Throughout my grief journey I have been making baby steps toward recovery, acceptance, and healing. At first I wouldn't get out of bed and barely ate... Then after a few days I started interacting with the family that filled our house and spent more time out of bed than in it.
Then I started to venture outside of the house. Mostly to complete details for Leila's funeral. As the weeks went by I started doing a little more, started eating again, started talking to people without crying at the drop of a hat, I even started talking about Leila in a happy reflective way.
I was making baby steps toward healing.
Then a week or so ago I started slipping backwards again. I felt stuck. I just couldn't move forward.
I think I was scared.
Scared that moving forward means letting go of Leila forever.
Sometimes I feel like everyone that once knew her has already forgotten and moved on and that they expect me to as well. I feel like it is up to me to keep her memory alive and that when I do finally move forward, she will be gone forever. I feel this tug of war with my heart and mind happening... And my heart tears in two.
I have been showed such compassion and love from people as we dealt with our loss. I have been told amazing stories of how Leila has touched lives from all over the world. I have watched as my daughter made an impact on the world that so many people wish to make and fail to do.
My daughter is my hero.
My daughter possessed a strength that I pray every day to find.
I want to find the strength to move forward. I want to be happy again. I want to be able to think of her, and write about her, and not cry as I am now.
I want to be able to accept what has happened and move on.
But I think I finally realized that I am holding on to her too tightly. I am so scared that if I let go she will be gone forever, that I have failed to see the bigger picture.
She is everywhere.
In the people she touched, in "Leila's Resolution" that has taken full affect in the state of Illinois, in Leila's Legacy (a charity that provides hand knit and crocheted hats to premature babies), in my son, my husband, and my self. She is there.
And I am so closed off to see it because I can't get past the fact that her body is no longer here.
So I decided to try and remedy that.
If moving forward won't come naturally, I will force myself to take a few more steps.
Some big steps.
Yesterday marked 3 months since my angel got her wings.
3 months.
A lot can happen in 3 months, but to be honest, I don't remember much of the last 3 months because I have been so withdrawn and so focused on my pain.
I don't want to be that anymore.
I finally scheduled my 6 week postpartum appointment (only 2 months late) for yesterday.
And I packed away some of her things.
I didn't get it all done, but a friend and I sat there together and pulled out every piece of clothing and folded them and put them in a space bag...
And then sealed it up.
And in a way, each time we finished one pile of clothes, I felt a little bit lighter.
A few things happened as I went through the piles and piles of clothing:
I had hope for the future, and for future babies.
And I realized that there are beautiful babies all around me that I can enjoy and spoil as I would have spoiled Leila.
Sure it's not the same.
There will never, ever be another Leila.
But I have a lot of love to give.
And I don't want to be sad anymore.
Yesterday was a day of
Memories... Like Mom Made!
Out of dark moments, flowers grow.
Showing posts with label loss of a child. Show all posts
Showing posts with label loss of a child. Show all posts
Friday, April 29, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Yesterday Was Rough...
I wanted to write a post all day yesterday, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Yesterday was rough.
Every day seems to have some significance to Leila's life for me, but yesterday was one of the worst yet.
Yesterday was supposed to have been my baby shower.
My awesome, fabulous, Hollywood inspired baby shower.
It was going to be a day all about us. I was going to be pampered, lavished with delicious food and silly games, I was supposed to be the center of attention (and Miss Leila, of course). My belly was going to be the guest of honor.
That belly.
The belly that, to my disbelief, is completely flat and gone now. Most women pray for this, spending hours watching what they eat and hauling themselves to the gym...
But I look at my flat belly, with it's ugly scar serving as my own personal tattoo, constantly reminding me of the way in which my daughter entered the world, and I feel sick to my stomach. It isn't supposed to be flat.
I am supposed to be 7 months pregnant. I am supposed to be waddling around with all the other preggos, rubbing my belly and gasping softly as Leila gives me a strong, reassuring, "I'm still here" kick.
But the kicks never really come. Sometimes I have "phantom" kicks. I swear I can feel her somersaulting in me. I expect to look down and see the crazy "belly dance" that I got to experience with my first born.
But when I look down, I see nothing.
And I cry.
Leila was quite the little belly gymnast. Even at only 4 months my belly (though not very big), was always in action. I am pretty sure she NEVER slept, which she proved during her life as well. When she was in the hospital the nurses and doctors kept explaining to us that her high level of activity was just unheard of. She should be sleeping 20 hours a day, yet she was ALWAYS moving. Her little eyes never opened, so we couldn't use that as an indicator to whether or not she was sleeping, but every time we came to visit, it seemed like she was always wide awake. Kicking and moving and reacting to our every word.
The day I was admitted to the hospital, two days before sweet Leila was born, she had been displaying some Olympic Gold worthy moves.
Constant somersaults.
I mean, some serious flips.
She just seemed so active and happy.
Even though each flip and turn literally made me sick to my stomach, I smiled every time. My baby was moving. She was healthy. It was a constant reminder to me that my baby was with me, and that she was going to be healthy.
