the happiest dress I'll never wear.

Today is five months since my husband drove me home from the hospital after we lost our baby. I woke up this morning in a slight funk, just remembering the day. I sat with my hand on our memory box, still empty except for papa's letter to the baby and my hospital wristband. I wish I had more in the box to remember the baby by. I have nothing. I never got an ultrasound picture, I had no clothes yet, or little booties or socks or hair clips. I had nothing. The most tangible thing I have is the tiny blue topaz stone I wear around my neck -- the December birth stone. I play with it a lot, I keep it clean, I hold it between my fingers because I have nothing else to touch that symbolizes my baby.

Yesterday we drove on the stretch of road from the hospital back towards where we used to live. It was just a trip to the shopping area in town. I've driven it before, but for some reason, yesterday it brought tears to my eyes. It brought back fresh memories of the day we left the doctor's office, and heard his voice ringing in my ears that this pregnancy probably wouldn't end the way we'd hoped. The look on his face when he stared at the ultrasound machine just a little too long, silently, continuing to move the ultrasound wand back and forth, searching for a heartbeat.

I wore a gray and yellow dress. It was brand new. It was the happiest dress I could find in my closet that day. My mascara was smeared down my face, and suddenly that was the saddest dress I've ever owned.  I tried to wear it once again, to church, not long after we lost the baby. I had to leave church in the middle of the service because of the sobs that could not be stopped. I haven't touched the dress since.

This last Friday was Pregnancy and Infant loss remembrance day. To most people it's just another day on the calendar, and they probably have little idea what the significance of that day is to certain mothers and fathers.

How have you memorialized your baby? I think it's a significant step of the healing process, to find some way to keep that baby's memory alive. A little memento, a photograph or a flower or tree. Something that is important in your house to remember the short yet highly significant life of your unborn child. The holidays are coming up, and it's a bitter sweet time for me. Our baby was due just before Christmas, so my challenge is to celebrate Christmas and still remember my baby. I plan on buying a special ornament, probably an angel or something, to put front and center on our tree this year. Something simple, but important.

little soul

I found these lyrics through another blog about miscarriage. I'm proud of a band for writing a song about the loss of a baby. I haven't found the actual song yet, but this is so touching, especially from the viewpoint of the father.
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Recorded live @ Konk Studios, London
Produced by Ben Mason

Lyrics: Tom, Music: Oswald

I remember the day when I heard you were on your way
tears of joy as we hugged and planned your life on earth
for weeks now we have loved you, never let you out of our thoughts
although you never knew us we needed you a lot

Little soul with a face I’ve never known
Little soul how I wish that you had grown
Little lost soul try to find your way back home
Little soul goodbye

Im so glad now you weren’t a secret that we shared you for a while
You put smiles upon the faces of those we love
If you’re out there I hope you hear me and know that Im your dad
And if you don’t mind could you blow a kiss to your mum

Little soul with a face I’ve never known
Little soul how I wish that you had grown
Little lost soul try to find your way back home
Little soul goodbye

I want to thank you for all you’ve done, the way you made her smile
Forever I will see her in a way that I never have
I only hope now you can guide her and help her through the dark
When she dreams now can you drop by and help to mend her heart

Little soul with a face I’ve never known
Little soul how I wish that you had grown
Little lost soul try to find your way back home
My little soul goodbye

when is happiness ok?

I've never been through this before, so going through the stages of grief is foreign territory for me. The last few weeks have been strange. I've felt more my normal self than I have in months, and it makes me wonder...when is happiness ok? How soon is it ok to go about life normally, and begin dreaming and hoping for the future?

I almost feel guilty for the days that I wake up feeling ok, and even feeling happy. When my little dog makes me laugh, sometimes I feel as if I'm betraying my baby by not grieving it continually.

Someone told me once, always remember the baby, but don't grieve to the point that you become the woman your child would not want for a mother.

But still, I don't know when it becomes appropriate to be happy.

crash and burn

I've recently had to create a project based off a song for a class in school. I chose the song Crash and Burn by Savage Garden. It's been a favorite for years, and somehow while I was working on it, it just fit into the loss of my baby and everything that I've gone through this year. The whole project was cathartic. If you have recently lost a baby, maybe it will help you too.

how easy it is to forget.

During the last week I've come across an amazing amount of blogs online by women who have lost their babies. I cry while I read their stories, because it brings back my pain fresh. But in a way, it has given me strength. I'm not the only one out there who has lost a baby, and some people lost their baby even earlier than mine. There is an entire community of women who have suffered silently. They all feel the loneliness that envelops you when you lose a baby. They all feel the guilt that is impossible to separate yourself from. They've all been told it wasn't their fault, or maybe it was. Maybe it's because they worked night shift or drank coffee or didn't exercise enough. Maybe it's because they hadn't read enough parenthood books. They've all been told the baby was better off dying, because otherwise it would be born messed up and probably have genetic issues. They've all been told the wives tales that everyone around them knows and thinks is helpful in this situation.

