Just a hour or so after that, I was sitting in my living room and I saw my first white butterfly of the season fly through the backyard. And so she returns.
Monday, 16 April 2012
White butterfly returns
I had someone come by the house yesterday to talk about the garden I want to build in my backyard. During the consultation, I didn't say it was Angel's garden but it will be. Because it is shady where I plan to build it, my plans may have to be altered a bit but he did say we could incorporate a rose bush which makes me happy.
Just a hour or so after that, I was sitting in my living room and I saw my first white butterfly of the season fly through the backyard. And so she returns.
Just a hour or so after that, I was sitting in my living room and I saw my first white butterfly of the season fly through the backyard. And so she returns.
Saturday, 14 April 2012
They are closer than we know
Last night I went to a face to face meet with a dozen or so other babyloss moms. We had a psychic medium join us, named Anne, and it was an amazing experience. She led us through a guided meditation to start. In my meditation, I felt the presence of my Nona, my grandfather and Angel. It was such a happy reunion and it felt very special. In the back of my mind, I thought – if Angel comes through in a reading tonight, I want her to come with either Nona or grandpa.
After the guided meditation, she started to do readings for each of us.
Anne had us move to the seats facing her when she was trying to read us. I was facing her with 3 other women who lost sons. She said she saw big flashes of pink – and which of us had a daughter? I told her I did. She then said that she saw Angel as a perfectly formed baby, that was just not quite yet full term. She said Angel had a very strong energy. She confirmed that she was born still (which I hadn’t told her). She then said that Angel was growing perfectly and then something went wrong fairly suddenly and without warning. She said that how we found out about her death was also sudden and unexpected.
Anne then asked if I had an older woman/family member that had crossed to the other side also and I said yes, my grandmother. She said that my Nona is holding Angel and that she is with her on the other side. My Nona sent a few messages through and they were all comforting to hear. One of the best things to hear was that she said she is taking care of Angel and not to worry about her, and they are also helping to protect me here.
Wednesday, 11 April 2012
8 months
Dear Angel
Today marks 8 months since I held you in my arms. This month’s anniversary crept up on me. It feels like I was just writing the 7 month posting yesterday. Time seems to fly by but your daddy and I never forget you, we think about you and talk about you all the time. We love you so much.
A graphic made by my friend Amanda
__________
A miracle has happened. A life has begun.
"Are you there, God?" "Yes, I am here, Angel," the Lord whispered.
"Where am I?" "You are in the womb of your mother," God smiled.
"Oh. What is that sound?" Angel asked. "It is the voice of your mother, Angel. She is singing to you."
"It’s beautiful." "Yes, she loves you very much," God said.
"I feel warmth on my back," Angel whispered. "Yes, she is rubbing her stomach, caressing you the best she can right now. She is speaking to Me about you. She is asking Me to care for you."
"I will kick her back so she knows I love her too," Angel said excitedly. God smiled.
"Now what is she saying, God?" "Your mother is laughing, Angel."
"She is happy, isn't she God?" "Yes, Angel, she is happy."
"I hear a different sound. What is that" "It is the voice of you dad."
"He sounds strong". Angel said. "Yes," answered God.
"Does he love me too?" "More than his own life," God whispered.
"When do I get to see him, God?" "Not for awhile, my Angel."
"I'm not feeling so well, God." "I know my daughter, but soon you will fly."
"I will fly?" "Yes," God smiled.
"Will my mother fly with me?" "Someday," God said.
"I think I am ready," Angel
"Is it time to fly now, God?" "Yes," God said gently and wiped his eyes.
"When will I see you, God?" "Very soon, My daughter."
--
"Is that my mother and dad?" "Yes, Angel," God said and pulled the child unto his lap.
"Why are they crying?" "They cry for you, My child," God answered as He wrapped His arms around the girl.
"Why do they cry for me?" Angel asked. "Because they want to hold you in their arms."
"But instead You hold me in your arms, huh, God?" "Yes, my daughter," God said.
"Why does that make them sad? I like it in Your arms!" "They love you very much, Angel, It can make a mommy's and daddy's heart sad when they don't get to hold their children - I know how it feels to watch My Child die."
"Have I died, God?" "Just on earth, Angel."
"I don't feel dead. I feel very much alive! Watch how fast I can run!" Angel crawled down from God's lap. "Yes, Angel, you are fast," God clapped.
