When Life is Bittersweet

As we're just about a week away from meeting baby girl (or less should she decide to arrive on her own), I find that so many different emotions are coming to the surface. Overall, I am thrilled. I am excited. I am grateful. But it's also immensely bittersweet, and even that word does not really do justice to the vast emotional landscape that appears. There's a sense of guilt that comes with that, and I'm sure other angel moms can relate. You feel like all your heart and soul and energy should be poured into love and excitement for the arrival of your new little one. Yet, your heart and soul is torn because half of it is aching for the child that you will never bring home. It makes you question your ability to love another baby the way you love your angel. It's a struggle to find a balance when half your heart is tied to Earth and the other half tied to Heaven. I never want there to be any doubt about how much I love my rainbow. How thankful I am that God saw fit to send us another baby, that she is healthy and has stayed put long enough to grow and be born at a safe time. I have cherished this pregnancy in a way I never thought possible. I remember being pregnant with Hunter and being so sick and saying "It will be a LONG time before I do THIS again." I have been through much more physically and emotionally with this pregnancy, yet I somehow managed to find joy in the struggle. Every time I threw up, every time I had an injection, I had a whole new perspective on just how lucky I was to even be experiencing this. The flip side to that is wondering what it would have been like with Hunter. That is the bittersweet. And it will always be there. I feel sometimes like people who are outside of this little bubble, this group of people who understand because they have also lost a child, think "Get on with your life! You're having a new baby! Be happy, move on, let the past be the past!". I sometimes feel that way too. Why can't I just be in the moment and just look forward? Why does everything make me think of the child who is no longer here? Why can't I focus completely on the journey ahead, instead of the journey that "could have been"? Honestly, I have no answer. It's just the way it is. I have no doubt that as time moves on, I will find a better balance. But the saying "time heals all wounds"? It's a lie. There is some hurt that just doesn't go away. So instead of trying to force the past to stay in the past, instead of trying to block out certain emotions and feeling guilty for feeling what I feel, I'm going to continue to endeavor to embrace it all. If there was no bitter, how could I appreciate the sweet as much as I do? And I have so much "sweetness" coming, I can just feel it. I have no doubt I will struggle. I know there will be times when I will peak in on my sleeping daughter and just watch her breathe and wonder about her brother. But you know what? That's okay. I look forward to finally being able to mother my child, to have sleepless  nights WITH my baby instead of sleepless nights longing for my baby. It's been an almost 18 month journey to get here, from the time we found out we were pregnant with Hunter. I know there are so many others who have waited longer and fought harder to bring home a baby, and we have been luckier than most. At the end of it all, I just want the world to know when I or another parent of an angel describe something that is usually just considered joyful and happy, like the birth of a new baby, as bittersweet, please don't think we are ungrateful, or living in the past. We live in a different reality, where life is simply...bittersweet. It just is. But because we have had so much bitter, please know how much the sweet in life is appreciated.

