May 31st and June 1st were 3 years from when we found out that Jacob died and when he was born. I was more solemn in May, without really realizing it at first. His birthdays do get easier, but they are never easy. May 31, 2010 was really the worst day of my life...the day I found out, the day I saw him lifeless via ultrasound, the day I called and told Ted and my family that he was gone. There were a lot of flashbacks. We have a package at a department store where we get one free sitting and photo a month for a year. So I took Emily and Jacob's bear in and got pictures of them together. I don't have the picture back yet, but I took some the night before at home.
June 1st had lots of flashbacks too and I had a good cry at 9am, the time he was born. I had prepared a box to donate to the hospital as I have done for each of his birthdays. I was dreading going, even though I have had a very good experience there in the past year. So the night before I gave myself permission not to go to the hospital the next day and it was liberating. I felt a weight lift. I just felt sick at the idea of being there, whereas in the past, I didn't as much. I felt closer to him there. I thought I would feel guilty about not going, but I didn't and I don't. I will go this month sometime, but I don't know when.
I have always written a blog post on his birthdays too, but just didn't feel up to it until now. I'm surprised that I'm okay with that and not wracked by guilt. I know he knows I love him, no matter what I do or don't do or when I do it. I was also so busy on his birthday that I didn't even make him a cake until that night (which I then ate most of by then end of the weekend...last year I ate 22 cupcakes over his birthday weekend. I'm noticing a trend).
I received a beautiful gift from Allison... Jacob's silhouette. I get the sense of what he would have looked like when he was older from it. I love it.
We went to the garden and blew bubbles for him on his birthday. Then I decided we should go to the Bread and Honey Festival that my brother-in-law had a booth at. I had planned to go the next day because I didn't think we should go on his birthday but then I decided that it is better for us to stay busy. I thought of him there all the time, but it was ok. We went out for dinner and had a nice time. Three years ago, I couldn't imagine that 3 years into the future, I would be taking care of a living baby and actually feel any happiness again.
Another thing I couldn't do was eat Mini Wheats for breakfast. I ate them on the drive to the appointment where I found out he was gone. I didn't eat them again until the past few months. I took the box out the morning of May 31st this year and just couldn't do it.
I still have a few Werther's Originals in my winter coat pocket from the winter of 2010. I can't bring myself to take them out. I sucked on them when pregnant with him to help with the nausea. I guess the nausea stopped and I didn't need the last two in there. I think they will stay there forever.
I have been meaning to post this video for months. My Grandma died 2 days after Emily was born and her memorial service was at the end of October. My uncle made a video of pictures from her life which ended up being about 9 minutes long. While I knew he was working on it, I didn't expect him to include Jacob. But one day I got an email asking if I wanted his photo included. I sent him two ultrasound pictures and he included both among the photos of the great-grandchildren. It hits me hard every time I watch the video. I couldn't help but cry as I watched it for the first time, as I rocked Emily at the back of the room. Ted told me it was hard for him and my Aunt told me that even though she knew his pictures would be there, it still hit her hard. I love that they still think of him when it comes to things like this.
Our boy, never forgotten. Loved and missed constantly.
When we buried Jacob in the Memorial Garden at our church, the one thing that bothered me (aside from the fact that we had a baby to bury in the first place) was that there was nothing there with his name on it. Inside the church is a book with the names of those buried there, but it is in a glass case and the pages are turned each month to the corresponding month in the book. I haven't even seen his name in it yet.
My Mom told me that someone at the church was working on getting a plaque up so that names could be engraved but then I didn't hear anything for a year or more. Last summer, we found out that it was happening and it made me happy. I've had 2 letters about it since, about the dedication ceremony, but just found out on Easter Sunday that his name was there. Ted found it. We both touched his name with our fingers. It was hard not to cry.
I go to the church about once or twice a week but I don't usually stop in the garden because I have three kids with me and it was freezing cold. I always look in and say hi to him though. So I don't know how long his name has been there and I feel guilty/sad about that.
It was/is so bittersweet to see it. I stared at this picture and listened to a babyloss song for the first time since I was pregnant with Emily. It is hard to listen to that music again. I used to listen to it all the time. I was sad all the time.
