Thankful for this...

And forgot to mention yesterday, I'm most thankful for this:

A healthy, moving, crazy baby that reassures me more often than not that she's ok.

It's exactly what I need.  Even if the NSTs take us EXTRA long because she's such a spazz. 

Hope you all had a peaceful Thanksgiving yesterday <3 <3 <3

Thanksgiving and two weeks to go

This Thanksgiving is already incredibly different than last year's.

And while we're still here, missing you every day, Luke, this year we have so much to be thankful for.  I'm so thankful that in just 2 weeks, our lives will change forever once again.  That we'll finally meet your little sister.

I'm thankful for all our friends and family that have held us up this past year.  For those that speak about you, and still remember you as part of our family.  I hope that never changes.

And I'm so thankful that I've found some sort of healing this past 14 months.  I'm thankful that I've been able to work through my grief to find joy in my life again.  It hasn't been easy.  And even though I can be happy again, I will always be missing you. 

But I have hope right now. I'm not sure if you're pushing that down on me from wherever you are, but I'll take it.  This pregnancy has been hard, but I'm surprised that I feel hope right now.  That I feel that everything can and will be OK with Bowie.  We have a plan.  Our doctors' visits have gone amazingly well.  And I truly believe that she will be OK. 

I accept that the panic will probably set in soon.  I have two weeks to go, but it makes me feel better knowing that we have a c-section scheduled already and everyone's as ready to go as can be. 

But the one thing that I approach with...maybe not hesitation so much as just...trepidation...is seeing your sister's sweet face for the first time.  I know I will be comparing it with yours.  And I wish I could just accept her for being herself...but with you missing, I don't know how I won't. 

And I fear that will make me miss you that much more.

But I will also be incredibly distracted.  With everything I missed out on with you.  And that worries me too.  I never want to be so distracted that thoughts of you fall by the wayside.

So onto another chapter of figuring out how to live this new life.  With your sister here with us, and you watching over us.   

Yesterday's NST

I feel like for the most part, I've kept my anxiety pretty in-check throughout this entire pregnancy.  I'll admit--The month of September was probably the worst.  Mostly because that month was all about Luke.  I found myself completely distracted--Bowie was almost an afterthought.  But she was there, and all was well, so it was OK.

Yesterday was the first day I really experienced those pangs of anxiety that hit--the uncontrollable fear that something's wrong.

I'm going to NSTs twice a week.  And they've mostly been fine.  But Bowie's an active baby, apparently.  And sometimes, they take some time for us to get a good reading on her heartbeat, which does make me anxious, but not uncontrollably so.

Yesterday...there was a different girl working in the office.  And she didn't know me or how active Bowie was (or my story, or really also...how to find the heartbeat really well?  I'm not even sure.) So it didn't start off well.  She really couldn't find her heartbeat.  Then it was sort of there--but very faint.  I could feel Bowie moving, but the fact that her heartbeat was so faint...scared the crap out of me.  I know she was probably facing backward, and that she was probably fine, but to talk yourself into that--it's hard when you've been on the other side of this.  Where everything is NOT fine.  When you're getting told that your baby is already gone. 

We sat...with the faint heartrate reading...for about a half hour.  Finally, the girl working went to go get a doctor.  She came in, and I was crying at that point.  It was at that point that I was sort of forced to tell her what I've been through (she wasn't my normal OB).  She completely understood my terrors, and somehow, found Bowie's heartbeat pretty quickly.  At that point, I was angry at the girl working there.  But I just wanted to get it done and over with. 

And then Bowie moved, and it seemed that finding her heartbeat was impossible again. 

The frustration...I know the girl working there was frustrated.  And then she told me that when she takes the reading to my doctor, she wasn't going to like it.  And that she'd probably send me over to the hospital for more monitoring...

And that's when I really stressed out.  It was really the wrong thing for her to say to me. 

But somehow, after moving and moving and moving, Bowie chilled out a bit.  And then she got the hiccups.  And after about an hour of trying and trying to get any stable reading out of her, she calmed down enough for us to get what we needed.

