I Should Be Grateful

I had my first appointment with the Maternal Fetal Medicine specialist today. I saw him with Charlie and I saw him with Hannah and his peaceful manner and soft spoken voice keep me calm and make appointments soothing - it's all going to be ok. My OB has told me he is overly cautious, so when he says "Everything is good" I know that statement doesn't come lightly.

Running late as usual, Brent dropped me off at the hospital door while he went to park. I charged through the doors, thinking only that I need to hear a heartbeat and not thinking that it was my first time back at the hospital since Hannah. The last time I walked in there, I was laughing at myself for overacting about what I thought was a lazy baby. And the last time I left there it was with empty arms and a shattered soul.

So maybe it's good that I didn't think about it ahead of time. But running through that door, the smell, the sounds, sights. It all hit me like a ton of bricks. I had to stop short because all my breath was suddenly gone. I stumbled down the long hallway, trying not to panic, trying not to cry. But that was the longest, shortest walk of my entire life. Suddenly I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to face where I've been and where I'm going. I wanted to turn around and run home and bury myself under my duvet and stay there. It was all too shocking and too real.

I should be grateful that my doctor knew exactly what I needed to hear before I knew I needed to hear it. I should be grateful that this little baby got a clean bill of health. I should be grateful that this busy, busy doctor said to come every week after 30 weeks, that he would make time because he knows how we feel. I should be so, so grateful.

But instead I feel numb. Because again we have to face the reality of what happened. Now, coming up on the first anniversary of  her loss, we were forced to face the cold medical details of our family's loss.

Innocence Gone

Tomorrow will be 15 weeks.  15 weeks since our little family started to expand. And I still can't wrap my head around it.

It's a wonderful thing, this chance to grow our little brood. But it's terrifying too. No longer can I take a deep breath after the first trimester and tell myself we are safe now, that everything will be ok. I know that there are no guarantees. I know that the worst can and often does happen. And I know sometimes that lightening does strike in the same place twice. Our innocence is gone. It was shattered months ago by the cruelest fate.

I know what it's like to hear those awful words, that rattle in your bone even now months later. I know what it's like to hold my child for the first time and they are just so still, so quiet. I know what it's like to pray over her and beg God to please, oh please just let her open her eyes. To pray with every cell in your body for a miracle. Or to wake up from this awful dream.

I know what it's like to hand my child to a nurse, who carries her away with tears in her eyes. I know what it's like to hand my child to a nurse, who takes her to the morgue.

I know what it's like to never see or hold my child again. And to lose my faith,

So how do we get through these coming weeks and months? How do we get through the minutes, without going crazy. Where do we find the faith to hold on and hope that this time we get to bring our baby home.

It's Been Awhile

Its been awhile since I've written last. It's not that I haven't had anything to say, it's just that I don't know what to say. I'm feeling too much right now and I don't really know what to do with it all. At the same time, I feel like I'm stuck in the grieving process. I'm past the initial shock and have been for a few months. But now I am floating back and forth between grief and anger.

Some days I'm really just very sad. Lay in bed all day, avoiding the world sad. I don't want to talk, I don't want to socialize, I don't want to do anything but wallow because quite frankly that is all I have the energy for.

Other days I can't stop thinking about things that make me so mad. The family that let us down, the people who have already forgotten that Hannah was born and loved and loved still. I'm mad at a God who lets this happen to us, who lets this happen to the wonderful women and families that I have met along the way. Why? Seriously, why? Our babies were so loved, so wanted. Why take them? Its not fair, it just so wildly unfair! I'm mad (yes, quite unfairly) at people who get to bring their daughters home from the hospital. Why them? Why not me? Why can't this be their grief? Why is this mine?

The back to grief. And then back to anger. Then grief...well, you get the picture.

I guess what I've learned over the last 10 months is that grief is messy and ugly and does not flow cleanly thru the "stages." So I'm not going to rush it or push it or even try to move past it (Ha! There is ZERO moving past it!) Instead I am going to stay where I am, feel all the feelings and just be.

The Old and the New

What is that saying that the Girl Scouts always sing about? "Make new friends, but keep the old. One is silver and other's gold." This is so true with child loss. Well, at least it is in my case, but I think I've been extremely lucky with my support circle.

I love my old friends. And I need them now more than ever. Not only were they there when we were first blindsided with loss, and they held me up (sometimes literally) as we went through the process of planning a funeral and saying goodbye. They were my rock, my sanity and my last link to who I was before my world fell apart. It's in them that I can see small glimpses of who I was, who I thought I would always be.

Then there are my new friends. My baby loss friends. It's amazing how quickly we can bond over this shared tragedy. They are the ones that have helped me see through the aftermath. They are the first ones I go to on a bad day. Not because my old friends wouldn't love and support me, but my new friends have had the same bad days. They were also the first ones I went to when we got a positive pregnancy test last week. And the first ones I reached out to when we lost that baby too.

Old friends, new friends. I am truly grateful for each and everyone one of you. I know I've been isolating myself. I know I've been quiet and appear withdrawn. I've been introspective and emotional and basically avoiding human contact when possible. Bear with me, I am still trying to figure out who I am in this new world of mine. But one thing I know to be true, I have learned who my friend (old and new) truly are and I love you all right back. Even if I'm not so good at showing it right now.

Kindness and Community

We did it! We survived our first Kindness Walk to support the MISS Foundation. I first heard about the MISS Foundation when we first lost Hannah. I won't got into all that they do, but it's good and there are a lot of people that depend on them. They are amazing.