I guess I should explain why that was so comforting to me.
If I haven't already wrote about this: the first 16 weeks of my pregnancy were spent with me worried sick. I was terrified that something horrible would happen and I would lose my precious angel.
I did everything I could to be extra cautious and careful. I ended up in the hospital 6 times during my pregnancy. I just couldn't put anything to chance. Nothing was worth losing my baby over.
It wasn't until about 4 months in to my pregnancy that I actually started to breathe more easily.
I felt her move.
It was like whenever I would start to worry again, Leila would give me a good strong kick and say "Here I am, Mommy! Don't you worry about me!"
She always seemed to know just what I needed.
I can't even put in to words how much I wanted my baby girl. Like any mother would, I dreamed about her constantly. I dreamed about the relationship she would have with her brother. I dreamed about how she would have Daddy wrapped around her finger the second she was born.
But that wasn't true.
She had Daddy wrapped around that finger the second he learned she was a girl.
Honestly, even before then, but the second it was confirmed she was a girl (we just knew from the start!) his heart was completely hers. A special "daddy and his baby girl" bond. He wanted his little daddy's girl more than anything.
And he was going to get her.
It's just the letting go part that still doesn't make sense to me.
I still can't understand how we could be given something so precious and perfect and just have it ripped away.
And yesterday, of all days, was the aching reminder that "this wasn't supposed to happen".
I am still supposed to be pregnant.
I am supposed to be happy.
Miserable with pregnancy, but blissfully happy.
But instead of playing "how big is Virginia's belly" games, and baby food testing, and baby themed word scrambles (which I have not yet lost one of!), and every other amazing game my dear friend Kaylee would have thought of...
Instead of those things, I spent the day mourning over my daughter. My heart literally breaking any time I even thought of anything remotely related to "baby".
I did, however, create a wildly successful appetizer recipe, which I will share later.
But right now, I am sharing with you a little piece of my heart.
The little piece that died the second my Leila's heart stopped beating.
That piece of my heart is trying so hard to figure out how to beat again. How to not be broken.
One way is through writing. Every keystroke is one closer to fixing me. It's my therapy. It's my release.
And now I have found another: crafts. But more about that later.
Right now I just want to say: thank you. Thank you for following me on my journey.
It is certainly an up and down ride.
Some days I feel like I am finally coming out of the dark tunnel... I can see the light, still pretty far away, but bright enough that I almost have to squint...
And then I take a turn even deeper in to the tunnel... And I have to start all over again.
And I know you are there with me at every turn, squinting when the light gets near, cheering that I can get closer to it, then struggling to see with me when it goes dark again.
It may not be the most eloquent of metaphors, but it's my metaphor.
You are my metaphorical passengers, so thank you for joining me on my ride.
Yesterday was rough.
Every day seems to have some significance to Leila's life for me, but yesterday was one of the worst yet.
Yesterday was supposed to have been my baby shower.
My awesome, fabulous, Hollywood inspired baby shower.
It was going to be a day all about us. I was going to be pampered, lavished with delicious food and silly games, I was supposed to be the center of attention (and Miss Leila, of course). My belly was going to be the guest of honor.
That belly.
The belly that, to my disbelief, is completely flat and gone now. Most women pray for this, spending hours watching what they eat and hauling themselves to the gym...
But I look at my flat belly, with it's ugly scar serving as my own personal tattoo, constantly reminding me of the way in which my daughter entered the world, and I feel sick to my stomach. It isn't supposed to be flat.
I am supposed to be 7 months pregnant. I am supposed to be waddling around with all the other preggos, rubbing my belly and gasping softly as Leila gives me a strong, reassuring, "I'm still here" kick.
But the kicks never really come. Sometimes I have "phantom" kicks. I swear I can feel her somersaulting in me. I expect to look down and see the crazy "belly dance" that I got to experience with my first born.
But when I look down, I see nothing.
And I cry.
Leila was quite the little belly gymnast. Even at only 4 months my belly (though not very big), was always in action. I am pretty sure she NEVER slept, which she proved during her life as well. When she was in the hospital the nurses and doctors kept explaining to us that her high level of activity was just unheard of. She should be sleeping 20 hours a day, yet she was ALWAYS moving. Her little eyes never opened, so we couldn't use that as an indicator to whether or not she was sleeping, but every time we came to visit, it seemed like she was always wide awake. Kicking and moving and reacting to our every word.
The day I was admitted to the hospital, two days before sweet Leila was born, she had been displaying some Olympic Gold worthy moves.
Constant somersaults.
I mean, some serious flips.
She just seemed so active and happy.
Even though each flip and turn literally made me sick to my stomach, I smiled every time. My baby was moving. She was healthy. It was a constant reminder to me that my baby was with me, and that she was going to be healthy.
I guess I should explain why that was so comforting to me.
If I haven't already wrote about this: the first 16 weeks of my pregnancy were spent with me worried sick. I was terrified that something horrible would happen and I would lose my precious angel.
I did everything I could to be extra cautious and careful. I ended up in the hospital 6 times during my pregnancy. I just couldn't put anything to chance. Nothing was worth losing my baby over.