I think about Jacob so many times a day, I can't even guess how many times.
Being a parent to a child on earth and a child in Heaven is a constant balancing act.
One of the many tough parts is knowing what to say when people ask how many kids you have. It's a question that I get a lot. Right after Jacob died, I told myself that I would always acknowledge him to others. If they ask if I have kids, I would tell them. But I haven't always done it. It is different when you are actually asked the question. Do you make them feel uncomfortable by saying that I have one here and one in Heaven (that isn't even true in my case, I have 5 in Heaven but to get into the miscarriages just seems like too much).
So I find that I usually just say yes if asked is Emily is my first. I always feel bad after and say something in my head, like "my first living" or "my first to come home from the hospital". I say sorry to my lost babies too, for not acknowledging them.
I met someone a few weeks ago who asked me this question. I said yes, feeling uncomfortable as always. Later on, I was asked how I know a mutual friend and it came out that we met on a birth board for Rainbow Babies due in March 2012 (I lost those babies after we met). So then I was caught in my lie and I talked briefly about Jacob and my miscarriages and wished that I had just told the truth in the first place. But a few weeks before that, I was at a birthday party and meeting friends of the child's Mom and was asked if Emily is my first and I said no, that my first was stillborn, and I quickly changed the subject so that they wouldn't feel awkward, and I could tell they did. I hate how I try to protect other people instead of telling them what I want everyone to know about.
I talked to Ted about it after that party and he suggested that I say no, that I've had a few losses. I love that response. They can ask more or we can just move on. But saying it is hard. I've been asked since then and I didn't say it, even though it was on the tip of my tongue. I was asked if Emily is my first yesterday when we were at a kids' music thing. I said no, that I've had some losses. I guess she didn't hear or wasn't sure what she heard, so I had to repeat it, which I found uncomfortable. But then she said that she had the same thing (miscarriages as it turned out, she has 3 living children) and told me about someone she knows who lost their one-month old and how it is always a hard question to answer. I didn't leave that conversation feeling particularly happy or unhappy with my answer, which I guess is good.
I wonder what it will be like when Emily is older, 3, 4, 5 and older than that, assuming we don't have any more kids. Maybe I won't be asked the question as much. Maybe people will come right out and ask why we don't have more.
I walk to my sister's house twice a week to babysit. So Emily and I go by the place where Jacob's name is written in the cement and every time I pause and think of the two worlds my children live in.
I never have to worry about Jacob and my lost babies being hurt, hungry, getting needles, cavities filled, feeling excluded by friends, upset, stressed...all the negatives. I worry more than I probably should that something bad will happen to Emily. But I worry so much that my lost babies are lonely. I don't worry about whether or not they know that I love them, they must. I can't accept anything other than that. But I know of so many babies that have passed and know that there are millions more that I don't know about. I imagine that they are all together, happy, playing, watching us, waiting for us.
Several times a day, sometimes just for a few seconds and sometimes for a few minutes, I wonder what it would be like to have Jacob here too, or August or Cub or what it would have been like if the twins had lived. Having 2 babies at once seems so exhausting, but exciting too. I go to playgroups and see Mom's with twins and know that that could have been me. It should have been. I see Mom's with a boy about 2.5-3 years old and imagine that I have Jacob with me too. Getting two kids in and out of carseats, entertaining two kids while at home. How much laundry two kids would generate. I don't feel the sharp stabbing of pain most of the time when I do this. I feel a bit subdued, but not really depressed. Sometimes it's like imagining a scene from a movie of what should have been. I don't imagine that it will ever stop. I don't want it too. But if I had any one of those babies, I wouldn't have Emily and I can't imagine my life without her.
From being with my nephews so much, I can really imagine what it would be like to have a little boy in the house. All the bigger-kid toys mixed in with the baby toys. How I would be taking care of 4 kids 2 days a week instead of 3. Dividing my attention between my kids so that both get what they need. What the bedrooms would look like, what bath-time would be like. So many different scenarios to imagine.
Sometimes Emily looks behind me and smiles and laughs while looking up near the ceiling and I always wonder if we are getting a visit. How I wish I knew for sure.