"Now watch me fly!" Angel said as she soared high. "You are amazing!" God laughed.
Angel settled back into the safety of God's arms and said, "When will my parents fly, God?" "Someday, my child."
"Will we fly together?" "Yes, Angel, My mark is on their foreheads."
"Good." Angel said. Will you tell them I am safe and happy?" "I will comfort them, my dearest child."
"Will they be happy again?" "Yes, child. They will heal."
"And someday we will all get to be with You, huh, God?" "Yes, Angel. Someday," God promised.
"And someday we will all get to be with You, huh, God?" "Yes, Angel. Someday," God promised.
"I love you, God," Angel said as she snuggled close to God. "I love you too daughter," God said as He put His hand on Angel's head. "Take good care of my parents until they fly!" Angel said.
"I promise," God whispered.
Monday, 9 April 2012
A visit to New York
Jeff and I visited New York this weekend. I went there thinking I had to somehow incorporate Angel into the visit.
One way we did that was visiting with a couple of other loss moms that I made friends with online and enhancing those friendships by visiting face to face and talking about our children. Here are some photos of our visit with Tasha & Rasheedah. So great to meet them in person! It was also the one year anniversary of Rasheedah's son Joey's death. She brought some photo albums and we were able to see the joy he brought her in his short three years of life. It was a bit surreal meeting these ladies in person, after the months of support I have found from them online.
I also went to New York thinking I'd like to write Angel's name somehow if I could. I even brainstormed a bit with my friend Dana at lunch last week, about how I might do it - finding sand to write her name or even bringing a piece of paper with her name on it. As we were touring New York I kept thinking about it, and what happened was her name found me.
We saw this Blue Angels plane at the museum we chose to visit, called Intrepid.
The next day we went to the 9-11 memorial site, where they have built two remembrance pools where the twin towers once stood. Surrounding the pools where cement & metal type barriers with the engraved names of the thousands of people that were tragically killed that day.
As I walked along one of the pools, Angel's name popped up again.
I found it so appropriate that her name just appeared to me, like it was waiting there for me to walk by and see it. I didn't read every single name engraved or even walk around all four sides of the two pools, but there it was. I'm so glad it appeared to me that way.
One way we did that was visiting with a couple of other loss moms that I made friends with online and enhancing those friendships by visiting face to face and talking about our children. Here are some photos of our visit with Tasha & Rasheedah. So great to meet them in person! It was also the one year anniversary of Rasheedah's son Joey's death. She brought some photo albums and we were able to see the joy he brought her in his short three years of life. It was a bit surreal meeting these ladies in person, after the months of support I have found from them online.
I also went to New York thinking I'd like to write Angel's name somehow if I could. I even brainstormed a bit with my friend Dana at lunch last week, about how I might do it - finding sand to write her name or even bringing a piece of paper with her name on it. As we were touring New York I kept thinking about it, and what happened was her name found me.
We saw this Blue Angels plane at the museum we chose to visit, called Intrepid.
The next day we went to the 9-11 memorial site, where they have built two remembrance pools where the twin towers once stood. Surrounding the pools where cement & metal type barriers with the engraved names of the thousands of people that were tragically killed that day.
As I walked along one of the pools, Angel's name popped up again.
I found it so appropriate that her name just appeared to me, like it was waiting there for me to walk by and see it. I didn't read every single name engraved or even walk around all four sides of the two pools, but there it was. I'm so glad it appeared to me that way.
Thursday, 5 April 2012
Adjusting my sails
I love this quote. Elizabeth Edwards is a loss mom also. Which makes it resonate even more with me I think. Life after loss is a journey and Angel has inspired me to look toward the possibilities in life, how to continue on without her, as hard as that is at times, and to try to make proud. I can't predict how this journey is going to play out, but I feel like I am adjusting the sails and trying to find my way. I think Angel will be my guide.
Tuesday, 3 April 2012
Repost from HelloBee - Stillbirth - What others should know
We are very open in society about many things, but death and grieving remains taboo. I’ve learned a lot over the past five years about myself, my marriage, my family, and my faith. I’ve learned that people do have questions, that there is misinformation out there, and generally that people don’t know what to say. So, here are the top five things that I and many other moms that I’ve met over the years would like others to know about stillbirth:
1) Our babies were not “pregnancy losses.” Luke was a baby. He had a name, he had possessions, and he had clothes I’d planned for him to wear. I went through 30 hours of labor and gave birth to him. I know that referring to him as “lost” is a euphemism for “dead,” which makes people more comfortable, but it’s OK to say he died. He was a person and he died. He’s part of our family and it hurts when others don’t understand that, even if their intentions are good.