It wasn't until about 4 months in to my pregnancy that I actually started to breathe more easily.
I felt her move.
It was like whenever I would start to worry again, Leila would give me a good strong kick and say "Here I am, Mommy! Don't you worry about me!"
She always seemed to know just what I needed.
I can't even put in to words how much I wanted my baby girl. Like any mother would, I dreamed about her constantly. I dreamed about the relationship she would have with her brother. I dreamed about how she would have Daddy wrapped around her finger the second she was born.
But that wasn't true.
She had Daddy wrapped around that finger the second he learned she was a girl.
Honestly, even before then, but the second it was confirmed she was a girl (we just knew from the start!) his heart was completely hers. A special "daddy and his baby girl" bond. He wanted his little daddy's girl more than anything.
And he was going to get her.
It's just the letting go part that still doesn't make sense to me.
I still can't understand how we could be given something so precious and perfect and just have it ripped away.
And yesterday, of all days, was the aching reminder that "this wasn't supposed to happen".
I am still supposed to be pregnant.
I am supposed to be happy.
Miserable with pregnancy, but blissfully happy.
But instead of playing "how big is Virginia's belly" games, and baby food testing, and baby themed word scrambles (which I have not yet lost one of!), and every other amazing game my dear friend Kaylee would have thought of...
Instead of those things, I spent the day mourning over my daughter. My heart literally breaking any time I even thought of anything remotely related to "baby".
I did, however, create a wildly successful appetizer recipe, which I will share later.
But right now, I am sharing with you a little piece of my heart.
The little piece that died the second my Leila's heart stopped beating.
That piece of my heart is trying so hard to figure out how to beat again. How to not be broken.
One way is through writing. Every keystroke is one closer to fixing me. It's my therapy. It's my release.
And now I have found another: crafts. But more about that later.
Right now I just want to say: thank you. Thank you for following me on my journey.
It is certainly an up and down ride.
Some days I feel like I am finally coming out of the dark tunnel... I can see the light, still pretty far away, but bright enough that I almost have to squint...
And then I take a turn even deeper in to the tunnel... And I have to start all over again.
And I know you are there with me at every turn, squinting when the light gets near, cheering that I can get closer to it, then struggling to see with me when it goes dark again.
It may not be the most eloquent of metaphors, but it's my metaphor.
You are my metaphorical passengers, so thank you for joining me on my ride.
Friday, March 4, 2011
The Downward Spiral
Normally when I sit down to write, it comes easily.
My fingers flick over the keys, my thoughts seem to connect directly to my fingertips, and out comes what I am feeling.
Today I stared at the blank screen for a long time... Not knowing what to say, not knowing how I feel. I am ashamed and embarrassed. I feel like I am failing at one of the few things that usually comes easily to me.
I have been crying off and on all day. I had a nice distraction: took Landon to the gym with two other girls and their boys.
They both have babies.
Beautiful, gorgeous babies.
One is an adorable chunky monkey of a little boy.
The other is a breathtakingly gorgeous little girl. I can barely bring myself to look at her because she reminds me of Leila so much. A much bigger version of Leila, but the same dark coloring and features, though I can't ever be sure about the eyes, since I never saw Leila's eyes.
I love my friends: they are so wonderful and they care about me so much, but this numbness inside of me makes me feel socially awkward and inhuman. I wonder why any one would want to torture themselves by being around miserable old me. I feel sorry for the burden my friends have been given.
I can only pray that if one of my friends ever needs me the way I have needed them, that I can show even a fraction of the love and support I have been shown.
I realize that most of my thoughts today haven't been fully strung together. I guess it's mainly because I can't grab onto one and hold it down long enough to know what I am truly thinking. My mind is cycling through a million thoughts rushing through my head.
I keep going back to my pregnancy.
My perfect, strong, stubborn little girl.
My pregnancy was extremely difficult and very hard on my body, but Miss Leila... she was such a fighter! I was taken to the emergency room about 6 times throughout my pregnancy. Twice for seizures (one ended up being dehydration related), once for intense pain, once for contractions (at 18 weeks), and I can't remember the other two reasons. I was so terrified my entire pregnancy that I never let anything go unnoticed. I am sure my doctors thought I was crazy, but I was determined that I was going to have a perfect and healthy baby, no matter what it took.
She was perfect.
She was healthy, in the womb.
But four months early is too much for a baby, and she succumbed to this world.
I replay everything over and over in my head. She was so strong, she was so perfect. She was born too early.
What did I do wrong? I ate healthy, I remained moderately active, I took my prenatals, I listened to my doctor, I went to my weekly (yes weekly, from the very start I was seen every week), appointments, I didn't drink caffeine (except for the occasional latte now and again, which my doc said was completely fine), I wasn't around smoke, didn't smoke (never have anyway so that was easy), I didn't drink alcohol. I did everything by the book.
Everything.
I still failed.
Something, like writing, that is supposed to just come naturally to me, and it didn't. It just... slipped away from me. My body failed at being a good mother. My body failed her.
I failed her.