The 3rd Holiday Gift Exchange sign-up sheet is available for Mom's, Dad's and siblings of lost babies. The upcoming holiday season is supposed to be ‘the most wonderful time of the year.’ But we all know, it’s these ‘special’ times that can really hurt the most. For many of us, the holidays are an incredibly bittersweet time, and a painful reminder of the little one(s) who should be there to celebrate them with us.
We hope this gift exchange will help brighten up the holidays for those of us missing our babies. Participants in the exchange will be matched with another Mom or Dad or sibling and can buy or hand-make their partner something in honor of their baby – an ornament, a special candle, anything! Participating is not only a great way to honor and include your child(ren) this holiday season, but a chance to connect with someone you may not have ‘met’ before.
Here are the details of the exchange:
1) Sign-up at https://docs.google.com/spreadsheet/viewform?fromEmail=true&formkey=dHAwLUxXeU9GMy05TTNTOV8tNGpWYXc6MQ.
2) Sign-up is open until November 28, 2012.
3) You don’t have to celebrate Christmas or any other holiday to participate.
4) To help with gift ideas, we ask you to tell us what reminds you of your baby(ies).
5) We are asking that you don’t spend more than $20.00 (U.S. dollars) so that no one feels obligated to spend a lot of money.
6) We will email you your partners’ information by December 1, 2012.
7) Please have your gift mailed by December 10, 2012.
8) If for some reason your cannot fulfill your obligation, please let Dana know right away, so we can make sure your partner receives a gift.
9) Your address will only be shared with the Gift Exchange Coordinator and the person you will be matched with.
This is our third year of Jacob's due date without him in our arms. It does get easier every year, but it is never easy. I wish that I spent every September and October thinking about and planning Jacob's birthday parties. Instead I have felt a heaviness now and then since October hit and didn't realize at first why. Then I did. Emily brings me so much joy and happiness, just so much. But he is still missing. I still think of him every day, really every hour.
About a week and a half ago, Ted saw some pictures of a boy on Facebook, the godson of one of his high school friends. One picture was taken at his christening and the others at his 1st birthday party and he looks so much like Emily. Someone at work looked at them and had to confirm that he wasn't, in fact, her. Ted thought of Jacob right away and wondered if that is how he would look. He came home and showed the pictures to me, worried about making me sad. They did make me sad, and still do, but I like to have an idea. Of course, Jacob might have looked nothing like this boy, but he may also have looked a lot like him.
Emily making the same face as the boy in the picture below.
Last Tuesday, I was in line at the dollar store. Emily was in the stroller. I was holding my wallet and glanced down and saw Jacob's ultrasound picture, that I have carried in my wallet since shortly after he died. I was just mesmerized by it. He looked so old in it, so mature, even though I had that ultrasound when I was 19 weeks pregnant. I kept looking from the ultrasound picture to Emily, looking for similarities, I could barely tear my eyes away from it, but then the sadness started to get overwhelming so I forced myself too.
Emily and I went to church today and went to the garden before and after church. I dressed her in her Little Sister onesie. I didn't get overly emotional, just told him how much we love and miss him and couldn't believe that I was standing there holding my baby, finally, as I spoke to my other one.
There are just a few flowers left in the garden. These ones caught my eye as there were 5 of them, one for each baby we have had to say goodbye to. There was a 6th that hadn't fully bloomed yet. I can read into that so much. The babies we've lost were here for as long as they were meant to be. Emily hasn't been here for her allotted time yet. I hope that time doesn't come until she is an old lady, telling stories to her grandkids about their great-grandmother.
The flower in the back is part of another grouping.
It has been 2 years today since I found out I was pregnant with Cub, not knowing, of course, that I would miscarry a month and a half later.
Now that I have a living baby, it's even harder to find a balance to living life and enjoying it, while still being sad for Jacob. I don't write here as much and I feel bad about that, but Jacob is mentioned in most of my posts over on my other blog. Our life, usually, is more happiness than sadness now, which is great. Living life in that really dark place isn't any way to live and he wouldn't want us to. But that being said, the sadness is just right there, right under the surface. I don't always know that it is, but a song comes on the radio or a smell or something brings me back to him and the happiness and pain that he brought to our lives.