My first thought was "What a fun way to support a good cause!" My second thought was "It's too soon. I can't face it yet." So I was all set to avoid it. Then last week I changed my mind. I realized that I would never  "feel" like facing this and it was time to step out from the comfort zone of my house (and my computer) and do something that actually makes a difference.  We fell just shy of our fundraising goal, but considering  we only had a week to plan, I'm proud and grateful for every penny that we did raise.

For me, the two best parts were the memory table where parents and friends and family could share pictures or mementos of the children they lost. My other favorite part was at the end of the walk. There were signs with a foot print and the name of all the children. It was beautifully heartbreaking. All those children, all the heartbreak, all the love. So many families just here in our local community.

It was heartwarming to see the way we all came together, united by grief and loss. It was terribly sad but terribly comforting to see the compassion and support in action. We are not alone. Our children are not forgotten. They were here for however brief a moment in time, and they will always matter.

It's not to late to donate if you are so inclined. Here is the link to the Team Hannah page.

http://www.firstgiving.com/team/297083

Well Meaning Face Slaps

I have several things running through my brain today and I started to message a friend about them but then I realized that I do not have the patience to type it all out on my phone so I am going to write it out here and hopefully she'll read it and know that she is not alone.

First off, the other day a well meaning someone told me that she admires me for the way I have "bounced back" from all this. Ok, I get that she was trying to be supportive, but let me assure you, I have not and will not ever "bounce back from this. This is not bounce back-able. You don't just get over your child dying. You don't become whole again, life is not ever complete again, I will never be the same person again. Yes, I still get up and move thru the days (some days get more movement than others) but do not mistake this for "bouncing back." It's like that song I posted on Facebook the other day. "I Will Never Let You Know" from Nashville. (Shut up. I love that show) "I burned to ashes, split down the middle, if anyone asks it hurts just a little, I died inside the day I let you go. I will never let you know."

Just because I (and my other grief warrior friends) don't walk around wailing or silent or give up and stay in bed, does not mean we bounced back. It means we found the strength to put one foot in front of the other. You would not believe how hard that can be some days. Damn near impossible. But we have not bounced back. We push forward, some days counting the minutes until we can crawl into bed. We do yoga, we take anti-depressants, we journal and we go to therapy. But we have not bounced back. Saying we have "bounced back" is insulting and it's like saying our children and our children's deaths did not matter. I wanted to scream "Shut your face!" but I was at work and also didn't want to get fired. So I said "Not the case, read my blog."

I also have a sweet friend struggling with fertility issues right now. And she's doing the right thing by trying to reach out for support. It's hard for her because people don't get it. They are trying to make her see the "bright side." But when you want to have children and when you deserve to have a family full of children, there is not bright side to knowing that may not happen the way she dreamed of it happening. It very well could happen, but it won't be the journey she dreamed of and wished for. That's a whole grieving process and in and of it's self. People don't get that.

I guess what I am getting at after all this rambling, is be careful with your words. What was meant to be well intentioned can wound. Words have power. They can wound and sting and burn just like a physical blow. And they cannot be taken back once they are out there. If you have a friend who is struggling, give them a hug, tell them it sucks and it's not fair and that you love them. Don't make it about you, don't push the bright side and dear God do NOT put a timeline on their pain. Until you've walked that proverbial mile in their shoes, you can't get it but you do have the power to make it much, much worse.

The Silent Ones

I've been hesitant to write this post. This has been weighing on my mind for a long time, but I hesitated because there is a strongly likelihood that this is going to cause drama. So far I have been baring it all and documenting the authentic, if sometimes ugly, parts of this journey, so to leave this part out just feels wrong. It has had a huge impact on me and on Brent so I  need to just write it out and let the chips fall where they may.

I also hesitated to write this because I know some people are going to take this as whining. And I do not mean it as whining. It's an unpleasant part of the process, but overall I am glad for it. Let me explain...

I've spent a good deal of time writing about all the people I am grateful for. The people who's support has been like a life boat in this storm. People who came over, who sent meals, who still to this day call or text or message just to check in  and check on us. People who say they are thinking of Hannah. People who acknowledge that she existed, that we loved her and that while her life was way too brief, acknowledge that she mattered and had a profound impact us. I know who you are and I am forever grateful. You are all amazing.

But there is a flip side to this coin.  The people who refuse to acknowledge her. They let holidays and other milestones go by without acknowledging her. They have never used her name or sincerely offered condolences. These people rolled in and out of her service, making it clear in both demeanor and lack of emotion that they didn't want to be there, didn't understand the fuss and certainly were not sorry about the loss. They let the holiday season go by without even a simple "I know this has to be tough." They didn't recognize her due date, or Mother's Day. These people, who are supposed to be family - FAMILY - made it clear with their silence that her loss didn't touch them in even the smallest way. They go about their business like she never happened, completely absorbed in themselves and shutting us out. The refuse to use her name.

It's hurtful because these are people that we have always supported. When they faced their own type of loss we were there offering support and distractions. I expected the same in return. and I was let down. I expected to be treated as if we mattered and as if Hannah mattered and that didn't happen. It's disappointing and hurtful and it makes me irate. It's unfair and unjust and awful and really I shouldn't be surprised because that's how it's always been with that crowd. But as I move through the initial shock of grief I find myself focusing on my anger at this particular crowd and that's not healthy for me. What I need to focus on is all the good that we are surrounded by, because the people that love us far, far outnumber the people that couldn't care less. And that is the silver lining of this cloud.

But every now and again, I will let myself remember who made the hurt worse and who's careless attitude spoke louder than their words ever could. They are showing their authentic selves and that is something that it's best to not forget.