If only...

What Angel has taught us

We have learned so much from our daughter Angel and will carry these lessons with us the rest of our lives.

Perspective

Angel has given us a new perspective on life.  When something like this happens to you, it literally makes time slow down to a crawl and brings you to your knees.  With this shift, you also look around at life on this Earth and contemplate what is really a bad day, or a true hardship….you look back at certain moments in your life and think “those were the best days of my life.”  You may not have known it at the time, but they were.  I suppose it gives you a new appreciation for joy – because you are in the depths of incredible sorrow.

Courage & Strength

Angel also taught us about incredible courage and strength – and how you can reach into your very core for strength and hold on with all your might....pull yourself out of the dark hole of grief and try move forward.  We discovered courage and inner strength neither of us knew we had.

Love

We learned about a parent’s Love.  It is a love unlike any other in this world.   It is unconditional and pure and true.   I also feel like the love Jeff & I have for each other has strengthened.  We are sharing this journey together and holding hands as we find our way.  

Compassion

Angel makes me want to be a better person and to be compassionate to those that I interact with on Earth.  I have a deeper understanding of significant hardships that can happen and I feel it makes me more empathetic to others. Life is fragile and precious and we need to take care of one another. 

Hope

This loss has been devastating and has shattered our world.  However, I know our daughter would want us to pick up the pieces and find our way forward.  I have hope that I can live an authentic life that honours our baby girl.

Hole in my heart

The Butterfly

"The butterfly has long been a powerful symbol across many cultures. It is a symbol of transformation, of the spirit and the soul, and of the unending cycle of life and death.

To the Greeks the butterfly was the symbol of the soul, and it was believed that each butterfly was a human soul searching for a new incarnation. The Celts also believed that butterflies were new souls seeking life. They believed that a woman became pregnant by swallowing these tiny butterfly souls.

The metamorphosis of the butterfly is a powerful symbol in so many ways for us when we are grieving. They are the beautiful tiny spark of life that came to us, lighted in our lives for a too brief moment before fluttering away. They are the hope that the transformation that loss brings into our life, can result in something different, something beautiful. We may not be the same at the end of our journey, but we have grown, we are able to see things that we could not before. They are the hope that we may swallow that butterfly soul searching for us, and hold a baby in our bodies and in our arms once more."

How Angel got her name

Sweet daughter, I hope you understand why we named you Angel.  

Because you appeared to us so briefly and touched our hearts so deeply, we thought an Angel was really the only being capable of such an impressive feat. 

You have changed our world.  And we will always love you Angel.  As our lives continue we will include you in our celebrations, share our victories, feel your comfort in our sorrow and failures, cherish our memories of you as we look toward the future with hope.   You will always be a part of our family.

I Will Carry You

I just finished reading the book "I Will Carry You" by Angie Smith - she tells the story of her pregnancy with her 4th daughter Audrey, who unfortunately had conditions that were incompatible with life.  Rather than terminating the pregnancy, she carried Audrey for as long as she had life. The book talks about this journey and her grief once Audrey was born and died, just over 2 hours later.

I would recommend this book to others who wish to understand the journey of a mother's grief and I wanted to share a few passages from the book that really resonated with me.

An inspirational poem
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Some of you say, "Joy is greater than sorrow," and others say, "Nay, sorrow is the greater."
But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.
--Kahlil Gibran

Burden Carriers
One of the common veins is the feeling that they (bereaved parents) had to "move on," "get over it," "appreciate what they have," and similar suggestions.  I can tell you as a mother who has experienced losing a baby: it isn't going to happen.  Grief is a winding, nasty road that has no predictable course, and the best thing you can do as a friend is to show up for the ride.  You cannot rush grief.  Read that again, and let it soak in as you either walk through it or alongside someone who is in the midst of it.
People are uncomfortable swimming in another's grief.  The way they respond to it is, naturally, to try and fix the situation.  Of course, they can't, but just letting the silence hang there feels wrong, so they try to fill it with words they think will help.  I sense people's intentions, and I know that this is their desire, but honestly it falls flat.  It means so much more to me when people just tell me they're sorry and don't try to make all the pieces fit or explain it into something that it isn't.  I know how it feels to be on the other side as well, and I understand that you want to say the right thing.  Yet sometimes the right thing is to say nothing at all.  It's just to be there, available, willing, authentic.