I get asked almost every day if this is my first, and I almost always say yes and I hate that I do. It is usually strangers in a mall, a grocery store, or a Mom's group that asks and it just feels too hard to say no, that my first died before he was born. Today I was happy, spending the day with my girl. Constantly being grateful for her. Then, after Ted got home and was holding her, I had a shower and was dressing in our room and looked at the ultrasound picture of Jacob and of Emily that we have on our dresser. And it hit me all over again. She is here and he is not and I am so sad that he isn't but I am so grateful that she is. I'm so sad for everything that we have missed with him, that we will never really know what he would have looked like, what his mannerisms and personality would have been like.
I still talk to him sometimes, but not nearly as much as I used to. I walked by his name carved in the sidewalk today and said hi to him, as I always do when I walk by there.
Jacob's little sister is here. She is alive and healthy, born on August 15th at 11:31pm.
What an amazing sight. Bringing our baby home from the hospital.
I can never put into words how grateful I am for her. She has brought us so much happiness, happiness that we weren't sure we would ever feel again. I never get tired of looking at her, of getting up in the middle of the night with her, of taking care of her.
She has also shown us just what we have missed with Jacob and the babies I miscarried. About 12 hours after she was born, I looked at her as Ted was holding her and suddenly saw him. Even though he was born at 21 weeks, I could see similarities and now I have an even better idea of what he would have looked like.
We have been home since August 17th. I have been very emotional since she was born. I can sgo from being fine to sobbing in about 2 seconds. I know that a lot of that is hormones and it was particularly bad around the third day after she was born, when my milk came in. I just cried and cried for Jacob and ached for him so badly. A lot of people have said that he played a big role in bringing Emily to us and I love that thought. I love that in my last belly pictures taken the day before she was born at 39 weeks, there were orbs in several of them and there haven't been in any other belly pictures taken throughout the pregnancy.
Delivering Emily was beautiful but scary. Her heart rate started to drop in the last 20-30 minutes before she was born and I could sense the worry in the room, especially once I was given oxygen because the baby needed it. I had good medical care, but I like to think that I had more than that too. That Jacob was in the room, which was just a few rooms down from the one that he was born in.
It has come out over the past few months that mother's always have the fetal cells of all of the babies that they have carried, so I would have passed some of those to Emily when I was pregnant. So she truly has a bit of Jacob in her too and I will always have all of my babies with me. That is comforting.
I want her to grow up knowing that she has a much loved and missed older brother, but not to live in his shadow. I would love it if she tells people that she has a brother that died when she is asked if she has any siblings, but I don't want to tell her to do that.
I want him to know that he has not, and never will be, replaced. That we love him and miss him just as much as we always have and that that will never change.
It had been 25.5 months since Jacob was born. I do well most of the time. I think about him everyday, many times, and I never pass up an opportunity to talk about him, but I don't cry nearly as often as I used to. I go in the room that will be Emily's and still think that it would have been Jacob's first. We would probably be moving him to another room around now, since his room is the closest to ours and we would want the new baby there. Or maybe we would wait until she is a few months old.
We planned to have two kids and this is a very close age difference to what we had talked about. We could, we should, have Jacob and Emily physically in this house. Not one spiritually and one physically. I will always wish that they were both here and I could take care of them both the same way. I just want all of my babies in my arms.
I was up early this morning and watched Army Wives on Netflix. Two of the characters lose an 18 year old child and watching them deal with the grief had me on the couch sobbing. I had so many of the same reactions and it brought me back to the first year without him....acting normal but faking it. Going to the garden where he is buried and feeling like my heart was being ripped out all over again because my baby is buried there and I had to leave him, feeling like I failed him even though I know I didn't cause and couldn't have stopped what happened.
I didn't get to see Jacob grow up. How I wish I did. Beyond the time we had with him, everything is in my imagination.....his personality, his face, the feel of his hugs. I miss the time we had with him and the time we didn't have.
