What could have been...

I haven't been able to write a post lately. I started a few drafts, but haven't been able to finish them.

It's not that I've been too busy. Quite the contrary, I'm currently on bed rest for my subsequent pregnancy. I'm 31 weeks today thanks to a cerclage placed at 12 weeks and bed rest since 24 weeks. I thought I'd be able to catch up with blogging because of my situation, but I have been having a hard time thinking about Lily.

I should correct that.  It's not so much thinking about her as it is thinking about the circumstances of her death. At 24 weeks in this pregnancy, my cervix started to shorten and there was funneling. Since then we continue to see the same changes that were present in the weeks leading up to Lily's birth/death. Only this time, we've been able to keep our baby safe. We may actually bring this one home.

And as exciting as that is, it breaks my heart at the same time. It seems like this was a simple fix. Tie that baby in there and lay down for a while. Is that all we needed to do?

The worst part though is the guilt I still feel for Lily's premature delivery. I'm so careful now. I pay attention to every pain or stretch I feel. I haven't exercised since I found out about this little one. We haven't taken any trips or vacations. I've missed family birthday parties, showers, reunions, and my grandma's 90th birthday celebration. I take every precaution I can.

I didn't do that with Lily. Three days before she was born I walked all over the capitol square going to different events for work and the bar association. The pains I felt the day before she was born, I attributed to constipation and gas pains, even when they came regularly. When I finally thought about Braxton Hicks contractions, and looked them up to see if that's what was happening, it didn't seem to fit. It just didn't seem possible that I would go into labor at that stage. I ignored it and went to a movie with my mom and sister.

Now whenever my uterus tightens at all, I'm ready to call the doctor and be seen. Outside of my weekly appointments, I go into the doctor's office for a lot of "it's nothing" situations. Luckily, my doctor has been very supportive and willingly checks into any anxiety driven calls by giving me extra appointments.

I'm so proactive in my pregnancy care now. My doctor jokes that being a ob/gyn is my hobby now.

But I wasn't like that with Lily. I wonder what it would be like if I had been. I wish I would have been. What'd if I had pushed for a cerclage at 18 weeks? What if I'd called the doctor the moment I started feeling uncomfortable? Would they have been able to stop the labor? Would we have been able to hang onto her to the point of viability?  Even longer? Would she be here in the fall to welcome home her sibling?

I just feel like I was so stupid while pregnant with Lily. I sometimes feel like I didn't take it seriously enough. And she suffered for it.

I wish I would have known.

Father's Day

When my husband and I started dating one of the things that attracted me to him the most was the way he was with children. He spent a lot of family events playing with his younger cousins or my nieces and nephews. I always thought he'd be a terrific father.

One of my greatest struggles through the loss of Lily is dealing with the guilt. I have a draft post on guilt but it's heartwrenching to write so it's taking a while. A big part of the guilt I feel revolves around my husband. I feel like I robbed him of the chance of being a dad.

He brought up having kids about two days after our wedding. It was so incredibly cute to hear him talk about having babies right away, but we just got married. I told him maybe we should get used to that first! We agreed to wait a while. Lily had other plans though. Two and a half months after our wedding, we found ourselves expecting our first child.

My husband was so incredibly excited. After our first ultrasound at about 9 weeks, he immediately framed the picture of the baby, which of course looked like a blob. We didn't even have our wedding pictures framed! But he took a heart frame we received as a gift and put the ultrasound pictures in it. Every night he'd ask when the baby could play t-ball. When would we sign him/her up for Little League? Anytime I complained about my uterus stretching or pulling or just generally feeling huge one day, he'd just smile, rub my stomach and say "it's his house."

The day Lily was born, and we knew she wouldn't survive, my husband didn't eat. He didn't sleep. He wouldn't leave the room. I'd never seen him so nervous and upset. With every contraction I had or push I would need to do, he'd wince and put his head down and try to hold back his tears. I found myself comforting him that day.

Seeing him in pain that day and the days that followed was unbearable. While at times it seemed like he was adjusting to life without our daughter and that he was healing faster than I was, I could always tell when he was having a hard time. Lily's baby blanket would move. Lily's picture - still in the heart frame he'd picked out for her - would be at the edge of our nightstand instead of in the middle. Sometimes when he was drifting off to sleep at night or just barely awake in the morning, he'd mumble Lily's name. It broke my heart. It still does.

I tend to think his heartbreak is my fault. I know deep down it's not, but I can't stop thinking this way sometimes. I feel like he married a defective woman. Maybe he should have gotten all the facts before committing to me. That whole "check under the hood before you buy" thing. I should have been able to fully disclose the situation. I should have known my uterus was abnormal. I should have been able to warn him. I should have figured out this incompetent cervix thing before we got pregnant and taken all steps necessary to keep his child safe.