A letter to my Daughter
Do you know you changed the world? From the day we found out we were expecting you, we knew that God had chosen you for our family....we talked about you all the time...our house was filled with love for you long before we ever knew who you would be to us....
Did you know that while you were in my tummy, you went to the beach, to Disney World, to the ballet, to the zoo, to the symphony, to listen to daddy sing...and so many more places?
...I will never forget the day you were born....
...I cry for you often. I miss the smell of your skin and your perfect little nose. My arms ache from emptiness. I tell your daddy all the time that I just want to hold you again. I cannot see to write these words because my eyes overflow with the tears of a mother who has been asked to give her daughter away.
...You are the greatest miracle I have ever been a part of, and I want you to know how incredibly proud I am to have been chosen to be your mommy.

I Will Carry You (Audrey's Song)
I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All my life
And I will praise the One
who's chosen me
To carry you

Certificate of Life for Angel

Ornaments for Angel

Last night I went to a babyloss moms friendship group and we made holiday ornaments for our babies.  Here is a picture of the ornaments for Angel. 

More ornaments - made November 20th :)

I have met many amazing women who have gone through a similar experience to me, and I have Angel to thank for bringing them into my life.

Angel's Story

Today marks 3 months since we met our baby girl Angel. 

A friend wrote to me a few weeks ago – “I don't know how you get over losing someone you love so much.”  And the truth is you never get over this.  It is not something that happens and then you forget and move on with your life without any feeling or remembrance.  The truth is, you do your best to cope with the loss and the grief – and it is not linear.  It also has no set timeline.

The best we can do is try to accept our new normal and to live our lives in a way that honours our baby girl.

Angel’s story

I have hesitated in writing about Angel’s story for a long time now.  Not because it isn’t important.  In fact, it was probably the most important time of my life to date, and has forever changed me.  There are so many things I’d like to be able to articulate about meeting Angel, however I am not sure I can full describe the feelings in a way that can be understood.  The only way to understand this journey is to walk it in your own shoes – and this I do not wish on any other person. 

Jeff and I had looked forward to meeting Angel with full hearts and a sense of great anticipation and hopefulness.

The day we found out I was pregnant with her, we were so excited we couldn’t sleep that night.   We felt like our lives had almost instantly changed - and that night, and over the next 7 months, we talked about our hopes and dreams for our baby.   We called her “baby ringo”…a name Jeff picked out, out of the blue and it stuck.

My first trimester was relatively easy. I was tired and had some nausea.  I remember opening the fridge in the morning and getting a whiff of food and my stomach turning. I also caught a couple of colds early on and I didn’t take anything at all, I was even leery of halls candies for fear of taking “too much vitamin C.”   Jeff jokes that I gave up “the sauce” too for the full 7 months and what a sacrifice that was since everyone knows I like my pinot grigio.

The day we had our “NT scan” at around 11 and a half weeks, we felt like we were “in the clear” so to speak. Everything looked so perfect!  We felt relieved and happy and just in love with our baby.  I couldn’t wait any longer to tell my family so that night I emailed the ultrasound picture to my parents and my brother.  I think they were surprised, maybe because I had kept it a secret for so long already, and I suppose it seemed out of the blue!  But I know they were excited for us too and excited to meet “ringo.”  We also told Jeff’s family over the next week or two, and they were just as thrilled for us.

I started seeing a midwife in my 2^nd trimester and everything seemed to be progressing normally.  I loved hearing Angel’s heartbeat at each visit, it was such an amazing sound.  I remember seeing her dancing and waving at me, at the 20 weeks ultrasound. The midwife would also measure my belly at my visits, and answer any questions I had about what to expect.  I felt reassured there were no signs of any issues and it was a “normal” pregnancy.  I began to feel movements – pokes and kicks and swishes.  I felt them often first thing in the morning – like she was telling me she was hungry, and then after dinner when she was well fed.  I started to get really excited for our baby’s arrival.

Jeff and I started preparing for Angel’s arrival and we did a childbirth class and a newborn care class together.  We had her nursery setup and many items already purchased and ready for her when she came home.   I went to baby shows and baby shopping with Shannon, and we talked about how our babies would be close in age and could be best friends or even boyfriend and girlfriend.   I was also excited that Carmen’s daughter Maria would have a playmate so close in age.

I know I have mentioned this before, but Jeff and I bonded so much with Angel during those 7 months.  We would sing and talk to her, and rub my belly.  We had so much fun doing that together.  I cherish many moments during that time and I will never forget them.

