She should be turning 5 today. She should be fighting bedtime, stealing toys from her brothers and driving her preschool teacher nuts with her spunky ways. That’s how I imagine her, my spunky, brave girl. Never one to back down from a challenge.
I also imagine her being sweet to the dogs. They would curl up next to my big old pregnant belly and lull Hannah to sleep. The cats on the other hand...oh how she hated those cats! The would try to stretch out on me and she’d start kicking like crazy until they shot me an indignant look and moved on to the next human in the room.
I imagine her playing dress up and loving ballet. Playing piano and Tball too. Maybe soccer.
I imagine her curly brown hair and big blue eyes. Because a psychic once told me she’d have dark curly brown hair and big blue eyes.
I imagine all these things and a million more because that’s all I can do. Imagine.
I imagine her alive and smiling, blown out the candles in her cake as her dad and brothers and I sing to her.
Today she should be turning five.
Friday, November 1, 2019
Tuesday, June 11, 2019
Day Three Dear Abby - Can't You Hear Us?
Dear Abby,
I can't help but notice that you haven't retracted or apologized for your cruel and thoughtless column on June 7th. Stillborn is still born. We love our children. We will love them with our whole hearts until the day we die.
Here's the thing Dear Abby, you are not alone in your ignorance. And that's what makes your comments sting all the more. There are countless people as cruel as you who think still births don't count. Look at our current administration. They refuse to count still births amount the detained immigrants as actual deaths. But they are deaths. And they do count. My husband's own stepmother has decreed to the family that no one is allowed to mention my daughter. That it doesn't matter.
As loss parents we fight EVERY SINGLE DAY to break the silence. We want - no, we need - to shatter the silence around stillbirths so that we may openly grieve. We are tired of crying in the shower or the car. All alone so no one can see us. So no one like you can judge us or try to instill a timeline on our grief. We try to shatter the silence, to remember our children, to carry their memories forward every day.
Congratulations, you just made that battle harder.
I hope you never know the soul crushing grief of losing a child. I hope you never know what it's like to move through the days, years, decades with a constant ache for your missing child. But if you ever do, I hope your grief is met with more grace and love than you showed us in your column.
Sarah Elvin - Hannah's Mom
I can't help but notice that you haven't retracted or apologized for your cruel and thoughtless column on June 7th. Stillborn is still born. We love our children. We will love them with our whole hearts until the day we die.
Here's the thing Dear Abby, you are not alone in your ignorance. And that's what makes your comments sting all the more. There are countless people as cruel as you who think still births don't count. Look at our current administration. They refuse to count still births amount the detained immigrants as actual deaths. But they are deaths. And they do count. My husband's own stepmother has decreed to the family that no one is allowed to mention my daughter. That it doesn't matter.
As loss parents we fight EVERY SINGLE DAY to break the silence. We want - no, we need - to shatter the silence around stillbirths so that we may openly grieve. We are tired of crying in the shower or the car. All alone so no one can see us. So no one like you can judge us or try to instill a timeline on our grief. We try to shatter the silence, to remember our children, to carry their memories forward every day.
Congratulations, you just made that battle harder.
I hope you never know the soul crushing grief of losing a child. I hope you never know what it's like to move through the days, years, decades with a constant ache for your missing child. But if you ever do, I hope your grief is met with more grace and love than you showed us in your column.
Sarah Elvin - Hannah's Mom
Monday, June 10, 2019
Dear Abby
Dear Abby,
I'm writing again because you still haven't acknowledged the hurt you caused the loss community with your heartless reply to "Crystal" on June 7, 2019.
You seem to think a still birth, the loss of a beloved child, is something that can be gotten over. Well, I am here to tell you how very wrong you are.
Imagine never knowing the color of your child's eyes. The sound of their voice. The color of their hair. Imagine, after carrying a much loved, much wanted child for 9 months only to give birth to a silent room. No new born cries. No congratulations. Just silence. And a soul crushing grief.
Now imagine carrying that grief day after day and instead of support you are told your lifestyle is morbid. That you should seek counseling. That you should be over it. Basically, being told your grief is misplaced and wrong.
Let me tell you what years of therapy after the loss of my daughter have taught me. My grief, the same grief that all loss parents carry day in and day out is normal. It's expected. It's ok. We aren't morbid as you suggested. We are parents that will love our children, living and dead until the day we die. There is no timeframe for our grief. It doesn't have to end because it makes you or other uncomfortable. We don't need you or anyone else to say "Time's Up, Grieiving Over."
What we need is support. And love and compassion. We need to know that YOU know our babies mattered. We need to hear their names on someone else's lips besides our own. To know the world has not forgotten them. We love them. We will always love them.
And you should be ashamed of your response.
Hannah's Mom
I'm writing again because you still haven't acknowledged the hurt you caused the loss community with your heartless reply to "Crystal" on June 7, 2019.
You seem to think a still birth, the loss of a beloved child, is something that can be gotten over. Well, I am here to tell you how very wrong you are.