My body didn't just fail me that day.  It failed him.

I feel like if he'd married someone else he would have been spared all this. He could have a child by now. He could be a father already - maybe to even more than one. He could have celebrated Father's Day the way "real" dads do. He wouldn't have had to endure the awful pain of losing a baby. He wouldn't have to worry we may lose another. He wouldn't have to wonder if he will ever have a baby at home. All of this wouldn't be an issue - if only he hadn't married me - the defective wife.

I've apologized to him on numerous occasions over the last year. I've told him how I feel guilty and responsible for his heartache. I've told him "if you'd married someone else..." His usual response? "But then I wouldn't have Lily."

That response makes me smile. It proves to me how wonderful he truly is. It reminds me why I love him and just how much I do.

My husband is a great father. I just hope one day we can bring a baby home.

Lily's Urn

After Lily's death, my husband and I decided to have her cremated. We'd never really thought about death before. We were not sure what we wanted done with our bodies after our deaths! We didn't have plots in a cemetery and I wasn't certain I wanted to pick something out for Lily especially if we were to move at some point. Mainly though, I didn't want her to be alone.

So we had her cremated. People told us we could spread her ashes somewhere special. Perhaps the park where we got married? But really, I didn't want to do that. I wasn't ready for her to be anywhere but with me. I'm still not.

Her urn has occupied a spot on our nightstand ever since. She's cradled by a bear the hospital gave us and her baby blanket is nearby (that is when the blanket's not cuddled up with us while we're sleeping).

Her cremains were originally in this horrible plastic box the funeral home supplied. The funeral home told us that they would give us a temporary plastic urn. What we actually received was an awful plastic box with a sticker on it with her name. It resembled a box used for holding evidence in a crime rather than an urn for a sweet baby gone too soon. Eventually, after months of trying to find the "perfect" urn for Lily, my dad and stepmom gave us one we could use "temporarily" until we found something we liked. It is a small box that is adorned with a cross and the quote "Those we have held in our arms awhile, we'll hold in our hearts forever." We decided we would use it permanently.

When we leave our house - even for a night - I always feel the need to either bring her urn with us or keep it in the fireproof safe. It seems strange locking her in a safe, but I would feel worse if the house burned down and we lost her again. This also goes for tornadoes. Whenever there's severe weather I tell my husband "we have to make sure to grab Lily before heading to the basement."

Well, last night we had severe weather (today the weather service confirmed it was a tornado). Suddenly it started raining and the wind was incredibly strong. We looked out the window to see the trees bending in ways they shouldn't and rain coming down in circles. My husband, who normally goes outside in severe weather to "check it out," even agreed we should go to the basement. Within a few seconds the tornado sirens went off. Without words we both ran upstairs first - I grabbed Lily and her bear and my husband grabbed her baby blanket. On our way down to the basement I also picked up her memory box.

Settling into the basement, I went to set her things down and my hands were very full. Lily's urn slipped and fell onto the cement floor. The edges of her box chipped off. The chipped corners cannot be fixed. The pieces shattered so not even glue will help.

I felt awful.

I always feel I "can't keep anything nice." New clothes get stained or torn; shoes get scuffed too quickly; straps of purses always break on me; books get dirty; my cell phone gets scratched; iPod gets dropped; you name it, I seem to ruin it quickly. But I've always been so careful with anything associated with Lily. I want all of it to be perfect. Despite that, I still managed to ruin something of hers. And not just anything... her urn. Her final resting place.

I'm so mad at myself.

My husband had gone back upstairs for the radio so I had to tell him I dropped the urn when he came back. I started crying and he told me it was okay and wasn't that bad. The bear covers the badly chipped corners when he cradles the urn. I guess you can't really tell. But I know they're there. Of course, the couple of chipped corners it has now are better than it being completely smashed in a tornado.

But still, I'm sad it's ruined. I'm angry with myself for not taking better care of her! There's so little we have of her. I wanted it all to stay perfect.

Memorial Day

Today we attended a memorial bench dedication at Vilas Park in Madison. Lily's name was added to one of the memorial benches by the playground. I've had this romantic idea that one day we'll be able to take our kids to Vilas and sit on her bench while our kids play. It'll be a nice family outing with everyone present in some way.

During the bench dedication ceremony, one of the speakers mentioned that after you make it through that first tough year without your child, the realization sets in that you have to get through another year without your child. That's where we're at now. It's been a year since Lily died. We've made it through all the "firsts." First holidays, her first birthday. It should be getting easier right? Some days it is. But other days it's not and honestly I'm exhausted from this grief. The thought of going through another year of this is too much. I just want the sadness to be over.

