The things I wish I didn't know firsthand

I wish I didn't know that you can go through 9 months of pregnancy...with ZERO problems...and STILL lose your baby.

What it felt like to wake up panicked because I "just had a feeling" that something was wrong.

What it felt like to be induced for labor.  Or have an epidural.  Knowing that there would be no crying baby to greet me at the end.

The shivers that come when you're told that your baby has no heartbeat.

I wish I didn't know that they post a picture of a falling leaf on your door at the hospital when your baby has died.

How to come to terms with the fact that all the hopes and dreams and plans for the future would just...need to be erased.  

What it felt like to get wheeled out the back door of the maternity floor so as not to see "happy people."

What it was like LEAVING that hospital without my baby.

The ins and outs of mortuaries and arranging funeral services.

The pain of having to tell everyone I knew that we lost him. What it feels like to not get to announce something that everyone seemingly sees as a given when they find out you're pregnant and make it to the end. 

What it feels like to carry a full-term baby...that had already died.

I wish I didn't know what death felt like inside of me.  Or to be haunted by the memories of putting our hopes and dreams for you aside.



I wish I was new.  Unscathed.  Naive.  I wish my innocence wasn't shattered last September. 

I wish my first experience of motherhood was like seemingly everyone else's:  Filled with balloons and crying babies and sleepless nights and pictures and happy posts on Facebook and growing up and a lifetime of memories.

I was robbed of all of that.

And now I'm going to go through this again.  With a different perspective.  One that's deeply rooted in fear, but also deeply rooted in optimism that this time HAS to be different.  Because lightning can't strike you twice.  Because what happened to Luke was against almost all odds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wrote this about a month ago.  And everything I wrote just stung my heart even more today.

Today, your first cousin was born, Luke.  Madeline Ainsleigh.  She is perfect.  Beautiful.  And best of all, alive.

When Ali texted me late Thursday night to tell me she was going into labor, I felt the entire gamut of emotions.  Fear.  Happiness.  Pity for myself. Tears.

Yesterday I made it through the day with a rock in my stomach.  Waiting.  Waiting for my sister to get the ending that everyone should get for their pregnancy.  Deep down I knew everything would be fine.  They rarely aren't fine, right?  But then I felt that extreme loneliness that you feel when you join this shitty club.

Luke was still gone.  And Ali would get to have her first baby. And she did.  And all was well with the world.  Thank God.

I wish that the rest of my life wouldn't be tainted by this sadness that I have for what happened to me.  Today when I heard the news that Madeline was born and she was fine and healthy, I can't explain the relief that ran through my veins.  Happiness for another niece to spoil. Relief that she was alive and born without problems.  Relief that Ali was fine.  Relief that it was over for now.  Relief that...Ali didn't have to go through what I went through.

I'm going to go through this all over again sometime this coming week when my brother and Lauren have their baby.

And then again, when I have Bowie in December.  Except then, I'll be in the driver's seat again.  

The loneliness...struck again today.  I hadn't felt it in awhile, but there it was.  I thought back to the day we came home from the hospital after leaving Luke.  Led through the back halls of the hospital.  Emptyhanded.  Empty-carseated.  I remember that feeling of extreme isolation.  That no one I knew--Not a single person--Understood what it felt like to deliver their full-term baby after they already knew he was gone.

I know I'm in a different place now.  I've found my people.  You're all here.  You live all over the place.  My therapist is even one of them.  And I can't describe what a relief THAT is.  This isolation is one that you don't want to be in...and you don't want OTHERS to be in.    But you want nothing else but to NOT be the only one that knows these feelings.  These feelings are so thick, they can choke you on a daily basis.  There's no control over them, because they're maternal and wild, and so ingrained in human beings.

And in some ways, I don't think anyone can understand just how thick these feelings are until they are the ones giving birth.  Mothers.

We take life for granted.  One of my sister's friends who was at the hospital in Portland with them last night, texted with me, and she told me that while she was sitting there in the waiting room, a group of teenage boys walked into the waiting room.  And one was a baby's daddy who was being delivered as well.  He wasn't in the delivery room with his baby.  She told me she heard him saying that his life was over.  Everything was over for him.

And it made both of us so angry.  Life isn't fair.  There was a boy--A literal boy--Who probably got to see his baby and hear that baby cry last night.  He wasn't ready to be a father.  He clearly doesn't even understand what he's just been given.

It's not fair that he got to meet his baby and we didn't.

But I hope he one day understands just how lucky he is.  And I hope he never has to understand the pain of losing that child--no matter how much he thinks his life may be over because of it.

