Seven

My boy would be seven. S-e-v-e-n. A lanky, second-grader comfortable after two years at elementary school and able to provide support to his little sister just venturing into kindergarten.

Like all of these birthdays, seven seems to hold its own significance. Maybe not in the most direct of ways, like the firstbirthday or even the fifth birthday. But it's made me think about an event I attended at a local Native American community center many years ago (well before I ever had kids which feels like an eternity ago). The speaker presented on the significance of the number seven.

She explained that human embryos begin to develop genitalia at 7 weeks gestation. This is the first outward evidence of gender; differentiation and a step in identity.

At age 7 years, most children are shedding their baby teeth and assuming their adult teeth; another major transformation.

Seven years after that, at 14, another major life milestone - puberty. When adolescents' bodies mature and are now capable of reproduction.

Unfortunately, I cannot recall what she said about age 21, the last in her series of 7-year divisions. But I think it was something along the lines of becoming a full-fledged adult who contributes to the community.

Seven years, is also the state-mandated medical record retention policy in our state. When A died, we took advantage of all available opportunities to try and determine why our healthy full-term baby died suddenly. We signed off on lab tests and agreed to an autopsy and genetic testing. After we had all of those reports in hand, we visited two different perinatal specialists in our area to see if they could glean a cause of death. They each came to different hypotheses; one said it may have been some sort of pressure on the cord. The other said, it could have been an infection. We will never know for sure. One of them did note, that A’s heart was enlarged (per the autopsy report it weighed 17.3 grams, well above the high end of average at 14 grams)

In the months after A was born, I requested my prenatal and labor and delivery records along with all of his hospital records. Fresh in mourning and with an aching heart, I read through the autopsy report. It ripped me apart to read how much each of his organs weighed, trying to avoid thinking about some stranger in a lab coat dissecting my boy, cutting open his body and snipping loose each organ. But we wanted answers, for our sake, for A’s sake and for the prospect of future children.

My recollection was that while reading through the autopsy report, there was a single instance where his heart was reported to have been of normal size. That there was one digit off, a typo. This morning, I scoured the house looking for A’s medical records. I needed to find that autopsy report and call the hospital to have it corrected. This week is seven years since treatment, which means they’ll destroy his medical records this week. I need the record to be accurate.

The records weren’t in his box – the one with all his memorabilia. They weren’t in my filing box. They weren’t in his binder that holds his photos. WHERE ARE THEY?! I began sobbing, hyperventilating, spinning into a panic. I had to find them. The hospital will destroy them any day now. This is my last chance to set the record straight.

Finally, in the farthest corner, in a bin I didn’t even remember we had, I found the records. I sat down and went through them again, agonizing over words like “the usual Y shaped incision was made.” I read through the entire autopsy report and didn’t find the discrepant heart size. I re-read the autopsy report. I again, only found the 17.3 gram reference. I picked up the thicker stack of records; my medical records and went through them page-by-page. No discrepancy. Had I misread it all those years ago? Am I misremembering now?

I went through A’s and my records several more times searching for a different measurement of his heart. Nothing.

I have resigned myself that I will not be reaching out to the hospital to right an incorrect report. But I don’t know if I’ll ever shake this nagging feeling that it was an error.

And what does it matter? So what if his heart was enlarged? His brain was also much above the high end of average weight. (Oh the thought of his skull being opened and someone removing his brain with two hands and placing it on a scale!!!!). It may not be an important clue in this medical mystery of why he died. Maybe more than anything, it’s just a manifestation of my need to parent my dead child and there being so few opportunities to do so.  

Grief Week

With seven years of grieving experience, I have come to know what to expect during my grief season and what I need. This week is A’s seventh birthday. I planned ahead by taking the entire week off of work so that I can fall apart and get in touch with all of the emotions I so often quell throughout the year. I also stocked my freezer with ice cream and my pantry with Oreos*.

This morning, E and I drop the girls off at their schools and he continued on to work. I returned home and set up (grief) shop. A thick blanket on the recliner, water bottle and coffee within arm’s reach, a box of tissues, A’s tiny urn. I settle in and delve into books that get me in touch with my grief and that validate my feelings and my experiences (like They Were Still Born and Bearing the Unbearable and Love You Forever – all of which were written by bereaved parents).

This week, for me, is an opportunity to inhabit my grief. I wade into the thick stew of emotions and, without judgment, embrace whicheverfeelings come. I give myself permission this week to fall apart; to abandon my usual responsibilities (ie regular showering, laundry and making meals for my family – we’ll subsist this week on pizza, frozen chicken tenders and mac-n-cheese) and to do whatever feels right in the moment. Could be sleeping. Could be exercising. Could be gardening. Could be journaling.

I will go through A’s pictures; all of the ultrasounds and also the photos of our one day together. I will watch the short video my husband took, unbeknownst to me at the time, while I cradled that long, limp boy and delicately caressed his perfect body while quietly uttering, “I don’t understand.” over and over again.

I will listen to songs that trigger tears. I will bawl, howl and sob. I will re-read the condolence cards we received seven autumns ago (only those with heartfelt, genuine notes). I will mound the used tissues up, wet with tears and snot, until they topple onto the floor.

I will honor my love for my boy by honoring my grief over his absence.

*I am in no way compensated for promoting Oreos. I doubt Oreos need any promotion.

Why he died?

Dragon, age 3 years 1 month, in her bed looking up at A's photo on the wall:


Dragon, "Where's A?"

Me, "He's right there, on the wall where he always is."

Dragon, brow furrows, pondering

Dragon, "He died?"

