My last post outlined my fear about people forgetting ... and this week I had someone surprise me by remembering. My sister-in-law asked me last night for a picture of her niece. I can't tell you how great that made me feel. She wants a picture of Lily. It means so much to me. I cried - tears of joy!
Then this morning she posted on Facebook about feeling sad about the upcoming anniversaries of the deaths of her Grandma and the niece she never got to meet. Again, it gave me some sense of comfort. I'm not alone in my grief. Lily's death didn't just affect me and my husband. Others in our family are still grieving too. It makes me feel less alone. At the same time I feel happy because Lily's short life meant something. She had an impact on more than just her parents.
Today, it all feels real again. Lily existed. Her life happened. She had an effect on her family's lives. She's deeply missed. And knowing that is making me smile.
Friday, April 22, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Fearing the Day People Forget
It is getting closer and closer to May 9th, Lily's birth day and her death date. I find myself in tears as I write this (at a Subway during lunch)! I'm terrified that after her birthday - the first anniversary of her death - that she will cease to exist in the memory of others. I fear that's it for her. Lily will be in the history books.
She probably already has been forgotten by some. I guess that's to be expected. I know we will never forget her. She will always be a part of Mike and me. But what about the rest of my family? What about our friends?
We're walking in the March for Babies over Mother's Day weekend this year. This walk is also scheduled two days before Lily's birthday. I've been recruiting walkers and fundraising like crazy. I've lost any fear about asking people for money. I thought this event would be a good way to do something for her over her first birthday. Something positive rather than hiding under my covers in bed with a lot of chocolate.
Recently, though, someone very close to me told me they may not make it to the walk. It's Mother's Day weekend after all. I think this person just forgot what this weekend means. Lily was born on Mother's Day. That's why we're walking that weekend. I'm not hurt that they're not coming to the walk. I'm hurt that they apparently forgot the significance of the date.
And I fear that this is just the beginning. Eventually, after we have other children, I'm worried she'll mean nothing.
Another family member told us that in the future Mother's Day won't suck for us. We'll be happier when we have other children. It'll be happier when those children are cooking me breakfast and bringing me flowers for the day. While that may be true, I just feel the day will then just become bittersweet.
May 9, 2011, just feels like a deadline of some sort. The day an entire year has gone by. After that, there's no need to grieve anymore. No need to bring Lily up anymore. That chapter in our lives is over. At least this is what I feel and fear others will think.
Sure enough, May 9th won't change our broken hearts any. I know too that others take their cues from us. Some don't, though, and will expect you to "move on now." Some people will still surprise us with their memories, I'm sure.
I just know I'm not ready for Lily to be a chapter in our family history.
A side note: As I was writing this and eating my lunch, the song "I Say a Little Prayer" came on. This was a song that was running through my head the night we lost Lily. Particularly this verse:
She probably already has been forgotten by some. I guess that's to be expected. I know we will never forget her. She will always be a part of Mike and me. But what about the rest of my family? What about our friends?
We're walking in the March for Babies over Mother's Day weekend this year. This walk is also scheduled two days before Lily's birthday. I've been recruiting walkers and fundraising like crazy. I've lost any fear about asking people for money. I thought this event would be a good way to do something for her over her first birthday. Something positive rather than hiding under my covers in bed with a lot of chocolate.
Recently, though, someone very close to me told me they may not make it to the walk. It's Mother's Day weekend after all. I think this person just forgot what this weekend means. Lily was born on Mother's Day. That's why we're walking that weekend. I'm not hurt that they're not coming to the walk. I'm hurt that they apparently forgot the significance of the date.
And I fear that this is just the beginning. Eventually, after we have other children, I'm worried she'll mean nothing.
Another family member told us that in the future Mother's Day won't suck for us. We'll be happier when we have other children. It'll be happier when those children are cooking me breakfast and bringing me flowers for the day. While that may be true, I just feel the day will then just become bittersweet.
May 9, 2011, just feels like a deadline of some sort. The day an entire year has gone by. After that, there's no need to grieve anymore. No need to bring Lily up anymore. That chapter in our lives is over. At least this is what I feel and fear others will think.
Sure enough, May 9th won't change our broken hearts any. I know too that others take their cues from us. Some don't, though, and will expect you to "move on now." Some people will still surprise us with their memories, I'm sure.
I just know I'm not ready for Lily to be a chapter in our family history.
