. It all seems very dream-like now. Misty water colored memories.

Summer is all but over, Labor day is staring me in the face and the cool mornings remind me of the passing time. The big kids started back to school last week and the littlest tests out her wings starting preschool next week. I have settled into a comfortable rhythm with my life. I mother, wife, housekeep and housemake. Then when those things are sufficiently taken care of for the day I work. I retreat into my comfortable studio and create while the house sleeps. It works, it is comfortable and familiar.
I try hard not to dwell too much on the fact that I should have a 1 year old nursing to sleep. I should be hanging freshly laundered diapers on the line, and soothing a teething baby.
Lucy wasn't meant to live. If she were, she would have. We are exactly where we are meant to be at this moment in time.
That isn't based on any theological beliefs of mine (if you're reading this then you probably regularly read my blog and know that I don't really posses any beliefs of that sort). It is, in my mind at least, a fact. It makes me feel better, as if there is simply nothing I could have done to change the outcome of things.

I feel like my heart has changed greatly in the last year. I would like to say that I am a more patient and understanding person, but for the most part I'm not. I still curse under my breath at the idiot in the drop off line at school every morning. I still lose my patience when it's 10 minutes to bedtime and the kids have fought all day long. But in small ways I am better. I lose my patience and instead of sending the kids to bed angry I force myself to cuddle them all close and read a story. Then no one goes to bed angry or hurting, everyone drifts off into dream land feeling loved.

There is a part of my heart that is always heavy. Some days it feels like it lives closer to my stomach. It is heavy with sadness and love. It is a comfortable feeling, and I find myself sitting and just feeling. Feeling the immense love I have for my dead daughter, and the sadness and longing for her life that never was.

It's one of those things about losing a baby. You never want to forget, you never want to lose that sadness. People don't understand. They say they want to erase your pain, or that time will heal you.
That is not what we want. We want to hurt and love forever and there is nothing wrong with that. We are capable of feeling that hurt at the exact same moment we're feeling immense joy.
It's really all I want, to always feel the sadness. But not only feel the sadness.
The passage of time has brought about a bigger change. One year ago I was grief. Completely consumed. But now that grief is a part of me and I have learned to live with it there, peacefully.

It came...

2010-08-06T17:32:00.004-06:00

and went.
Just like that.
To quote Mad Men quoting Balzac; "Our worst fears lie in anticipation."
Beneath all the worry and fear, I sort of knew that the first anniversary of Lucy's death would turn out to be a rather ordinary day.
The mail was delivered, people went to work. The sun rose in the East and set in the West.
It occurred to me that probably every day is like that for someone on the earth.
Every day as we go about our normal lives someone, probably hundreds of someones, somewhere are thinking "How can life just go on as if nothing ever happened?"
If nothing else, losing Lucy has made me more aware of human suffering, mourning and grief. That kind that goes on everywhere, everyday, we just generally don't notice it. We truly are all fighting our own battle.

It's almost freeing to realize that it's a normal day and it's okay to be "normal" and just be sad in my heart. I am surprised by how much freedom from grief I have found in the passage of time. I feel guilty admitting it, but I'm glad to be here and not back there. Although I would give anything to spend even one more minute with Lucy, I realize that is not mortally possible and I am glad that we have settled into a place where we can live and be happy and normal but still love and miss her.
We visited Lucy's grave. We took gourmet cupcakes and a special, very pink and sparkly, 1 year old wreath Ben and I made for her. The kids played in the shade of the big "mushroom trees" as they call them and Ben and I spent some quiet time in reflection, lots of tears and a few smiles.
I thought a lot about what it would be like to have a 1 year old Lucy here with us. Celebrating. Smiling, laughing, stuffing fist fulls of chocolate cupcake into her mouth and nose. I can only hope that she knows how much we love her and miss her and wish she was here. We do. So, so much.

We had a special dinner, ate more cupcakes and planted a tree. An oak tree, a gift from a dear friend.
Then the day was done. It was all over and we had survived to tell about it, together.
Now we are here, at the base of this next mountain called the second year.

I have read many other loss bloggers write about people who haven't "been around" at all since their loss suddenly showing up. With guilt and apologies, during the second year. Strangely enough, 1 day in and I have already experienced this. Perhaps that first anniversary makes other people reflect on how they have handled things? Or rather how they haven't.
Forgive? Sounds good.
Forget? I'm not sure I could.

Lucy, you are so very loved, and so very, very missed.

Survival

2010-08-02T15:06:00.002-06:00

On the agenda for this week:
Survive.

If I manage to also get dinner on the table at a decent time, well that's just a bonus.

It's hitting me harder than I expected. I think sometimes I get very conceited, thinking that somehow I have control over my emotions. Over my grief and my reactions.

Then here it comes to smack me back down. Silly me, I thought that I could reserve Wednesday and Thursday to being sad. But the far more powerful parts of my being have decided that's not how it's going to be. It started Saturday, when instead of shopping for 1st birthday gifts I was out shopping for cemetery decorations. A feeling I remember too well, like someone had wrapped a rubber band tightly around my heart and dropped an elephant on my chest.
Of course the Universe mocked me and while I was looking for the perfect wooden cupcake to put on Lucy's 1 year old wreath a mother with a whole slew of children and a nearly one year old came parading down the isle. I was so angry that she was intruding on me.
Grief is selfish.

I welcomed the heartache.
It felt strangely good to begin to face this mountain. Finally we are preparing. Finally Ben and I discussed our plans for the week and I feel like we are once again a united front. We can face this together, just like we did a year ago.

I have been weepy today, and Ben's temper has been short. There is an unspoken feeling of "let's just get through this, it's going to suck no matter what" in our home.
I feel like I need to explain why things are so sucky right now to the kids. But every time I start to form the words I cry.

I keep stretching my brain, trying to remember what I was doing a year ago. I know where I was a year ago yesterday, at my nephew's baptism. With many members of the M family who I have not seen nor heard from since. I wore my black and white polka dot dress, for the last time, and my yellow high heels. Because being 39 weeks pregnant doesn't stop me from wearing heels.
It was hot and miserable.
A year ago today I can't remember so well. Probably sitting in the back yard, under the willow tree with my feet in the kiddie pool while the kids splashed and played. I think I was prepping prefolds in a big pot on the camp chef.

I have slipped into the manic today.
Early on after Lucy's death when left to my own devices I would get sad, and then get completely manic. Obsessed with something, running around taking care of things until whatever needed to be done was done.
It's good.
There are things that need to be done, I may as well do them.

Long summer days

2010-07-22T15:44:00.003-06:00

We have officially hit that point in the summer when everything starts to move in slow motion.
The kids are bored by 10 am, and by noon it's miserably hot.
Nothing to do but stay inside and attempt to keep yourself busy. Today I, the self proclaimed play dough hater, made a huge batch of play dough in a fit of "there's nothing to doooooooo" annoyance.
I might be the most bored of all, and my days seem to pass even more slowly than the children's.
When really all I want is to get the next month out of the way. Truly, September cannot come soon enough. If I could slip into a coma and sleep through August I'd be thrilled.

I have been facing the 1 year anniversary with dread for..well almost a year. At first it seemed so far away and I didn't want the time to pass. I wanted to stay in the moments, rooted in grief. Now I just want it done. The first of anything is always the hardest. We have tackled firsts right and left but this one seems mountainous in comparison to all the others.

13 long days stand between me and that date. I can't seem to focus on anything. There is sewing to do that I can't stand to think about. I should clean my house, do laundry, paint the bathroom.
I'd rather sleep.
These long hot days remind me, painfully of the long hot days a year ago. It's so familiar and I sit and wait for another shoe to drop.
I doubt I will ever not associate summer with tragedy.

Kids and loss

2010-07-06T18:07:00.004-06:00

Or more specifically, my kids and loss.

For me, it was never a question as to whether or not we would include our children in my pregnancy with Lucy. The bigs had been through my pregnancy with Sophia, and even though it had been 3 years they were still familiar with things. They helped me shop for cloth diapers, and dream over what wonderfulness we would create for our baby out of the various fabrics and yarns I purchased. They read her stories and felt her kick.

When Lucy died it never crossed my mind to not include them.
I don't regret this choice. If not including them in her death, somehow erasing her existence from their memories entirely and saving them the pain and the experience were an option I would not chose it. Even in my foggy state that first bit of time I was aware that this right here is a learning experience for us, for my kids. This is an opportunity to teach them about grief, and arm them with the tools needed to process it. To show them that it's possible to recover from something potentially life ending. As much as I want to shelter them from pain, I also realize no one is immune to loss, and eventually they will need these tools.

Ben and I sat with our children, in between the time we found out Lucy had died and we left for the hospital and told them. We told them sometimes something happens, and we don't know what or why, but Lucy died. We weren't going to get to bring her home and raise her after all. We told them to ask us questions if they wanted to, to talk to us, because even though it might make us sad it was okay.

They came to the hospital the next day. We gave them the option of seeing her, both the bigs opted not to, but I showed Kileah her head of black hair. Sophia saw her, I doubt she really remembers.

Ben and I were given a book, by the Share people, called "We were going to have a baby but we had an angel instead." We sat together and read it one night. I expected a happy "I'm so lucky to have an angel baby" ending, but alas this was not so. It was terribly depressing and sad. I hid it.

The day after I delivered Lucy I came home, and then the kids came home. Kileah didn't leave my side for a long time. Sophia wasn't completely sure what to think, but was armed with kisses and hugs. Kyler was a little more reserved, but was there. Just there, and in the weeks and months following he just knew when I needed him. He told me whenever I needed a hug or a kiss just to tell him.

I was worried about the kids and the funeral. Funerals can be so confusing. We sat down with them before hand and told them it was a group of people who love us and love Lucy coming to be sad together that she died. We talked about how lucky we are to have so many people that love us. We told them it was okay to be sad, and it was also okay not to be sad. I remember feeling tremendous guilt because I wasn't sad at my grandfather's funeral. I didn't want them feeling like their feelings where wrong in any way.

They have been completely present for the last 11 months. I haven't hidden my grief and sadness from them, nor has Ben. We have clung together, all 5 of us. We are stronger for it, in so many ways.

Just weeks after Lucy died school started, and as a first day of school project Kyler's teacher (4th grade) had them draw pictures of their families. Kyler brought home his picture, which included Lucy, flying above us. I hear him tell people he has 3 sisters. I have never once had to tell my children that Lucy is still their sister even though she died. They just know it.

Kileah makes up songs about Lucy, and draws pictures of her. My favorite picture is one she drew a few days after Lucy died, she has black hair and is wrapped up in a pink blanket. Just like she was in the hospital.

Sophia talks about Lucy the most, in such an innocent 4 year old way. One day out of nowhere she told me "I know that Lucy is in a treasure chest." After thinking about it I realized that yes her casket does look like a treasure chest. It's a very sweet comparison. Our little treasure.

At the risk of sounding conceited I am proud of our family. I am proud of how we have come through this together. I am proud of my children and their never ending love for each other, including their angel sister.

I'm certainly not saying that this is the best way for every family to handle the loss of a child, but for us it absolutely has been. I hope one day, when they're much older, to be able to have very honest conversations with my children about how much they have helped me. About how this experience affected and changed us. Although I have a feeling they already know how important they have been, and continue to be.

I hate blogs that sing.

2010-06-30T20:24:00.003-06:00

Sometimes I sit down to write here and I am at such a loss for a title that I end up walking away.