Remember...
 Life's a beautiful thing
And it's a gift
And life's a beautiful thing

Oh don't waste it, doll

Thank you Ali and Madeline...for showing me, again, that babies can be born fine and healthy.  I needed that affirmation more than you knew.  

10 Months? How?

The other day in therapy, it really hit me how close to the 1-year mark we are, Luke. 

Almost one entire year without you.  Almost one entire year that your existence has been missed.  Greatly.

10 months feels like an eternity.  And at the same time, these past ten months were crystal clear in my memory.  It's like my brain is working overtime trying to magnify and remember the short, fleeting moments we got to spend together. Because the farther away we get from September 10, 2012, the less discernible those moments will become.  And so I feel like I have to do all I can to remember.  To keep those memories for the rest of my lifetime.

These next few weeks are going to be an emotional rollercoaster for me.  Both of your cousins are due to be born soon.  I should be chasing a 10-month old who's probably crawling around, but instead, I will be waiting for their calls...packing up our condo to move...and wishing that you could be here to meet them and experience all of this change that's happening in our lives.  But it's going to be without you.  Your cousins will never get to meet you or know who you are.

But that's not going to stop us from celebrating you.  I want to make you a first birthday cake in September. Like I would have if you were here.  

Your first birthday is going to be here before I know it. I'm not making plans about how I'll feel, but if there's one thing I know, it's that this pain in my heart is never going to go away. It will dull, I'm sure.  It already has. But it will never be gone. And I don't want it to be. 

I miss you. Even knowing that we'll have another baby soon doesn't change that. I'll always miss you. You can count on that. 

All the things we'd hoped for, for you in life, Luke...

But were shattered by your death?

We get to pass them onto someone else.

You're going to be a big brother.  Sometime this December.

I know that some people might think that by having another baby, we'll be "fixed". That our hearts will be mended. Because we'll finally walk away with a living breathing baby. 

But this doesn't fix anything. The hole you left in our lives and hearts will always be in my heart. We'll always be missing a child at the dinner table. My "oldest" child in this world will not truly be my oldest child, and from an outsider's perspective, their point of view will always be incorrect.

The questions have already started this time around...

"Is this your first?!  No?  How old is your oldest?!" (This has already happened)

I've told myself that I will not lie.  I've already had to put on the anti-liar hat and say things to complete strangers that I'm sure were not the careless answers they expected to this question.  This child is our second, and you were our first, Luke.  And you always will be.  Nothing can change that order.  I think about just how much we're missing by not having you here with us.  I think about the fact that I'm the oldest sibling in my family. What would my family be like if I weren't still here?

It's things like that that are hard to grasp.  We'll never know what we're missing about you.

But this little baby...has already given me hope.  The worst has already happened with you.  It can't possibly happen again.

So we'll get to have a new version of our family.  I wish you could be here with us at Christmas when we welcome this little one...but I know you'll be watching to make sure everything goes right.

In a way, that's a comfort--I have you, up there...to watch over me--to make sure this goes right.

I wish we had years and years to grieve your death.  But our time here is short, and you've shown me that.  But you've also made me a Mom.  And I guess it makes me special that I'll have one angel watching over me, and I'll have one here with me on Earth.

Now all we have to do is get through the next 5ish months.

I've been writing a few entries before we wanted to let this out of the bag...So those will probably be up in the next few days...

Baby's nickname is Bowie.  As in...Rainbow Baby.  But also...it connects to Luke.  My sister and I nicknamed Luke Jemaine in the womb.  From Flight of the Conchords--mostly because we thought it was an awesome name to never use.  But Jemaine appears as David Bowie in a dream that Bret has....and, it all just seemed to fit...So until this one has a real name...It's sticking.

OC Walk to Remember 2013

It's official--The OC Walk to Remember is scheduled for October 5, 2013, and you can bet your bootie that Luke's Skywalkers will be representing this year. There are two things you can do to help us support this amazing organization that has helped not just Jeff and I, but MANY others across Southern California who have dealt with the loss of their babies. First, you can help us fund raise. Our goal is to raise at least $3500 in Luke's name this year. We want to thank ALL of you that contributed to our amazing, recordbreaking effort last year, and hope you'll help us again this year.