A side note: As I was writing this and eating my lunch, the song "I Say a Little Prayer" came on. This was a song that was running through my head the night we lost Lily. Particularly this verse:
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
A day in March...
Written on March 17, 2011
Last year on March 19, 2010, the Badgers played the first round of the NCAA tournament, and I was scheduled for an ultrasound at 12 weeks. As I'm waiting for the Badgers to play tonight and for my husband to finish our big Irish dinner, I can't help but think back on that ultrasound a year ago.
It was an optional ultrasound - to measure the neck to assess risk for Down syndrome. The results wouldn't matter to us, we were eager to see our lil' one again, and given that our insurance covered it, we opted to take the screen.
Most of our ultrasounds took only 15 minutes at the most. Not this one. This one was 45 minutes. Our lil' girl was in the wrong position for the tech to measure her neck and she was in a deep sleep. We had to wake her up. The tech poked and prodded my stomach trying to wake Lily. Then I had to roll on my side and back. Then they asked me to walk around the office and jump. Lily would not wake up. She even had her little hand up by her forehead. She was completely zonked out. So then the tech asked me "Coke or Diet Coke?" I had been refraining from soda and caffeine so I was shocked she asked that. She said it would work so I took a Diet Coke. She told me to drink half of it and she'd be back in 15 minutes.
I started to worry we were going to miss the game! But at the same time we were having fun and enjoying the extended ultrasound time!
Once the tech came back, Lily was awake and moving around. It was also kind of funny because she was still not in the right position. A few more times of rolling back and forth and jumping up and down, and she finally was positioned correctly.
The 12 week ultrasound is one of our favorite memories from the pregnancy. The pictures are some of the best we have of her. It's a memory that always makes me smile.
Last year on March 19, 2010, the Badgers played the first round of the NCAA tournament, and I was scheduled for an ultrasound at 12 weeks. As I'm waiting for the Badgers to play tonight and for my husband to finish our big Irish dinner, I can't help but think back on that ultrasound a year ago.
It was an optional ultrasound - to measure the neck to assess risk for Down syndrome. The results wouldn't matter to us, we were eager to see our lil' one again, and given that our insurance covered it, we opted to take the screen.
Most of our ultrasounds took only 15 minutes at the most. Not this one. This one was 45 minutes. Our lil' girl was in the wrong position for the tech to measure her neck and she was in a deep sleep. We had to wake her up. The tech poked and prodded my stomach trying to wake Lily. Then I had to roll on my side and back. Then they asked me to walk around the office and jump. Lily would not wake up. She even had her little hand up by her forehead. She was completely zonked out. So then the tech asked me "Coke or Diet Coke?" I had been refraining from soda and caffeine so I was shocked she asked that. She said it would work so I took a Diet Coke. She told me to drink half of it and she'd be back in 15 minutes.
I started to worry we were going to miss the game! But at the same time we were having fun and enjoying the extended ultrasound time!
Once the tech came back, Lily was awake and moving around. It was also kind of funny because she was still not in the right position. A few more times of rolling back and forth and jumping up and down, and she finally was positioned correctly.
The 12 week ultrasound is one of our favorite memories from the pregnancy. The pictures are some of the best we have of her. It's a memory that always makes me smile.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Why?????
One of my best friends is a fellow BLM. She lost her first child at 16 weeks. A boy named Alexander. She miscarried after that. A blighted ovum. She gave birth prematurely to a beautiful little boy, Christopher, in December 2009. Unfortunately, he was born with a lot of problems. He died in February 2010.
Now, after months of trying, she found out she was pregnant this February. Given her history, she was seeing the doctors almost every week since and had multiple ultrasounds. Last week, they saw a heartbeat! She was elated. But the heartbeat wasn't as strong as it should have been so they wanted to see her again this week. Today, she got the worst news ever. There's no heartbeat. The baby's gone.
It makes me so mad. She's a beautiful person who'd be a fabulous mother. I just don't understand why this would keep happening. What makes her unworthy?
I'm so upset. I'm hoping Lily's giving big hugs to Christopher tonight.
Now, after months of trying, she found out she was pregnant this February. Given her history, she was seeing the doctors almost every week since and had multiple ultrasounds. Last week, they saw a heartbeat! She was elated. But the heartbeat wasn't as strong as it should have been so they wanted to see her again this week. Today, she got the worst news ever. There's no heartbeat. The baby's gone.