One Year

How is it possible that a year can pass in the blink of an eye, yet move so slowly it feels like eternity? I can hardly fathom that a year ago, at this time, I laid in a hospital bed and held my son; waiting for the inevitable final word from the nurse, who repeatedly checked his heartbeat, to tell us that he was gone. That was the longest and shortest hour and forty minutes, that continued on into the longest and shortest year. I wonder if every year will feel this way, short yet long, because I know without any doubt, every year that passes will be looked at in two ways: another year further away from the last time I held my sweet boy, and one year closer to when we will be reunited. A year. I literally cannot come to terms with that. I can't help but wonder what his little personality would be like. Would he have dark hair like me? Or be a toe head like his daddy was? He looked so much like my husband, would he have had his dad's eyes too? There are so many little things that I never would have thought I'd miss until it was taken from me. All the smiles, the giggles, the different cries, the milestones of the first year...I wish we had gotten to experience them all together. I read something recently about how in French, "I miss you" translates literally to "You are missing from me." When I read that, I cried. It was so much more accurate a description of what it means when I try to express the longing a parent feels for the child that is not within their reach. I have this piece of me that is missing. I hate to say that it's empty because it's not, it's filled with love, but there's a void that is so indescribable. Even a year later, it's still there. I don't think that time heals all wounds, we really just learn to work around the injury. Time helps you gain the strength you need to adequately carry the grief, to cope with the pain. But it stays, and sometimes it rages, and sometimes it's just like a little pebble in your shoe. I'm proud of this past year and all of the learning and growing that I feel I, as well as my husband and family, have done. And I hope Hunter is proud of us too. I strive to be worthy to be his mother because I truly feel that he was so special that heaven couldn't do without him. That's not to say that I don't have my "what ifs" and question some decisions made by doctors and hospital staff, but there's just something, it could be my motherly bias saying this, but my son was incredibly remarkable. I don't think our children are sent to us for us to raise them, I think we receive these amazing, innocent beings to raise us. And I know Hunter did that for me in just his short hour and forty minute life. I hope who I am as a wife, daughter, sister, friend and mother to his younger siblings makes him proud. I hope he can look down on me and say "Yup, that's my mommy!" with so much pride. I try to live my life in such a way that I can do that for him, because I sure am proud to be his mom. Today was a very special day and I'm so thankful we were able to celebrate this baby boy with our friends and family. I felt him close all day, and I hope as we continue on this week and some of the harder memories come flooding back, that he will continue to make his presence known. I think the closer we are getting to his baby sister's arrival, the closer he will be, or maybe I will just feel it more. There's something so innately spiritual and transcendent about the birth of a new baby. Heaven and Earth blur and in that brief moment the two become one. I know Hunter will be there and I plan on having him be a very central part of the birth of his baby sister. Without him, I truly don't think we'd be having her. 

Happy 1st Birthday Baby Boy.....

I'll love you forever,

I'll like you for always,

As long as I'm living,

My baby you'll be.

Mommy and daddy love you and miss you Peanut! 