But none of that helps. None of it patches up your heart. Your mind may know it wasn't your fault, but your heart still screams that is was. Every time I've seen my doctor, he's made sure to remind me that I didn't do anything to cause this to happen. I know that. I remember everything from my education, from my nursing experience, and I know that short of doing drugs and alcohol, I couldn't have brought this on myself. Even then, had I been doing things like that to my body, that doesn't mean I would cause a miscarriage. I've seen more babies be born full term to drug addicts and alcoholics, and it makes me angry. I can't help it::I'm angry that they had a baby and I didn't.

It's amazing how common a miscarriage is, and yet how inept our society is at dealing with it. It's like a black cloud, the elephant in the room. It's the topic that nobody talks about, unless it has happened to you. Then you quietly take the newly grieving, baby-less mother aside and tell her that you understand, wrap your arms around her, and let her sob it out.

And then, everyone forgets. Your friends move on. Your family moves on. Sometimes even your husband moves on. And you are stuck with a flat stomach, lost pounds, and a broken heart. Everyone thinks you should be over it by now. And nobody realizes what a profound impact it has made on your life. That baby was a part of your, it was your life. You gave life to it, and then it was ripped away. It was suctioned out, or cruelly passed due to medication. You looked in your underwear and saw what you swear was your baby, and it was finally over. Or not.

You were told that it wasn't a real baby you lost. You were told that you were young, and would have plenty more babies. You were told that it was a blessing, it was God's plan. If you had tried to abort the same baby, at the same age, there would be protestors. There would be people calling you a murderer, saying that baby was a victim of a senseless death. But when that baby dies on its own, it's swept under the rug, and so conveniently forgotten. The subject is changed when you bring it up. Your own family members never ask how you are doing.

The words that people say because they just have to say something, are sometimes the cruelest. They don't realize that a simple "I'm so sorry" is the best.

And then it's forgotten. Perhaps people think that if they never talk about your baby, and act like it never happened, then you will heal faster. Maybe they truly do think that it wasn't real, in which case abortion should have alot more supporters. It's heart never beat, so apparently it never lived, regardless of the fact that cells are living. Nobody realizes that each morning when you wake up, you look in the mirror and expect a bump. You expect to feel the baby kick, and nothing is there. Perhaps that is what makes healing the hardest. Who knows.

People don't realize how much a part of you that baby is. They don't realize how entwined it was already in your heart. They forget, but I won't. My baby will always be a part of my life. I will think of it every day, and I long for the day that I am handed my baby in heaven. I will tell all my future children that they had an older brother or sister. It may be easy for other people to forget but not me.

I will never forget.

i'll hold you in heaven

I'll Hold You in Heaven
by Jo Ann Taylor

From the very beginning I loved you,
As I made plans to hold you and rock you:
You were tiny and helpless as you lay in my womb,
But something went wrong and soon you were gone;
My young heart was broken, my tears fell like rain,
I'd never known such heartache and pain.

I wonder who you look like, me or your dad,
Do you have my smile and his eyes?
Would you have been big and tall or tiny and small?
We had dreams for you that reached to the skies.
It was long, long ago and I still miss you so,
Thanks to Jesus, I'll see you in heaven.

I'll hold you in heaven someday,
When my trials on earth pass away;
The angels have rocked you, the Father watches over you,
I know you're waiting for me;
I never could hold you or tell you "Goodbye",
But I'll hold you in heaven someday.

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Copied from http://my-many-blessings.blogspot.com/.

four months yesterday

Today is September 19. Yesterday was 4 months since the loss of our baby. I realized that this morning when I woke up. I guess I didn't really think about it yesterday because I slept all day and worked last night, so my mind was tied up.

Usually every month on the 18th I feel the pain fresh all over again. Maybe this means I'm finally healing? It wasn't the first thing on my mind. Four months. In many ways, it seems like it has been the longest four months of my life. It feels like it's been years since we lost the baby. And in a lot of ways, it feels like it was just yesterday. My life has changed so much in the last four months, sometimes I feel like I don't even know who I am.

I've thought for a while about blogging. Just to put something out there, in a way to remember my baby and have it in print that it was real. I've always put it off though. I guess for a few reasons. I don't love reliving every aspect of the miscarriage. I don't love reiterating the continuous pain and heartbreak of no longer being six months pregnant and experiencing the changes of expecting. But maybe putting my thoughts down will help.

I can't promise that this will be politically correct, or that it won't be offensive sometimes. I promise to be honest, and to put my heart and feelings down, exactly how I feel, whether its anger, pain or happiness. And maybe in the process it will help me, and perhaps there is just one person out there that will gain hope from reading what I have to say.

Who knows.