At my 29.5 week appointment I was told I was measuring a bit behind but again this was “normal” and nothing to worry about.  Two weeks later, at my 31.5 week appointment I went in and that’s when my world came crashing down.   The midwife could not find the heartbeat.  I was rushed to the hospital for an ultrasound, which confirmed our baby girl was gone. 

It is unbelievable how many emotions I felt – fear, shock, numbness, disbelief...deep, deep sadness & despair.  I actually think my brain shut down though.  The tears…well they came later, came in floods, and came often.

I was induced that day, August 10^th, and Angel was born sleeping at 2:45am on August 11, 2011.  

I have decided not to write in detail about the moments leading up to and the actual labour and delivery.   Labour was long and painful but nothing compared to the pain from losing our baby girl.

After the delivery, we held Angel and kissed her and spoke to her. I touched her little feet and hands.   We took pictures.  We said goodbye.  I will never forget that time with her.  Letting her go from my arms was the most difficult moment of my life.

I know this particular entry will be difficult for others to read.  But I hope it helps others relate to how Jeff and I are feeling during and after this traumatic experience in our lives, and maybe it will help you share the journey with us.

Losing a child is quite different than losing a parent, grandparent, sibling, close friend.  I have lost someone that was literally a part of me, and lived in me. 

A parent always believes their children will outlive them.  What Jeff and I have lost is an imagined future, and our hopes and dreams for our daughter Angel.    We ask for patience, understanding, empathy and support as we come to terms with this loss and try to integrate our way of remembering Angel into our lives.

We miss you Angel and Iook forward to the day we can hug and kiss you again.

Tomorrow is 3 months without Angel...Missing you today and every day

Today I visited with my cousin Carmen and her daughter Maria at their new house.  It was so nice to see both of them but looking at Maria I could not help but think of Angel and wonder how she is, if she is watching us, and thinking "wish you were here."   I had imagined her and Maria playing together and becoming close friends as they grew up together.   Carmen and I have both heard that babies/children here on Earth can see spirit children.  I have read about this, that often siblings left behind on Earth can see their brothers or sisters in spirit and they play with them.  Carmen asked Maria - "can you see Angel?"  Of course she is too young to answer us.  But I hope the answer is yes.

Perspective on Dying

My mom shared this perspective with me and I wanted to post it here to always remember it.  This perspective does bring me some comfort that Angel is safe and not alone.

____

"Perspective on Dying"

I am standing on the seashore. A ship spreads her (Angel's) sails to the morning breeze and starts for the ocean. I stand watching her until she fades on the horizon, and someone at my side says "She is gone".

"Gone where?" The loss of sight is in ME not in her. Just at the moment when someone says "She is gone" there are others who are watching her coming. Other voices take up the glad shout, "Here she comes"!

And that is dying.
-- Henry Scott Holland

People say that one day you'll wake up and discover you've still got the good memories but you haven't got the pain. Hopefully that morning will be soon.

Angel's name in the sand ♥

A Poem of Comfort

I recieved this from an acquaintance shortly after we lost Angel and wanted to post it here to remember these kind words always.  It is surprising and touching how people reach out to you in your time of need.
__________

Blessed sister, beautiful one
with broken wings.
Your journey is a difficult one
that no mother should have to endure.
Your path is steep, rocky and slippery
and your tender heart is in need of gentle healing.

Breathe deeply and know that you are loved.
You are not alone,
though at times, you will feel like a
desolate island of grief
untouchable
distant.
Close your eyes.
Seek the wisdom of women who have walked this well-worn path before you,
and before you yourself were born.
These beautiful ones
with eyes like yours
have shared your pain, and
weathered the storms of loss.

You are not alone (breathe in)
You will go on (breathe out)
Your wings will mend (breathe in)
You are loved (breathe out).



Mary Burgess

What we wish you knew about pregnancy loss:

by Elizabeth Soutter Schwarzer - March 2002

When women experience the loss of a child, one of the first things they discover they have in common is a list of things they wish no one had ever said to them. The lists tend to be remarkably similar. The comments are rarely malicious - just misguided attempts to soothe. 

This list was compiled as a way of helping other people understand pregnancy loss. While generated by mothers for mothers, it may also apply similarly to the fathers who have endured this loss. 
When trying to help a woman who has lost a baby, the best rule of thumb is a matter of manners: don't offer your personal opinion of her life, her choices, her prospects for children. No woman is looking to poll her acquaintances for their opinions on why it happened or how she should cope. 

-Don't say, "It's God's Will." Even if we are members of the same congregation, unless you are a cleric and I am seeking your spiritual counseling, please don't presume to tell me what God wants for me. Besides, many terrible things are God's Will, that doesn't make them less terrible. 