No One Ever Said It Would Be Easy

I have to admit, lately I've found it very easy to set myself up with a little pity party. It's been really difficult to pull myself up and not let the weight of my trials get me down. Being who I am, this struggle to feel grateful and appreciative of all the good has left me feeling guilty. Here I am, pregnant with my second child, a baby girl, and I can't get over feeling how unfair it is that I see so many others around me just having healthy babies, and having seemingly "easy" pregnancies. After Hunter passed away, I couldn't stand seeing a round, beautiful, pregnant belly. Seeing mothers with their babies just tore me apart. When I got pregnant with this baby girl, it admittedly helped ease that pain. As we've progressed with this pregnancy however, and have gone through various ups and downs, first thinking that baby girl had a fatal bladder blockage, to the diagnosis of it being a cyst but still not knowing where the cyst is originating from, in addition to the cerclage placement and weekly hormone injections....I just find myself wondering what it is like to have a "normal" pregnancy. I know all mothers feel some anxiety and worry during their pregnancies. I remember that anxiety with Hunter, though I also recall the immense relief I felt when I entered the second trimester and felt like I was completely safe and nothing could go wrong. I remember the joy and the excitement that was there as I relished in the life growing within me. It breaks my heart because that joy and excitement is tainted now by the knowledge of what can and does go wrong. The carefree innocence we had with that first pregnancy no longer exists and I yearn to be able to feel that same magic I felt the first time. I don't know if I'll ever be able to feel the same way about a pregnancy that I did with Hunter. I know from speaking with other moms who have gone through a loss that this all part of our new normal. It's hard to allow yourself to get attached, and I think especially when your only experience with pregnancy and birth correlates with absolute heartache and pain. I don't know what it is like to get pregnant, go through a full-term pregnancy, and bring a baby home. I always wanted a big family, I always said I wanted 6 kids, and with facing the reality of how emotionally and physically challenging my pregnancies will be, it makes me sad because I don't think I'll be able to have as many children as I always envisioned happening. Now that we're almost 24 weeks, I'm well into unknown territory. And I still am not at a point where I can really feel comfortable doing much planning for the future with a new baby. I love getting outfits and bows and pretty little girl things for this baby, and while these few things we have for her make me smile, there is also a voice in the back of my head that says "better keep the receipt, just in case." And without fail, every time we stop at the baby department, and we're oooo-ing and awwww-ing over the pink frilly items, my eye still wanders over to blue. Especially lately, and I don't know why, but the void of Hunter's absence has felt so fresh and raw. Easter was a lot harder than I had expected it to be, and maybe it's just the carry over of all those emotions, but many tears have been shed lately by not just me, but my husband as well. We're both missing our son so acutely, and I feel like as we get closer and closer to our baby girl being born, that emotion is only going to grow. It's very bittersweet getting to this point of viability in this pregnancy. It's comforting knowing that any and every medical intervention would be made to stop and delay labor should I go into preterm labor, not to mention the steps that would be taken to try and save baby girl's life if she did end up being born early. It does however, bring up so many feelings about what happened with Hunter, from the total lack of medical help we were given at the hospital, to being made to feel like he wasn't a person yet and therefore wasn't worth those steps to save because we were only at 20 weeks. I'm very thankful for a husband who is willing to be open and share his grief with me. It's such a comfort to know that I am not alone in this. There comes a point after a loss where it just really feels like everyone else has moved on, and when you're still treading water in your pool of grief, it starts to feel very lonely. I think especially now that we're pregnant again, it's like most people really do think it's like a magic band aid and that we should just be completely "over it" and just so thankful to have this baby. We are very thankful, and now how blessed we are. This is our second baby in the course of a year, and that's nothing short of a gift from above. But I cannot stress enough how unbelievably hard pregnancy after loss is. It's so much more than I could have ever expected, in so many ways. And some days I really find myself crumbling under the emotional weight and stress of it all. It gets frustrating at times because I feel like there are very few people who I can express these feelings to without getting a response of how thankful I should be, and how lucky we are to get another baby. Sometimes you just need to vent and have your feelings validated. I truly do know that this baby girl is a beautiful blessing, and I am SO thankful for this experience, but I think it's only human to wonder what this experience would be like under different circumstances. I had this notion at the beginning of this pregnancy that we'd get the cerclage, we'd do the hormone injections, and that would take care of all the problems and it would be a lovely smooth experience. I guess I just feel a little disillusioned because that is not how it has turned out. I lost Hunter because of a weakness in the way my body was made, and I didn't anticipate for a minute that we'd experience having a doctor tell us that there was something wrong with this baby. All a mom wants for her child is to be healthy and happy, and it really is so hard knowing that even with all these preventative measures on my end, this baby girl is not necessarily safe from certain hardships that could occur shortly after she is born due to this cyst in her abdomen. Whether she loses an ovary because of it, or a kidney, both will affect her life. There is still plenty of time for a miracle, for this cyst to just go away, and I will continue to pray for that. I will continue to pray for the strength to handle what has been given to me. I will continue to pray that I will learn whatever it is I am meant to learn from this. I will pray for a more positive and happy outlook. And I pray that I can keep my sanity for the next 3 months.