I do, in fact, hate blogs that sing. It brings immediate attention and suddenly I have 3 children and a husband hovering over my shoulder wonder what I'm looking at.

Lately I feel very much like I am living my life in denial. I go through the motions, and outwardly seem perfectly fine, almost normal even. But inside it is all dark.
I wonder if this is a choice I made at some point? To go into survival mode and leave the rest of me behind.
Did I just fall into it? Did my brain take over and decide it's the safest place for me to be right now? Or is this a normal progression?
Worst of all, is this how I'm going to feel forever?

Just over a month away from the 1 year anniversary and I feel so removed from everything. I question whether or not it all happened, or if it was just some sad story I read and adopted? Then I'll be standing in the middle of the grocery store and my brain will start screaming "YOU HAVE A DEAD BABY, DO YOU REMEMBER? REMEMBER IT NOW!"
And suddenly it's all so real.
Then I slip back into denial land and everything goes dark.

Except in my sleep. I have been plagued with nightmares for quite some time now. Reliving various parts of losing Lucy, always sensationalized and unrealistic. Some nights I have dead twins or triplets. Some nights it's someone else that has a dead baby and I need to be there for them. Sometimes I have multiple dead or dying babies that I can't find.
Night before last in my dreams I had perfectly healthy twin girls, and everyone kept telling me they were fine. But I knew better. "Just wait, they're going to die" I kept saying. "Just wait. It will happen."

Of all the things I've lost in the last 11 months, my innocence is the thing I mourn the most. There is something to be said for blissfully living life honestly thinking that for some unrealistic reason nothing bad will happen to you. Those things happen to other people. To people who for some reason deserve it. Not me.
Once you've buried a child the possibility of bad things happening goes from "to other people" to "inevitably to me." For a long while after Lucy died whenever we would drive anywhere I would go with the assumption that we were going to get into an accident, and my thoughts went from being "please let us be safe, and not get in a car accident" to "please let me die in the car accident."
I have suffered enough to realize fully that I don't want to suffer more.

I really miss things that I used to enjoy.
Last year I lovingly tended to my garden.
This year, I'd rather eat rocks than water my tomato plants.
I think I'm suffering ptsd in relation to our cherry tree. Last year the kids spotted cherries and I picked them. We spent a whole morning picking the cherries, only taking a break when the Fed Ex truck brought Lucy's shiny new car seat. Even looking at that tree makes me sick to my stomach.

Maybe all of this is part of finding the new Maria. The "I have a dead baby" Maria. The moment you find out your child has died you are stripped of your former self. The aftermath is a long progression of trying to figure out how to breathe, how to live, how to be. Who to be.
Maybe one day I'll feel like a real, whole person again.
Maybe.

Writing and stuff

2010-06-08T23:44:00.002-06:00

I think if I could stand the sadness, and I didn't have to be a some-what functioning adult on occasion, I would sit at my computer all day reading loss blogs and saying "Yeah that."

Some experiences, thoughts and feelings seem to be completely universal.
Or, at least I've experienced it and if someone else wrote about it clearly they did too. That's why I started blogging, even though for the most part I feel like a total blog failure because I never can find the right words, or what I want to write most about (totally non-supportive, hurtful, crappy people) might offend someone. I started blogging because I thought that maybe if I wrote about what I was feeling, and someone else came along and was feeling the same thing then we both might not feel so completely isolated and weird.

That's what it's like to experience the grief of losing a baby, isolated and weird.
Oh and shameful.
Shame that I didn't birth a living baby. Shame that I am still sad about it. Shame that I can't be happy for pregnant women and new mothers.
So much shame.

10 months passed over the weekend. I thought about it a lot, but I didn't talk about it. I didn't even really cry.
Yesterday was the first day of summer break for my big kids.
When the air started feeling heavy and impossible to breath and my head started spinning while I was watching the kids play in the back yard it occurred to me that it was the first day like that since that day. It was the first day I was alone with all 3 kids that wasn't a holiday, since August 4. It was painfully similar. A warm but not unbearably hot summer day. The kids happily running around the yard playing, me sitting in the shade of the patio watching and thinking.
Identical.
Except that day I was begging Lucy to move and fearing the worst, but hoping for the best. Back then I still had my ignorance, I still stupidly believed everything would be just fine, because they always have been and they always are, right?
Wrong.
A few hours later I would find out Lucy was dead and the world would stop spinning.

I don't do anything without thinking about what Lucy should be doing. Me, sitting on the front lawn planting flowers. Lucy would be playing on a quilt right here next to me. She might be crawling.

9 months

2010-05-05T16:37:00.003-06:00

I have always expected the 9 month anniversary to be a hard one.
Marking the fact that Lucy has been dead as long as she was alive.

It's strange and unbelievable, yet at the same time it feels like an eternity has passed since I held her.
I always spend the 4th and 5th of each month reliving the moments. I was waking up...I was laying on the swing...I was waiting at my midwife's office...we were telling the kids....I was being induced.
The 5th mostly consists of "I was holding Lucy...."

I wake up every morning missing her, and go to bed each night missing her. But my pain has changed into something I accept and appreciate, for the most part. I never want to stop missing her.

I happened to see these bracelets online one day and knew I needed them. I'm well aware of the controversy over the song, but chose to ignore it. It is very fitting for my Lucy.

They showed up today and the timing seems ironic and perfect.

Time line

2010-04-30T18:36:00.002-06:00

There is no time line, or time limit to grief.
That's what the books say. That's what the experts say.

Grief seems to agree, it's more than happy to move in and make it's self at home.

Grieving parents agree, we universally seem to think that once it stops hurting so bad we're forgetting. Or we're not honoring our dead babies. That once they don't occupy every single thought in our heads we've moved on.

Some people even say "There's no time line..."
Sometimes they say it in the same sentence telling you that you need to "force yourself to deal and get over it."

I digress.
Truly there is no time line, and it lasts far longer than you expect. It lasts far longer than society accepts or allows, and that is what I want to talk about.

Society.
Family.
Friends.

They all have an invisible stop watch in their minds, and at varying points the watch dings and they decide it is time for you to get over your loss. Whether they mean to or not.
Everyone decides your time is up and they are done being nice. They are done being understanding. They are done respecting you and your grief.

The pressure is on.
As much as I like to think I don't give a damn what other people think about my grief. As tough as I pretend to be.
It's hard.
It's hard to not let it go to your head. It's hard to not feel the pressure to just get over it already, but then inside there is that tug that says "No, no, no you're not over it....you're not ready for this."

But it's so important to be true to yourself and your grieving process. Even if it lasts far longer than other people like. There is no shame in cutting people from your life. There is no shame in protecting your heart. We are the warriors, we are the mothers and fathers. No one else knows this grief, no one. No one has a right to tell us when our time is up. Or that we need to get over it.
I am owning my right to take all the time I want or need. Even if it takes years. Yes, I said years.
I will not dishonor myself or my daughter because my grief makes someone else uncomfortable or cramps their style.
If the people who push can't love me, respect me and support me regardless then good riddance. I do not need them in my life.

The people in your neighborhood

2010-03-30T16:15:00.003-06:00

I've been contemplating this for a while. I have always been interested in human reactions, so in some ways losing my daughter has been an opportunity to watch people react to something no one seems to know how to react to.
I've made up a short list of the most common people reactions I've come in contact with:

The I'll Give You the World.
They are right there in the beginning, making lists of promises a mile long. I'm going to make you X I'm going to help with Y, call me whenever you need anything....I love you.
Then they drop off the face of the earth and never follow through with anything they said they were going to do.

The Lalalala I can't hear about dead babies.
They are there but avoid you like the plague. They blissfully pretend as though there is nothing wrong, and tip toe around the fact that your child died. Then as soon as it's socially acceptable to leave and disappear completely they do.

The Don't you see how this is affecting ME.
Oh this is one I've dealt with a lot. They seem to not understand that it's YOUR child that died. They simply cannot possibly see how the pain and heartbreak is affecting you. All they see and talk about is how a: Your Loss, b: Your reaction to your loss affects them and their lives. I have found myself at a complete loss for words many times, wondering if people can hear themselves talking, when they're telling me how much they're hurting or how my choices are hurting them and ruining their lives.

The Yo-Yo'ers.
They are there, a little....then they're not, then they pretend they are....then they don't care anymore, then one day they do and they want to tell you what will fix you and make things all better....then they're not there again.

The Invisibles.
They probably tell someone who tells you that they're thinking of you. Or they comment on a social networking post. But mostly they just aren't there. They don't attend the funeral, they don't send a card. They are completely invisible. Then someday when you inevitably see them, they expect you to pretend as if they weren't completely absent for the most horrific experience of you life, where in you needed them and their support.

The What you're not over that mess yet?
They are visibly annoyed when, 3 days after your child's death you're not magically better and ready to party and talk about frivolous things.

Finally there are those few choice souls who are simply there.
They hold you when you cry, listen when you scream and lash out. They know it's about you and your baby and do everything in their power to make this path easier. They know there are no magic words, no right words. Simply being unselfishly supportive and there. I hope every loss parent has at least 1 of these people in their life, they are few and far between, as the former groups I talked about seem to encompass most people's reactions.

It is a shame that most people react badly. I have found that I seem to spend just as much time trying to process the horribly rude things people have said to me as I do trying to process Lucy's death.
Every time I am faced with another person who sticks their foot in their mouth I am sent back, reeling, to square one. Trying to cope.

There are days when I wish everyone would just leave me alone.

Peace

2010-02-06T22:49:00.003-07:00

I feel in a lot of ways like the last 6 months have been a constant struggle for peace. Right after Lucy died I prayed (and I don't normally pray) hard and wished and hoped, pleaded and begged for peace. I wanted to feel peace. I needed to feel peace.
I remember waking up Friday August 7th and feeling very at peace. I blame this largely on percocet, and even if it was opiate induced, it was welcome nonetheless. I felt like the Dalai Lama. I felt like I could cure the world.

Then at some point I quit taking the percocet and I lost the drugged peace. But I found a different peace, one that didn't leave me with a hang over headache. It lasted a few days and then I lost it. I lost my grip and it slipped from my hands.
I'm not really sure I've gotten it back since then. In hindsight October, November and December were spent mostly in a busy, denial ridden haze. It wasn't the worst place to be, honestly, and at the time it was what I needed.

Then came the let down after the holidays, and things sunk back in. Denial didn't feel right anymore and life was constantly throwing my loss in my face. So since then I have been flailing in the water. I start to drown, and something snaps me out of it and I frantically try to float again. Then the cool washes over me and I relax, once again falling below the water.
I've been battling tension headaches and migraines on a near constant basis. I've had strep throat (which apparently is quite a feat for someone without tonsils). I feel like my body is screaming for peace just as loudly as my mind is.
Yet I've lost my grip and I can't seem to get it back. I don't know what step to take or what door to open.
At times it was easier when I could lay in bed all day crying. When it was fresh and everyone respected my right to grieve. Now it is complicated. Now people do not respect my right to grieve. Now I seem perfectly fine to the naked eye. Now I have to be fine because no one picks up my slack.

I have found myself several times lately discussing with other loss mamas the "it gets easier" reassurance we're all told.
I have come to my conclusion. It does not get easier, at least not at this point. It just gets different.

The rest of Lucy's story.

2010-02-05T10:59:00.003-07:00

I started writing this here back in September. But I've never had the strength to delve into my personal blog archives and copy and paste the rest of the story.