And I would not have guessed that Memorial Day would be a hard day for me. We already got through our first Memorial Day without Lily and it didn't seem that bad. Granted I don't remember that weekend last year so much. I remember playing with my nephew at Brat Fest but the rest of the weekend is a blank. In reality all of May last year I was just in a fog ... as I was most of the summer.

Today was hard. The memorial bench dedication ceremony was nice and it was great to be with people who truly "get it." Yet at the same time, we were surrounded by families at the park. Children playing everywhere. We've sheltered ourselves from seeing parents with their children at holidays. We've basically spent the last year hiding from the world on holidays. It's still not easy seeing families picnic and children playing. I just wanted to crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head and stay there.  All of this still even after a year's gone by.

It's also a difficult day because my niece was born today. My mom texted just before the ceremony started to tell me that my sister-in-law was in full labor and it wouldn't be long now. And it wasn't. By the end of the ceremony, a new little girl was born into the world.

It makes me sound awful I'm sure, but I'm so sad, bitter and angry. I don't want to go to the hospital. I don't feel like meeting her this week. I don't want to have to talk to my brother and sister-in-law at all. I don't even want to see her pictures posted on Facebook. I feel like the worst aunt ever. And it's so hard because I've always loved being an aunt. I probably take more pictures of my nieces and nephews than their parents do.  When my brother's first son was born two years ago, I was at the hospital right away. I cried when I met him.

Today I'm crying but not tears of joy. I just keep wondering why did Lily die? Why didn't she make it? Why do some parents get to see their kids grow up when I never got to know mine? Why are the only things I get to do for her are memorial services or walks in her memory or other things in her honor? Why doesn't she get big announcements of her birth, birthday parties, and pictures plastered all over the place with everyone commenting on how beautiful she is? Why did she have to die?

I know I'm never going to have the answers to these questions. Not that I'd be satisfied with Lily's death if there were answers. But I wish I could stop asking these questions. I wish my whole life wasn't going to be spent trying to resolve this.

Love at First Sight

A year ago today, I began believing in "love at first sight." We loved Lily from the moment we found out we were pregnant with her. After her first ultrasound at 8 weeks, my husband put her pictures in a heart frame we got for our wedding. But it wasn't until she was put on my chest and I saw her perfect little face, that I really knew how deep my love for her was. It was overwhelming. She was exactly who we were waiting for.  Exactly whom we wanted to meet.

She was born at 9:30pm.  She weighed 12 ounces and was 10 inches long. She looked like her daddy. She had his nose and his mouth. And his head. I tease my husband now that it's a good thing he's losing his hair because we'll always know what Lily's head looked like. She also had big feet, most likely just like mine. She was the most beautiful baby I'd ever seen. Everything about her was perfect.

I woke up this morning and for a brief second I forgot how sad I've been the last week. Then I remembered, and burst into tears. Just like the days after she died, when I'd wake up and think it was all a dream. I wasn't sure how I'd make it through the day.

Then I started seeing signs from my little girl. I logged onto Facebook and saw that CarlyMarie, who does the Names in the Sand photographs, had posted a random picture she took last night. The beach she takes the images at was full of people and it was hard for her to get pictures without people. The photo she posted had Lily's name in it. It wasn't for our Lily of course, but I was happy to see it.

Later I got an e-mail from my little brother. He told me he didn't realize Lily and the author of Mr. Happy had the same birthday. Another sign! My little brother and I used to read the Mr Men and Little Miss books when we were kids and I read them to Lily when I was pregnant.

It was very comforting. She's here with us in some way.

Happy 1st Birthday lil' girl. We love you and miss you every day.

Mother's Day

Last year on Mother's Day, I was lying in a hospital bed begging my baby to hang on. I didn't want her to be born on Mother's Day... knowing she wouldn't be born alive. I didn't want her death associated with Mother's Day forever.

Today was rough. I expected it to be sad. I didn't expect crying for hours this morning. I was having panic attacks similar to ones I had immediately after Lily's death. I sobbed, could barely breathe, and couldn't stand. It physically hurt. These waves of overwhelming sadness continued the entire day. I didn't get out of my pajamas until after 7pm.

My husband has final exams this week, and, in fact, had an exam at 7:45am this morning. So I didn't expect that he would do anything special for today. It was still hard to not do anything. I felt disappointed. I made myself breakfast. I bought myself a nice dinner. I watched whatever I wanted to on television. I hid out from the rest of the world. It was a very lonely day.

Then again, I don't know if I'm worthy of any big celebration. I'm still having a hard time grasping the fact that I am a mother. I don't have any children at home. I gave birth to a child that didn't live outside of me. She was only with me for five months. But I did go through labor. I held my baby. I have pictures of her. She happened. I remember practically every moment of it. But do I deserve a day to celebrate my motherhood? I feel like I failed at the motherhood part...

And then someone surprises you...

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.