A Baby Girl

I really get emotional just thinking about it: I have a daughter. I have a son AND a daughter. It's been an interesting journey getting to this half way mark in this pregnancy. It's been, up to this point, familiar. But now we're in uncharted territory, a part of pregnancy I've never been to before. It hasn't been without it's eventful moments, most especially the emotional roller coaster we took a ride on the day we found out baby was a girl. I literally have no words for the moment when my doctor told me there was something wrong with the baby. I'm so thankful that what he originally suspected turned out to be something much less serious, and something that would not risk baby girl's life. As I sat in the hospital, waiting for my second ultrasound, watching the other pregnant mom's walk by, I felt so utterly and completely defeated. My mind was frozen yet racing, which I didn't think was possible. I was flooded with thoughts of another funeral, another little casket, but this time in pink. Another baby I would be laying to rest in the cold ground, instead of in a warm bassinet. I was broken in that moment. Up until this point, I have to admit that the bond I've felt with this baby has been different than it was with Hunter. I know I am not alone in this experience, as I've heard from other mothers who have had to bury a child, it is simply your heart's way of protecting itself from the pain it previously experienced. Pregnancy is the most beautiful challenge any woman can experience. But unfortunately, when you've lost a baby, some of the shine disappears. Before Hunter, I thought that it was all a pretty simple process, you get pregnant, you stay pregnant for 40 weeks or so, and then you have a baby. For many, many women that is indeed the case. For others of us, it is not so simple. I've often had moments of guilt, feeling like maybe I love Hunter more, or maybe I'm not capable of loving another baby like I love the one I never got to bring home. It wasn't until I feared losing my daughter that I realized the depth of the love I already feel for her. Maybe that is what I needed to allow myself to love as completely as I'm able to. I still worry about the safety of this baby, not just from her diagnosis of a cyst, but I also still don't trust my body as completely capable, though it definitely helps knowing I'm taking and have taken the necessary steps to assist my body in this process. Even with my fears, I'm going to allow myself to be excited. And I am. I am so overwhelmingly ecstatic to have a little girl. I also feel such an overwhelming responsibility knowing that we are going to have a daughter. It just feels so different from having a son, not better, or more exciting, just...different. I want her to grow up strong and independent, always knowing that her value is so much more than a number on a scale, or how many boys want to date her, or what the world's perception of her beauty is. There's something about a new baby that brings so much hope and promise. I want so many things for her, but most of all I want her to be free to be who she is. And to know that she will be loved unconditionally for herself. I have a feeling she is going to be a sassy little thing, and will probably give me a taste of my own medicine. I hope I can be the mother I want to be, and be the best example I can be for this little girl. She has her big brother Hunter who will always be watching over her, and though it breaks my heart that I'll never have all my babies in my arms here on Earth, I know as our family here on Earth grows, it will only make the reunion up above that more amazing.

It's Okay To Be Sad

Well, we had our cerclage placed on 2/12/14 for our rainbow baby. Like most things I've experienced throughout this journey of grief, I couldn't have anticipated the varying emotions I felt. It all happened in a relatively short time period; we saw our doctor on Friday the 8th, were told we'd do the cerclage the next week, waited and waited for the phone call telling us what day, and then there we were, all set to go on that Tuesday morning. I was also working a LOT because of the upcoming Valentine's Day holiday, which for florists is THE big day of the year, with about three weeks of prep work involved. So until that Tuesday morning, I hadn't really had time to stop and process what was going to happen and how I was feeling about the whole thing. And then there I was, in the shower, crying. The tears were laced with joy, guilt, fear, sadness, hope, regret...The thing is, people expect you to be "okay" when you have another baby on the way after you've experienced a loss. It's like a band-aid, that the wound should be covered up now and