I need to preface this by saying that I wrote this on August 20th. Back when it was all very fresh in my mind. I never want to forget the details of that time. But I am not strong enough to read and edit today. So imagine me back on August 20th, this is my story.

August 4, 2009.
I woke up late, which was so out of the ordinary. Typically I was awake by 6 and up by 7 out of pure misery. I was hot, uncomfortable, huge and everything hurt. Lucy was also big and her kicks hurt. I felt really awful. Also not out of the ordinary, but this was a different awful. I chalked it up to being huge, hot and miserably pregnant.
I laid in bed for a few minutes, Sophia was asleep next to me and the bigs were in the basement watching cartoons. Lucy was so still, but that wasn't out of character for her in the mornings. She tended to be busy during the night, sleep in the morning, wake up around lunch and play for a while.
I got up, got everyone dressed and shuffled us all out back to get some sunshine. I drank a glass of water and laid on our porch swing begging Lucy to give me a couple good kicks, something, anything to assure me she was ok. I had a mw appt at 2 to check her position. She was a flipper and kept us guessing, one week she'd be head down, the next she'd be frank breach, then she'd be transverse and so on and so on. At my 38 week appt the prior Thursday she'd been frank breach. So this was the big "where do we go from here" appointment to figure out what our next step was. My plan was to beg for a version and induction, unless she was in position.
Ben came home for lunch at 11 and brought me an iced raspberry mocha. If there was one thing for sure to get Lucy going it was an iced raspberry mocha. I didn't feel like eating so I just continued to lay on the swing and drink my mocha and talk to Ben. I told him I didn't know what to do, most likely everything was fine and my appointment was in less than 3 hours anyway. Finally I felt what I thought was a big kick. It reassured me.
I went to my appt and waited, and waited. It was a "fit you in where we can" so I expected a wait. Finally around 3 they called me back. They had me undress from the waist down so my midwife could check me. I waited some more, finally she came in and we joked about Lucy's flipping and where would she be now. She started the ultrasound and sure enough, she was head down. Momentarily we rejoiced. Then she scanned her chest. It didn't take more than a second for me to see what wasn't there, and I could tell my midwife was starting to panic too. No heart beat. The screen was dark. She tried several times and still, nothing. Finally she said "Maria, I can't find a heart beat." Hearing the words sent me into a panic attack and I started hyperventilating. She would say "Calm down, hold on..." and I would say "I'm really trying..I really am." A doctor came in to see, nope nothing. They talked a moment about the cord being in a weird spot.
This whole time is becoming fuzzy, I honestly don't know how I lived through it. I will never understand why my heart didn't stop beating. Why the world didn't stop spinning in that second. It doesn't make sense.
I told my mw I needed to call my husband. She handed me my cell phone and I just sat there. I told her "I don't know what to say." She offered to talk to him, so I dialed and handed her the phone. I could hear him, panniced and confused and I regretted not telling him myself. I told him to take the kids to the neighbors and get to me as fast as he could.
Then I called my mom and sister and I don't remember a bit of either conversation. During this time Ben was frantically trying to find someone home to take the kids. Finally he called his work and asked if someone could come sit with them. By the time they got to the house our neighbor was home and Ben had taken the kids to her house. The First Shirt, Ben's direct supervisor and his shop cheif all showed up. His supervisor came with him to drive one car home.
By the time Ben got there I had been sitting in a room alone (with my nurse and/or midwife checking in every few minutes) for nearly an hour. Or at least an hour, or maybe it was more. It seemed like eternity. I talked to my mom, or more like cried to her over the phone. She had left work and headed to pick up my dad so they could get on a plane and get to us as fast as possible.
Ben and I sat for a second and cried. We talked about our options. My midwife felt it best to induce me soon. We agreed, why prolong things? But it was important to us to talk to the kids and spend some time with them. We agreed on 8 pm. We would go to the hospital at 8 and they would admit me and start pitocin.

We came home and both my sister and brother were here by then. They left to get the kids some dinner and we sat down with them and had the hardest conversation of our lives. We told them sometimes when babies are in their mommies tummies things happen, we don't know what happened or why but that something happened and Lucy died. She wasn't going to come home with us like we'd hoped and planned. We weren't going to get to raise her. They all started crying. Kileah was hysterical. We all hugged and just cried together. We told the kids it was ok to be sad, or to not be sad. However they felt was ok. It was ok to ask questions, even if they make mommy and daddy cry. But we might not have the answers.

They ate dinner and I threw a few things into a suitcase to take to the hospital. Too soon it was time to leave. My sister took the kids and Ben and I headed to the hospital. It was probably the hardest drive of my life. My stomach was sick, I had a terrible head ache and I was having painful contractions.

They started the pitocin around 9:30. My mother in law and brother in law (18) arrived around 10. We hadn't asked them to come, but were both glad they had.

I had a really sweet and caring nurse that night. About 11 she came in and said the anesthesiologist was going to go home and catch some sleep then come back, but they could call him in whenever I was ready for the epidural or I could just get it before he left. I opted to have it before he left. I really needed to find my zen and I knew I couldn't do that through the pain of labor. It took him forever to get it in the right spot. But he was kind and caring and told us he was sorry to hear about our baby.

After that my nurse gave me an ambien and I laid there. The room was dim and I focused on this being the last few hours I had with my baby. I gathered up the strength to deliver her. I knew if I could lean on others I could do it. If my parents were there I could do it. They had opted to drive the 12 hours to us, because the soonest flight they could catch was the next morning and by then they could have driven. I didn't sleep but I did relax and I did a lot of thinking. I made decisions in my mind about her memorial service, I asked my brother in law to sing (he has an amazing voice) and it was decided she would be laid to rest next to her uncle, Ben's older brother who passed away 15 years ago.

About 6:00 am I felt my water break and I knew it had to be close. My water never breaks unless it's time to push. I started freaking out, my parents weren't there yet. I couldn't possibly do this without them. I had a new nurse now, a very kid and caring nurse who had lost a baby herself. She told me I was her only patient that day. She was truly heaven sent. I could never possibly express how much she meant to me, or having her there meant. Ben got her in to check and sure enough, my water had broken and I was fully dilated. I called my mom, they were in Salt Lake. Close. I held my legs together and we waited. I prayed that I could make it until they got to us. My midwife came in and said she'd do rounds and then come back. My parents got there, I'm not sure of the time but I'm certain they must have flown. It was quick. We had a few minutes together to hug and cry before my midwife was back and it was time.

At 7:14 am on Wednesday August 5th Lucy came into this world. Surrounded by people that love her. She was perfect and beautiful. 7 lbs, 11 oz 20.5" with black hair, long fingers and feet, a pointy Boswell chin, rosebud lips and chubby cheeks. She looked so much like Sophia. Her delivery was perfect and serene.

I had to ask Ben later what had happened, I couldn't remember. Her cord was tightly wrapped around her neck 3 times and there was a knot in it.

We held her and cried and loved her and told her how loved and wanted she was. I hadn't had the forethought to pack anything for her, but my nurse went down to the gift shop and bought her a pink outfit and a soft blanket.

I wasn't sure I wanted pictures, I wasn't sure I wanted the Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep people to come. But my nurse told me I would regret it if I didn't get them. I never had to look at them if I never wanted to. But I would want to have that option. I'm so glad I listened to her. The photographer, a very serene and respectful man came with 2 people from the Share program. They took pictures of her alone and then some of her with Ben and I and then a few family pics. My sister got there with the kids just in time. The Share people gave us some things, and talked mostly to my mom and mother in law. I was pretty out of it, my eyes hurt so badly from crying and even though I hadn't eaten in almost 2 days I kept throwing up.

Kyler and Kileah didn't want to look at her, but Sophia did. I showed Kileah her black hair, she had spent a lot of my pregnancy guessing with me about what color hair Lucy would have. Later she told me she also saw her tiny little, perfect ear.

Things started to settle down after they left, even though my room was full of people all day most of the time was spent crying. We started to make arrangements for her memorial services and my dad called the mortition, who happened to be a long time family friend. We said our final goodbyes to Lucy and he took her. Before he did he came into my room and told me he just wanted to tell us how sorry he was for our loss and that they were going to take good care of her. It meant a lot to me.

I was exhausted and so was Ben. I opted to stay the night at the hospital and go home the next morning. Everyone left us alone around 9 pm and I took a bath in the deep tub in my bathroom. Ben and I talked and cried, and he climbed into bed with me and we tried to sleep. But mostly we just thought and cried. We were both up early and ready to leave. I felt so sick. I guess my pregnancy started with me throwing up it was only fitting that it ended that way too. We were home by 9. I was glad I didn't have to stay longer. I had a new nurse and while she was nice she was young and bubbly and I sort of wanted to punch her in the face.

That day is a blur to me. I had asked my mom and mother in law to make all the plans for the memorial. They decided Friday at 2. I wanted something very small and simple. I wanted to speak.

I spent most of the night going over what I wanted to say and praying for the peace and calm to get through it.

The one downside of burying her next to Richard is the 2 hour drive South to Nephi. We chose that not only because she wouldn't be alone, but also because if we ever have to move she will still be close to family. Wherever we go someday, for some reason we always return to Nephi and we always will.

I felt such a calmness that day. I thought so much about all the people who loved us and loved Lucy and allowed myself to completely rely on their strength. News hadn't yet circled the internet but some of my work at home mom friends knew by now and I knew that as it slowly trickled through my circles of friends I had more and more people to lean on. That really helped me.

Everything was perfect, there were beautiful arrangements of pink and white flowers and teddy bears and her casket was perfect. White, with a tiny little bear surrounded by the words "Loved and Cherished." By the time the service started the room was packed without so much as standing room left. The amount of love and support was comforting and overwhelming. My sister in law MaryAnn read a poem to Lucy, and some lyrics of a song to Ben and I. Someday I will search both out and share them, but right now I'm already having a hard time seeing through the tears. My sister also read a poem and my Brother in law sang a song which I think was called "To Where you Are." It was beautiful.
I made it through what I wanted to say. I am so glad, it meant a lot to me to speak about Lucy and make sure people knew I was glad to be blessed to be her mommy.

After we went to the cemetery there was a lunch at my in law's house. Ben and I spent most of the time sitting together in their quiet front room. I always escape to that room for peace when we're down there. We were both exhausted, overwhelmed and lost.

My dad had to go home the following Tuesday but my mom was able to stay through Saturday and I'm so glad. I wouldn't have made it through that week without her. We spent a lot of time talking and crying and just being.

We have been back down to visit Lucy once, and we were able to order her headstone thanks to the overwhelming generosity of the Necessitae and Fresh ladies, as well as a few other hyenas and family. Had it not been for the money they gave us we wouldn't have been able to order the stone right away and it pains us to not have something there.

The days get better and they get harder. I never know what to expect when I get up in the morning. I am determined to not be bitter. I am determined to take this experience and allow it to make me a better person.

Ben is off for the rest of the month and I'm so grateful to have him here with me. I'm very grateful he has been able to express his pain and sorrow and we've been able to turn to each other and walk this road together. Without him I would have never made it this far.

The kids are doing well, Kileah cries whenever I do. She has a nurturing heart and has taken over as my caretaker. My first day home she wouldn't leave my side. We have been open and honest with them, we have cried together and we have talked and laughed and tried to heal. They start school on Monday and I'm hoping that goes well.

This slow decent back to normal life has been excruciating. It was in some ways easier when I could cry all day and focus on our loss. Right now it feels wrong to let real, regular life slip in. I feel like I'm trying to find my place in my world. Where do I go from here?