2) It’s OK to use their names. In the early days of my grief after Luke’s death, a cousin of mine who herself had a stillborn daughter eight years prior told me, “There will come a time when the pain isn’t so raw, about to bubble to the surface. There will come a day when you can say his name and not cry.” And it’s true. I have found, though, that people don’t generally use his name. They’re afraid to upset me, I know. But believe me, the opposite is true. I know he died, and your using his name won’t remind me of something I’ve forgotten. Rather, using his name shows me that you respect his memory and is more of a gift than you will ever know.
3) We blame ourselves. This is one of the few problems that does get better with time. But it takes a long time. Our bodies betrayed us and our babies, and at the end of the day, we feel responsible. We think back over every detail of our lives, wondering if we had done just one thing differently, if it would have changed the outcome. What if I fought harder for the doctor to check things out? I slipped on the ice that February; what if it caused something to go wrong? I ate pizza. I wore black pants and socks with penguins on them. I exercised. I watched “Grey’s Anatomy.” What did I do wrong? Our friends will tell us that it isn’t our fault, our doctors will tell us, the world will tell us. But in reality, this is one of the toughest pills to swallow. It’s easier to blame yourself than to accept that which you could not, and cannot, control. Yesterday, my 17-month-old did a face plant on his way back from the park with my husband. I wasn’t even there, and I blamed myself. We’re mothers; it’s what we do.
4) Sometimes, there is no reason. There are cases where a cause for stillbirth is known, but about 50 percent of the time, no cause can be found. One way isn’t easier or better, and both render subsequent pregnancies really, really hard. In my case, we know that a malformation in the umbilical cord resulted in Luke’s death. However, when I got pregnant again, I already knew all the things that could go wrong (Google was not my friend!) and spent the better part of the next nine months in an almost-constant state of panic. Many people told me to “Enjoy my pregnancy” or “Stop worrying, it’s bad for the baby.” I’m not a fan of these statements. Whether someone has experienced a stillbirth, miscarriage, or is having a “normal” pregnancy – some people don’t enjoy pregnancy. And that’s OK. They’ll still bond with their babies and be great moms. Let’s not make them feel bad.
5) It will shake you to the core. There’s good news and bad news. Bad news first: After a stillbirth or the death of an infant or child, marriages suffer, relationships fall apart, and life feels broken. Risks of depression, suicide, and substance abuse increase. But there is good news: There is more support and information now for bereaved parents than ever before. We are not afraid to share our stories with the hope of helping others. Years ago, people were told to move on, to forget, and to “replace” their babies. Thanks to the work done by so many amazing individuals, this is beginning to change. Resources are out there, and you don’t have to go it alone. Many moms of stillborn babies, myself included, go on to have successful pregnancies and deliver healthy babies. It isn’t easy, but we do it, and we lift each other up and carry each other through the dark times.
Today, I would describe my perspective as one of quiet acceptance. I can’t change where I’ve been, and I can’t turn back time. But I appreciate all three of my children, and I often look at my 4-year-old and 17-month-old and wonder what I did to get so lucky.
I will never walk along the shore with Luke, and I will never see him grow up. Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder what he would have been like or think about what he’d be doing. I take the little coincidences in life as a hopeful sign that he is with me, watching over me.
Last year, as I walked on the beach with my then-3-year-old, we found a stick and wrote Luke’s name in the sand. A piece of driftwood washed up at my feet, and when I picked it up, it had the name “Luke” carved on it. I brought the driftwood home, and it sits on my bedside table, a reminder that while I cannot carry Luke in my arms, I will always carry him in my heart. He is my son, and I’m proud of him.
And I hope he’s proud of me too.
1) Our babies were not “pregnancy losses.” Luke was a baby. He had a name, he had possessions, and he had clothes I’d planned for him to wear. I went through 30 hours of labor and gave birth to him. I know that referring to him as “lost” is a euphemism for “dead,” which makes people more comfortable, but it’s OK to say he died. He was a person and he died. He’s part of our family and it hurts when others don’t understand that, even if their intentions are good.