Me, "Yes, Love. He died."

Dragon, "He passed away?"

Me, "Yes, he passed away."

Dragon, "Why he died?"

Me, "We don't know. He was just a little baby when he died."

Sisters

Baby Sheep (it is the Year of the Sheep per the Lunar Zodiac, hence the nickname) was born at 39 weeks 2 days. We had initially scheduled the C-section for 39 w 6 d to give my body as much of a chance as possible to go into spontaneous labor but then we started to panic. We had been doing kickcounts 3-5 times each day including 2-3 times overnight. Three out of the last four nights, Sheep's ovenight kickcounts were real pokey. We'd freak out. I'd chug orange juice and lay down again anxiously awaiting the kicks to start coming. Even the 3 visits per week couldn't quell our worry. So we figured, what's an extra 5 days? We're already past the 39-week mark which is the earliest our doc would do the elective section. We figured baby was robustly full-term by 39 weeks. Why put ourselves through the constant terror for 5 more days? Why push our luck? Sometimes it felt like each day we were risking the baby's life; gambling even.

So I called my doctor who was incredibly understanding. It was late in the afternoon but she said she'd call the surgery scheduler at the hospital first thing in the morning and let us know if they could get us in. Sure enough we got the call that there was a slot open in the afternoon. Immediately I felt relieved knowing this kid would be here TODAY but I was also really nervous about the surgery. I delivered A vaginally after medically inducing and Dragon was born after a successful medical induction that went awry and resulted in an emergency C-section with me knocked out under general anesthesia. The thought of a needle in my spine gives me the heebie jeebies and being awake during surgery (knowing what's going on on the other side of the drape even though you don't feel the pain) straight up turns my stomach. But the thought of this baby dying after 9 long months of vigilance was scarier than facing the C-section.

The spinal wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be. The operation was off the creepiness chart. I mean I could hear the scissors clicking and feel the little pulls as they cut me open. GROSS! Luckily, it wasn't too long after the surgery began that Sheep was born. I was surprised it was another girl. I guess down deep I was convinced it was a boy. As soon as E announced it was a girl, I began to sob, right there on the OR table. That plus hearing her little cry and knowing she was alive and well was overwhelming.

She resembles her older sister though they aren't identical newborns. And speaking of sisters, holy crow how am I going to raise sisters? I have a single brother and every set of sisters I know - young and old - are a mystery to me. There is this bewildering dynamic where a sister will literally die for the other, but then can turn around and say the nastiest things imaginable and know exactly what buttons to push. I just don't get it. I guess the girls will have to teach me. "The girls," it's strange to say that and think of "our girls" now that we have two. It's going to take some getting used to.

I am also anticipating lots of comments from strangers about our girls and each time will feel the pang of our missing son - we don't have just girls. But that's for another post.

In the meantime, I'm going to put my feet up before Sheep is ready to nurse again in another 45 minutes. I look at her chubby cheeks and sweet face and cannot believe she is mine. She is mine and she is mine to keep. We actually get to take her home with us. I'm so grateful.

3 in 4

I am 26 weeks pregnant with our third child. This baby is due in July, at which time Dragon will be two-and-a-half and A would have been a few months shy of 4-years-old. Three kids in under four years. Which is odd because it doesn't feel like we have three kids. There is only one spirited 2-year-old standing in front of us; that's it. 

Like other babyloss moms who have had multiple rainbow babies, (Caroline, Brooke and Catherine for example), I have found this current pregnancy to be less anxious (thus far) than my pregnancy with Dragon. Keeping up with a 2-year-old, coping with extended morning sickness and battling what seems like every bug and illness this winter has left little space or energy for worrying. Of course I have.

I went in when I was sick with the flu and my temperature wasn't coming down. I went in after having some sharp, albeit brief, contractions one night. I went in after the hummus brand we buy every week was recalled for listeria and I had a bout of chills, body aches and low grade temperature. Each time, all was well and baby continues to grow.

Initially, my concern over this baby was more of a resignation. Each pang or cramp made me think, "Well that's it. We lost the baby. I'll just wait to start bleeding." Whereas with Dragon, it would have set me into a tailspin of panic.

As the pregnancy has wore on (and my physical misery of constant morning sickness has abated), my anxiety has ramped up. Maybe it has to do with reaching viability. Before 24-weeks even if I was going into labor, I wasn't convinced they'd do much to try and save my baby. Wow! Writing that sentence was a bit of revelation. I clearly still harbor lots of resentment that modern medicine and science couldn't save my healthy full-term son.

With Dragon we checked in on her often with the Doppler we bought for home. E even went as far as to conduct non-stress tests at home in late pregnancy – that’s a whole other story. This time around, we've only reached for the Doppler a handful of times. We'll start daily kick counts in a couple weeks, which may prompt more listening in. 

Either way the hope is still the same; get this baby here alive and well. Get through each day and try to find reassurance that we’re that much closer to the end of this odyssey.

A’s 3rd Birthday

I wrote this to A on his birthday last month. I am finally getting around to posting it here.

My Darling Son,

We are having exceptionally warm weather. That last time we had such unseasonably mild October weather was in 2011 as we were counting down the days to your arrival.  I remember wearing sandals up to the week before you were born - convenient because my swollen feet didn’t fit into my shoes. I remember walking over to the hospital in a light t-shirt and rain jacket. I remember feeling the wetness of Daddy’s raincoat when he collapsed on my chest sobbing during that final, conclusive ultrasound.