And now I am just falling. Constantly falling... Momentarily time freezes and I feel like things might turn so I can start "falling up" and get back on my feet... But then a baby cries, or I see an outfit I had bought one of for Leila on another baby, or I have to explain what happened, or I look in the mirror and hate what I see... and I start falling again.
But there is more to this story... There is an "up"... And it's all Leila. It's all her. It always was. She was always so amazing, before her life, and after it. She is a miracle. And next, I will tell you more about her legacy.
My fingers flick over the keys, my thoughts seem to connect directly to my fingertips, and out comes what I am feeling.
Today I stared at the blank screen for a long time... Not knowing what to say, not knowing how I feel. I am ashamed and embarrassed. I feel like I am failing at one of the few things that usually comes easily to me.
I have been crying off and on all day. I had a nice distraction: took Landon to the gym with two other girls and their boys.
They both have babies.
Beautiful, gorgeous babies.
One is an adorable chunky monkey of a little boy.
The other is a breathtakingly gorgeous little girl. I can barely bring myself to look at her because she reminds me of Leila so much. A much bigger version of Leila, but the same dark coloring and features, though I can't ever be sure about the eyes, since I never saw Leila's eyes.
I love my friends: they are so wonderful and they care about me so much, but this numbness inside of me makes me feel socially awkward and inhuman. I wonder why any one would want to torture themselves by being around miserable old me. I feel sorry for the burden my friends have been given.
I can only pray that if one of my friends ever needs me the way I have needed them, that I can show even a fraction of the love and support I have been shown.
I realize that most of my thoughts today haven't been fully strung together. I guess it's mainly because I can't grab onto one and hold it down long enough to know what I am truly thinking. My mind is cycling through a million thoughts rushing through my head.
I keep going back to my pregnancy.
My perfect, strong, stubborn little girl.
My pregnancy was extremely difficult and very hard on my body, but Miss Leila... she was such a fighter! I was taken to the emergency room about 6 times throughout my pregnancy. Twice for seizures (one ended up being dehydration related), once for intense pain, once for contractions (at 18 weeks), and I can't remember the other two reasons. I was so terrified my entire pregnancy that I never let anything go unnoticed. I am sure my doctors thought I was crazy, but I was determined that I was going to have a perfect and healthy baby, no matter what it took.
She was perfect.
She was healthy, in the womb.
But four months early is too much for a baby, and she succumbed to this world.
I replay everything over and over in my head. She was so strong, she was so perfect. She was born too early.
What did I do wrong? I ate healthy, I remained moderately active, I took my prenatals, I listened to my doctor, I went to my weekly (yes weekly, from the very start I was seen every week), appointments, I didn't drink caffeine (except for the occasional latte now and again, which my doc said was completely fine), I wasn't around smoke, didn't smoke (never have anyway so that was easy), I didn't drink alcohol. I did everything by the book.
Everything.
I still failed.
Something, like writing, that is supposed to just come naturally to me, and it didn't. It just... slipped away from me. My body failed at being a good mother. My body failed her.
I failed her.
And now I am just falling. Constantly falling... Momentarily time freezes and I feel like things might turn so I can start "falling up" and get back on my feet... But then a baby cries, or I see an outfit I had bought one of for Leila on another baby, or I have to explain what happened, or I look in the mirror and hate what I see... and I start falling again.
But there is more to this story... There is an "up"... And it's all Leila. It's all her. It always was. She was always so amazing, before her life, and after it. She is a miracle. And next, I will tell you more about her legacy.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
I Woke Up Today...
Yesterday was unbearable.
It was awful.
It was probably up there with the worst days since Leila passed away.
I went to bed last night crying and wishing all the pain would just go away and I could go back to being pregnant and excited.
My shower was supposed to be this Saturday. I am supposed to be excited and preparing for my precious baby girl...
I am not supposed to be mourning her.
Yesterday we had to relive the pain of losing her all over again. We had to retrace all the mistakes made that led to her early arrival. It was excruciatingly unbearable.
I don't wish this on my worst enemy. I am not a person that wishes pain on people... But apparently people wish pain on me. When I got home some horrible woman had emailed me making up rumors about my husband. It was disgusting. Who does that? Who kicks someone when they are down? Thank God that I actually trust my husband, or it may have actually done damage.
Needless to say, yesterday was rough.
I went to bed last night miserable and at a very low point...
But eventually the tears stopped coming and I fell asleep. And then, something incredible happened:
I woke up today.
And the sun was shining. And my son was smiling. And I had made it through another awful day.
You know what, so far, today has been better.
It was awful.
It was probably up there with the worst days since Leila passed away.
I went to bed last night crying and wishing all the pain would just go away and I could go back to being pregnant and excited.
My shower was supposed to be this Saturday. I am supposed to be excited and preparing for my precious baby girl...
I am not supposed to be mourning her.
Yesterday we had to relive the pain of losing her all over again. We had to retrace all the mistakes made that led to her early arrival. It was excruciatingly unbearable.
