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.
Saturday, 12 November 2011
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.
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.
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.
Friday, 11 November 2011
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 2nd 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 10th, 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.
Thursday, 10 November 2011
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.
Sunday, 6 November 2011
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
____
"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.
Friday, 4 November 2011
Thursday, 3 November 2011
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
__________
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
Tuesday, 1 November 2011
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."
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.
-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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)