healing or healed. Every person and every situation is different, but I know that for me, the wound is fresh again. I know I grieved for Hunter in the minutes, hours, days, weeks, months since his passing before we became pregnant again. It was deep, all consuming, and at times, it was dark. I went through the motions, and I think I did a pretty good job of giving myself permission to feel whatever I was feeling. I didn't try to push away the grief, or ignore it. I gave myself over to it and I think handled it all as best I could. I had gotten to the point where I didn't cry every day. In fact, I remember the first time I realized that I had gone a full day without shedding a single tear. Of course, then I felt guilty because I felt like a bad mom, but I knew that was not a logical way of thinking. Then we found out we were pregnant again. We weren't really actively trying to conceive, but I knew well before that positive pregnancy test that I was expecting. When I did finally see the word "pregnant" displayed on the test, I couldn't breathe. I told my husband and then took a shower, where I wept under the hot water. I was scared. I wanted to be excited, and part of me was, but there was a really big part of me just didn't feel ready for this. Hunter was my first pregnancy, my first child. We didn't get to bring him home, we placed him in a little blue box and buried him. I don't know what it's like to have a pregnancy go full-term, to give birth to a crying, healthy baby. Because of our experience, pregnancy isn't directly associated with joy the way it is for the majority of family's who have had the chance to bring their little ones home and raise them. That's not to say that I'm not excited and happy that we're having another child. I am. But I am cautiously so. As the weeks creep closer and closer to the gestation when I gave birth to Hunter, I can feel the anxiety mounting. I am fearful of the cerclage failing. I'm afraid of going to an appointment and there not being a heartbeat. I'm simply terrified of losing another baby. I have faith, but that faith isn't in what I desire, I have faith that whatever God has planned for us will come to pass. And that includes the possibility that this baby will be called home like Hunter was. I'm not going to lie to you, it is exhausting going through a pregnancy like this. I ask God all the time to ease my fears, to ease my anxiety. Sometimes He does, and sometimes He doesn't. I only fear so much because I love so much. I love my baby's more than life. And I really feel like I will be able to bring this baby home. I just live in a reality where there is no guarantee. Cerclage's fail, it's a fact. But I'm thankful to know that I'm doing all I can to keep my baby safe inside me, until it's safe for him or her to arrive. I wish I could have done as much for my Hunter. The further along I get, the more I feel his loss. Feeling this baby start to move, that lovely little fluttering, just brings back so many feelings and memories. And as this pregnancy progresses, I realize how little time I really did have with him. I feel guilty because I feel so robbed, when I know I should mostly feel blessed. I am into my second pregnancy and I know so many good people who pray daily for the chance to conceive. I do know how lucky I am. But that doesn't diminish the sorrow that comes with not being able to see your child grow. I'm trying to savor every moment with this baby, even the morning/all day sickness, and heartburn. But try as I might to focus on the here and now, my Hunter is always present in my mind as well. Remembering my pregnancy with him as I experience this pregnancy. Comparing, and contrasting. And as this baby grows and grows, I will wonder what it would have been like with Hunter. When this baby is born, and I hear that first cry, I will be filled with so much happiness, but also a voice will say "I wonder if that's what Hunter would have sounded like." And it will go on that way until my dying day. I know that probably sounds over dramatic, but I know it's true. Every milestone my other children reach will bring pride and wonderment for them, and longing and sorrow for the milestones we missed with Hunter. I think part of the process of grieving is realizing that you won't ever truly stop. Especially when it's your child. I love my children, and I acknowledge to the universe how lucky I am. I often think of "It's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all." That's how I feel about my babies. I wouldn't trade any of this. I've never known a greater heartache, but I've also never known such profound love. Part of me resides in heaven, and that's a pretty big blessing in and of itself.