I don't wish this on my worst enemy. I am not a person that wishes pain on people... But apparently people wish pain on me. When I got home some horrible woman had emailed me making up rumors about my husband. It was disgusting. Who does that? Who kicks someone when they are down? Thank God that I actually trust my husband, or it may have actually done damage.
Needless to say, yesterday was rough.
I went to bed last night miserable and at a very low point...
But eventually the tears stopped coming and I fell asleep. And then, something incredible happened:
I woke up today.
And the sun was shining. And my son was smiling. And I had made it through another awful day.
You know what, so far, today has been better.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Fighting the Feeling...
Of jealousy.
I said it.
I am now feeling jealousy. Horrible, awful, deep down inside my gut, green-eyed-monster jealousy.
I hate it.
I am not by nature a jealous person. Not at all. I have always been very content with my life, even with its ups and downs... I have endured every test and climbed every mountain without much complaint. I have watched those around me succeed with little effort, or fail miserably and still come out better than me on the other side, and still marched on. Because I am forever an optimist, forever believing that what I have, my life, is a wonderful gift and that I am so lucky for everything in it.
I don't think I can do that anymore.
All I can think about is what ISN'T in my life. How empty my heart feels. How empty I, quite literally feel. I unintentionally torture myself with updates of "how far along" I am in my pregnancy, only to be reminded that I am no longer pregnant... and that my daughter is no longer alive. I am supposed to be carrying this precious life. I am supposed to be excited and happy and ready to welcome her with open arms. To cradle her and snuggle her and smell her hair and her sweet baby breath and nurse her and dress her up and show her off.
But I am empty.
I have no baby to offer for any of those roles.
No Leila to welcome, no Leila to cradle...
Just emptiness.
Usually, when I am going through a rough spot in my life, I can still find this never ending supply of positivity and joy for other's good fortunes. I never let my circumstances stop me from being happy for others. I am trying so hard to continue that part of me, but I can't help but ache with jealousy from every pore when I see a new mom with her baby. When I hear about someone finding out they are pregnant, or what they are having, or talking about their baby.
I love babies.
I love ALL babies.
I do not discriminate against baby love of any kind.
Babies are incredible, amazing, innocent, loving, beautiful little people, and I can't help but smile when I am around them. They mend my heart, while breaking it all over again at the same time.
It's a bizarre experience.
But about the jealousy: I don't know why I am all of a sudden plagued with this emotion. It's a new one to me, even since Leila's passing, I have just begun to feel it over the past couple of days. I don't like having an ugly emotion in me. I wish I could control it, but I am just so jealous of those who have their children. Who don't have to walk through life as the "mother of an angel".
I truly believe that I am one, though. The mother of an angel, that is. It may sound corny, but even when she was alive, she was truly an angel, and in her death she has changed the lives of so many people, brought so many people closer to God, and affected the world in such a profound way... I can honestly say I think she is the closest anyone could ever come to meeting an angel in this life.
But I would give anything to have her here. To not have to wait. I think one of the things that makes it all worse for me is seeing women, especially those portrayed on certain TV reality shows, that are able to get pregnant and have perfectly healthy babies, who don't really seem to want them. If I could rescue every baby that is born into a world without truly loving and devoted parents, I would in a heartbeat...
But I digress...
I guess there isn't much more for me to say about this new emotion... I have been fighting the crap out of it. I don't know if it's a part of the "Grieving Process" or if it's a "normal" feeling, but it makes me feel inhuman. I don't want to be bitter. I don't want to be "the mother of the baby that died"... But you can't fight reality...
If I could, well...
I would fight like hell.
I said it.
I am now feeling jealousy. Horrible, awful, deep down inside my gut, green-eyed-monster jealousy.
I hate it.
I am not by nature a jealous person. Not at all. I have always been very content with my life, even with its ups and downs... I have endured every test and climbed every mountain without much complaint. I have watched those around me succeed with little effort, or fail miserably and still come out better than me on the other side, and still marched on. Because I am forever an optimist, forever believing that what I have, my life, is a wonderful gift and that I am so lucky for everything in it.
I don't think I can do that anymore.
All I can think about is what ISN'T in my life. How empty my heart feels. How empty I, quite literally feel. I unintentionally torture myself with updates of "how far along" I am in my pregnancy, only to be reminded that I am no longer pregnant... and that my daughter is no longer alive. I am supposed to be carrying this precious life. I am supposed to be excited and happy and ready to welcome her with open arms. To cradle her and snuggle her and smell her hair and her sweet baby breath and nurse her and dress her up and show her off.
But I am empty.
I have no baby to offer for any of those roles.
No Leila to welcome, no Leila to cradle...
Just emptiness.
Usually, when I am going through a rough spot in my life, I can still find this never ending supply of positivity and joy for other's good fortunes. I never let my circumstances stop me from being happy for others. I am trying so hard to continue that part of me, but I can't help but ache with jealousy from every pore when I see a new mom with her baby. When I hear about someone finding out they are pregnant, or what they are having, or talking about their baby.
I love babies.
I love ALL babies.
I do not discriminate against baby love of any kind.