It makes me so mad. She's a beautiful person who'd be a fabulous mother. I just don't understand why this would keep happening. What makes her unworthy?
I'm so upset. I'm hoping Lily's giving big hugs to Christopher tonight.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
I want to hold my baby
After Lily's death I read a lot of books about pregnancy and infant loss. A common feeling described in those books was one of "aching arms." Moms ache to hold their baby. I never felt that way. I'm not sure why. I don't know if it's because Lily was so small that I couldn't really cradle her in my arms. She pretty much fit in the palm of my hand. I remember holding her there. I remember the weight of her body in my hand. If she wasn't in my hands, I had her wrapped in her blanket on my knees. Maybe that's why I never had this ache to hold her. I thought it was just something I would never feel.
Until today. This morning I woke up with a strong desire to hold Lily. To snuggle her into my chest. I wanted to cradle her in my arms and rock her to sleep.
It is just unfair. My only option is to hold her urn. I just want her back.
Until today. This morning I woke up with a strong desire to hold Lily. To snuggle her into my chest. I wanted to cradle her in my arms and rock her to sleep.
It is just unfair. My only option is to hold her urn. I just want her back.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Year of the Rabbit
This was written at the beginning of February...
On February 3rd, the Chinese rang in a new year - the Year of the Rabbit. I've never paid much attention to the Chinese new year or the Chinese zodiac, other than the passing news story or perusing the place mats at Chinese restaurants. But this year - the Year of the Rabbit - caught my eye for several reasons.
While I was pregnant with Lily, I saw a little bunny outside my office practically every day. When I would leave work, the bunny would scurry off the porch. Our building is a converted 19th Century house. As I walked down the steps I would see the bunny scramble to safety under or near my car. He would dash out from my car just as I got closer and disappear behind the neighboring apartment building. The first time I saw him, he scared me just as much as I scared him. But soon after I would get excited to see him. In my "everything is perfect" pregnancy haze, the bunny was another thing to look forward to. A sign of a happy spring.
Our spring wasn't happy. We lost Lily on May 9th. After I returned to work after her death, I never saw the bunny again. It's possible my haze of grief shielded me from seeing him. But I really don't recall seeing him at all over the summer.
He resurfaced in the winter. One day in December, as I was leaving work, a much older, bigger rabbit hopped calmly away as I opened the door and stepped onto the porch. He hopped over to the snowbank piled high in front of my car. I fully expected him to scurry away when I opened and shut the car door, and certainly when I started the engine, but he didn't. He watched as I pulled out and when I looked back at him, he had propped himself up on his hind legs and watched me as I disappeared out of the driveway.
About three days later, being the wonderfully domestic wife I am, I ordered Chinese take-out for our dinner. It is typical for our favorite Chinese restaurant to include a new calendar with every order in December. Usually though we throw it out because it includes pictures of scantily clad Asian women. To our surprise the 2011 calendar was one designed for the Year of the Rabbit. Several animated bunnies comprise the artwork for this year's calendar.
Surely, these were good signs! First, the office bunny re-appears. Second, 2011 is the Year of the Rabbit. Rabbits are the sign of fertility. They symbolize spring and rebirth. They seem to be a sign of hope. If 2011 was dubbed Year of the Rabbit, then it must mean good things for me.
Here's hoping....
On February 3rd, the Chinese rang in a new year - the Year of the Rabbit. I've never paid much attention to the Chinese new year or the Chinese zodiac, other than the passing news story or perusing the place mats at Chinese restaurants. But this year - the Year of the Rabbit - caught my eye for several reasons.
While I was pregnant with Lily, I saw a little bunny outside my office practically every day. When I would leave work, the bunny would scurry off the porch. Our building is a converted 19th Century house. As I walked down the steps I would see the bunny scramble to safety under or near my car. He would dash out from my car just as I got closer and disappear behind the neighboring apartment building. The first time I saw him, he scared me just as much as I scared him. But soon after I would get excited to see him. In my "everything is perfect" pregnancy haze, the bunny was another thing to look forward to. A sign of a happy spring.
Our spring wasn't happy. We lost Lily on May 9th. After I returned to work after her death, I never saw the bunny again. It's possible my haze of grief shielded me from seeing him. But I really don't recall seeing him at all over the summer.