There are times I'm thankful that she's an active, moving baby.  It keeps my anxiety in check--especially considering that the REASON I went to the hospital with Luke was because I noticed he'd stopped moving... But then there are times when it scares me.  When things like this happen.  Or when I think about the potential of her getting too wrapped up in her cord like Luke--maybe BECAUSE she's so active. 

Yesterday's NST took almost 2 hours.  I swear that must be some sort of record.  I really hope that the rest of them go much more smoothly, but I just keep telling myself that we only have less than 4 weeks to go.  We can get through this. 

4 weeks.  We're so close.

How do you reconcile joy and grief?

It's November now.  And we're about a MONTH from meeting Luke's little sister...a baby who I'm not sure we'd be having had it not been for Luke's death. 

One year ago, I was in the depths of despair.  The freshness of losing Luke was so raw and new and I didn't understand it or know how to deal with it.

There are still some times when I feel like what happened to us wasn't real.  Like it was something I watched happen in a movie or a terrible TV show or to someone else.  In so many ways, it still feels unreal, to this day.

I wish it were true.

I wish what happened to us never had to happen to us.  I would be happy to have my 14-month-old son right now.  I'd be happy to not have had to travel this road of grief for the past year.  I'd be happy to not have to continue traveling it for the rest of my life.

I told myself that we'd always do what made us happy--when Luke died--to honor him.  I remember sitting in our bedroom with my sister a few days after his funeral, and making a promise to myself that I would do everything in my power to sell and move out of our condo within the next year.  BEING there made me unhappy.  It almost always had, but after losing him, it was the final straw.  And I'm proud to say that we did it--We sold that place. We're in a much happier place right now.  A place where I have hope, AND where our neighbors aren't terrible people.

And we said the same thing about trying for another baby...that we'd like to get pregnant again as soon as we could, since there was no medical reason stopping us.  And by some grace of God, we did that too.

There's so much to be happy about.  And it gets in the way of grief.  That's where grief is tricky.  No matter what you have that makes you happy--that brings you joy--that you've wanted and yearned for for a long time--There's always something lurking in the background.  The sadness.  The grief.  The heaviness of everything you lost.

I have four weeks to go until we meet Luke's little sister.  I'm already scheduled for a c-section because, like her big brother, she's supposedly going to be be a big one.  I'm happy that this date is set in stone.  That I know the day that we get to meet her and start our lives together.  But it all circles back to thinking about Luke a lot of times.  About the day that we got to meet, but didn't get to live the rest of our lives together.  It makes me nervous.  And scared.  Deep down I know that everything will be fine this time.  And I know that there will be nothing else in the world that will feel the same as the second we hear this little girl cry for the first time.  I can't wait to finally get to experience that happiness.

But I grieve that I had to miss that happiness with Luke.

These past 8 months have been a ride.  I feel like I've been pregnant forever.  I sort of have been.  I hate how unfair it is that I'll have to have been pregnant 18 out of the past 24 months only to have one child here with me.  I hate coming to grips with that.  It will never be right and I'll never be OK with it. 

I hate that I'm only going to experience that feeling of extreme joy with just ONE of my children.  And I don't want the sorrow I feel for Luke to taint my experiences with Bowie.  But I know that's impossible.

Everytime I see Bowie smile.  Hear her laugh. See her roll over for the first time.  Crawl.  Walk.  Go off to Kingergarten.  High school.  College.  Get married.  I'll be forced to think about missing all of those things with Luke.  I'll be forced to wonder about him.  About what never was or can ever be.  And that will always hurt my heart. I know it will get easier with time (at least I hope it will), but the reality will always be there.

At the end of the day, I can't stay in the depths of my grief forever.  I choose not to.  I don't want to.  But that doesn't mean that I won't miss Luke every single day for the rest of my life.  Joy will have to learn to live with grief...and that's ok.

Capture Your Grief--Day 11--Emotional Triggers

For me, triggers are something that are ever-changing. In the first days and weeks after we lost Luke, I couldn't bear to go out. There was one time I remember specifically when Jeff and I were out having breakfast together. And there was a Mom with her new baby--probably about the same age he would have been. In the same stroller and car seat that we had...living in the closet. 