Each beautiful sunny, autumn day makes me ache for you. As your third birthday approaches I wonder what theme you’d have chosen for your party this year? Pirates? Dinosaurs? Outer space? And what about Halloween, my Love? What would you like to be this year? Whatever you choose, we’ll come up with a corresponding costume for your little sister; it’s probably the last year before she asserts her own opinion.

I often wonder what the sibling dynamic would be between you two. I wish that I could be witness to that evolving relationship. Daddy and I have decided to have another baby. If we are fortunate enough to bring a new baby home I know it will break my heart all over again watching your sister dote on that baby. I fantasize about a 15-month-old you meeting Dragon at the hospital for the first time, kissing her face sweetly, insisting on holding her by yourself!

It is undeniable that you, dear boy, have made me a better mother than I would have been. I have shed my pride. Inhibition, embarrassment and judgment do not influence my parenting as they once did. I have clear priorities that spending time together, with Dragon and with family, are far more important than any chore or job or mess. I am liberated from concern about what others think or feel about me or my choices. Now I can do what is best for us without hesitation. Just one of your many gifts.

I love you with all my being.

Love,

Mama

Oof!

I finally feel like I’ve got it together (most days); juggling work, baby, home, husband and other life responsibilities. It is exhausting and consuming, but as of late, I’ve felt that I have a handle on it (most days). There are times I am so engrossed in the day-to-day necessities I forget I even reside in Griefland. And then, while traipsing along, focused on keeping all of my juggling balls in the air – WHAM - I am knocked flat on my back.

Saturday morning I walked outside into the bright, warm sunshine and inhaled the crisp, cool autumn air. It was a picture perfect fall day and it brought me to my knees. 

I went out running errands. As I drove, I admired the day and breathed in the season; my eyes welled. I pulled it together to run into my first stop. Fifteen minutes later, back in the car alone, I spot a small tree already changed color; my eyes well again. I park at the grocery store and blink hard on my way in. I manage to do all the shopping without a break down. In the car on the ride home I cannot deny it any longer. It feels like the wind got knocked out of me. It feels like there is a cinder block on my chest. I sob.

This gorgeous autumn day left me trampled.

I miss him. I want so desperately to know him.

Overcompensation

When Dragon was born we were flooded with presents. The deluge continued for months and months. It was an overwhelming outpouring of generosity – toys, books, baby gear and clothes, so many clothes! But that jaded bereaved part of me always felt that some of the gift giving was compensation for A’s death. Like people felt so bad and pitied us so much that when the opportunity arose to shower us and our newest, living baby with presents, they went above and beyond, overcompensating for their own sorrow and discomfort and for our pain as well.

This shouldn’t bother me. I feel like a jerk even thinking it. I wish I could just shut that part of me up and be grateful that so many people in our lives care about us and adore our daughter.

The same occurs when we run into folks for the first time after Dragon’s birth. To my wary ears when someone emphasizes their joy over the birth our daughter it feels more like relief regarding our son’s death and the subsequent fallout. “I’m so happy for you two!” Why because you think we’re fixed? Because you think we’re moving on and healed? Truth is we are healing and moving forward with our life but I don’t want that misinterpreted as we are “okay” or “over” A’s death. We are still absolutely broken and anguish over our missing boy each and every day. 

Related to the overcompensation is, I think, a sense of relief for family, friends and acquaintances. Relief that Dragon arrived safely. But more so, relief that this must mean E and I are doing better and that judgment alone makes my guard fly up.

When we became pregnant with Dragon six months after A was stillborn, I immediately knew I didn’t want to discuss my pregnancy or feelings with anyone other than E and some close babyloss moms who knew where I was coming from. To that end, I sent an email to all of our family, friends and even my coworkers asking them to please not ask anything and to not expect me to share much about the pregnancy. For the most part, they respected our wishes. Perhaps that restriction fed into the overcompensation when Dragon finally arrived alive and well. That I held our loved ones at arm’s length for a time that when the floodgates finally came down the gifts rushed in.

I really do wish I didn’t feel this cynical. But I can’t help but think about what the response would have been to A’s birth and homecoming had he lived. Sure our there would have been fanfare surrounding our firstborn child, but would it have been as over-the-top? 

The Things People Say

There is always a concern that a rainbow baby will mislead others to thinking you are ‘all better.’ I have found that since Dragon was born only a few people have brought up A in conversation. This is more than a little disheartening. It doesn’t have to be a long, deep conversation about how I’m coping with this living infant given A’s stillbirth but even something more superficial like, “Do you think she looks like her brother?” Or “How much did A weigh when he was born?” You know, typical questions a mom might be asked when her second child is born.

So it is especially wonderful when those few people do talk about A. In particular, I was touched by a card one of my mother’s friends sent, a woman who I have met only a couple times and who (to my knowledge) has never lost a child. She wrote this:

“Congratulations! I remember feeling a little sad during my second pregnancy – not wanting to displace my first or love him less. Then number 2 comes along and miraculously it is wonderful! Your heart just gets bigger and you love even more. A is not forgotten. God bless both your children.”

It was a perfect sentiment. Without minimizing the stressful subsequent pregnancy, she made me feel like a ‘normal’ mom; plus she acknowledged A and his absence.

In contrast, I sat across the room from E’s aunt the other night. She had Dragon in her arms and we were chatting. She asked me if Dragon was my mother’s first grandchild. Obviously she didn’t think that question through, but I wasn’t going to just let it slip by; let A slip by. So I replied that A was the first grandchild for my parents and that they are over-the-moon in love with Dragon. Sheesh!

And so the quest to keep my son in people’s minds and lives continues with the added challenge that they are happily distracted by his little sister now.

