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

Moving Forward, One Step at a Time

That's all there is to it.

I miss her.

I miss a lot of things.

I miss being pregnant. I miss being able to blame things on pregnancy...

Boy do I miss that one.

I miss being so confident in her ability to thrive.

I was so sure she was going to make it. I wouldn't let any negativity set me back. I just kept believing in her strength. Believing in the strength of this tiny little person. I felt invincible... so sure that nothing would break apart our perfect little family.

I miss that feeling.

That feeling of completeness.

When I was pregnant, my husband and I would talk about how happy we were that Leila was going to be a part of our family. That we loved our little family the way it was, but that something was missing.

And that Leila would complete us.

How do I move on from that? How am I supposed to handle these emotions?

Am I incomplete now? Is my family going to recover?

I don't know.

I think the answer to both those questions is yes...

With time our little family will heal. And maybe, just maybe, one day we will be ready to add to our family again.

And God willing, maybe this baby will survive.

Am I incomplete?

Yes.

There is a gaping hole in my heart and I feel it in everything I do.

I find myself imagining that she had survived... That she just turned two months old and that she was laying in her hammock next to me...

Then I wake up and reality hits me hard.

I feel numb all over.

I am not torturing myself. At least not intentionally.

I imagine that these are natural thoughts and feelings for someone going through what I have gone through, though I don't know for certain. Grief is so different for every person.

So individualized.

So am I handling my grief the right way?

I don't know.

But I am doing the best I can.

I am keeping busy. I am "crafting" every chance I get.

I have been redoing and ripping apart and painting and sewing everything I can get my hands on.

I think about Leila with every thing that I do.

But not always with sadness.

Sometimes I imagine that she likes what I am doing... I know she wasn't old enough to have a particular taste, but I imagine that she does.

Pretty much I imagine that she likes everything that I like...

She is my own person Angel cheerleading squad...

I have recently started a business. I make and sell extremely unique and custom handmade rings, necklaces, headbands, purses and so much more. You name it, I will make it. Or at least, I will try.

I decided to use the colors and patterns from Leila's room as my business theme and colors. Everything to do with my business (my logo, business signs, even my business card holder and display racks) are all hot pink, black and white, and damask patterned.

She is with me in every thing I do.

Even Landon loves helping Mommy with the new business... Tonight as I was laying out hot pink buttons (that I spray painted), he kept saying "I help! Here you go mama! I help!"

He is such a light in my life.

Such a beautiful little person.

And he's mine.

Just like my angel, he is my own little cheer leader...

The only difference is, I can hear him.



Here is some of the stuff I have been working on for my business, "Decked Out".

A beret I made from a tshirt with rosette clippies.

A beret I made from a tshirt with rosette clippies.


A rosette headband made to a customers style request.


A gorgeous one of a kind handmade ring.


A custom made bib style necklace.


A purse made from a recycled book.

This is only the beginning of what I have been up to!

Check me out at my business page!

Thankfulness.

Lately I have been so focused on my own pain from losing my daughter that I have forgotten how lucky I really am.

I have a beautiful healthy son who is alive.

Sure, my heart aches every day over the loss of Leila, and sure my pain will probably never go away.

But my son is healthy, and happy, and loving.



And he's here.



About 3 weeks after Leila died a friend sent me a link to this blog. At first I just read the blog and cried for this couple.

I felt their pain. So deeply. Our daughters passed away in different ways, but the pain is still so raw, so intense, so...

indescribable.

I have prayed for the words to take away their pain, just as others have tried to comfort my husband and me. The words have never presented themselves, because they don't exist.

But this woman... She is incredible.

She has exhibited this kind of strength that I only wish I could possess. She has thrown herself into her new role in life with as much positivity as anyone could possibly face it with. She hurts everyday, but she somehow manages to push through the sadness and find the beauty in the world.

Today they asked that everyone that reads their blog take their own children out into the sunshine and play with them, while telling them about Maddie.



Yesterday, we released two balloons in to the sky for our own baby. She would have been two months old.




I didn't realize until today, but there was one for our Leila, and one for Maddie. I like to think the Leila would have shared.




It was rainy and windy and the world felt as sad as I did in my heart. But today, we laughed and played in the sunshine for Maddie, and it felt like she was smiling on us from Heaven.



Landon may only be 2, but he is wise beyond his years. I told him that Leila has a friend in Heaven named Maddie. He nodded and said "babies." I said "Yes, babies. They are playing together." Landon said "Babies night night".

Leila and Maddie are together, playing in Heaven. I truly believe that. My daughter is not alone in her eternal resting place, and I am not alone on earth. It breaks my heart that other women, like Kellie, have had to experience this pain, but her strength reminds me that I am not the only one, and that I have to push forward.

Thank you, Kellie, for reminding me of that. I will continue to pray for your peace, and every day I will kiss my beautiful son and thank God for allowing me to have one healthy baby, even if He had to claim the other.

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.

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.

Coping?

Coping: the process of managing stressful circumstances.

Managing stressful circumstances. Exerting control over. Handling.

Managing.

I never thought so much about those words.

What they really mean.

What they don't mean.

They don't mean "I'm okay".

I am just "managing" the awful circumstances I am subjected to.

Not quite exerting control over, maybe handling, but definitely not ignoring.

I am not sure what I thought would happen in the weeks after Leila's death. I think, to be quite honest, I couldn't think much of anything. At least, not about the finality of her death. I truly believe there was a part of me that thought it wasn't over. Like I am still waiting for the doctors from the hospital to call with the nightly update and tell me that her blood pressure has stabilized, that her heart rate is strengthening, that she is thriving.

And then I look up from my bed, and I see this little wooden box, and my whole world caves in again.

It is a very simple little box. Nothing too intimidating. Nothing fancy or flashy.

She might have been our little diva, but none of the carved stone or flashy marble urns seemed right for her. Instead we chose this simple, shiny, light oak box. No engraving, no markers. Just... Leila.

Maybe secretly inside I chose it this way to try and hide myself from the fact that she is gone. Maybe it was just the time crunch that made me avoid any added time or expenses on the urn order. I honestly can't say. All I know is that this little box holds my heart, a piece of my soul.

A tiny, precious, 1 pound 4 ounce piece of my soul.

At least, that is what she weighed the day we welcomed her in to the world.

At 4:23pm my little girl would have been 5 weeks old. I don't even know what to say next. I don't know if her eyes would have opened by now. I don't know if she would have finally filled out and gotten her "cheeks"... face and butt cheeks, as my husband joked.

I don't know anything.

There are moments when I start to move forward: I am laughing, talking easily, smiling, enjoying myself...

Then all of a sudden this feeling comes over me like I am driving alone on a winding road in the middle of the night, and suddenly I come up on a bridge only to find that it has come completely crashing down, and I slam on the breaks and go skidding over the edge.

I can almost feel myself hit the icy water and gasp for air, but the frigid air only makes it harder to breathe, and I feel my lungs become like anchors, dragging me under. I feel like I am drowning in my sorrow.

Then as I look up, I see my son. And I fight like hell to make it back to the surface. I force myself to push through the pain and...

manage my difficult circumstance.

That's what I do.

I handle it. I manage to get through it. To the next minute, the next hour, the next day.

I am not sure if I am "coping" with my pain, my grief, my "difficult circumstance", but somehow, I am finding a way to manage it. And I am pretty sure my beautiful son is 100% to credit for that.