Imagine never knowing the color of your child's eyes. The sound of their voice. The color of their hair. Imagine, after carrying a much loved, much wanted child for 9 months only to give birth to a silent room. No new born cries. No congratulations. Just silence. And a soul crushing grief.
Now imagine carrying that grief day after day and instead of support you are told your lifestyle is morbid. That you should seek counseling. That you should be over it. Basically, being told your grief is misplaced and wrong.
Let me tell you what years of therapy after the loss of my daughter have taught me. My grief, the same grief that all loss parents carry day in and day out is normal. It's expected. It's ok. We aren't morbid as you suggested. We are parents that will love our children, living and dead until the day we die. There is no timeframe for our grief. It doesn't have to end because it makes you or other uncomfortable. We don't need you or anyone else to say "Time's Up, Grieiving Over."
What we need is support. And love and compassion. We need to know that YOU know our babies mattered. We need to hear their names on someone else's lips besides our own. To know the world has not forgotten them. We love them. We will always love them.
And you should be ashamed of your response.
Hannah's Mom
Friday, June 7, 2019
Fuck You Dear Abby
**This was written in a fit of rage at Dear Abby’s response to abletter in June 7th. I won’t be sharing her letter here, because it sucks and it doesn’t need anymore hit than it will already get.**
Dear Abby,
You should be ashamed of yourself. Your advice to Crystal could not be more off base. Instead of shaming the Aunt for grieving the loss of her much loved child, you should have shamed the family that failed to support her. That the Aunt still mourns her daughter after all this time is completely normal. To say this child never lived is cruel and completely wrong. For 9 months that baby girl lived, right under her mother’s heart. That mother felt her every kick and turn, knew the pattern of her days and nights and knew what foods she liked and what food she didn’t. For nine months that mother dreamed and planned and loved her baby girl. And now that poor mother has to live everyday not knowing the sound of her daughter’s voice or the color of her hair. She’ll never watch her first steps, or graduations. Never see her make friends or get her first job; a whole lifetime was lost when her daughter was still born. I know because I am that mother. I am that mother and I am telling you that you owe this Aunt and all parents of stillborn children an apology. We walk this earth everyday carrying a weight grief that you cannot imagine. A shadow of sorrow behind every smile.
Hannah’s Mom
PS: Every Nov 2nd I make a birthday cake for my silent child. And we sing and remember her with love.
Dear Abby,
You should be ashamed of yourself. Your advice to Crystal could not be more off base. Instead of shaming the Aunt for grieving the loss of her much loved child, you should have shamed the family that failed to support her. That the Aunt still mourns her daughter after all this time is completely normal. To say this child never lived is cruel and completely wrong. For 9 months that baby girl lived, right under her mother’s heart. That mother felt her every kick and turn, knew the pattern of her days and nights and knew what foods she liked and what food she didn’t. For nine months that mother dreamed and planned and loved her baby girl. And now that poor mother has to live everyday not knowing the sound of her daughter’s voice or the color of her hair. She’ll never watch her first steps, or graduations. Never see her make friends or get her first job; a whole lifetime was lost when her daughter was still born. I know because I am that mother. I am that mother and I am telling you that you owe this Aunt and all parents of stillborn children an apology. We walk this earth everyday carrying a weight grief that you cannot imagine. A shadow of sorrow behind every smile.
Hannah’s Mom
PS: Every Nov 2nd I make a birthday cake for my silent child. And we sing and remember her with love.
Friday, February 22, 2019
I Lost My Job but Found My Son
4 months ago I lost my job. We were told our team was relocating to the Chicago office and our choice was to commute there or hit the bricks. Since commuting 4 hours per day is not something I was willing to do, I cashed the severance check and pulled Teddy out of daycare all but 2 days per week.
At first I was going nuts. I didn't have a schedule, a routine. I didn't know what to do with myself. I've been working since I was 15. 12 if you count babysitting. Teddy was off of his schedule too. It was rough. No one was happy. And added to that was the stress of there not being a lot movement in the job market just before Thanksgiving. It was stressful.
But then something happened. Teddy and I, we hit our stride. We got comfortable. We bonded a lot (I'm totally his favorite now - sorry not sorry!)
See here's the thing. When Hannah died I went crazy trying to "fix" us all. Trying to make us whole. I hopped from therapist to therapist trying to find the answers that I needed. The magic words that would make us "OK." Obviously, that didn't happen. So I did the next best thing. I got pregnant.
I was so certain I was going to have a girl and while she wouldn't be Hannah, she would help us mend and make us happy again. She would bring back the laughter and a music. We were going to be ok!
I cried when I found out Teddy was a boy. I am not proud of that now, but it felt like losing Hannah all over again. I sat on the couch, read the test results from my doctor and instead of celebrating the healthy little boy, I mourned my lost girl.
During the whole pregnancy I stayed detached. Worried, panicked and yet oddly detached. When delivery day came I was calm until I got into the operating room. Then I Lost. My. Shit. It was the same room where I delivered Hannah. Everything came flooding back in an instant and I begged to leave. I pleaded for them to stop. I said I couldn't do it. I cried and threw up and had a baby anyway. (Again, Dr Epstein and Nurse Sherry, my apologies and you two are amazing).