Some more...

...random thoughts.

My sleep deprived brain, which is coursing with mommy hormones, is playing tricks on me. It's telling me to return to the hospital. That he is exactly where we left him. Down the hall to the corner room. Crack the door and peek in to see our precious son in the isolette right beside the window. We wanted him to experience the beautiful sunset that fateful birthday. 

Let's just go get him. He must be there, right where we left him.

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We are 5 weeks into breast feeding. My boobs leak, often. Most times it just happens naturally an hour or so before she's due to eat again. But they also leak when I think about my babies. I was laying in bed trying to fall asleep and all I could think about was sweet A. Sure enough the milk starting flowing. In a way this comforted me. My boobs, my body still recognize him as my child even if so many others no longer mention him.

Many family members and friends are lining up to meet Dragon. A few of them, for various reasons, have never seen A's photos. I want to make it a rule - If you haven't sat with us in the heartache of looking through his album, then you don't get to snuggle this warm, living bundle of adorable-ness. You cannot acknowledge half of my children. It's all or none.

And don't me started on our friends who never sent a text, card, email or called after A was stillborn. Never said a thing, even 7 months later when we got together or the first time since his birth.

But I don't make any such rules. And I don't cut said friends out of my life. I am trying to be forgiving. Trying.

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It is low tide. The waves gently carry my son further away from me. I stand on the shore his infant sister at my breast. Clutching her with one hand, my other arm reaches desperately for him. He floats calmly on the waves. I cannot reach him. I cannot put her down to dive in. I scream; call his name, implore him to come back. I crumble to the ground sobbing, knowing he is beyond my reach. I glance down at the baby on my chest and cry harder.

Why does it feel like one or the other?

Little Sister

Baby Dragon is still alive and healthy. We are combating jaundice with frequent feedings. This is working and it’s also packing on the weight. She’s gaining an average of 2 ounces a day!

The frequent feedings have left E and I complete zombies, but it’s worth it. Plus we just got the go ahead at her 2-week well child checkup to relax the feeding schedule to on demand. If we’re lucky she’ll give us a solid 3 ½ hours between feeds.

It’s been just 2 weeks and already she is changing so much. Her face looks more like a baby than a newborn. Her belly is distended now. Her arms and legs are thickening with new creases showing up daily. A few of her features resemble her big brother’s but for the most part she is her very own person. Although I wished for this baby to look like A it is so much better for me that she’s uniquely herself.

The feeding schedule afforded me barely an hour between feeds which meant I could either sleep for an hour, eat something and shower or make a few phone calls before it was time to put her back on. While I love the closeness of nursing, I am only just now beginning to enjoy her like I had hoped. Now with a bit more time in between sessions I can kiss her, play with her; just plain stop and admire her. Except that is dangerous territory. Whenever I take some time to stop and wonder at this tiny, beautiful being, I well up. I’m still trying to grasp that she is our daughter, that she is ours to keep.

I cry at least every other day. Sometimes because I am so grateful for Dragon and so in love with her. Sometimes because I envision our future with this child and already I want to slow down time – I want her to stay tiny and curled up for a long time. Sometimes because I miss A even more now that I know how it’s supposed to go. Sometimes I can’t even discern what brings on the tears.

To be honest, with the traumatic birth, general anesthesia and then strict nursing schedule I haven’t had much time to process it all. I need some quiet time to process her birth, how it all went down. I need to process that she is mine and allow the maternal connection to really sink in. I need to re-assess A’s birth now that I can compare it to a “normal” delivery experience. I need to re-mourn our darling son because now I understand much better what he and what we missed out on – there is so much more to grieve.

Like I said earlier, they detected the umbilical cord around Dragon’s neck at our weekly BPP. It was actually wrapped twice around her neck. This was the impetus to induce right away.  Most of that Wednesday we just hung out in the labor/delivery room. I was admitted early in the morning and the Cervidil wasn’t inserted until 3pm. So we ate, listened to her heartbeat on the monitor and tooled around the internet trying to calm our nerves.

By 11pm I was having painful contractions that required me to focus my breathing. At 3am the Cervidil came out. I was 2cm (I can’t remember what percentage effaced). I had hoped to be further along and was on the brink of tears. The hospital staff assured me this was good progress given we started at high, tight and not even 1cm. Some women, they said, require a second round of Cervidil.

After a 2-hour break, wherein I was allowed to eat again, they started the pitocin drip. Throughout this ordeal I was constantly doubting my decision to force my body into labor. Every half hour the pitocin drip was turned up a bit. By 6am we called our doula and she arrived. I continued to breath through contractions and tried to rest in between.

Our midwife, who is awesome, allowed me to continue to eat throughout the day. We changed positions, walked the halls and sat on the birthing ball trying to help things progress. When I was checked mid-afternoon and found to be 4cm I again felt like giving up. I considered how much “easier” it would be to have a C-section. I felt envious of the anonymous women in the room next to me who had delivered her baby hours ago (you’d think they’d soundproof the walls of labor/delivery rooms better). I wanted to call the whole thing off. My confidence was non-existent. My conviction to continue laboring without pain medicine was waning – big time.

In early evening I was 6cm and we were at the full pitocin dosage. The midwife gave me the option. We could stop the pitocin and take a break. (This was very enticing because I had been laboring since 11pm the day before without hardly a wink of sleep.) But when we started back up we’d have to start at the lowest dosage and work our way up again. Or we could dial the pitocin down a couple notches and see how we progressed. As tempting as it was to pull the plug and have a Pit vacation, I knew I didn’t have the mental or emotional endurance to start from scratch.