Babies are incredible, amazing, innocent, loving, beautiful little people, and I can't help but smile when I am around them. They mend my heart, while breaking it all over again at the same time.
It's a bizarre experience.
But about the jealousy: I don't know why I am all of a sudden plagued with this emotion. It's a new one to me, even since Leila's passing, I have just begun to feel it over the past couple of days. I don't like having an ugly emotion in me. I wish I could control it, but I am just so jealous of those who have their children. Who don't have to walk through life as the "mother of an angel".
I truly believe that I am one, though. The mother of an angel, that is. It may sound corny, but even when she was alive, she was truly an angel, and in her death she has changed the lives of so many people, brought so many people closer to God, and affected the world in such a profound way... I can honestly say I think she is the closest anyone could ever come to meeting an angel in this life.
But I would give anything to have her here. To not have to wait. I think one of the things that makes it all worse for me is seeing women, especially those portrayed on certain TV reality shows, that are able to get pregnant and have perfectly healthy babies, who don't really seem to want them. If I could rescue every baby that is born into a world without truly loving and devoted parents, I would in a heartbeat...
But I digress...
I guess there isn't much more for me to say about this new emotion... I have been fighting the crap out of it. I don't know if it's a part of the "Grieving Process" or if it's a "normal" feeling, but it makes me feel inhuman. I don't want to be bitter. I don't want to be "the mother of the baby that died"... But you can't fight reality...
If I could, well...
I would fight like hell.
Monday, February 28, 2011
One Month Ago Today...
January 28, 2011...
One month ago today, my world stopped. The sun stopped shining, the earth stopped turning, and though in all actuality, it beats as well as ever, I am pretty sure my heart stopped, too.
I talk about Leila a lot, because I don't know what else to do. If talking about her makes others uncomfortable, then I am sorry. But she was my daughter, she was everything I could have ever wanted, and my time with her was so brief. I want to be able to remember every tiny little thing about her: from her teeny tiny little finger nails on her loooong skinny fingers, to her cute little nose, to her dark peach fuzz hair, to her skinny little legs and her adorable little feet.
I don't want to forget a thing.
It feels like just yesterday the doctors were starting to be more positive about Leila's fight. I remember joking with her doctor about how stubborn she would be as a teenager. I remember laughing and smiling and dreaming about her future. Can it really be true?
Has it really been one month since we said goodbye?
I am reliving those moments again and again right now. I remember walking down the hallway to her room. I remember the look on our favorite nurse, Donna's face. I remember looking at Leila's body. Knowing that something was wrong. Knowing what I didn't want to know.
That she was hurting.
Before Leila passed away I had received a link to a story about a premie baby girl. The story talked about the daughter's struggle and the parents' pain, then about how she grew into a happy and precocious little girl. One day when at a baseball game, the daughter asked her mom, "do you smell that?" The mom looked around and said "Yes, it smells like rain." The little girl said "No, mom! Do you smell that smell?" Again the mom said "Yes honey, I think we are going to get rained on soon." Finally the little girl says, "No Mommy. It smells like God, when you rest your head on His chest."
As soon as I read that story, when my Leila was still alive, I imagined that God was in her isolette with her. Holding her, breathing His healing breath on her. Comforting her. Any time her fight got rough, I told myself that God was holding her and taking away her pain. I told myself that she talked to God and He talked to her.
After she died, I found myself wondering if God was there with her. I wondered if maybe she told God she was ready to go.
If she chose.
I think I would feel better if I knew that she had told God she was ready, and that she didn't want to fight anymore.
I hate the idea that she just died. No sense to it, just death. It feels so final.
I want to believe that while she was resting her head on God's chest, she told Him she didn't want to fight anymore. That she wanted to go to Heaven and play with angels. That she loved her parents and her brother, but that even she understood that we didn't want her to suffer.
I think she gave us those last few minutes with her, to love on her and hold her for the first and last time, knowing that she was going to go home to God.
I pray with every fiber of my being that she is happy. That she will get some semblance of the childhood that was taken from her. That she will get to do all the things she never got to do down here: like run and play and laugh and cry and eat. And see.
I really hope she can see.
More than anything I wanted to see her eyes. I knew that they were still fused shut because she was so early. Because they weren't ready. I had prepared myself to raise a blind daughter. I didn't care: I would learn to read braille if I had to. I just wanted her to be healthy.
But now, now that she is in Heaven, I REALLY, really hope that she can see. I hope that she sees us and knows that we were her parents. I pray that she can see how much we loved her. And I hope that she can "see" the balloons we send up to her. I pray that she can feel the love her brother has for her. I wonder if he can see her and talk to her. Because sometimes, I swear he is talking to someone... He adores her so much.
I have so many thoughts bouncing around in my head.
So many things I can't put in to words...
So many things I have to do but don't know how to start.
For now I am going to snuggle on the couch with my sweet baby boy, and reflect on my baby girl's life.
<3 My sweet Leila. I love you so. I carry you with me in my heart everywhere I go. I pray for your peaceful rest. I love you, my sweet angel. <3
One month ago today, my world stopped. The sun stopped shining, the earth stopped turning, and though in all actuality, it beats as well as ever, I am pretty sure my heart stopped, too.
