Baby Steps... then Big Girl Leaps...

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

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.

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.

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.