6 months

2010-02-05T09:50:00.002-07:00

To my Lucy in the sky with Diamonds,
Happy 6 month birthday! I wish with my entire being that you were here on earth celebrating with us.
But as that is not the case I hope you are surrounded by friends today. Henry, Isabelle, Persephone, Genevieve, and probably dozens of other angel babies whose mommies (or names) I don't know.
I find myself mourning the passing of time since your birth like I would if you were living. Each morning I think of how big you would be by now. 6 months is pretty big. People would be bugging me to start feeding you that nasty rice cereal and I would ignore them and prolong the exclusively breastfed phase of your babyhood. You would have outgrown all the clothes and diapers I had for you. Your brother and sisters would be playing with you, tickling you and smothering you with kisses. They miss you just as much as daddy and I do.
I can imagine our kitty Delilah would be fiercely protective of you. She is of your sisters. She even watches them in the bathtub. She meows softly at me as if to say "Don't worry, I'm watching your babies for you." I think she would simply adore you.
Daddy would rock you in the kitchen rocker while I cook dinner. Did you know I bought that chair specifically for that purpose? And now we're remodeling the kitchen and the rocker has to go. Another sad sign that nothing stays the same.

Well my dear baby girl I am, as always getting of track and rambling. I miss you so very much and I love you so very much more than you could ever imagine. Give those babies I mentioned earlier a hug and a kiss for me, will ya?

Love, Always,
Mommy

Getting over it...or not.

2010-02-02T15:28:00.002-07:00

It seems like I've heard the term "Get over it" in regards to the death of a child an awful lot lately.

I hate it. I hate that people use that term. I hate that people think that's what I need, to get over it. My daughter is not something I even WANT to get over. Let alone can just get over.
It seems like a very outdated term.
I imagine mothers of dead babies in the 1960's coldly being told to go home, make a new baby and get over it.

I've been told that I will get over it eventually.
God I hope not.

What I will do is learn to live with it. That is all we can really hope for, isn't it? To learn to live with it.
To learn to live while missing a giant piece of your heart.
To learn to smile when your spirit is broken.

For the rest of my life, there will never be a moment where I do not recognize Lucy's absence. There will never be an experience I don't mourn missing with her. She is my daughter and that fact will never change. That is not something I plan to get over. But I do feel like I am starting to learn to live with her loss. I'm learning to how to make it through the day without falling apart. I'm learning how to not snap at ignorant pregnant women. I'm learning who not to talk to about my feelings. That list, unfortunately is getting longer and longer.

It seems like I've hit that point where people are starting to wonder if I'm going to be bitter and angry and sad forever. Where people are starting to get annoyed that I'm not magically better. That X or Y didn't fix me.

The (arguably) good news is that I've never cared much what other people thought. So I continue to do my thing, and live my life, and my list of people I'd like to tell to um....go take a hike (with slightly more colorful language) grows longer and longer.

To whom it may concern....

2010-01-26T14:54:00.001-07:00

Just for the record, I do not sit around my house all day moping because my daughter died.

But if I did that would be okay.

Because my child died and I am allowed to be completely devastated.

Weepy

2010-01-07T11:07:00.001-07:00

Sometimes it's easy for me to "forget" I just had a baby 5 months ago.
It's super easy to remember when you're taking care of a baby 24-7 and he/she is always there. But when there's no baby, it's different.

That's not to say I often forget my daughter died, or that I just experienced all that. But just that being pregnant and giving birth doesn't really feel like part of that somehow, and I often find myself forgetting that my hormones are still going crazy. Or that my body is still very much postpartum.

It sucks. My hormones tend to jump up and kick me in the butt randomly and leave me wondering why on earth I'm crying over a cooking blog.

This seems like a common thread among babyloss mamas, I really struggle with the moving forward aspect of all of this. On one hand I'm so ready for my hormones to calm down, for my hair to stop falling out. For everything not to feel so raw. But on the other, moving forward in time takes me that much farther away from Lucy's life, and that sucks.
I am grateful that I am here now and not back there. That it is 2010 and not 2009. I hate myself for feeling that way, but I am glad the whole thing is over. Somehow I lived through it, I made it through the pregnancy from hell. I delivered a dead baby and buried her.

I'm glad I'm through with that life experience I was handed and I hope with my entire being I never have to endure anything as horrific again.

Yet I feel so guilty for feeling this way.

If it were possible to change things I would. I would cut off my legs if I could go back in time and somehow safe Lucy. I would sacrifice my own life for her's if it worked that way.
Somehow re-write that story.
But it's not possible, I fully realize this. You can't change things like that. You can't bring people back from the dead.

Bidding 2009 Goodbye

2009-12-31T12:56:00.002-07:00

I have to admit, I'm not terribly sad to see this year go. I think I can say with full assurance that it has been the worst year of my life.
Jan-March was spent throwing up, so sick I could barely get out of bed.
April-July was miserable, swollen and in constant pain.
August brought the detestation and the loss of our precious baby girl.

The rest of the year has been spent trying to piece our lives back together. Trying not to drown and often times, not doing a great job at that.

Reading a list of people who passed away in 2009, Brittany Murphy, Michael Jackson, Billy Mays, etc...... It struck me that my daughter belongs on that list. Once again I'm left without words. I am part of the moms of dead babies club.

I don't know what 2010 is going to bring our way. I can only hope it is a better year than 2009 was.

I have a million stories and experiences from the past few weeks I want to share but am finding myself at a distinct loss for words right now. Maybe once the hustle and bustle of the holiday has winded down I will have time to write more.

I find myself once again feeling very bitter and angry and sad.

Metaphorically speaking

2009-12-13T13:57:00.002-07:00

A baby loss friend of mine once compared this grief to weathering a storm. At that time it made sense. But lately I've been realizing more and more how very true this is.

Sometimes I feel it coming. The emotion, rumbling through my body, starting at my stomach. I imagine myself on a life raft, with my head ducked down, holding on as tight as I can.
I face it and I let the storm take over me, knowing it will pass and I will be okay again.
Sometimes it lasts minutes, sometimes hours and sometimes days. But the one constant is that eventually it passes and for a short while it doesn't hurt quite so badly. In the middle of the storm it can be very hard to remember that it will pass. It's always a struggle to remind myself of that fact.

Sometimes I don't feel it coming. It hits me and everything starts to spin, my knees buckle and I feel faint. Before I even realize that something has triggered the memories and the aching I am down. It's always harder when it hits me without warning. Without time to throw on my life jacket and jump in my raft. It sneaks up on me in random, inappropriate places.
Like the Costco parking lot, or driving my kids to school in the morning.
I panic and it takes me a while to dig my way out. I have to hold on even tighter. I have to work even harder to remember it will pass.

I'm sharing this because it actually helps me. Visualization helps me a lot.
Visualizing this grief as a storm, and myself holding on to a life raft really does help me make it through the really hard times.

Changing subjects (and yet not) for a moment. Last night I was laying in bed and was completely overcome with fear, fear that another pregnancy would mean another dead baby. Completely frozen in terror. I was transported back to that hospital room, back to the nurse asking me if we knew if the baby was a boy or a girl and me not even being able to get the word "girl" out. Back to labor and delivery. Back to Lucy.
I'm not sure I have the guts to face the chance that we could be put through this again.

On another somewhat unrelated note, I'm struggling lately about how much to share here. I'm not sure why, it has always been my intention to keep this blog brutally honest and to chronicle every step of our grieving process. But as my emotions move from anger and deep sadness more towards aching and life changes I find it more and more difficult to know what to share. I guess time will tell.
In the meantime you can find me clinging to my life raft, because my life depends on it.

4 months, Happy Holidays

2009-12-05T14:40:00.004-07:00

Today marks 4 months since I delivered Lucy. 4 months she's been gone. Nearly 1/2 as long as she was here.
Unbelievable.

Most people are planning for their baby's first Christmas with joy and elation! I had a list a mile long of infant friendly toys I was going to make for Lucy. A stacking ring set from the Heather Bailey pattern. A set of fabric fruits. Her first Waldorf doll.

But now.
I am holding my breath and fighting the near-constant tears.
I am feeling as if I've been repeatedly stabbed on the inside.
I am decorating my daughter's grave and canceling long-planned parties that I now have no desire to attend.

Once again, the unfairness of it all washes over me.

Why me?

2009-12-02T10:12:00.003-07:00

For a while I was completely content with the belief that what happened to Lucy was just a cosmic accident. There was no rhyme or reason. No divine intervention. It just happened and it sucks, life sucks and then you die, and death probably sucks too. I'm not sure why humanity is full of suckage but it sure seems that way.

Lately though I have been consumed with why me? Why Us?
Ben and I are good people, we are good parents. Our children are loved and adored. We spend time with them every day, we eat dinner as a family at the table almost every night. We spoil them with love and sometimes things. They have a good life. Their needs are met and sometimes their wants. We treat them well, we don't spank or hit, we try not to yell. We respect our children and they respect us. I can't even remember the last time I had to punish one of them for something. We are open and honest. We have a loving home. We are very connected as a family, we do things together, not apart.
Ben is an amazing father. I am brought to tears all the time watching him interact with our children. He just loves them so much and they adore him. I hear them talking about us sometimes when they think we're not listening. "Daddy is so funny, I just love him." Kileah will say. "Yeah" Kyler will say "I love it when he tries to trick us into thinking something is yucky just so he can eat it all. It never works though."
He works hard to provide for us. He has made sacrifices to ensure we are never without.

Not to toot my own horn but I think I'm a good mother. I love my children. I go out of my way to make sure they feel loved, safe and happy. I make time for them. I care for them.
Just the other day I met my neighbor's grown daughter and she said to me "Oh you're the one with the adorable kids!" I laughed, "Well yeah I think so." "Yes!" she said "They look like they just fell out of a Little Golden Book, they look like they've been so well loved and cared for and sheltered. Some kids just grow up too fast they never get to be kids. But it's so clear your kids get to be kids and they are so happy and well loved."
"Doesn't she look like the Little Golden Book mom?" My neighbor said.
Granted I think my neighbor is my biggest fan. But still it made me feel like we must be doing something right.

So why? Why when drug addicts get healthy living babies. When people who can't provide for their families get healthy living babies. When hateful, abusive, mean and selfish people get healthy living babies, was our's taken from us?
I don't begrudge people their babies. But it does seem painfully unfair.

People seem to turn to religion in these cases.
Which can be comforting at time and at others, quite the opposite.
For some reason a lot of the religious opinions center on something I have done wrong.
I've been told that my baby died because Ben and I haven't gone through the temple (LDS thing) and she is meant to guide us there.
Wow, so if only we'd gone through the temple sooner then my baby wouldn't have died? So I killed her by not going? This is our fault for not being religious?
Somehow I don't find comfort in that, and I think if there is a God and he/she is that mean and vindictive that they would take away a mother's child to teach her a lesson then that is no God I want to know.

On the other side of the equation, a friend told me she believed God sent Lucy to a mother he knew would love her no matter what.
This thought makes me feel better, like maybe I did something right, not wrong.

The bottom line is this; there are no answers because anything I can come up with is ridiculously unfair. What is a life worth? Nothing I can do will ever vindicate Lucy's death.

I'm not asking for opinions or beliefs here. Just sharing my thoughts and feelings.

Today...

2009-12-01T15:38:00.000-07:00

I'm fighting extra hard not to drive my car into a large brick wall.