I had a small meltdown. Eating breakfast. 

There was going into Target and walking by the baby aisle that first time. 

And the numerous pregnancy and birth announcements that always seemed like a slap in the face...

There's always something. And the emotions are always changing. I don't feel the same as I did in those early days. And obviously, now I'm the one walkjng around pregnant, causing other baby-loss Moms meltdowns. If only they knew. 

Lately, I feel like it's the little boys that I see around who are the same age Luke would be now. The sting of imagining what he would be like today will always be there. It will always haunt me. I don't see how they will ever get easier to look at. 

But thank goodness these emotions are always changing. Because if everything stayed the way it was, I have no idea how I'd get through this. 

Capture Your Grief--Day 9--Music

This one is obvious...I've posted it here before.

To say I live for lyrics is an understatement.  I have for pretty much my entire life.  And when we lost Luke, I found myself finding different meanings in songs I'd listened to a million times.  And then I came across this song.  I've been a Ryan Adams fan for years, but the lyrics to this song never hit me the way they had after that day.  And then I learned that sadly enough, Ryan wrote this song for a dear friend whose baby was stillborn.  Her name was Elizabeth. 

He captured my feelings on loss so perfectly, it's unbelievable.  And now I kind of can't listen to it without bawling.  Just the opening piano part gets me.  But the yearning in his voice...and the frailty.  Exactly.

Elizabeth, You Were Born to Play That Part--Ryan Adams

For you I'd do anything
Tear myself in two
Just to hear you breathe

Calculate the changes that in time
Turn to nothing and then multiply
Yourself by my pain

Over you is where I stand
I wish I knew why
But I don't understand

I'm waiting on someone that just won't show
And every night it seems like there's no tomorrow
Not that you will ever know

Wherever you are, I hope you're happy now
I'm caught in a dream and I can't get out
I'm caught in a dream
I'm caught in an endless dream

Wherever you are, I hope you're happy now
I'm caught in a dream and I can't get out
I'm caught in an endless dream
And I'm not strong enough to let you go

And I have tried everything
But that
Elizabeth

Capture Your Grief--Day 4--Legacy

I can't say that I've started an organization or anything in Luke's name since he passed (though we have raised a substantial sum of money for the OC Walk to Remember in his name), but what I can say is this:  He taught me, and many of those around me--that life is short.  That tomorrow is never a given.  I've always been a person that lived very much in the present, but this never became more clear that day we lost him.  I never ever once believed that someone--let alone ME--could make it through 39 weeks of pregnancy and NOT go home with their baby.  Those things don't happen anymore, I thought.  I was wrong.

I'm not sure what made us wait so long to start a family, but that was one of the things that was hard to face when we lost him.  First and foremost, none of us are given tomorrow.  Now is all we have.  To start a family.  To kiss your children goodnight.  To be happy.  Don't wait.

That's his legacy. 

Capture Your Grief--Day 3--Myth

There are a lot of myths I've encountered on this path, but probably the most obvious one is the 5 Stages of Grief. I think this path SOUNDS likes a great idea, but the reality is, you're never done grieving something like this. A loss of this magnitude. There are tons of days anger and depression live together. And acceptance...can be felt--I know I'm at that stage. But I think I will always have parts of me that are angry and depressed about what happened to Luke. There is no path with an end. Nothing is linear and clean. It's hard. And messy.  And it always will be.

Capture Your Grief--Day 2--Identity

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month, and every year, the wonderful Carly Marie puts out a list of prompts for the month--To capture your grief. 

I missed the sunrise yesterday, so I'm starting today...

The hand and footprints that the hospital took that day in the hospital mean everything to me. They're something...that he touched.  The last...and probably only thing besides his hat that have will have his identity on them forever.  

I feel like they give him his existence.  Full on hands and feet.  They were once here.  And now they're gone.

Judgement

It must be nice.

It must be nice to judge other people as if they all live the same exact charmed life that you do.

Since losing Luke, I've come to be more empathetic.  I've always had empathy for people that can't help themselves.   For those who are disabled.  Poor.  Hungry.  But I've come to find that those are the easiest to feel empathy toward. 