2) It’s OK to use their names. In the early days of my grief after Luke’s death, a cousin of mine who herself had a stillborn daughter eight years prior told me, “There will come a time when the pain isn’t so raw, about to bubble to the surface. There will come a day when you can say his name and not cry.” And it’s true. I have found, though, that people don’t generally use his name. They’re afraid to upset me, I know. But believe me, the opposite is true. I know he died, and your using his name won’t remind me of something I’ve forgotten. Rather, using his name shows me that you respect his memory and is more of a gift than you will ever know.
3) We blame ourselves. This is one of the few problems that does get better with time. But it takes a long time. Our bodies betrayed us and our babies, and at the end of the day, we feel responsible. We think back over every detail of our lives, wondering if we had done just one thing differently, if it would have changed the outcome. What if I fought harder for the doctor to check things out? I slipped on the ice that February; what if it caused something to go wrong? I ate pizza. I wore black pants and socks with penguins on them. I exercised. I watched “Grey’s Anatomy.” What did I do wrong? Our friends will tell us that it isn’t our fault, our doctors will tell us, the world will tell us. But in reality, this is one of the toughest pills to swallow. It’s easier to blame yourself than to accept that which you could not, and cannot, control. Yesterday, my 17-month-old did a face plant on his way back from the park with my husband. I wasn’t even there, and I blamed myself. We’re mothers; it’s what we do.
4) Sometimes, there is no reason. There are cases where a cause for stillbirth is known, but about 50 percent of the time, no cause can be found. One way isn’t easier or better, and both render subsequent pregnancies really, really hard. In my case, we know that a malformation in the umbilical cord resulted in Luke’s death. However, when I got pregnant again, I already knew all the things that could go wrong (Google was not my friend!) and spent the better part of the next nine months in an almost-constant state of panic. Many people told me to “Enjoy my pregnancy” or “Stop worrying, it’s bad for the baby.” I’m not a fan of these statements. Whether someone has experienced a stillbirth, miscarriage, or is having a “normal” pregnancy – some people don’t enjoy pregnancy. And that’s OK. They’ll still bond with their babies and be great moms. Let’s not make them feel bad.
5) It will shake you to the core. There’s good news and bad news. Bad news first: After a stillbirth or the death of an infant or child, marriages suffer, relationships fall apart, and life feels broken. Risks of depression, suicide, and substance abuse increase. But there is good news: There is more support and information now for bereaved parents than ever before. We are not afraid to share our stories with the hope of helping others. Years ago, people were told to move on, to forget, and to “replace” their babies. Thanks to the work done by so many amazing individuals, this is beginning to change. Resources are out there, and you don’t have to go it alone. Many moms of stillborn babies, myself included, go on to have successful pregnancies and deliver healthy babies. It isn’t easy, but we do it, and we lift each other up and carry each other through the dark times.
Today, I would describe my perspective as one of quiet acceptance. I can’t change where I’ve been, and I can’t turn back time. But I appreciate all three of my children, and I often look at my 4-year-old and 17-month-old and wonder what I did to get so lucky.
I will never walk along the shore with Luke, and I will never see him grow up. Not a day goes by that I don’t wonder what he would have been like or think about what he’d be doing. I take the little coincidences in life as a hopeful sign that he is with me, watching over me.
Last year, as I walked on the beach with my then-3-year-old, we found a stick and wrote Luke’s name in the sand. A piece of driftwood washed up at my feet, and when I picked it up, it had the name “Luke” carved on it. I brought the driftwood home, and it sits on my bedside table, a reminder that while I cannot carry Luke in my arms, I will always carry him in my heart. He is my son, and I’m proud of him.
And I hope he’s proud of me too.
Monday, 2 April 2012
Tiny Footprints on a Mother's Heart
Tiny Footprints on a Mother's Heart
When a baby arrives,
be it for a day or perhaps only a sweet moment
the fragile spark of a tender soul
the flutter known to only you-
the tiny footprints left behind on your heart
your name is Mother.
When a baby arrives,
be it for a day or perhaps only a sweet moment
the fragile spark of a tender soul
the flutter known to only you-
the tiny footprints left behind on your heart
your name is Mother.
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