It is possible to live through this? Right? Cause I gotta be honest, I'm not sure.

Still breathing.

2009-11-18T15:59:00.003-07:00

It's been 11 days since I wrote anything here.
I can't say for sure why, I guess I felt like I didn't have anything new to say. It really gets to a point where saying "I miss my baby, I'm sad she died" feels repetitive and let's face it, everyone knows I miss her and I'm sad she died.

Last week I hit a few new lows. I spent each morning in bed crying. I would manage to pull myself up and get to kid's school and that was it. I decided I should wallow.

This week I vowed to do better. I had to do better. I have done better.
Monday by about 3 I was done with the faking it and was completely emotionally exhausted.
Tuesday I made it until 4.
Today I realized that thinking about Lucy doesn't bring on the intense pain it always has. Yes, my heart still hurts. But it's not as intense. It's, dare I say, tolerable.

I cannot imagine that I would be ok with not feeling sad anymore. Ever, for the rest of my life I hope to miss Lucy and feel sad that she was taken from us.

I'm not even sure I can say I have moved through the entire grieving process.
But today I feel very at peace.

I'm mad.

2009-11-07T13:33:00.002-07:00

Ben has been working noon-midnight all week.
I've had 3 sick kids and a sick self and Ben is sick so for the teeny bit of time he is home he's been sleeping.
I am so over being mom and dad and if I hear "mommy mommy mommy mommy" on more time I might just run away. I adore my kids, and I am not one of those mothers who demands daily "breaks." I mean no offense to people who do, I am just not one. Generally I much prefer time with my children to time without.
But this week has me at my breaking point and I NEED a break.

Alas, there is no break in sight so I'll blog my worries away instead.

I'm so angry. I hate it. I hate the anger.
To every pregnant woman I see lately I want to say "Yeah I sure hope your baby doesn't die. Cause you know they do sometimes. A lot of times." I hate the ignorance. I want to hurt them the way I am hurting. Maybe it's jealousy. No I know it's jealousy. I wish I was ignorant. But I'm not and I hate people that just assume because the stick turned blue (or what have you) there will be a baby coming home with them and life will be peachy.
I'm sorry but that's just not how it is.
I can feel the people that "know" what happened's thoughts.
"Thank God THAT will never happen to me."
"I am so superior because I my baby didn't/won't die inside of me."

I'm tired of being let down by people who I loved and trusted and thought would always be there for me. This whole experience has been a lesson in humanity for me. Sometimes you learn things about people you wished you never knew. Like those closest to you are all too willing to let you down, and strangers are often far more compassionate and supportive.

I have joined a whole new "group" as a result of this and the company is great, but it's a club I never wanted to join. I know they didn't either. We all have that in common. I have a deep love and compassion for my sisters in babyloss. But I wish it wasn't necessary.

I feel like I've lost so much. I've lost much more than my baby. I just want it back. I want the happy, optimistic, niave life I had before August 4th back.
I hate that I will NEVER have that back. I will never have my baby back, I will never have my ignorance back.

I thought I was doing ok, I thought I had reached acceptance, but here I am. Whisked back to the beginning to relive this whole thing again.
Grief feels a lot like a game of Shoots and ladders. I climb a ladder and think things are going to be ok and I'm going to sail to the end of the board. Then I hit a shoot and down, down, down. Back to the beginning I go to do it all again.

Pieces

2009-11-06T11:52:00.001-07:00

I hate this.
I feel like I just pull myself together and am doing really well.

Then I completely fall to pieces again.

3 months

2009-11-05T18:16:00.002-07:00

I'm sad.
But I'm ok.

I miss my baby.
But I'm ok.

Minus one Mermaid

2009-11-03T15:44:00.004-07:00

Halloween came and went, with a flurry of activity surrounding it.
We don't normally really make a big deal out of Halloween, but fresh off the heals of my "I'm going to be a better, happier, funner mom" resolution I decided to pull it out and make Halloween 2009 a holiday to remember.
Minus one little mermaid.

We went to the Clearfield Aquatic Center's Halloween BOOnanza and the kids had a blast. I even enjoyed it. There weren't many babies and that made it easier to tolerate. The kids ate doughnuts off strings, mini-golfed and a million other hometown carnival type activities.
Minus one mermaid.

Kyler and Kileah both got to dress up for school on Thursday (they were out Friday, smart administration) and put on a parade through the cafeteria with the 2nd graders (Kileah's age) singing. Sophia, Ben and I went to watch and cheer our black cat and Clone Trooper on.
Minus one mermaid.

Friday we went South to visit Lucy's grave and attend a small party with my in laws. We had a nice time and even carved pumpkins. Kyler's won in a 4 way tie. Ben and I spent quite a bit of time up at the cemetery. There was snow on the ground and it seemed like such a sad marking of time. It's been nearly 3 months since my baby girl was laid to rest there, and soon it will be completely covered with snow, and then the grass will fill in and before I know it we will be a year out from that date. Time, unfortunatly marches on.
Minus one mermaid.

Halloween day we made cookies and stuffed pumpkin, I put the finishing touches on our spooky front room. Ben and the kids carved more pumpkins. Soon it was time and the trick or treaters started showing up at our door. I have a confession to make. I always cry on Halloween. I don't know what it is, but seeing all the little kids, and big kids alike (and really big kids, like Ben) so overjoyed, dressed up in costumes, having the time of their lives just makes me weepy. I always have to fight back tears for the first hour or so. This year it was much harder to fight back the tears. In fact I did a horrible job. I couldn't help but think, with every ring of the doorbell how my baby should be here.
How Kileah was so excited when Lucy's mermaid tail showed up at our door, and she decided Lucy should be a mermaid for Halloween! I thought that was brilliant and planned to make her a top with either sea shells or mermaids on it. I hadn't decided exactly which yet.
I thought about Sophia's first Halloween and how I'd put her in her lion costume in the moby wrap, donned my cheetah ears and handed out candy joyfully. This year was suposed to be the same, except Lucy would have been my little mermaid.
We were so looking forward to having a tiny baby in the fall. I fanticized about putting her softly in a pile of leaves and taking pictures. I imagined blissfully carrying her in the moby chasing the big kids around the pumpkin patch.
When I think about what life was suposed to be like it just seems so blissful. Having a living baby seems like a dream. Even Colic and midnight wakings sound fantastic. I wish my baby was here right now screaming her head off. In my fantasies I have the biggest grin on my face.

I digress, I really enjoying handing out the candy, which is why every year I get to do this while Ben drags the kids around the neighborhood begging for treats. I love seeing all the kids and talking to them, kids are awesome, did you know? They are so funny and always full of fabulous ideas.
My neighbor's husband and their girls came and I really really wanted to say "Do you know that my baby died? Do you know that every time I see your wife out front with your baby I want to die? Or scream? Or scream and then die?"
But I didn't.
Because I still have some sanity left I suppose, and because I may have a shred of dignity somewhere.

Somehow we made it through our first Lucy-less holiday, but her absence was felt everywhere.

Why not?

2009-10-29T12:08:00.003-06:00

I had the sad realization yesterday that I need to improve my mood.
The kids were so happy when I picked them up from school, then I started getting bitchy and ornery with other drives and immediately they started fighting and complaining.
I thought back to the last few months, they have been fighting so much more, more complaining, more whining.

It was such a slap in the face to realize how much my mood affects them.
I realize our house has not been a happy place for a little while now. I also fully realize that a large part (if not all) of the blame for that belongs on my shoulders.

My grandma died 8 years ago, and I remember one of her nieces coming up to me at her funeral and telling me "Your grandma's house was such a happy place to be, it was so comfortable. You felt like you could just put your feet up and relax." Or something along those lines. I remembering thinking that this right here was the ultimate compliment for a homemaker and how proud my grandma would be to hear someone say that about her. I also decided that day to strive to create that house. The house where people walked in and immediately felt comfortable and at home. Secretly I find it the ultimate compliment when people who are at my house for the first time put their feet up on my coffee table or curl up in one of our big club chairs in the front room.
The tricky part is, it's not as easy as buying comfortable chairs and throwing a few crayons on the floor. It's at least 98% aura.
You can walk into a home and immediately feel if it's a happy and comfortable place.

I do not want to be the mom that no one wants to be around because she's always in a bad mood. I do not want to be the black cloud in our family. I don't want my house to be full of sadness and negativity. That would serve no one.
This requires some lifestyle changes on my part and I have to be proactive. I may not get it right but I'm going to try. I have to try. Having a clean house is a priority to me and it gets me down when my house is a huge mess. Oh man am I good at making excuses for it. But the excuses need to end. I may not have a fancy house and it may not be perfect but I can still work to make it a comfortable, loving home for my family and anyone else that might happen along.

Last night while sewing and feeling mildly defeated by life. While thinking that I'm never going to be able to do it all one thought popped into my mind.
"Why not?"
"Why can't you do it all?"
"What's stopping you?"

I thought about it. What IS stopping me? Myself, my excuses. My depression.
Me, I am stopping me and I am the only person who can end that cycle.

Duh.

2009-10-28T10:32:00.005-06:00

I feel like such a bumbling idiot these days.
I think I mess up everything. Simple tasks are nearly impossible and don't even ask me to spell something with more than 3 syllables.

Last night I cut the lining of a bag a full inch smaller than the outside. An inch! I've been doing this for 5 years, you'd think I'd have the cutting part down.

I have managed to mess up all sorts of things with the Fundraiser. Thank goodness I have smart and understanding friends (LoriB) who will fix my mistakes and not bat an eye. I do not know why I thought I was up to handling something of this magnitude.

This morning I'm just feeling completely defeated. There's the bag incident last night, then this morning taking the kids to school.
There she was.
My nemesis.
The perfect mother with all her little kids and her baby in a moby wrap, and an adorable little teddy bear snuggly snow suit, complete with ears.
It was horrible. Not only did I have to pass her and see her but she was stopped waiting to cross the road while I was stopped at a light.
I watched her son, about Kyler's age, playing peek-a-boo with the baby. The baby giggling and snuggling close. Blissfully unaware that they were torturing me, akin to waterboarding I'm sure.
I've never wanted to claw out of my skin so badly in my life.

For some reason I feel like clawing a lot lately. Is that a primal urge?
When you're so overwhelmed with emotion you just want to claw at something, scratch at something. I sometimes imagine myself sinking my fingers into the earth and clawing through the dirt. Making a huge hole. Digging and digging until I can't go any farther.
I can't figure out why I think that would make me feel better.

I digress, I feel like I spend most of my days apologizing for doing or saying something stupid. It makes me think perhaps I should just avoid all interaction with people until my brain starts functioning again.

Yesterday I made rolls to go with the homemade chicken noodle soup for dinner.
I forgot to put the butter in.
This morning I hollered down the stairs at Kyler to hurry and get dressed for a good 3 minutes before I realized, he was still asleep.

"Ba-Ba-Bamp-Ba Ba-Ba-Ba-Bamp-Ba I wanna be sedated...."

Crazy/sane?

2009-10-26T18:25:00.003-06:00

I had a discussion with some friends yesterday about crazy people.
About how losing a child is a perfectly logical reason to completely lose your mind. No one (myself included) would be surprised to see me going off some deep end somewhere. It would be understandable in fact.

We agreed that the line between crazy and sane is very small and very easy to slip right on over. We all have crazy thoughts, we all have crazy impulses.
So what separates sane people from crazy people? Most of the time "sane people" don't act on those impulses. We have something in our brain that says "really now, that's just crazy!"