The pit was dialed down and I kept working through each contraction. They were getting very intense but I had a good 2-minutes between contractions, which was just lovely (no seriously it was; I’m not being sarcastic). By 6pm the midwife, doula and nurse were prepping the room for delivery. Baby was coming within the hour they said.

I continued to change positions as suggested by the knowledgeable team and baby sank lower and lower. The external heart rate monitor remained on Dragon the entire time. I could feel her very low in my pelvis but did not yet have the urge to push. The midwife suggested I lay on my right side. I did. Baby Dragon fell off the monitor so they suggested I flip to my left side as baby obviously didn’t like this side. I flipped over and then felt lots of discomfort high up under my ribs. This was unusual because all of the pain and discomfort had been down low. I mentioned this out loud but the nurse was too busy trying to locate Dragon’s heartbeat again.

The midwife reached in to check if I was dilated fully and could start pushing. What she felt entering the birth canal was a tiny hand, not a baby head. In addition she could feel a portion of cord.  This is where things get frantic. Immediately she paged the attending doctor who came in and confirmed Dragon’s hand and cord were coming first. Now there are a handful more staff in the room palpating my belly trying to determine how baby is lying. They wheel in an ultrasound machine and throw an oxygen mask on me. I am still having intense contractions and trying to breath best I can but the scene is panic inducing.

Someone shouts out to prep an OR stat and all of a sudden the cords and monitors are whipped off me and they’re wheeling my bed down the hallway. E has to remain in the labor room – there is no time for him to get prepped and they’ll be knocking me out with general anesthesia because I did not have an epidural.

The anesthesiologist is in my face urging me to focus on her and only her. She’s asking me pertinent questions about past surgeries and my experience with anesthesia. Simultaneously there are a dozen people rushing around the OR - two people are wrapping my calves, one inserts the catheter, another drapes and swabs my belly, two separate people strap my arms down, a resident is holding an oxygen bag over my face. It is crazy.

The doctor tells me they’re going to push the anesthesia and that’s the last I remember. Next thing I know, I’m groggily waking up in the post-op recovery room. I feel like hell and am very confused. E is there holding a bundled baby and tells me it is our baby. That our daughter is here safe and sound. I can hardly keep my eyes open. With the assistance of the doula, E manipulates my breasts and gives our tiny Dragon her first feed. I can’t muster the strength to raise my arms. Shortly thereafter E leaves with the pediatric nurse to accompany Dragon for her first bath and examination. I am pushed to our maternity recovery room to get settled. E and Dragon rejoin me a little while later but I’m still very drowsy.

Fortunately, she was never in distress and was healthy upon delivery. E says they brought her to him approximately 15-minutes after I was hectically wheeled out of the room. He was able to stay with her from that point on.

Supposedly what happened is this. The umbilical cord was not particularly long and it was wrapped twice around her neck. As she descended the tension on the cord increased. To relieve the tension and save her own life, she twisted at the last minute into a transverse position. The midwife says in her entire life, she’s never seen that happen. I have to credit our little girl for that maneuver and the incredible hospital staff who got her out so quickly.

Like I said, we are home and trying to adjust to the lack of sleep. Dragon is thriving and we are over-the-moon in love with her. Honestly, I just can’t get enough of her.

I may fade and in and out of the blogosphere, but I am always here reading and abiding. Thank you for taking the time to read to the end of this post.

Holidays 2012

Last year A was stillborn in mid-October so we’ve already survived all the “first” holidays. Despite having those initial holidays and an entire year under my belt, I am still torn up over the holidays this year. American Thanksgiving was recently and the Christmas onslaught has already begun. Last year A would have been a mushy blob of an infant – approximately 1-month old for Thanksgiving and 2-months old for Christmas. Significant for it being his first and for it being our first as a family. Honestly, I don’t think the kid would have cared one way or other what we did or who was present.

But this year, this year he’d be 13- and 14-months old. We’d be lugging his highchair to various Thanksgiving feasts where he’d practice feeding himself and be intrigued by the texture of the mashed potatoes squishing through his fingers. I’d make E pose for a family photo with all three of us dressed nicely, knowing that A would soon be covered in squash and such. Instead of being the lump of a baby who gets passed around all night, he’d be fidgety and want to get down and play, walk and explore; trying to catch my aunt’s cat. The only baby at the gathering and delighting in all the attention.

Christmas I surely would have bought him more than he needed. Christmas morning I’d try to coax him into opening presents but his sweet 14-month-old mind doesn’t understand the concept and he’s more interested in the flashing lights on the tree, goofing with his Daddy and playing with the colorful discarded wrapping paper. Regardless, E would have the video camera rolling the entire time as we enjoyed a leisurely morning in our PJs. Then off to two separate family get togethers. We’d dress A in some ridiculous toddler-sized sweater vest and corduroys. Again A would be oblivious to the concept of Christmas but would revel in the big group of loving family members gathered and adoring him. My mother and aunts would try to wrestle him into sitting still for photos and try to cajole him into opening presents but he’s far more interested in playing with my cousin’s 3- and 5-year-old even if they dress him up like a princess.

The last quarter of the year has thus far been very intense. It begins with the changing of the seasons, then A’s birthday in October, next Halloween and just as I’m getting back on my feet, Thanksgiving is here and Christmas is around the corner. I feel like I’m waist-deep in the ocean getting knocked down by the powerful waves. Each time I resurface to gasp for air another wave is right on top of me pummeling me downward.