I still look for him. I look for him in my dreams, in the house, at the playground, at the grocery store.....everywhere. I look at other little boys and wonder how he would have been like them and how he would have been different. I know I do this, but I'm not always conscious of doing it. I know I will look for him in his sister, but I never want her to fell overshadowed by her big brother. I will be watching for some kind of connection between them.
I miss him. I wish I knew more about him. What I would have given for more time with him.......
I was at work today and suddenly it hit me that today is the 18th. Two years ago today we had Jacob's memorial service and buried his ashes. I went back and read the post I wrote the day after the service and it brought me back to that dark place where I couldn't imagine ever being happy again. I just finished reading the post I wrote on June 18th last year. I'm so glad I did all that writing. It helped me so much at the time and it is good now to go back and read, to see how far I've come and even to relive the pain of those days.
I am still sad that he isn't in our arms, I still think of him everyday and say his name out loud most days, even if just to myself. But I am also happier than I have been in a long time.
I went to a park yesterday with my parents, sisters and nephew Danny. I was sitting on a lawn chair with a box of donuts on my lap. My sister Lindsay said that there was a butterfly on me. I looked down and it was sitting on the box of donuts. She asked someone to take a picture and just as Laurie was ready to take it, I moved my arm slightly and it flew away and I was so upset with myself for moving. Before the butterfly flew away, I thanked Jacob for sending it. It's the first time that a butterfly has ever done that. It was dark brown and I wondered if it was really a moth, but I looked it up and it had all the characteristics of a butterfly. Whatever it was, I loved it and I loved that my sisters recognized the significance of it to me.
I found out last week that a baby was stillborn at the hospital where Jacob was born. That baby and family have been on my mind so much since I found out. I was even close to L&D that morning and now I think of how they were going through so much and I was steps away and had no idea. My contact information was given to the family. I hope that they call. I hope I can help in some small way.
I went to see a choir since last week and they sang a song I've heard many times, but this time it meant something entirely different to me. I still see him everywhere.
I'll Be Seeing You
I'll be seeing you In all the old familiar places That this heart of mine embraces All day through
In that small cafe, The park across the way The children's carousel, The chestnut trees, the wishing well
I'll be seeing you In every lovely summer's day In everything that's light and gay I'll always think of you that way
I'll find you in the mornin' sun And when the night is new I'll be looking at the moon But I'll be seeing you.
I found the anticipation and weeks leading up to Jacob's second birthday weren't as hard as they were last year. Not even close. But for most of May, I cried much more easily than usual. It would often be over something silly that would usually barely warrant a second thought from me. I would start and it would quickly turn to crying for Jacob, for losing him, for losing what should have been. For the little 1.5 year old who should have been running around the house. For how tired I should have been, taking care of him while pregnant with his sister.
We found out that he died on May 31, 2010. I've often debated about which day was the worst day of my life - May 31 or June 1, 2010. My world came crashing down on May 31 when I found out he died. Then, on June 1, we saw him for the first and last time in person. I'm still not sure which day was worse. Maybe they are just equal in their level of "worst days".
This year I found May 31st a little harder than June 1. We both woke up at 4am on May 31st and couldn't fall asleep again. We lay in bed for a while trying and the tears came to my eyes every few minutes. We were going to go to Montreal this weekend as Ted's friend is getting married. He asked if I would be disappointed if we don't go, but I was actually relieved. We know it should be safe, that there are no warning signs of anything alarming with this pregnancy, but we've just known so much loss that we are scared to take any chances.
We got up for about an hour, then Ted went back to bed. I lay on the couch missing Jacob so much and started crying. From 7am-8:15am I had the biggest cry I've had in months. It was full out sobbing, just like the early days. I apologized to him for failing him and told him how sorry I am. I kept staring at the clock, thinking of how 2 years ago at that time, I just had no idea what was about to happen. I read through my first blog entry and relived it all and cried and cried and cried.
Eventually the tears dried up, but I was exhausted from the grief. My appointment on May 31, 2010 was at 9:15am but I wasn't called in until about 9:35am, then waited some more. I don't know what time it was when she couldn't find his heartbeat, somewhere around 10am. Watching the clock made it worse, but I kept doing it.