Some days I think it would be liberating and comforting to just go crazy. It seems like the right thing to do. Lock myself in my house and knit cat hats all day.

I wonder a lot about myself. If I've bottled up my feelings and they're going to come gushing out at some random time and I'm going to lose it. It might be a nice break, the going crazy thing.

I laid in bed last night clutching Lucy's fuzzy pink blanket and thinking about how she should be there with us. It all still in a lot of ways, seems so surreal. Like maybe I imagined the whole thing? Surely there would be some sign if that really happened? My chest would have a physical, tangible hole in it. Maybe it was a bad dream and any moment I will wake up and it will be August 4th and I will be pregnant and my baby girl will be kicking up a storm in my belly.

A request...

2009-10-25T17:51:00.002-06:00

Dear Firefox,
I love your browser.
I'm also a big fan of the Ad Blocker Plus. It does it's job very well, and makes me a happy, ad free woman.
However, I would like to petition you to create a new blocker plus.
Baby/Infant/Pregnancy blocker plus.

It would block all things baby/pregnancy related. I think this would be a real asset to the blocker plus line. Grieving mothers throughout the world would take full advantage of this blocker, and some would, no doubt download your browser just for this feature.

I realize this would put me at risk of missing my facebook friend's pregnancy announcements, and therefor making it very confusing in 2 years when suddenly there is a new 1 year old member of their family. This is a risk I'm willing to take.

Also if it's possible I would love to extent the baby/pregnancy blocker plus to my real life as well as my internet life.

Thank you for your consideration.

Love and kisses,
Maria M.

Congratulations

2009-10-22T10:50:00.003-06:00

**this is a repost of something I wrote in September, before I started the Losing Lucy blog, I wanted to share it here.**

The night I delivered Lucy a young, peppy girl from the cafeteria brought in my dinner. She commented on the beautiful flowers my sister in law had brought me. "Those are beautiful, you're so lucky!" she said.
Lucky I thought, sarcastically, and attempted a thank you smile.
Then as she left she said the words I was dreading, the words I was so worried some unknowing person would say, "Congratulations on your new baby."

All the blood drained from my face, I felt it. I felt the silence in the room, my mom and MaryAnn (sil) were there with me. I half smiled and she left.

For a while I was hurt, I remember thinking "Why don't they have some sign that all the hospital workers understand to put on my door so no one makes this mistake?" Turns out they did, for the record.

Then a few days later I realized something, that cafeteria girl was the only person who congratulated us, maybe she got it in a way no one else did. Regardless of the outcome I still had a beautiful baby girl. We still added a member to our family. Our lives were forever changed.

The thing is, I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. Even knowing that I would never bring Lucy home, that I would never hear her voice, or nurse her to sleep. I would go through every miserable second of my pregnancy with her again. I love her so much, I always will, and I am so grateful for the time I had with her.
Love is something to be celebrated.

I've got it.

2009-10-20T19:22:00.003-06:00

I've finally figured it out.

What I need to do to keep myself from exploding from wanting a baby so badly.

I need to become a hermit, never leave my house and put cardboard over my windows, cancel my Directv and internet.

If I don't think about the fact that I'm supposed to have a baby right now. That I did my time and she should be here healthy and happy. Smiling. Snuggling. Nursing.
If I don't see babies or baby stuff.
If I don't hear about births or pregnancies.

Then I don't feel so broken and rabid. Then I don't want to steal babies from perfectly normal, unsuspecting couples in Ikea.
Then I can be content and not feel empty and lonely.

Maybe.

Another list of hates....

2009-10-18T14:07:00.004-06:00

I hate it when my brain forgets that Lucy died. Shopping on HC today I thought "Oh I could save that for when Lucy will fit in it."
Oh right...she'll never fit in it.

I hate that I have a box of yarn that I can't bring myself to knit. Because it was all purchased for Lucy.

I hate that this week I forgot how many weeks it's been since we lost her and I had to look at a calender and count. 11.

I hate that she'll never get to be a mermaid for Halloween.

I hate that I feel like my husband is a stranger. Last night at dinner I found myself wondering "Is this really Ben? Is that really him? Because he seems pretty different." I'm different too. He looks the same, I think, I can't even remember what he used to look like. I can't even remember what I used to look like.

Kisses

2009-10-17T22:28:00.004-06:00

I think I need to start carrying around a notebook. I think about things I want to write about here all day and then I sit down and draw a huge blank.

Sophia and I are polishing off a bag of Pumpkin Spice Hersey kisses. We bought the bag yesterday.
Ok honestly we bought 2 bags yesterday.
And 2 more today.

I feel better now that I've got that off my chest.

I fear that Sophia is getting really spoiled. She has been the baby for 3 years, and now she's like double the baby. I find myself babying her far more than I did before we lost Lucy. For example it's 10:30 and she's sitting here, on my lap, in her pajamas and a pair of dress up cat ears eating hersey kisses. Bed time was 2 hours ago and I know she didn't finish her dinner.
While I believe you can't spoil a baby I think that maybe you can spoil a 3 year old.

We had a small service for Lucy, and all during it, while everyone was crying and sharing Sophia sat on my lap and kissed my cheeks.
In a lot of ways Sophia has saved me. So maybe it's ok if she's a little spoiled.
All of my children have been a huge part of me making it through this. They have all helped, they have all been amazing and in their own individual way they have saved me.
Kyler's caring nature, and his very male need to fix it. His memory. He came home from school one day during the first week with a picture of his family he'd drawn. Ben, Me, him, Kileah and Sophia all standing and above us was baby Lucy with angel wings. It took my breath away. I love that he remembers and loves.
Kileah is a nurturer and she just wants to care for me. She will sit with me for hours while I cry. She is patient and loving. She is always coming up with things to "fix" me. She made up a song about Lemons and Lucy, because one day while watching food network I burst into tears. It had nothing to do with the lemons on the show. But she thought it did. So a song was in order. A song is always in order in Kileah's world. :)
Sophia is the innocent, matter of fact 3 year old. It's all very black and white. Lucy died, and we can just have another baby and make sure it doesn't die. If mommy is crying I can do something silly and it will make her happy. I can kiss her a hundred times or I can poke her eyes.
She asks to see Lucy in her box when we go to the cemetery. It's hard to explain to her why we can't do that.
I really do have the best kids.
They re-affirm my belief that all I ever want is to be a mother. They make me strive to be a better mother. A better person.

In other news, I've had a tension headache for going on 3 weeks now. I finally hunted down some of that Excedrin tension headache I've been seeing on TV and took some last night. It must have helped because I woke up at 8 this morning still in my jeans and bra. All women know how completely out I must have been to not be bothered to take off my bra.
Unfortunately, tension headache is back today. I did a little research online about them, and the leading causes are things like, depression (imagine that!), stress, trauma, emotional strain, etc....
I supose when all that goes away the tension headache will follow suit?

Hello tension headache, may I call you TH for short? We best get to know each other because something tells me you're going to be around for a while.

Target

2009-10-16T21:18:00.003-06:00

Sometimes I forget that I don't go anywhere for good reason.
Like tonight.

I promised the kids we'd go costume shopping this weekend and wanting to avoid the Saturday crowds we decided to go tonight. It was late-ish so I thought we'd be fine.

Someone forgot to tell me it was Bring your newborn to Target Day. I missed that memo.

There was one family in particular looking through the little girl's clothes and the dad kept, for some reason I will never know, trying to get me to acknowledge the baby.
I am ignoring you and your stupid baby for good reason sir, now please get the hell out of my way. Thanks.

I should have turned around and left the store when I saw the 4th infant car seat and hadn't even made it past the $1 isle. But me being, well me of course had to tough it out. Just get over yourself Maria they have a right to shop for Halloween costumes with their babies in stupid car seats strapped in stupid carts.

I didn't beat anyone up, or knock anyone over. So I guess that might be an improvement over the Old Navy trip of doom.

I came home and dropped $70 at fabric.com
Self medicate?
Why yes, I think I will.

Balloons for Angel Babies

2009-10-15T21:18:00.003-06:00

Isabelle, Tyler, Lucy, Reese, Persephone, Henry
And all the other babies gone too soon.

October 15th

2009-10-15T11:25:00.004-06:00

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance day is here. A day I never thought I'd have to think about beyond being sad for other moms. But this year I'm not just sad for other moms. I'm sad for me too. But yet, I'm not sad. I'm happy. I'm touched. I'm overwhelmed. I am so lucky.

I remember back in August when I picked this date for Remembering Lucy I thought it seemed so far away.
That's the funny thing about time, it passes quickly at times and excruciatingly slowly at other times.

This morning I put on my bird shirt (the new one) and put pink ribbons on the kids and explained to them they were to help them remember Lucy today.

Kyler says, "real men wear pink....on their ankles...under their jeans."

The official activity for October 15th is lighting a candle at 7 pm your time, in an effort to create a wave of light across the world and remember all the babies gone too soon. Please consider lighting a candle.

Our family is also going to send up balloons to the babies close to us that have passed. If you've lost a baby please tell me his/her name so I can send one to them too. :) I will post pictures of our balloon fest tomorrow. Also if you send balloons up (which would be cool, baby angels love balloons, Sophia says so) please take pictures and share!

Much love and peace to all the mommies out there who have lost babies. No matter when, no matter how. We are all united by a common bond.

She's done lost her mind.

2009-10-14T19:08:00.002-06:00

I'm not feeling too great today. I think the stress and emotional weight of everything is really starting to take it's toll on me physically.

Of course not feeling well did not stop me from going fabric shopping, for bird fabric. Bird fabric that I've had my eye on.
Because birds remind me of Lucy.

Then I drug the kids to Old Navy to look for winter coats.
That's where I lost it.
In the Little Girl section, which is right by the maternity section.

I was just so angry.
So angry at that stupid pregnant mannequin. So angry that I had no need for the perfectly pink baby girl clothes next to it.
So angry that the coat I wanted for Sophia came in size 3-6 months but not 4T and angry that I should have a need for a 3-6 month size coat. But I don't.
So I purposefully hit the mannequin with my elbow and made it wobble.
See you're not so perfect I thought.

I walked around mindlessly. Trying to find something to fix me. But nothing would.
And so I paid for a coat for Kileah and a shirt for myself that I don't need, but has a bird on it. So I thought maybe I needed it.

And we left and I was grateful to the rain for masking my tears.
But the whole thing has me questioning whether or not I'm ready to be around real people yet.

Or fake plastic people for that matter.....

Torture treatment

2009-10-13T15:07:00.003-06:00

Today is one of those days.

One of those days where I torture myself. Almost as if to see how badly I can make it hurt.
You know when you go to the dentist and your cheeks are numb. So you bite them and poke them to see if you can feel it. Or when you discover a mystery bruise and you just have to push on it to see if it will hurt.

This is a dirty little trap I find myself in on days that are particularly overwhelming. I stare at pictures, I allow the memories to wash over me.
I listen to this song that Jared sang at her funeral.
Or this one that I just discovered but is equally touching, and heartbreaking. Slightly different than our situation but nonetheless. We said hello at the same time we said goodbye.

I found myself dangerously focused on the rear view mirror driving to the kid's school this afternoon.
What's missing from this picture? I wonder.
I can tell you what it is, it's the perfect purple infant britax I spent months obsessing over for Lucy. That now resides tucked away in a closet.
But really it should be holding a nearing 10 week old baby girl.