Rainbow Dreams of Jelly Beans

It still seems so surreal to me that we're pregnant with our rainbow baby. For those who may wonder what the whole "rainbow" thing is all about, here's a pretty good explanation.

"It is understood that the beauty of a rainbow does not negate the ravages of any storm. When a rainbow appears, it does not mean that the storm never happened, or that we are not still dealing with it's aftermath. It means that something beautiful and full of light has appeared in the midst of the darkness and clouds. Storm clouds may still hover, but the rainbow provides a counterbalance of color, energy, and hope."

This new baby will not,  nor ever could, replace our Hunter. He will always and forever occupy a very special and sacred place in my heart. Just like the rainbow does not mean the storm is over or forgotten, we are also still healing in brand new ways with this new pregnancy. I think the best word to use to describe my feelings is "vulnerability". I've never felt more bare, more exposed. It's unlike anything I've experienced before. I never doubted that I would want to try to have more children, but like most things, you can't anticipate all the feelings, experiences, emotions, etc. that come with being in that place until you get there. I'm opening myself up to the possibility of loss again, to endure the unendurable once again. Of course, I have faith that we will be blessed with a healthy baby this go around. But I also know the other possibility. And as much as I want to fight it, to ignore it, the knowledge of what can and what does unfortunately go wrong hangs around like a dark cloud. The thing is, it's not just our loss with Hunter either. It's all the stories of loss we have come to know that lurk and linger and haunt. Our innocence is gone in that we know too much. We've learned too much. We've experienced too much. Honestly, after you experience a loss and you become familiar with all the things that can go wrong, you almost feel like "How are there any healthy baby's born?". And that makes me so sad. As hard as it is though, and trust me, some days it feels nearly impossible, we are staying positive. When I start to get anxious, I just close my eyes and talk to my baby. Sometimes I just repeat over and over in my head "Healthy, growing, beautiful baby". Over and over. This is definitely the second hardest thing I've ever done. The first is for sure burying Hunter. But making the choice to try again....so hard. If there's a day where I wake up and I'm not quite as nauseous as I was the previous day, it freaks me out. That's how crazy I am! This is the second major test of faith. I pray every day, every minute for the opportunity to keep this baby. I fight back that little voice that whispers "You prayed for Hunter, and look how that turned out." At the end of the day, all I can do is give it to God. For whatever eternal reason, Hunter was not  meant to live beyond his miraculous hour and forty minutes (which truth be told, I feel like was for US then for Hunter). I have to have that same faith that no matter what happens, with anything in my life, it all happens according to His divine plan. So I will do all that I can, and hand the rest over to Him. I'm going to talk about my baby's future, the future of this pregnancy, regardless of that nagging feeling that I'm jinxing everything. Because this baby deserves to know how much he or she was loved from the beginning. Not how scared or nervous mommy and daddy were. I'm going to envision a long, healthy pregnancy, and count the days until I get to have a beautiful, joyous birth experience and welcome this amazing little person into the world. I know we will have bumps and hiccups in the road. I'm only discovering the tip of the emotional iceberg here. Being pregnant again has me missing my son in a while new way, and has me mourning and celebrating him in a whole new way. It really is a new path on the road of mourning and loss, and it has to be traveled. Ultimately, I think we will be healed in ways we cannot even begin to imagine, but we will have our share of tears and heartache and anger along the way. All I know is this: my love for my children knows no bounds or limits. Children. I have CHILDREN. Plural. Two. Two beautiful, sweet babies. My arms ache for them both, and I am so looking forward to August, when *hopefully* these empty arms will be filled. Not hopefully. They WILL be. (Positive thinking folks, it's a must in situations like these.)

I'll Love You Forever, I'll Like You For Always, As Long As I'm Living, My Baby You'll Be

Dear Hunter,

I can't believe the day has finally arrived. Your due date. I always knew you wouldn't wait until the 30th, but never in my wildest imagination could I have expected you to arrive so soon. We said our "goodbyes" at the same time we said "hello". Sometimes, it still feels like a dream. Like I'll wake up tomorrow with a huge pregnant belly, and we'll be packing up our bags to go to the hospital to welcome you to the world. Daddy and I try to not be sad, but our arms are aching to hold you. I never knew how you could physically miss someone, how your arms could reach out for someone who is not there, how the emptiness can fill you up and you feel drawn to something you cannot have. Then there was you. I never knew I could miss someone so much because I never knew I could love someone so much! You are a part of me, and I am a part of you, though you are out of my reach here on Earth. We are eternally connected, and sometimes, I truly do feel you so close...your beautiful spirit fills up the emptiness inside me and we are one and whole again. I try and imagine what you would look like today, and I'm sure you'd be a chunky little thing. Would you have daddy's eyes? I wonder if you'd have my dark hair, or if you'd be blond like daddy. You did have daddy's nose, his mouth, even his feet. I never knew how much I loved daddy until I saw just how much daddy loves, and still loves, his son. He's a good man, and I know that's why you chose him. You probably had a hand in bringing mommy and daddy together, in fact. We hope you know that you will always be a part of our family, we hope you send us little brothers and sisters someday, and we will tell them all about you, their big brother. We'll tell them how you were so special, how you defied what doctors said and fought and kept your little heart beating for an hour and forty minutes, and we'll tell them how now you are our guardian angel, always with us and always watching over us. I long to hold you my son, and I know I will someday, but it just feels so far away. I like to think that for you, my sweet boy, it will be just like a blink of an eye. You're wrapped in the love and light of all our loved ones who have gone before, and I'm sure there was a beautiful reunion when you returned to them all. Do you know how much we love you? I'm sure you do. Every time I think of you, my heart swells, and sometimes that love runs out of my eyes. But every tear is just a message from me to you saying "I love you". You will always be our special little guy, our firstborn, and I cannot wait until the day we are together again. I'll probably never let you go, sorry in advance ;-)

Love,

Mommy