He resurfaced in the winter. One day in December, as I was leaving work, a much older, bigger rabbit hopped calmly away as I opened the door and stepped onto the porch. He hopped over to the snowbank piled high in front of my car. I fully expected him to scurry away when I opened and shut the car door, and certainly when I started the engine, but he didn't. He watched as I pulled out and when I looked back at him, he had propped himself up on his hind legs and watched me as I disappeared out of the driveway.
About three days later, being the wonderfully domestic wife I am, I ordered Chinese take-out for our dinner. It is typical for our favorite Chinese restaurant to include a new calendar with every order in December. Usually though we throw it out because it includes pictures of scantily clad Asian women. To our surprise the 2011 calendar was one designed for the Year of the Rabbit. Several animated bunnies comprise the artwork for this year's calendar.
Surely, these were good signs! First, the office bunny re-appears. Second, 2011 is the Year of the Rabbit. Rabbits are the sign of fertility. They symbolize spring and rebirth. They seem to be a sign of hope. If 2011 was dubbed Year of the Rabbit, then it must mean good things for me.
Here's hoping....
Monday, February 7, 2011
Focus on the Positive... UGH.
"Be more positive" is commonly told to me these days. In emails, calls, and face-to-face conversations, everyone is encouraging me to focus on the good things in my life. "You have a great husband." They remind me of my opportunity for a fresh start. "It's a new year, a new beginning, so focus on the positive."
Don't they realize I would if I could? I don't want to be this person I've become recently. I don't want to be bitter and angry. I don't want to wake up sad. I don't want to feel intensely jealous of pregnant women. I don't want my immediate reaction to someone telling me they're expecting to be tears. I don't want my heart to sink every time someone gushes about their child. I don't want to think "blah" when a parent expresses their joy about parenting.
I don't want to be a woman whose baby died.
I don't want to worry that Lily could have been my only chance at having a daughter. I don't want to fear she could be my only shot at having a child.
I don't want to feel this way. Not at all.
I'd much rather feel excitement for the future. I'd rather feel joy in seeing babies and small children. I'd rather laugh with them. I'd much rather be the girl who is having everything fall perfectly into place. More importantly, even if it was not, I'd like to be able to feel optimistic for the future. I'd like to have the ability to hope for the best.
But I can't. Not right now.
I have no control over my emotions these days. I can have a good day quashed by a simple memory of Lily's death. I can be walking happily along and stop dead in my tracks when I overhear a child say "Mommy." A joyful look through Lily's pictures can turn into a flood of tears in an instant when I suddenly remember I never looked at her back. Panic can set in when a fun discussion with other BLMs about our children reveals I didn't memorize every detail of her (even though I tried!) and can't remember every moment of my pregnancy with her.
I can't make myself focus on the positive. It's exhausting enough to get through the day. "It's only been 8 months!" I want to scream. In the aftermath of this trauma and loss, I think I've earned the right to feel a tad negative. Not forever. Just for now at least.
Don't they realize I would if I could? I don't want to be this person I've become recently. I don't want to be bitter and angry. I don't want to wake up sad. I don't want to feel intensely jealous of pregnant women. I don't want my immediate reaction to someone telling me they're expecting to be tears. I don't want my heart to sink every time someone gushes about their child. I don't want to think "blah" when a parent expresses their joy about parenting.
I don't want to be a woman whose baby died.
I don't want to worry that Lily could have been my only chance at having a daughter. I don't want to fear she could be my only shot at having a child.
I don't want to feel this way. Not at all.
I'd much rather feel excitement for the future. I'd rather feel joy in seeing babies and small children. I'd rather laugh with them. I'd much rather be the girl who is having everything fall perfectly into place. More importantly, even if it was not, I'd like to be able to feel optimistic for the future. I'd like to have the ability to hope for the best.
But I can't. Not right now.
I have no control over my emotions these days. I can have a good day quashed by a simple memory of Lily's death. I can be walking happily along and stop dead in my tracks when I overhear a child say "Mommy." A joyful look through Lily's pictures can turn into a flood of tears in an instant when I suddenly remember I never looked at her back. Panic can set in when a fun discussion with other BLMs about our children reveals I didn't memorize every detail of her (even though I tried!) and can't remember every moment of my pregnancy with her.
I can't make myself focus on the positive. It's exhausting enough to get through the day. "It's only been 8 months!" I want to scream. In the aftermath of this trauma and loss, I think I've earned the right to feel a tad negative. Not forever. Just for now at least.
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