Halloween Heartache

Halloween is a big deal in my family. As a child growing up we went all out. The house was decorated inside and out, candy was stocked by the front door, a dummy sat stuffed with leaves in the yard and we played spooky music out the windows. We always carved pumpkins as a family. Even as I got older and we no longer needed a chaperone to trick-or-treat my parents would still don costumes to man the front door and pass out candy.

Ever since E and I got together, he has adopted my zeal for the holiday. Each year we brainstorm our costumes and head out to at least one party. He isn’t as enthusiastic about standing near the door handing out candy, but he definitely peeks to see the adorable and clever ghouls and goblins that stop by.

With a due date in mid-October we knew our baby would definitely be here before Halloween. I was ready to share one of my favorite holidays with my child even if he wouldn’t remember it. For me it was about family traditions.

After thinking about it for a while I had decided on a cute costume idea and enlisted my mother. She made an adorable newborn costume from scratch for her first grandchild. She still has this costume at her house but I have a photo of it that I carry on my phone. Looking at it makes me smile with pride, seethe with anger and weep with anguish.

Having just gotten through the tumult of A’s first birthday, I am still staggering to regain my footing. As I had anticipated, Halloween set me back even further; a favorite holiday in his autumnal season.

It is Halloween again and my boy is not here…again.

Birthday Recap

A’s first birthday was last week. Here are some reflections of A’s birthday and the last week of anniversaries. I ended up calling in to work the day before A’s birthday. This was the date last year that we found out he had died.  After being induced that night, A was born late the next morning. Again the flashbacks tormented me and I cried much of the day but it was actually therapeutic. I was relieved to have extra time and space to rock his snowsuit and urn; to sit in the nursery; to face all of the brutal reminders that I actively ignore each day in order to function. I was relieved to be able to fall apart again, even for a short while.

On his actual birthday we laid low and stayed in. E worked but came home for an early lunch. We were together when the clock struck A’s birth time. I spent more time journaling, crying, reading books to A (and Dragon) and rocking in the nursery sobbing. E did not have anything particular that he wanted or needed to do to commemorate the day. In all honesty, I think he was just focused on surviving it himself.

We had previously sent out memorial cards (made from a customizable birth announcement). On the front was his name, three photos and A’s birth stats. On the backside was a brief message from E and I asking that folks join us in remembering our son and to honor his life by performing an act of kindness in A’s name – even an anonymous one. We feel that this spreads the positive impact of his brief life and ensures his spirit lives on. I got much good feedback from our family and friends about the card and the sentiment. Our OB provider even asked if they could hang the card on the wall with all the other (living) birth announcements. I tearfully consented.

For our own act of kindness we are donating a bunch of household goods to a local immigrant assistance organization. I would still like to plant a tree for A. Something that turns brilliantly vibrant this time of year. The hurdle is deciding where to plant it. I don’t want to put in our yard because we will likely outgrow this house in the next few years and I want to be able to visit A’s tree for the rest of my life and have it accessible to his siblings and others for many years. Perhaps one of the local parks or historical sites. One friend even suggested that when we do plant the tree, E and I each write A a letter and bury them with the roots time-capsule-style. I like that.

Additionally, I have started to organize a little memorial for the house. Ever since we brought A’s ashes home he typically hangs out in the bassinet in our bedroom. Obviously we will have to put baby Dragon in the bassinet (assuming all goes well). Besides I have some lovely mementos that I’ve been meaning to display. I’m thinking either the mantle or perhaps a shelf in our room where I can hang the glass locket with his hair, a charm with his name, a photo or two of our sweet boy and of course, his urn.

A few days after A’s actual birthday I noticed a definite shift emotionally. Not that I wasn’t excited about this new pregnancy before, but it feels more tangible now, the excitement more palpable. I am all of a sudden inspired to start taking care of things in anticipation of baby Dragon’s arrival. Mixed in is the motivation to take care of this A memorial project.

It’s almost as if my anguish, dread and resistance leading up to his birthday was all-consuming and now that it is over, space and emotional resources have opened up. I don’t know but it is a nice surprise. A little brightness after a very dark previous month.

The evening of A’s birthday, E and I were on the couch watching the tube and decided it was time to hit the hay. He clicked off the TV and we embraced. He whispered, “We made it through the day.” I half-smiled and replied, “We made it through the year.” It’s still crazy to think it’s been a whole year.

I am still struggling to get back on my feet and Halloween is going to be another major setback. In all fairness, the lead up to A’s birthday was intensely emotional for weeks prior to the actual event. Given the weeks of building to the apex, I imagine it will take a little while to recover. I am trying to be patient with that. I am also holding onto how therapeutic it felt to grieve heavily again. I plan to continue to make time to sit with him, sit with my feelings and face my reality.

To Know Or Not To Know

Last year in all the hubbub of expecting our first child and the seeming millions of decisions to make, E and I were on the same page regarding finding out the gender. We both, independently, wanted to wait until delivery to discover baby’s gender. It was a good thing A ended up being a boy because even as we started the induction we had not agreed upon a girl’s name.

My perspective from Griefland is quite different than that of my former life. Regarding this particular topic, I am quite torn about whether to find out Dragon’s sex at the 19-week anomaly scan. Obviously my first wish is for a breathing baby. My second is for a healthy baby. Even those two desires seem selfish and I dare not tempt fate, but I cannot help but have a bias. I really want a boy.

Part of this desire, I’m sure, stems from the story that has been forming since A was stillborn - what it would have been like to parent a son, how a firstborn son would have affected the family dynamic, how E and his son would bond, the unique gifts and challenges of raising a boy. Having another son doesn’t right the wrong of A’s calamitous death, but it would fulfill a part of the story that I want to be my story. Since we were actually blessed with a son, it now feels as though we ought to have one.