Driving back home, listening to Pearl Jam and these lyrics struck me:
"Is something wrong she said? Well of course there is. You're still alive she said. Oh and do I deserve to be? Is that the question?"

I know I spend a lot of time here talking about how shocked I am to still be alive. How some days I feel like I'm in a holding pattern, waiting for reality to hit me and my heart to completely stop. In fact it's what I spend a lot of my time in general thinking about. Did I really live through this? Am I really still alive? Do I deserve to be?
Maria I can't find a heartbeat.....still alive.
Labor and Delivery......still alive.
Saying Goodbye...still alive.
Speaking at my baby girl's funeral...still alive.
Almost 10 weeks later....still alive.

How is it possible? I have always wondered how women live through losing a child, and despite doing it myself I still wonder.
At the same time I know how, you just do.
Women, mothers are strong. I don't feel strong, but I figure I must be, somehow. To have made it through this. I do have 3 living children relying on me to be there for them. To be normal for them. I know in my heart Lucy wouldn't want me to die too, I think she would want me to be the best mother I can to her siblings. I think she would want me to love them twice as much, once for me and once for her.

Some days though, torture days like today it seems nearly impossible.

Hate.

2009-10-12T15:49:00.001-06:00

I hate that this happened to us.
I hate that I never get to watch my baby grow up.
I hate myself for not being able to bring her safely into this world.

Nature

2009-10-11T20:27:00.005-06:00

This weekend we decided to pack up these city kids and give them a taste of...nature.

Well almost.
We didn't go out into uncharted territory and rough it in a tent. We did, however pack up the Durango, say NO MOVIES and drive up the loop road, a quintessential part of fall for most Juab and Utah county residents.

It always surprises me how skiddish my kids are around nature. They're just not quite sure what to think of it, and I'm reminded that they live in a city, they haven't grown up the way we did. In a small town where weekends are just an excuse to go camping and the deer hunt is a school holiday (true fact). I say it's high time to educate them. I can't imagine myself being comfortable raising kids who aren't glad to escape to the mountains every chance they get.

I find great comfort in the mountains. I've heard people from flat states say they think the mountains are smothering, and they feel claustrophobic. Perhaps you have to grow up in the shadows of the mountains to understand the comfort and security that comes from being surrounded by them. I remember being terrified of tornadoes when I was very small and my mom telling me that it wasn't something I had to worry about, because the mountains all around us protect us from them. I think that's where my feelings of security around mountains came from.

So maybe that's why I'm ok with Lucy being buried a 2 hour drive away from us. The mountains will protect her.

Today Ben and I were sitting up at Lucy's grave when a van pulled up. Out got a mother and her daughter. We knew them. They knew us. We exchanged heartbreaking glances. The other mother also lost a daughter, in April of this year, who is buried behind Lucy. After a little while of silence we talked about how we were doing, and I told her how absolutely beautiful I think their daughter's stone is, it's relatively new. I thought about that mother, her loss is different than mine. Her daughter lived for 20 years. But I saw in her eyes that same look, that lost look. She too is a lost mother.

I wish I could say that I feel closer to Lucy in nature, but I really don't. I don't find answers but I do find simplicity. We humans have such a tendency to over complicate things. But nature is simple, and yet beautifully complex at the same time.
I found myself thinking a lot about seasons on our little trip today. How each season brings a change and nature goes with it. This is vital for survival. Instinct tells squirrels it's time to gather nuts and seeds and stock up for the long winter months ahead. Trees cycle and drop their leaves.
I think I spend far too much time fighting the natural cycle of my life. Instead of just going with it. What's wrong with just trusting your gut and leaving the rest in the hands of the universe? If trees and squirrels can do it, why can't I? Things generally have a way of working themselves out in the end.

Q&A

2009-10-09T10:39:00.003-06:00

I was thinking about what I wanted to blog today. I have so many thoughts swimming through my head and I have to mentally organize them before I can sit down and make any sense.
So I've decided to answer some questions here that people commonly ask me. Most people seem to walk the line between really wanting to know everything, and yet not knowing if it's ok to ask questions or not.
So, my first answer I guess should be that it's ok to ask me anything. I can't think of a thing you could ask that would offend or upset me. I enjoy talking about Lucy and telling her story. So if you have a question please feel free to ask and I'll add it to my list of questions.

Q: How are Ben and the kids doing?

A: The short answer, they're doing okay.
The long answers; It's so hard to know how someone else is really doing. It's hard to know if they've dealt with their grief or just stuffed it up inside.
Ben I think is doing fine. He breaks down now and then, but I *think* he seems to have handled his grief and walked through it in a way that was right for him. I worry that he's put his own feelings in a box to be dealt with later so he can support me and take care of me right now. But as I said it's hard to know. We talk about Lucy often and we both miss her, but there are some things that remain unsaid because it's simply too painful to vocalize.
Kyler is good. Someone told me kids have a much harder time dealing with death because they have to learn what it is. I respectfully disagree with this statement. I think kids have a deeper understanding and a more simple one at that of life and death, than adults do. We have been completely open and honest with our children every moment of this. We have held tight and close as a family and as a result, we seem to have worked through this together. Kyler seems to have a sixth sense for how I'm feeling. Maybe it is that mother-son bond? Even if I'm not outwardly expressing my sadness he knows when I need a hug or a kiss and he is there to provide. He is an awesome kid. I sent both his and Kileah's teachers emails before school started letting them know what our family had just been through and asking them to watch out for any odd behavior. Kyler's teacher has been amazingly communicative, he has sent home notes and has emailed me to say how well Kyler is doing in school and what a great kid he is. Why yes, I do know my son is amazing.
Kileah I think is going through some middle child syndrome stuff. She is far more emotional than my other children and she seems to internalize everything. I think I spend a good portion of my day thinking "Oh no, is this going to seriously mess her up for life?" As for losing Lucy, Kileah seems to have dealt. She still cries with me from time to time, but she and I are connected in a deep way and sometimes I wonder if it's more of a reaction to how I'm feeling. She and I are very alike, like my mom and me, and I think someday we'll drive each other crazy as a result. She talks all the time about having a family of her own, she promises me she will live close to me, no more than a mile away. She wants her kids to be able to walk to my house. I think this is a good plan and I will someday adore spoiling my grandchildren. For now though, I wonder if she thinks it's her job to give me the baby I lost. The first time we went to the cemetary to visit Lucy's grave she picked a "wish flower" (dandelion) and told me to make a wish. I was feeling melancholy and instead of my standard wish (a billion yards of new fabrics) I wished for a living baby. Since that time she has wished for a living baby for me. I hope one day I can produce my own living baby and she no longer feels the need. She is a very intelligent and emotional little girl.
Back to the middle child syndrome, I have tried my hardest to not let this happen. I remember my dear friend, Jen, once telling me that she never felt like the middle child. I want Kileah to never feel like the middle child. I need to adjust my parenting, I realize that. I try to spend time every afternoon alone with her, talking about her day. She is such a fabulous little person.
Sophia is 3. Need I say more? She understands that Lucy is gone, but I really don't think she completely understands any more than that. She is happy and healthy and loved. She is funny. She is spoiled rotton.

Q: Are you going to have another baby?

A: Yes. Someday, yes. I have no doubt that we are meant to have another child. Unfortunately there are a lot of factors we have to consider. For example, pregnancy for me means setting aside at least 3 months of my life to do nothing but puke. We also want to make sure our family is emotionally stable and prepared to go through this again. We have been broken, our ignorance has been stripped from us and we fully realize that pregnancy does not mean having a baby. Bringing home a baby is a possibility, but just as real a possiblity is burying that baby. Before we even consider taking that chance we have to accept that. I have to accept that. What happened to Lucy is completely unpreventable. There is no way to be sure it won't happen again. A few weeks ago Sophia said to me "Why can't you just have another baby?" I told her maybe we will someday, and she said "Make sure the next one doesn't die, ok?"
I wish I could. I with I could make 100% sure that another baby won't die. But the sad fact is that I cannot.

Q: Are you going to share the NILMDtS pictures of Lucy?

A: Yes I am willing to share some of them, I am not comfortable just putting them out there on the internet for everyone to see. But I am going to set up a private, password protected album on my site to put the few I want to share in. If you are interested in seeing them just ask and I will give you the information. I realize some people don't want to see and I respect that, but I am happy to share them with those who do want to see. I assure you the few I am sharing are very tasteful and while heartwrenching are not disturbing or hard to look at.

Q: Is there anything you need? Anything I can do?

A: This is the hardest question to answer because I honestly don't know. If you have something you want to do for us, or send us please do. We appreciate everything. But I really don't know what I need. Beyond a listening ear (which you have all provided me already) and a shoulder to cry on. Support and patience. I may not make sense, it may take me a month to reply to you, be patient. My brain is full of holes. Please know how much I appreciate and cherish your words, your support. It seems like whenever I'm feeling incredibly low someone sends me a message saying they're thinking of us and it lifts me up again. I would not be here, breathing, living if it wasn't for the strength and support of others.

At a loss.

2009-10-08T14:59:00.003-06:00

I want to chronicle my feelings today.
But I'm at a complete loss for words. I find myself in this position a lot lately, and anyone that knows me knows.....I RARELY don't have something to say.

Today I received the pictures taken by the volunteer photographer for Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep .
I have been so anxious to get them, I thought I was so ready. It practically took someone else pointing out to me that they might be sort of upsetting and/or hard to look at before I even considered it.
I was there that day, I saw it all. It's forever etched in my memory, if I lived through that surely the pictures will be nothing.
I was wrong. The mind does funny things. Memories aren't always reality I've found.

Lucy was perfect and beautiful and it makes me so angry that she was taken from us. She had perfect chubby little cheeks, rosebud lips just like Sophia's, my nose, even her little bum was cute. She had long feet and sweet little baby hands. She had black hair like her daddy.
It's so unfair.
I guess this might be another case where I find myself questioning me, my very being. I see myself in these pictures and yet, that women feels very distant from me. I don't feel like I was ever her. I can see a distinct difference in my appearance. Perhaps no one else would notice, maybe it's my eyes? I think I look 10 years older than I did on August 3rd.

What I find most surprising is this carnal need I suddenly feel. This franticness to get my baby. I need my baby. There she is, in the pictures. She existed, so I need her. I need her now. I need her here. Not there, not wherever she is. Here, with me.
Not much else matters. Nothing else matters.

I am so grateful for these pictures. I am so grateful for the guy with the hot Australian accent who volunteered his time and talent to take them. I am grateful for the organization Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep, to whomever realized the need for such a thing. I am proud to be raising money for them next week.
I am so glad we made the choice to have them come. Someday I will be able to look at them and not feel so much pain, not feel so frantic and lost. Today, however, is not that day.

...just breathe...

2009-10-07T11:46:00.004-06:00

Emotional Electrocution

2009-10-06T12:34:00.002-06:00

I imagine that's what I'm feeling right now. As if I've been electrocuted on the inside. Today has been one hell of a day, and it's just 12:30.