If you'd like to contribute to our team this year, please see our fundraising page below. Any amount you can give is GREATLY appreciated and truly helps families struggling with their losses. Again--Thank you to ALL of you that helped us spread the word about the OC Walk last year. Let's keep that momentum going this year ♥ Feel free to share this link with any friends you have, near or far.

http://www.active.com/donate/2013ocwalk/LukesSkywalkers2013
  
SECONDLY, if you'd like, registration for doing the ACTUAL 5k Walk in Tustin this October is open and ready to go! If you'd like to register for that now, you can do that here: https://www.active.com/register/index.cfm?CHECKSSO=0&EVENT_ID=2101402

 If you'd like to do the walk with our team, be sure you pick Luke's Skywalkers from the dropdown list when it asks for your Team Name  :)

As always, thank you ALL for your wonderful support.  It hasn't been an easy journey for us, but I can now say that the load is easier to bear with so many amazing friends, family, and even complete strangers helping ease our burden from near and far.  Love to you all.

9 Months, and Getting ready to sell...

We've been getting our condo prepped the past few days to put on the market to sell.

There's a mix of emotions happening for me right now...

Obviously, our realtor asked us to declutter our house.  I knew this was coming...but the extent to which we really needed to go didn't really hit me till last week, as I sat boxing up things and putting them away.

The pictures on our built-in--Of the 3 of us at the hospital.  Your teddy bear that holds your ashes.  The rose from the OC Walk to Remember that we dried.  It's all still out.

And I somehow have to put most of this away for now.

I understand the reasons, and I have gotten it put away.  But pulling it all down right that second made me cry.

This is where our story began.  And soon (hopefully), we'll be moving forward to somewhere else.  It's all for the best, I know that deep inside. But giving it up to get there is a hard notion to come to grips with.

I opened the drawers in your dresser, Luke.  It's doing things like that that make me cry and miss you the most.  I don't do it very often.  It holds the most tangible things that were supposed to be part of your existence.  Socks.  Hats.  Swaddlers.  Tiny shoes.

It's so unfair--how we have so many things meant for a baby who will never arrive. How we just can't know if we'll get to use any of your things in the future. 

How wrong it will feel giving these things to anyone else--even a sibling.

There are books on your bookshelf that we were supposed to read to you.  But now they'll be your brother or sister's someday, hopefully.  

It still hurts that you never got the chance to see any of it.  Especially because all of it was picked out specifically for you.

Taking down your Star Wars mobile that's hanging from the ceiling is probably going to be the hardest part.  I don't know why, but it's probably because it was the first handmade gift that one of my very best friends made for you.  I remember thinking about how excited I was when Kelly sent that to us--that everything was finally coming together--and this piece--it was SO PERFECT.  In every way.  I haven't gotten to that part, yet.

It all just feels so empty now.  The love is still there, but it's different.

I'll be sad to move out of our condo sometime soon.  But at the same time, I'm happy to move forward.  Hopeful.  I know that many things will never change being here.  Our neighbors will always be terrible.  This will never be a good condo to have a child in.  And you will always be gone.

But to start somewhere fresh, moving forward as who we are now, with you in our hearts, feels like the most right thing to do.  So while I will miss everything that we've created here for our family (that includes you), I know that we can take you with us anywhere, always.  

I can't believe it's been 9 months.  It feels like eternity at this point.  So much of life has moved forward. 

I fear what this will feel like 3 months, 1 year, even 10 years from now.  Because I'm scared that I'll feel so far away from having lost you.  That day in September was our only day together.  And I'm scared I'll somehow forget it. 

Rational-Me knows that's impossible, though.  
 

8 Months & Mother's Day Without You

Lately, I've felt a loss for words, Luke.

I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but there are a lot of things running through my mind.  Mostly, I'm just feeling spun around by life.

I'll be honest Luke.  It's so so simple to just...move farther away from you.  I don't have a choice--Life continues moving in a forward direction.  There is no going backward.  Your existence was so fleeting.  And I feel like now, at 8 months, it's getting completely intangible.  I look at your pictures more often lately--I think just to give your existence validation.

8 months is a long time apart.  But in the grand scheme of life, it's just a tiny dent in time.  And already, the distance seems so far.

Sometimes I'm not sure how ready I am to feel that far away from you.

I'm somehow still standing.  After all of this.  That which I thought would surely slowly kill me...has only made me stronger.  It's true that you don't know how strong you are until you're forced to be.  Facing down this neverending sadness--and trying to beat it with happiness in life is a hard game to continue playing.  And it's forever.  That part is daunting--still.  And I think it always will be.

But I'm lucky in that I have amazing, truly wonderful family and friends who won't let you be far away.  Your Auntie Lauren recently made the most amazing shadowbox for your new cousin's room with keepsakes to remind your cousin of you.  Just knowing that that little baby will grow up knowing about you fills my hole in my heart--if only just a little tiny bit.

There's so much happiness to be experienced in life.  And I don't want to miss out on any of it.  If your death meant anything...It's helped me to find the beauty in life.