I talk about Leila a lot, because I don't know what else to do. If talking about her makes others uncomfortable, then I am sorry. But she was my daughter, she was everything I could have ever wanted, and my time with her was so brief. I want to be able to remember every tiny little thing about her: from her teeny tiny little finger nails on her loooong skinny fingers, to her cute little nose, to her dark peach fuzz hair, to her skinny little legs and her adorable little feet.
I don't want to forget a thing.
It feels like just yesterday the doctors were starting to be more positive about Leila's fight. I remember joking with her doctor about how stubborn she would be as a teenager. I remember laughing and smiling and dreaming about her future. Can it really be true?
Has it really been one month since we said goodbye?
I am reliving those moments again and again right now. I remember walking down the hallway to her room. I remember the look on our favorite nurse, Donna's face. I remember looking at Leila's body. Knowing that something was wrong. Knowing what I didn't want to know.
That she was hurting.
Before Leila passed away I had received a link to a story about a premie baby girl. The story talked about the daughter's struggle and the parents' pain, then about how she grew into a happy and precocious little girl. One day when at a baseball game, the daughter asked her mom, "do you smell that?" The mom looked around and said "Yes, it smells like rain." The little girl said "No, mom! Do you smell that smell?" Again the mom said "Yes honey, I think we are going to get rained on soon." Finally the little girl says, "No Mommy. It smells like God, when you rest your head on His chest."
As soon as I read that story, when my Leila was still alive, I imagined that God was in her isolette with her. Holding her, breathing His healing breath on her. Comforting her. Any time her fight got rough, I told myself that God was holding her and taking away her pain. I told myself that she talked to God and He talked to her.
After she died, I found myself wondering if God was there with her. I wondered if maybe she told God she was ready to go.
If she chose.
I think I would feel better if I knew that she had told God she was ready, and that she didn't want to fight anymore.
I hate the idea that she just died. No sense to it, just death. It feels so final.
I want to believe that while she was resting her head on God's chest, she told Him she didn't want to fight anymore. That she wanted to go to Heaven and play with angels. That she loved her parents and her brother, but that even she understood that we didn't want her to suffer.
I think she gave us those last few minutes with her, to love on her and hold her for the first and last time, knowing that she was going to go home to God.
I pray with every fiber of my being that she is happy. That she will get some semblance of the childhood that was taken from her. That she will get to do all the things she never got to do down here: like run and play and laugh and cry and eat. And see.
I really hope she can see.
More than anything I wanted to see her eyes. I knew that they were still fused shut because she was so early. Because they weren't ready. I had prepared myself to raise a blind daughter. I didn't care: I would learn to read braille if I had to. I just wanted her to be healthy.
But now, now that she is in Heaven, I REALLY, really hope that she can see. I hope that she sees us and knows that we were her parents. I pray that she can see how much we loved her. And I hope that she can "see" the balloons we send up to her. I pray that she can feel the love her brother has for her. I wonder if he can see her and talk to her. Because sometimes, I swear he is talking to someone... He adores her so much.
I have so many thoughts bouncing around in my head.
So many things I can't put in to words...
So many things I have to do but don't know how to start.
For now I am going to snuggle on the couch with my sweet baby boy, and reflect on my baby girl's life.
<3 My sweet Leila. I love you so. I carry you with me in my heart everywhere I go. I pray for your peaceful rest. I love you, my sweet angel. <3
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Catching Up...
For the past month I have felt like life has been soaring ahead of me and I have been stuck in place, trying desperately to keep pace with the world bustling around me. I haven't been able to move past the basic emotions of anger and sadness. I am pretty much stuck on those two most of the time.
I still smile, laugh, talk, and function seemingly normally on the outside, but to be honest: I am completely broken inside. I feel awkward, I feel too big for my body, I feel numb. I feel like I am functioning on auto pilot and the rest of me is just along for the ride.
It has been hard being trapped in this house. Every where I look I either see something of Leila's, or I see "where Leila should be"... but isn't. The funny thing is, Leila never entered this house alive, so you would think that I wouldn't have all these reminders. But that isn't true. For the five months I was pregnant all I could think about was where her pack and play would be, where her swing would go, where I would put her baby gym, how her room would be decorated. I rearranged and redecorated our house physically, and in my mind so many times that all I can see is her. She is everywhere, and yet she was never truly in this home at all.
It kills me that her whole life was spent behind a plastic wall. My heart breaks for all the other NICU mommies that I met and encountered while she was at the hospital. I saw so much sadness and so much joy pour out of those rooms. There were a few moms that I encountered that shared similar stories to ours: they offered me so much hope and strength. They seemed to have a never ending supply of positivity. I tried to be like them, even in the darkest hours.
But now, being trapped at home with the reality that my daughter is gone forever, I am finding it difficult to be positive.
And I know Landon can feel that.
And that tears me up inside.
So when my husband came home from his boat det (Navy speak for a short "deployment" to get him ready to really deploy), we packed up Landon and headed to Disneyland.