Then handed me my sweet bundle of baby boy. All 7lbs 4oz of sweet newborn and I pleaded with them to take him back. "I'm going to drop him" I claimed. But I wasn't going to drop him. I was terrified of him.
That terror lasted. "PTSD" my doctor said. Still I was afraid. The label didn't help. "It's not post partum, it's PTSD" said my therapist and suggested I up my antidepressants. Still no relief.
At home, Teddy thrived despite his bad luck in drawing me as his mother. And for some reason, he loved me. He was an easy baby, who just wanted to be held. I was a horrible mother who just wanted to set him down. I couldn't bond. I loved him, I knew it. But I was afraid to feel it, to experience it. I was waiting, I realized, for the rug to be pulled out from underneath ne again. I did not trust fate. I did not trust our luck. I believed the worst would happen. I guarded my heart.
Eventually I realized Teddy only wanted Brent. He was Daddy's boy. Quite the opposite of his big brother. But he knew I was a hot mess. He's always been a smarty. He grew into a toddler that by his first birthday did not want to cuddle or be held. I broke him.
I realized the mistakes I had made. I regretted them with all my heart. I regret them still. But slowly I reached out to Teddy. And I'll never forget the feeling of pure joy when I got my first unsolicited hug from my sweet boy.
And now? Now I've had a chance to redo the maternity leave that I barely remember. Losing my job has given me my boy back. Teddy and I can cuddle and watch Cars. Or play with cars. Or go the library and have conversations and run errands and just be together. I can hug on him all day long. And he actually likes it now. When he falls down, he wants his mommy. When he is dancing he wants me to dance with him. When he giggles, he wants me to giggle too. Losing my job has been stressful but so worth it. I lost my job, but I found my son.
At first I was going nuts. I didn't have a schedule, a routine. I didn't know what to do with myself. I've been working since I was 15. 12 if you count babysitting. Teddy was off of his schedule too. It was rough. No one was happy. And added to that was the stress of there not being a lot movement in the job market just before Thanksgiving. It was stressful.
But then something happened. Teddy and I, we hit our stride. We got comfortable. We bonded a lot (I'm totally his favorite now - sorry not sorry!)
See here's the thing. When Hannah died I went crazy trying to "fix" us all. Trying to make us whole. I hopped from therapist to therapist trying to find the answers that I needed. The magic words that would make us "OK." Obviously, that didn't happen. So I did the next best thing. I got pregnant.
I was so certain I was going to have a girl and while she wouldn't be Hannah, she would help us mend and make us happy again. She would bring back the laughter and a music. We were going to be ok!
I cried when I found out Teddy was a boy. I am not proud of that now, but it felt like losing Hannah all over again. I sat on the couch, read the test results from my doctor and instead of celebrating the healthy little boy, I mourned my lost girl.
During the whole pregnancy I stayed detached. Worried, panicked and yet oddly detached. When delivery day came I was calm until I got into the operating room. Then I Lost. My. Shit. It was the same room where I delivered Hannah. Everything came flooding back in an instant and I begged to leave. I pleaded for them to stop. I said I couldn't do it. I cried and threw up and had a baby anyway. (Again, Dr Epstein and Nurse Sherry, my apologies and you two are amazing).
Then handed me my sweet bundle of baby boy. All 7lbs 4oz of sweet newborn and I pleaded with them to take him back. "I'm going to drop him" I claimed. But I wasn't going to drop him. I was terrified of him.
That terror lasted. "PTSD" my doctor said. Still I was afraid. The label didn't help. "It's not post partum, it's PTSD" said my therapist and suggested I up my antidepressants. Still no relief.
At home, Teddy thrived despite his bad luck in drawing me as his mother. And for some reason, he loved me. He was an easy baby, who just wanted to be held. I was a horrible mother who just wanted to set him down. I couldn't bond. I loved him, I knew it. But I was afraid to feel it, to experience it. I was waiting, I realized, for the rug to be pulled out from underneath ne again. I did not trust fate. I did not trust our luck. I believed the worst would happen. I guarded my heart.
Eventually I realized Teddy only wanted Brent. He was Daddy's boy. Quite the opposite of his big brother. But he knew I was a hot mess. He's always been a smarty. He grew into a toddler that by his first birthday did not want to cuddle or be held. I broke him.
I realized the mistakes I had made. I regretted them with all my heart. I regret them still. But slowly I reached out to Teddy. And I'll never forget the feeling of pure joy when I got my first unsolicited hug from my sweet boy.
And now? Now I've had a chance to redo the maternity leave that I barely remember. Losing my job has given me my boy back. Teddy and I can cuddle and watch Cars. Or play with cars. Or go the library and have conversations and run errands and just be together. I can hug on him all day long. And he actually likes it now. When he falls down, he wants his mommy. When he is dancing he wants me to dance with him. When he giggles, he wants me to giggle too. Losing my job has been stressful but so worth it. I lost my job, but I found my son.
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