Sunday is our first Mother's Day without you.  The first of a lifetime of Mother's Days that will have a tinge of sadness--every. single. year. Even someday, when we have another child (children?), we'll always be missing one.  That hurts.

You made me a Mom first.  And you'll always be that child for me.  There's no changing that. But this year, Mother's Day will be a harsh reminder of what I don't have.  We were so close--but we still lost you, and the fact that we never got to spend a Mother's Day together will always hurt.

So much is lost.

But you'll be at the front of my thoughts on Sunday, Luke.  And I'll be thinking of all other Moms who are spending their Mother's Days without their babies and children.  I'll also be thinking about all the other wonderful, amazing women out there who want nothing more but to become Moms...but can't, for whatever reason.

It's sad that a day that should only be happy and wonderful and thankful can feel like a knife in so many of our hearts.  I wish we could all be new--never having experienced the cruel moments that life can dole out.

But at least we know that we're not alone.

I miss you every day, Luke.  And I'll never stop loving you.

 

Barf.

Things that piss me off?


This Luv's commercial.  Don't watch it if you've ever lost a baby...because if you haven't seen it yet, it will SURELY piss you off.

"By their second kid, every Mom is an expert!"

Clearly, no one involved in the making of this commercial ever lost their first baby.  I know I'm probably overly sensitive about this, but seriously.  I saw this commercial during Project Runway last night, and I wanted to throw my shoe at the TV.  Yeah.  I'll totally be an expert if I have a second child!  

Oh wait.  NO I WON'T!  Cause I never went through any of that with my first child.

Watching this...already gives me heebs, and I'm not even pregnant with a second child.  It brings about the complexity of everything after losing your firstborn.  There are people who don't know you who will tell you that your next child is your first child.  And then there will be explaining.  And complex titles.  "Is this your first?" someone might ask at the grocery store.  And then I'll have to choose my answers wisely. Would I want to get into a conversation with that person?  Or just lie to keep it simple?  But Luke was REAL.  Why would I lie?  He was a baby.  A 9 pound, 10 ounce full-term baby.  Without a heartbeat.

Fuck this.  Hearing those words on this commercial last night was like being stabbed in the heart. 

I will have no idea what I'm doing...with my SECOND child.  And that happens, Luv's.  And I'm not discounting my first child just because he was born without a heartbeat.  Sorry. 

I'm still a Mom.  Though plenty of people will say that I'm not since I don't currently have a baby.  Luv's would probably be those people.   

Part of me wants to leave a nasty comment on their Youtube page, but part of me doesn't feel like getting flamed by all the idiots that will probably reply to me...

Blargh.

7 months

We're now past the point of half a year without you.

It feels sort of unbelievable.  But it also feels like we held you a lifetime ago, Luke.

You'd be using a sippy cup by now.  You'd be eating mushy foods with your fingers.  You might have more than a few teeth.  I look at people I know or see who have babies born around the same time as you...and I'm in disbelief at how big they got so fast.

It goes so fast.

It still hurts that I'll never get to see you grow that fast.  I think about the fact that I will be doing these comparisons with other people for the rest of my life.  Oh look....there's a class of 4th graders playing on a playground.  Or seeing friends' kids get their driver's license in 2028.  I'll always find a way to tie some kids' ages back to you.

Tomorrow I turn 34 years old.  I hate saying it, because I don't necessarily feel it, but I feel like I'm old.  In comparison to other moms and women who have more complete families, I feel old.  I feel worn down and behind.  But for all the wrong reasons.  Most women my age feel run down from their children.  I feel worn down by my life without a child. 

That feeling snuck up on me fast.  Last year...I thought, well, at least I'll have 1 child before I'm 35.  And I was fine with that.  I would be fine with just having you if that's all that came to be.

But now...I hate saying that I can't be fine with that.  I wish I could say that I'd be fine if you were the only child I had in my lifetime.  But without you here, that feeling changed.  I know what it feels like to be a Mom now.  To love your child without ever getting anything in return.  But the feeling is incomplete.  Because you're gone.

Tomorrow I should be 34 years old with a 7 month old son.  

The forever-ness of this pain is hard to think about. It's duller even now, for sure, 7 months later.  But the tears still flow freely depending on the day or my mood.  I'm able to find happiness though...and I find that lately, I'm even excited about the future.  But it's hard not to think about your existence being further and further in my past.  I'm working hard on being in my present--wherever that is.  And trying to find anything good in the future.  Whether that means helping fund raise for OC Walk to Remember, making special gifts for future nieces and nephews...or celebrating your short presence.