I was kind of glad for the big cry. Having cries like that make me feel closer to him. I like knowing that the grief can be just as strong as it was in the early days, but I am also glad that I don't feel like that all the time anymore. Being pregnant with Emily is definitely making things easier these days.
I felt a bit better as the day went on. My sister Jessie sent me an email, saying that she is thinking of us and can't believe that it has been 2 years, that it feels like yesterday. I loved getting that. My sister Laurie also emailed to see how we are.
The weather was beautiful. We went to the garden and I felt like crying right away. There were flowers on the branches of the tree that hang over where he is buried, so I picked one and Ted put it on Jacob's spot.
I talked to some friends on the phone, then spent the evening watching my belly move around, which I never get tired of.
I slept with Jacob's blanket that night. It is always under my pillow, but I haven't slept holding it for about 6 months now. I needed it then though and it felt so good to sleep with it again.
I woke up and lay in bed thinking about Jacob, then got up and finished the box for the hospital. Ted was on the couch and told me that it's just so hard and he doesn't want to face it. I hurt so much for Ted, he misses Jacob so much too.
Pictures of this year's box:
I included the same items and letters that I did
last year.
I made cupcakes on May 31st and on June 1st we put 2 candles in one of them and took some pictures. I'd asked Ted the day before if he wanted to do that, but he said that it would be so hard and he didn't feel up to it. I started doing it and he joined in and took over, which I knew he would.
The bear was given to us at the hospital and lay
beside Jacob in some pictures. The ribbon around
the bears neck touched him. It is one of my
most valuable possessions. The feather is from
my friend Jackie.
As Ted was taking these pictures, I sang Happy Birthday to Jacob silently, then added a verse to the same tune about how much we miss him.
He was born at 9am. I lit a candle just before 9am, then we sat on the couch together and I cried. After a few minutes, we just needed to go and get out, so we left for the hospital. It was pouring rain, which was fitting for our mood. We parked a few blocks from the hospital so that we didn't have to pay for parking and walked over. Two nurses were in the hall of the L&D floor. One of them said hi, so I went to her and explained what the box was for and why we were donating it. She said thank you, that it was nice to receive, then talked about when this baby is due and whether or not I would be having her at that hospital. It was a short, but pleasant conversation. I asked if the two nurses I had when Jacob was born, who were so nice, were there, but neither of them were working that day. The room to the door where Jacob was born was closed, so we didn't go to it this year.
We went out for breakfast and Emily kicked me through most of it, which I loved. I so wanted to be pregnant last year on Jacob's birthday and this year I was and it was wonderful.
We went to the garden after and blew bubbles in the rain. It's something we can do for our boy, and a downpour wasn't going to stop us.
After the bubbles, we stood for awhile, hugging each other. I always talk to Jacob in my head there. I told him how much we love and miss him.
We stopped by Coronation Park on the way home, which is right on Lake Ontario. The waves were huge and we sat in the car for awhile watching them. Ted suggested that this become another tradition we always do on his birthday. I think it's a great idea. In bad weather, we can sit in the car. In nice weather, we'll bring lawn chairs, watch the waves and the birds and think of our boy.
We went home and it felt so good to be out of our soaking wet shoes and socks. A gift was waiting in the mailbox from Allison, who never forgets any dates and I don't know what I would do without her.
This blanket and hat would have been the perfect size for Jacob and the little angel is so cute.
We have had so many bunnies in our backyard this year. We are always calling to each other and saying to look out the window. It seems that some baby bunnies were born behind our pond and come out everyday to eat. Some of them are so small that they could fit in the palm of my hand.
We got a picture of one on May 30th. The bunny looks bigger here, but that's just because I zoomed way in with the camera. It is really about the length of my hand. They remind me of Jacob, so seeing them so often makes me happy (the blanket that Jacob was wrapped in and that I've slept with lately has Peter Rabbit on it).
We went to Home Depot after awhile. It seemed like such a mundane thing to do on such a significant day, but neither of us wanted to stay home very much.
I got to talk to some of my very, very good friends again. I got so many comments on my Facebook wall for Jacob's birthday. Every one of them was and is so appreciated. It feels so good to know that others remember my baby too. Three people sent me pictures. I love them all.