I woke up to Kyler and Kileah frantically searching for our cat, Delilah. Odd, I thought. So I got up to see what was going on.
I guess last night, or early this morning more likely Delilah had her kittens. We knew she was expecting again, we know when it happened. In the days after we lost Lucy no one really cared if she got let outside or not. So she apparently tramped around, a lot, considering she had 6 total.
Back to my story, she had abandoned one little kitten in the girl's room and disappeared.
My nightmare had came true. From the moment I realized she was going to have kittens I was paranoid one would die.
I have not had great experiences with kittens, you see. Up until Delilah every cat I'd ever had that had kittens abandoned them and all of them, with the exception of 1 died. So my fears were valid. Even though Delilah proved to be a great, AP mommy cat with her last litter. I still feared the worst.
I picked up the tiny little abandoned kitten, he was cold and weak but alive. We all frantically searched the house for Delilah, I called Ben and could barely get the words out. I was such a mess. Before he got here I found Delilah, and her other 3 kittens in the back of my closet. She was happily purring and taking care of them but she'd have nothing to do with the little one. I gently wrapped him up in the hot pad set on low and sent Ben out for kitten formula. At some point Delilah had 2 more little kittens.
Finally, after a few hours of trying to get him to eat we realized he was too sick for us. So we found a vet clinic willing to take him.
We took him and dropped him off. I starting sobbing right there in the clinic. With 4 women behind the desk looking at me like I had 6 heads, I'm sure thinking "clearly this woman is a psychotic animal abandoner." I had so wanted to tell them that I wasn't shirking responsibility, but that my baby had died 9 weeks ago and I couldn't face a kitten dieing. It's all too raw.
But instead I sobbed and left.

And now I feel as if I've been electrocuted.

That thing called anger.

2009-10-05T16:27:00.002-06:00

Anger is a stage of the grieving process.
It's "perfectly natural" to be irrationally angry I'm told.
It's okay to want to punch all the pregnant women you see, as long as you don't actually act on it, I'm told.
Lear and roll your eyes at people with newborn babies, it's ok. I'm told.

So why is it that Anger is the stage hardest for me to let naturally flow?
My brain will start ranting about how unfair it is that other women get to keep their babies but I didn't, and my intelligence jumps in and tells me to not think like that. You don't want to be bitter, it tells me. Smile and be happy, be happy for so and so that they have their baby and they're not going through the hell you are right now.

But the sad fact is that deep down I am not happy for anyone. I am bitter and angry and I hate everyone who gets to keep their baby. I hate everyone who feels superior to me because they have never buried a child. I hate the ignorance people keep spouting at me because they think it helps.

And yet still as I sit here and type my brain says "You can't publish that. What if someone reads it and is offended?"

Today is the 4th.

2009-10-04T15:22:00.002-06:00

Which makes tomorrow the 5th, and the only days that are worse than Wednesdays are the 5th days of the month.
I suppose I don't have much experience to base that on, as this is only the second 5th I've had to endure not completely drugged out of my mind, in a puddle on the floor.
I'm sitting here and it's 3:25 right now, 2 months ago at this time I was sitting in my midwife's office. I would venture to guess that by now I knew Lucy was gone. I was probably sitting alone in that room they put me in, crying, gasping, wondering. It was horrible. Pure torture. Tell a woman her baby is dead inside of her and then stick her in a room alone to wait for someone sane to drive her home. I don't blame my midwife or her nurse. They were doing what they thought best and trying to take care of me and protect me. In hindsight I wish I'd just left and drove myself home. Home to be with my living children. In those moments I wanted nothing more than to be with them. To hold them all together tight and wrap our family in a little cocoon of safety and happiness. In retrospect I'm amazed at home put together I was during that time. At how much clarity I possessed. I was determined to breathe in every moment I still had with my baby. To cherish that time, for that would be it. There would be no first birthday parties, or late night nursing sessions.
For a long time I couldn't look at the call log or text log on my phone. I couldn't bear to see the names and times. Knowing the news I was delivering to them.
I guess it's high time I finish the story of losing Lucy here in this blog. Tomorrow I will do that.
Today though the rain is drizzling down and it seems very poetic and perfect. A good day to reflect and feel sad. Allow the hurt to seep in from every pore. I planned a dinner party, although the guests are a part of my "safe zone." My niece and her boy friend. It still gives me something to keep busy with, and I used to really enjoy entertaining. I guess I'll find out if that's something robot Maria enjoys as well.

Apples

2009-10-03T15:32:00.004-06:00

It's fall, which in most parts of the country means apples.
We have a very old, beautiful apple tree in our yard.
We had completely written off the apples.

Despite our best efforts, the worms got to them once again.
This afternoon though, as we were cleaning out what was left of our garden, I looked at the beautiful, old tree and noticed a single perfect apple. No worms, no bugs.
This spurred us on to look for more apples and sure enough, before we knew it we'd filled an entire basket full of apples and then some. In the process we'd also filled a much larger plastic tub with bad apples.

That's the funny thing about gardening, just when you write a plant off it can surprise you with a perfect piece of produce. It can redeem it's self with new growth. Of course you have to be willing to look for it and wade through the bad pieces to find it.

Nature Dictates.

2009-10-02T12:17:00.000-06:00

All I've ever desired to do with my life is be a mother. From a very young age I knew that for me, motherhood was it. Oh sure, I entertained the idea of being an astronaut, teacher, nurse or Miss America, but the title "Mommy" was all I ever really hoped for. I had a love for dolls, my playroom was set up like a house and I was quite offended when anyone had the audacity to call one of my babies simply "doll" instead of addressing them by their individual names.
I wanted to marry my soul mate and live on a small farm in my hometown. Soul mate would work and provide for our family while I took care of the house and children.

I got most of my dreams. I did marry my soul mate, and he does work to provide for our family. We live in an adorable little bungalow in an adorable little town. We have the best children in the world who we both cherish and adore. We are a tight knit family and I find great joy in housekeeping, raising children, gardening, sewing and things of that nature. Life has been good to us.

I would have never imagined that one of our children would be taken away. I would never, in my ignorant state have thought that would happen to us. Stillbirth happens to other people. It happens on Soap Operas and to random women on the internet. It doesn't happen to people like me, or families like mine.
Of course now I know. I know first hand that it does happen to people like me. It happens to me.

August 4, 2009 I sat in the waiting room of my midwife's office. Nearly 39 weeks pregnant, swollen and miserable. I planned my chat with her, which I imagined going something like this:
Midwife "Oh good news! Baby Lucy has turned and is head down."
Maria: "Oh great! Hooray!!! INDUCE ME NOW PLEASE"
Midwife: "Ok, how does tomorrow sound?"

In fact my visit did not go anything like that. I laid on the exam table nervous, and feeling sick. My midwife came in and we chatted, then she did the ultrasound to check Lucy's position. Lucy was head down, that's wonderful, we momentarily celebrated. That is until she scanned Lucy's chest and it was painfully obvious what wasn't there. A beating heart. Instead it was dark and empty. My healthy, perfect baby who had been, to quote the midwife "So happy and healthy she'll never want to come out" just 4 days prior, had died. She was gone. There was no denial for me. I knew right away that was it. She was gone. There was no hope, no magical fix for this.

I look back to those moments and wonder how I lived. It remains a mystery to me. I don't understand how my world could come crashing down and I could survive it. I don't remember much, I know I called Ben. I remember calling my sister and her screaming, calling my mom and crying.

To this day, nearly 2 months later I still feel like the real Maria is stuck back there in that office crying and shaking. I will look at my hands as they work and question whether they are actually mine or not. I feel as though a Robot has taken over and is doing my day-to-day work. Going through the motions while the real me is still confused and broken. I wonder if I'll ever feel whole or normal again.

I was reading an excerpt from the book Life Touches Life today.

"The First time I was in the hospital I noted that the doctor always used the word "plan" when he discussed the impending birth. In retrospect, it was a good word. People plan. Nature dictates."

I found it very poetic. We plan, we prepare and yet the final outcome is completely out of our control. No one is immune. I had the perfect pregnancy, complete with top notch prenatal care and still my baby died. We do what we know and believe is best and still, still nature dictates.

I doubt I will ever understand why I lost my baby. I'm not holding out for some divine moment of clarity when I see why it had to happen. Why Lucy wasn't meant to stick around. But the very basic truth is this, I would do it again.
I would go through every miserable moment of my pregnancy with Lucy all over again, even knowing the end result. Because I love her more than time or space, heaven and earth and I am so grateful that for even a brief moment I got to be her earthly mother.

In the beginning.

2009-09-18T15:47:00.000-06:00

I found out I was pregnant with our 4th child on December 5, 2008.
It was a Friday and I woke up with a million things to do, yet the dirt on the floor boards in my kitchen was all I could think about. So I got on my hands and knees with a pair of rubber gloves and a bucket of soapy water and scrubbed. I scrubbed every surface in the kitchen until it sparkled and at some point in my manic cleaning the reason came to me.
I must be pregnant. When Ben came home for lunch I mentioned it to him and he dismissed my theory. No, we weren't trying, we had been careful (sort of) and there just was no way.
But I couldn't get it out of my head, and with my period due in 2 days I drove to the store with my 2 girls and bought an early response test.
"Pregnant" it said and I was filled with thrill, bliss and fear. 4 kids. That's a lot. My business was just taking off and going somewhere and I had planned to focus in on growing that. I was stressed and already pulled too thin. How was I going to handle a baby on top of that? This wasn't the right time.
I shared the news with Ben, and we sat in silence, eating chocolate ice cream for a long time. The days started to pass and we started to like the idea of 4 kids. To love the idea of a new baby joining our family.
Pregnancy is not kind to me and I spent a few months very, very sick. Nothing helped. I counted down the days to the second trimester. Hoping it would bring me some relief. But much to my dismay it did not, and I continued throwing up will into my 18th week, and then randomly throughout the rest of my pregnancy.
We found out on February 26th that our 4th child was a girl. I was blissfully happy. I had thought it was a girl and now we knew for certain.
I started buying her girlie cloth diapers and building her stash of lovingly hand crafted and chosen diapers and wool. Only the best for my last baby.
In March we took a family vacation. We spent a week in Disneyland and a second week in Napa Valley with my parents. It was a wonderful time full of memories I will treasure forever.
May brought the end of school, and the beginning of the much anticipated summer break. We had marked our baby's due date by telling the older kids she would be born right before school started again. The summer was hot and hard, I was retaining water and swollen and miserable. Everything hurt.
We decided on a name, Lucy Jeniel Menlove. All of our daughters have been named for strong women, in hopes that strength would help carry them through times in their life when they needed it. Jeniel is my father's mother and in my opinion no stronger woman ever lived. She raised a family, ran a farm, ran a gas station and built Rancho trailers. She was kind and loving. She was a ball of fire and under 5' tall. She passed away when I was young but I have wonderful memories of long afternoons spent with her as a child.
Lucy was a busy little lady and couldn't quite decide where she wanted to be. One week she would be head down. The next she'd be transverse, the next frank breech. So we watched and waited, I rocked back and forth on my hands and knees and laid with my bottom end up. I teased Lucy and begged her to turn. I bribed her with the promise of breastmilk and organic bamboo velour diapers. I joked with my midwife that she was already a trouble maker.

At 38 weeks my midwife went on vacation and I had to see another mw in the practice that week. Lucy was breech still. That midwife told me that Lucy was clearly very happy and content because the blood flow through her umbilical cord was perfect. "She'll never want to come out" she told me. I made an appt with my own midwife the following Tuesday. I was squished in between other appointments, but it was important, and I hoped with all my heart she would induce me. Women 38+ weeks pregnant really can't be reasoned with. I did my very best to enjoy the last few days of what was planned to be my last pregnancy. I allowed myself naps and long baths. I focused on Lucy and bonding with the little lady growing inside of me. I loved her and anticipated her arrival so much. I spent a lot of time planning our life with her.