Additionally, I am quite terrified of having a daughter. Even during the blissful preparations of my first pregnancy, the thought of raising a daughter spiked my anxiety. I think much of this originates in the complex and tumultuous relationship I have with my own mother. I would be much more comfortable rearing a son. And god help us all if I have more than one daughter because the complicated sister dynamic is a baffling mystery to me.

So back to the issue at hand, again this pregnancy E would like to wait until Dragon’s birthday to find out. I feel strongly that this is the right thing to do. Because it is tradition, because I don’t want gender to matter, because it’s difficult for me to keep a secret. However, if this little stinker does end up being a girl, I will have to sort out all of those feelings (including, sadly, disappointment) while trying to bond, nurse and care for my newborn. If I opt to find out at the anomaly scan, I’ll have a 4-month head start in preparing myself emotionally and mentally.

I’ve also heard from a BLM whose son was stillborn at term 12-years ago and who went on to have two living sons, that she found out during both subsequent pregnancies because then she could name her children and make the most of her time with them in utero in case that was the only time they would have together.

I admit I do not think of Dragon as obsessively as I thought of A during my pregnancy with him. Perhaps this is common for all second pregnancies, babyloss or not. Perhaps the novelty isn’t there since I know how it goes now. But I just don’t dwell on Dragon all day every day like I did last time. On top of that, much of my focus is still dedicated to A and grieving him. Maybe finding out Dragon’s gender will help me feel more attached. Or maybe that will naturally come later one once I start to feel Dragon moving around and developing a personality.

There are pros and cons to both choices. Whichever I choose, E will support. If I do decide to find out early, I won’t be sharing with anyone (sorry friends). I still have a few more weeks to weigh the options but gosh it’s tough.

Dead Baby Cards

Is there a website that specializes in dead baby cards? It was difficult to find an appropriate card for my dear husband as a childless father for Father's Day last week. Also, since A officially made our parents grandparents, I wanted to mark Mother's and Father's Day this year for them as well. The variety for Mother's Day grandmother cards wasn't great, but I did find two that worked. Father's Day was impossible because every single greeting card was either from the child's perspective or had "Happy Father's Day" somewhere on it. Certainly there was nothing happy about my Dad's first Father's Day as a grandfather with no grandchild to tickle. I resorted to an online card site where you are able to customize the wording. It worked out fine and he was really touched, but it took some digging and some effort on my part.

The more I thought about it, there are other dead baby card needs too. Given the uniqueness of losing a baby, thoughtful sympathy cards specific for when a baby dies would be a gift for both the bereaved family and those who are sending the card. We received some awkward ones and unfortunately I've had the occasion twice since A died to purchase sympathy cards for other couples who lost their babies. The pickin's are slim in the card aisle.

Also due date, anniversary and birthday cards that are sensitive to a babyloss scenario would be handy. Possibly even congratulatory cards on a subsequent pregnancy that also acknowledges the continued sorrow and longing for the deceased child.

Or how about birth announcements. We did not send birth announcements after A was stillborn. It wasn't because we thought it strange or uncomfortable, but because we were numb and consumed by grief. I know that some of the online birth announcements could be used interchangeably for a living or deceased baby. My fellow babyloss blogger Mom, Julie, has a beautiful example here. But no parent should have to scroll through pages of examples depicting breathing babies right after they've had to part with their own precious bundle.

If anyone knows of a site that caters to the babylost community with products like these or if someone creates such a site one day, please drop a line and let me know.

A Childless Father

There is so much to say about the phenomenal man who loves me unconditionally and whom I proudly call the father of my child. As I sat down to write a post for Father’s Day, out poured pages and pages and tears and tears. Perhaps I’ve been avoiding writing about E because it strikes to the very center of my being. When I think of him and A together that brief day or imagine how they’d interact today, the emotion splits me completely in half.

I was very proud and so thrilled to give the man I love a child. I always knew he’d be a wonderful Dad. He has the perfect blend of responsibility, wit, patience and humor. As the pregnancy wore on, it became apparent just how badly he too wanted a baby.

E was attentive through weeks of childbirth class even doing further research on his own. He practiced swaddling dolls and looked forward to bouncing our baby into serenity on the exercise ball. In the heat of summer, with myself unable to assist, he spent days replacing windows in our apartment because they tested positive for lead.

He would talk to A, shine a flashlight through my skin, prod and play with his ever growing baby. When we found out A was breech, E would physically support me as I hung my enormous self halfway off the couch trying to flip him head down. He would tie a sling around my back to ease the aching. He carried my bicycle in and out of the house each day. I can on and on.

The support he gave during the pregnancy, his thoughtful preparations anticipating our child’s arrival and his dedicated interactions with A in utero further confirmed what a fantastic father he would be. But watching him instinctively wash, wrap and cuddle his newborn son solidified it. The tenderness with which he held and sang to him overflowed my heart with love. He advocated for his child and me during our ordeal at the hospital and ever since. 

He wrote a heartfelt note to A and left it in the bassinet with him when it was time to leave. He pushed the bassinet to the window so A could enjoy his first and only sunset. He practically carried me out of the hospital that night and he hasn’t set me down yet.

Although this isn’t the way I had pictured Father’s Day 2012, my darling E still deserves  recognition and honor for being an incredible parent and a devoted Daddy.