Mothers, and parents in general, seem to dish out a lot of judgement.  And maybe I notice it more now because I AM a parent now, and yet, not.  I am in a weird, inbetween stage that MAYBE 5% of the population truly understands what it's like to live in.   

And maybe comments are finding their way to my ears now because it's clear that I'm a parent--Or at least I'm going to be a parent.  People tend to look at a pregnant woman as a given--A given that they'll have their baby and raise it through adulthood.  Obviously, right?  If you're noticeably pregnant, you'll have your baby. 

It must be nice to assume that all women just go through labor, and walk away with their baby.  To have a birth plan.  To say, "I'm doing this naturally!  No meds for me!" and then actually do it, and hey!  There's my screaming baby.  How perfect.

Now that I'm about 28 weeks along with Bowie, people talk to me about being pregnant a lot.  I don't mind it with people I know.  But strangers are always a wild card.  Some are perfectly fine, and others stray too far into the "I-don't-know-you-but-I-like-to-pry-and-offer-unsolicited-advice" category a little too easily. 

There are times I wish I had a sign on my forehead that just said "I had a full-term dead baby already.  Please don't talk to me about being pregnant.  Whatever you say to me about it will probably piss me off."

I recently had to have a conversation with someone...a medical professional.  Not my OB or anyone taking care of my pregnancy.  A man.  This man clearly has the perfect life.  From what I know about him, he makes quite a bit of money, just got himself a motorcycle, has two perfect children and a hot wife.  He just moved his oldest daughter off to college, and she's perfect.  His son is pretty obsessed with bodybuilding/healthy eating/"just looking his best!".  This has all come from conversations we've had.  I don't tend to ask much-It's just offered up.

He knows my story.  He knows what happened to me.  He knows I'm messed up about it.  So about a month back, he brings up delivery.  I don't think I've shared how my delivery went last time, but he proceeded to hammer it home to me about how crazy he thinks women are when they just go to the hospital and say "Give me drugs!"  Also about how crazy it is that a lot of women think they can just sit back in a hospital bed, put their feet up and push out a baby.  "That's just not natural!  I mean, gravity!  Think about it!"

I kind of just wanted to throw up in my mouth a little.  Then I said, "Well, I'm pretty much going to do whatever it is my doctor wants me to do to have this baby alive.  Whatever that means.  It doesn't matter to me."

Then he kind of shut up.

I don't care if I have to have a c-section.  I don't care if I'm induced.  I certainly don't care if I get an epidural.  And frankly, I've had one before.  And I was induced before.  And oh yeah, did you even think about the fact that I'VE BEEN THROUGH BIRTH BEFORE?  So how do you even know what my opinions were on it?

Presumptuous.  All of it.  And frankly, people in general seem to miss the entire point.  Did you get to take your baby home with you at the end of the day, whatever sort of interventions you had to have?  You did?

Well great.  You're lucky.  And you're better off than I am. 

I feel like so many people feel free to judge.  Judge women's choices.  Judge whether or not they're good mothers.  Complete strangers feel free to make snide comments to moms in grocery stores about their parenting skills.  Why?  Do you have any idea what it's like to live one second in their shoes?

You don't.  You don't know if that pregnant woman has had a stillborn son like me.  You don't know what it was like for her to go through postpartum healing WITHOUT her child.  You don't know if that woman you call "lucky to be child free!" has been battling fertility her entire life.  You don't know why that girl walking out of Planned Parenthood is crying.  And you don't know her situation. You don't know what that mom with out-of-control kids in the grocery store has gone through to HAVE those kids. 

So stop it. 

It would be lovely if I could have your seemingly perfect life.  But I'm willing to bet money that your life is far from perfect.  And I won't judge you about that.

Being pregnant this time around is the hardest thing I've ever gone through, besides going through the motions of losing Luke.  I guess this is all still part of losing him.  I don't know.  I wish I could be naive again.  To not know the things I know.  But I can only go forward as who I am now.   

Life isn't as clean and tidy as some people make it out to be.  I wish it was, but it's just not.