Last month, your Dad and I went up north to visit your Auntie Ali and Uncle Andy in Portland.  We planted a whoooole bunch of trees for you with a group called Friends of Trees.  It was an absolutely amazing experience, and it felt amazing to do something so special for both you AND the Audubon Society.  You have your own special place now--and it's beautiful.  I even marked the exact GPS location with my phone...so we can always find your place--whenever we visit.  Right now, there are a whole bunch of Western Red Cedars up there in Portland that will hopefully spread their roots into the ground and grow tall just for you.   
 

Planting with Friends of Trees in Portland, OR on March 17. The sun even came out for you!

Last week it truly occurred to me that there are a lot of people in my life--both casual acquaintances and good friends--who see me, on the outside, and think I'm doing great.  The truth is that unless you've been down this shitty, terrible road personally, you can't understand the magnitude.  The reality is...I'm doing as great as I can be.  But I'm not OK.  I may smile and laugh and do my work and go out and have fun .  But I'm not who I used to be.  I wish I could be, but I can't be--Ever again.  You've changed me to the core.  I'm torn between the Old and the New Me.  In so many ways, I wish I was the Old Me, but that would mean that I never had you.

And so I'm taking the New Me and figuring out what that means.  I'm working on it, but these are some uncomfortable shoes to fill.   

Things that are hard

After losing you, Luke, there are some things that normal people just don't have to think about..

Having to explain to your cousin Amanda (who's only 5) why I wear a necklace with your name on it around my neck and why I have a baby Luke Skywalker tattoo on my chest..."What does that mean?" 

That's hard to explain in 5-year-old vocabulary.

Having to word an obituary for your Grandmother...where we include her two living grandchildren and you, who she's meeting before us in heaven...

Realizing that you will meet your Grandmother, wherever you are, before you get to meet me and your Dad.  In a way I'm relieved--There's someone there to take care of you--that knew you in this world and that world. But I'm a bit jealous, too.

I hate thinking about how your Grandmother will never know any more of our children if we have them.  That's it.  She only knew you, and you're gone too.

...

Jeff's Mom passed away Tuesday, March 19 in her sleep.  She was 77 years old and not in the greatest of health, but there were no signs that she'd go so soon or so quickly.

No one's ever prepared for death, really.  The news...when I got it, hurt so much.  Here we go again, I thought. But Jeff's own MOTHER?  I can't say I know how he feels...but just thinking about losing my Mom...kills me inside.  She was my mother-in-law, and it still kills me inside.

We've had enough hurt these past six months.  Two bodies with no signs of life. Two trips to mortuaries. Two funeral services to arrange and attend. Two huge losses. 

And then there's the aftermath. Because the trauma and finality of death isn't enough to comprehend--The finality of losing someone you love beyond words turns into piles of paperwork and processes and forms to be filed.

I'm ready for things to just be better.  They have to get better, right? 

On your 6 month birthday--without you

At 6 months, I think we've found a small sense of peace with everything that happened, Luke.

It still hurts that there really wasn't any legit medical reason we lost you. Part of that is easy to let go of, because it's so vague, but then part of it is incredibly hard to let go of because of the vagueness. It's a catch 22.

I've been told by many people that I'm doing really well, considering. I feel that I am too. It doesn't change the fact that I miss you like crazy and feel incredibly angry that I don't have a happy 6-month-old son to deal with. That I don't know what you would look like or be like at this age.

I wish you were here...

But I feel your presence more than you know. So much. There are tiny reminders here and there. And then there's the huge, bizarre coincidences when I feel like you're somehow still with us. Like what happened earlier this week. I picked up your big-doggie-sister, PJ from doggie daycamp at Petsmart. I got back her report card...and this is what it said.

PJ made a new doggie friend this week. His name was Luke Skywalker.

I didn't read that until we got back into the car, but it made me cry. Tears of joy and sadness at the same time. I don't know what I believe about the afterlife, and I don't pretend to have it all figured out, but there was a sense of your presence reading that note. There's been a few times these past 6 months where I truly feel that you're pulling strings from wherever you are and that gives me comfort.   

Today, Daddy ran in his first 5k ever.  He started running this year, and I'm so proud of him, because for the most part, he's doing this for you.

We're hanging in there, Luke.  It feels like these past 6 months have been a time warp that went both fast and slow at the same time.  But I feel like you've also made us be better versions of ourselves, too.  I wish it didn't take your absence to have done that...but if there's anything, there's that.

I wish you were here today, though. I really do.

It's hard to think that there will never be a day or a birthday that I don't wish that.  I hate that this is permanent.

I love you, sweet boy, till the end of time ♥♥♥