Birthday Shmirthday

I recently had a birthday. The number of my age doesn’t bother me all that much. My experience has been that special occasions, holidays and family gatherings all seem to magnify A’s absence. It makes those supposed-to-be-happy events god-awful.

After coming off Mother’s Day, I knew I did not want to make a big deal out of my birthday. Typically there is dinner with my Mom and family and another dinner with my Dad and family. Plus whatever E plans special for us. This year, I just wanted to ignore my birthday. I didn’t want any acknowledgement, just wanted to shut my eyes and wake up on the other side of it.

I called off all birthday get-togethers. E and I went out to a low-key dinner that was exactly what I needed without any of the fanfare. Then came the well wishes. I don’t mean to sound unappreciative that folks think of me on my birthday, but I hated every single message. The texts, emails, cards and voicemails from family and friends were infuriating.  (My friend and fellow babylost mommy had a similar experience.)

“Enjoy your special day today!”

“May this year be your happiest!”

“Hope you’re having a wonderful day!”

Are you effing kidding me?

Now I can understand this sort of superficial nonsense from Facebook acquaintances who may not know that A was stillborn in the fall, but to hear this crap from people in my life who are well aware of the hell I’m living is flabbergasting. I wanted to personally retort to each message.

“Enjoy your special day today!”

            Eff you. Today does not feel special. It feels horrible.

“May this year be your happiest!”

            Not unless you can resurrect my son!

“Hope you’re having a wonderful day!”

            How can I possibly have a wonderful day? Don’t you realize what a struggle it is to survive each day? Don’t you listen when I explain how intensely I miss my son and hate this life without him?

I am glad the birthday shenanigans are over. I am glad I can stop smiling through gritted teeth thanking people for their “kind” thoughts. I am glad I can go back to my daily routine of focusing on survival instead of focusing on A’s absence.

Magic

A few months after A’s death my cousin and his wife announced they were expecting their third child. My other cousins, who live out-of-state, had given birth to a son 2 months after A’s death (see this Post) this is another set of cousins and they live locally. Of course I was happy for them and they were extremely sensitive in announcing it and whenever they were around us. Still, I was dreading watching her pregnancy progress and the inevitable birth of their baby. I can't avoid it as easily as I can the out-of-town family.

Last week, these local cousins lost their baby. I believe she was around 4 months along. E and I both cried when we heard the news.

I feel like I should know the magic words to say. Because I am a bereaved mother, I should know what do and say to bring comfort to my cousins.

The truth of the matter is no one can ease the pain of losing a child. It’s so awful to watch loved ones experience something this awful. I feel extra helpless, if that makes any sense.

Luckily for me (and my own need to do something) she has been receptive to my emails and has even asked me about local support groups. At least I can offer her resources and literature. But it still doesn’t feel like enough. Shouldn’t I have the magic alchemy? The right equation or potion or spell? Shouldn’t I know exactly how to respond every step of the way?

I wish no one ever had to lose a baby ever again.

Lost

"We lost the baby."

Those were my exact words. That's how I announced the news the very first time, on the phone with my parents from the hospital. That’s how I informed various friends.  In the beginning, the word “lost” was much easier to say than "died" or "dead." But in a more literal sense we really did lose A. I did everything in my control to “keep” him; nourished myself with healthy food, drank quarts of water, rested, went to every single prenatal appointment, avoided extreme heat, unpasteurized cheeses and loads of other risks.

For nearly 10 months my body, mind, hormones and emotions had all been anticipating the arrival of our baby. We made adjustments to our life, stocked the house, made arrangements. Every aspect of my life was devoted to preparing to bring A home. So when we didn't bring him home I felt lost.

Most obviously, my body expected a baby and my breasts filled to bursting-levels with milk; hormones coursed through me compelling me to nurture. I've read about bereaved parents sleeping with their baby's stuffed animal or blanket. Personally, I felt compelled to rock A’s fleece snowsuit (and did so often). Surely emotions play a role, but I'm convinced on a more atavisitc level our bodies and brains push us toward cuddling and coddling. In fact, it’s been documented that chimpanzees, baboons and other primates will carry their dead infants for days, up to months. I can relate to that bond. I can understand because every ounce of my being wanted to stay with my son. Walking away from A was counter to eons of evolution it went against nature herself. Weeks after A had died, the thought occurred to me, “We could have snuck him out in our duffle bag! Then at least we’d have had a little more time together.” Intellectually I knew his deteriorating body would upset me, but that thought of taking him home did not generate from the intellectual part of my brain. It was more biological, instinctual.

More bizarrely, there have been a few instances where I genuinely felt the urge to go look for A. I felt that I needed to find him. It wasn't logical. It wasn't even conscious. But the message was clear; he should be here with me. In the middle of breakdowns I would sometimes sob, "Where is he?"

After so much anticipation and preparation it's natural that I'd feel lost without my baby. And it continues, months later just not as intensely.

Although he is lost, I feel lost without him.

Note: I considered linking to an image or video of a mother chimp carrying her baby’s corpse. But it was too disturbing. If you’re interested in learning more about how primates mourn, a simple Google search ought to do it.

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Happy first Easter Sweet Boy! And Happy first Dyngus Day tomorrow My Little Poopka!

I wrote the above entry earlier in the week to post today. Then this morning, I started my day, not even out of bed yet, bawling. I have not stopped crying all day. Is it the Easter holiday? Is it the many family gatherings? Is it the 6-month anniversary approaching?

It does not matter which combination of triggers keeps my tear ducts working overtime. The fact is I am especially sad and I miss my son extra today. I have not had a day like this since early on. I don’t have much more to say about it, but wanted to share openly how melancholy I am right now.