-Don't say, "It was for the best - there was probably something wrong with your baby." The fact that something was wrong with the baby is what is making me so sad. My poor baby never had a chance. Please don't try to comfort me by pointing that out. 

-Don't say, "You can always have another one." This baby was never disposable. If had been given the choice between loosing this child or stabbing my eye out with a fork, I would have said, "Where's the fork?" I would have died for this baby, just as you would die for your children. 

-Don't say, "Be grateful for the children you have." If your mother died in a terrible wreck and you grieved, would that make you less grateful to have your father? 

-Don't say, "Thank God you lost the baby before you really loved it." I loved my son or daughter. Whether I lost the baby after two weeks of pregnancy or just after birth, I loved him or her. 

-Don't say, "Isn't it time you got over this and moved on?" It's not something I enjoy, being grief-stricken. I wish it had never happened. But it did and it's a part of me forever. The grief will ease on its own timeline, not mine - or yours. 

-Don't say, "Now you have an angel watching over you." I didn't want her to be my angel. I wanted her to bury me in my old age. 

-Don't say, "I understand how you feel." Unless you've lost a child, you really don't understand how I feel. And even if you have lost a child, everyone experiences grief differently. 

-Don't tell me horror stories of your neighbor or cousin or mother who had it worse. The last thing I need to hear right now is that it is possible to have this happen six times, or that I could carry until two days before my due-date and labor 20 hours for a dead baby. These stories frighten and horrify me and leave me up at night weeping in despair. Even if they have a happy ending, do not share these stories with me. 

-Don't pretend it didn't happen and don't change the subject when I bring it up. If I say, "Before the baby died..." or "when I was pregnant..." don't get scared. If I'm talking about it, it means I want to. Let me. Pretending it didn't happen will only make me feel utterly alone. 

- Don't say, "It's not your fault." It may not have been my fault, but it was my responsibility and I failed. The fact that I never stood a chance of succeeding only makes me feel worse. This tiny little being depended upon me to bring him safely into the world and I couldn't do it. I was supposed to care for him for a lifetime, but I couldn't even give him a childhood. I am so angry at my body you just can't imagine. 

-Don't say, "Well, you weren't too sure about this baby, anyway." I already feel so guilty about ever having complained about morning sickness, or a child I wasn't prepared for, or another mouth to feed that we couldn't afford. I already fear that this baby died because I didn't take the vitamins, or drank too much coffee, or had alcohol in the first few weeks when I didn't know I was pregnant. I hate myself for any minute that I had reservations about this baby. Being unsure of my pregnancy isn't the same as wanting my child to die - I never would have chosen for this to happen. 

-Do say, "I am so sorry." That's enough. You don't need to be eloquent. Say it and mean it and it will matter. 

-Do say, "You're going to be wonderful parents some day," or "You're wonderful parents and that baby was lucky to have you." We both need to hear that. 

-Do say, "I have lighted a candle for your baby," or "I have said a prayer for your baby."

-Do send flowers or a kind note - every one I receive makes me feel as though my baby was loved. Don't resent it if I don't respond.

-Don't call more than once and don't be angry if the machine is on and I don't return your call. If we're close friends and I am not responding to your attempts to help me, please don't resent that, either. Help me by not needing anything from me for a while.

If you're my boss or my co-worker: 

-Do recognize that I have suffered a death in my family - not a medical condition. 

-Do recognize that in addition to the physical after effects I may experience, I'm going to be grieving for quite some time. Please treat me as you would any person who has endured the tragic death of a loved one - I need time and space. 

-DO understand if I do not attend baby showers/christening/birthday parties etc. And DON'T ask why I can't come. 

Please don't bring your baby or toddler into the workplace. If your niece is pregnant, or your daughter just had a baby, please don't share that with me right now. It's not that I can't be happy for anyone else, it's that every smiling, cooing baby, every glowing new mother makes me ache so deep in my heart I can barely stand it. I may look okay to you, but there's a good chance that I'm still crying every day. It may be weeks before I can go a whole hour without thinking about it. You'll know when I'm ready - I'll be the one to say, "Did your daughter have her baby?" or, "How is that precious little boy of yours? I haven't seen him around the office in a while." 

Above all, please remember that this is the worst thing that ever happened to me. The word "miscarriage" is small and easy. But my baby's death is monolithic and awful. It's going to take me a while to figure out how to live with it. Bear with me.