I will be honest, we had a pretty good time. There were plenty of things that reminded me of Leila or made my heart stop for a minute, but all in all, it was a pretty good time. We were able to "escape" our emotions for a few minutes. We became fixated with Landon's happiness and making everything perfect for him.
I will write more about our visit when I have time. For now I am just trying to catch up with the real world. Coming home last night was like running in to a brick wall.. We had been avoiding it for the past half week, but coming home we could no longer escape reality.
For now I will sit with my son and eat our French toast, and try to hold on to the magic of Disneyland...
Don't worry, I will post the French toast recipe later!
I still smile, laugh, talk, and function seemingly normally on the outside, but to be honest: I am completely broken inside. I feel awkward, I feel too big for my body, I feel numb. I feel like I am functioning on auto pilot and the rest of me is just along for the ride.
It has been hard being trapped in this house. Every where I look I either see something of Leila's, or I see "where Leila should be"... but isn't. The funny thing is, Leila never entered this house alive, so you would think that I wouldn't have all these reminders. But that isn't true. For the five months I was pregnant all I could think about was where her pack and play would be, where her swing would go, where I would put her baby gym, how her room would be decorated. I rearranged and redecorated our house physically, and in my mind so many times that all I can see is her. She is everywhere, and yet she was never truly in this home at all.
It kills me that her whole life was spent behind a plastic wall. My heart breaks for all the other NICU mommies that I met and encountered while she was at the hospital. I saw so much sadness and so much joy pour out of those rooms. There were a few moms that I encountered that shared similar stories to ours: they offered me so much hope and strength. They seemed to have a never ending supply of positivity. I tried to be like them, even in the darkest hours.
But now, being trapped at home with the reality that my daughter is gone forever, I am finding it difficult to be positive.
And I know Landon can feel that.
And that tears me up inside.
So when my husband came home from his boat det (Navy speak for a short "deployment" to get him ready to really deploy), we packed up Landon and headed to Disneyland.
I will be honest, we had a pretty good time. There were plenty of things that reminded me of Leila or made my heart stop for a minute, but all in all, it was a pretty good time. We were able to "escape" our emotions for a few minutes. We became fixated with Landon's happiness and making everything perfect for him.
I will write more about our visit when I have time. For now I am just trying to catch up with the real world. Coming home last night was like running in to a brick wall.. We had been avoiding it for the past half week, but coming home we could no longer escape reality.
For now I will sit with my son and eat our French toast, and try to hold on to the magic of Disneyland...
Don't worry, I will post the French toast recipe later!
Friday, February 18, 2011
Hanging in There.
Everyone asks me how I am...
They say I look great and comment on
"how well I am grieving".
On the outside, I smile at them.
I say "I am hanging in there".
And I am.
By a thread.
What they don't know is that
they don't know anything.
Inside I am dying.
Inside I am reliving the moment
you died, over and over
and over again.
The second your heart stopped beating
a piece of mine died.
It dies over and over.
On autopilot, like the rest of me.
There is nothing strong about me.
Nothing strong about the way I am grieving.
I am just doing what any mother would do.
I am "mothering".
Sometimes I want to scream at people,
but I don't.
Sometimes I want to crumble and break apart,
but I can't.
I have this purpose, even though you are gone,
I still have a purpose.
I am still a wife and a mother,
and that is all I know.
So while my heart is breaking over and over again,
my hands are folding laundry and fixing dinner,
my eyes are carefully watching your big brother
as he explores the world around him, running,
jumping, climbing, falling...
doing every thing you will never get to do.
my mouth is kissing "owies" and scolding "no-no"s
and singing lullabies, and saying things like
"I'm hanging in there"
my feet are moving forward, my legs carrying me
to the next destination,
but my heart is broken.
Frozen in time.
In that one moment.
Hanging on by a thread as you took your last breath.
They say I look great and comment on
"how well I am grieving".
On the outside, I smile at them.
I say "I am hanging in there".
And I am.
By a thread.
What they don't know is that
they don't know anything.
Inside I am dying.
Inside I am reliving the moment
you died, over and over
and over again.
The second your heart stopped beating
a piece of mine died.
It dies over and over.
On autopilot, like the rest of me.
There is nothing strong about me.
Nothing strong about the way I am grieving.
I am just doing what any mother would do.
I am "mothering".
Sometimes I want to scream at people,
but I don't.
Sometimes I want to crumble and break apart,
but I can't.
I have this purpose, even though you are gone,
I still have a purpose.
I am still a wife and a mother,
and that is all I know.
So while my heart is breaking over and over again,
my hands are folding laundry and fixing dinner,
my eyes are carefully watching your big brother
as he explores the world around him, running,
jumping, climbing, falling...
doing every thing you will never get to do.
my mouth is kissing "owies" and scolding "no-no"s
and singing lullabies, and saying things like
"I'm hanging in there"
my feet are moving forward, my legs carrying me
to the next destination,
but my heart is broken.
Frozen in time.
In that one moment.
Hanging on by a thread as you took your last breath.
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