From Allison. How much more perfect could
this picture be. A bunny and a butterfly.
From Jennifer. I just love it. I'm so touched that she
went to the trouble of doing this for Jacob.
From Betsy. A candle lit for Jacob and one for her Baby Bee
and one for all the other babies.
Several people told me that they were lighting candles for him in their homes. Sometimes I'm still amazed and overwhelmed at all of the wonderful friends I've made since he died. It means so much that they did something for him.
I also got some phone calls from friends, which were so appreciated.
Jackie posted this video on my Facebook wall, along with an incredibly sweet message. I love this song and video. I see Jacob and Oscar (Jackie's son) and so many other babies while watching it. There are so many lyrics in this song and images in this video that are so meaningful and bring tears to my eyes.
I hear messages of happiness, friendship and sadness and hope throughout it. They are kind of the themes of his life. He has brought us so much.
It has been almost 2 years since Jacob died and then was born. It's hard to believe that so much time has passed. I can't even put into words how hard it is to believe, how hard it was in the early days to believe that we would ever make it this far and would ever be this happy again. But we are happy, most of the time. That happiness always has a longing to it, of varying degrees.
The bigs days like Mother's Day, my birthday, Easter, etc don't have the same stabbing pain as they did last year, but I still have an ache. I am still aware that he is missing from the group and so are the babies I miscarried after him. Having lost 5 babies, it's hard to keep track of how old each one should be for each occasion, but I always know for him. Had he been born in October 2010 like he should have been, he would be 19 months old now. I saw a woman a few weeks ago pushing a stroller with about a 1.5 year old boy in it and she was pregnant, just about as big as me. The tears came to my eyes and I quickly walked passed. That should have been me. That could have been me.
I would have been back to work for 7 months. I might very well be pregnant right now too, in that alternate universe. Looking forward to seeing my two babies interact, knowing that once this baby was born, we likely wouldn't have anymore. I always wanted my kids to have siblings that they could grow up with, but that likely isn't going to happen. Emily is going to be raised as an only child I think, even though she has a sister who is 22 years older than she is, a brother who we got to hold but not keep, and 4 other siblings in heaven. An "only" child with so many siblings.
Most of our days are happy. We relish every kick and movement that we get from this baby, our little girl. There is not a second that goes by that I take for granted. I plan for the future, but I always wonder if I will still be pregnant in a day, a week, a month as I should be. I wonder if all the plans I'm making for my maternity leave will really work out the way they should, give or take a few days or weeks.
Jacob's second birthday is approaching fast. It isn't coming with the same dread and heaviness and sadness that it did last year, but all of those feelings are still there and are coming to the surface more as each day approaches. We will do almost the same things we did for his first birthday. Light a candle, have cupcakes, donate a box to the hospital for another babyloss family and blow bubbles in the garden where he is buried. This time we get to do it with his sister, hopefully, who has brought us happiness and joy we didn't think we would find again.
I asked Ted today how he thought we would be emotionally if I wasn't pregnant right now. I know that we wouldn't have anywhere near the happiness that we have at the moment, but would we be as down as we were last year. We both think we would be, but that would be complicated by the fact that we still weren't pregnant or had lost again. That we would be more hopeless, that we would have an even harder time seeing pregnant women and babies. For some reason, it still bothers me to see pregnant women a little, I still get that little lurch of jealousy and longing and then tell myself how ridiculous that is because I am pregnant too. I have a big belly, I have a baby I feel move a ton everyday. I don't know if I feel jealous out of habit or out of fear or what. I wonder if other women that I walk by everyday see me and feel bad because they have recently had a loss and have no idea of what I have been through.
I still sleep with Jacob's blanket under my pillow. I think of him every day, many times. I still love to talk about him, but have been faced with the awkward question of "is this your first" many times over the past few months. From store clerks, to waiters to people who just see me in a store and start talking to me because I'm pregnant. Most of the time I say yes, then in my head I say "the first to make it this far" or I apologize to Jacob, August, Cub, Madeline and Emma. A few times I've said no. One woman asked what my other child is and I said a boy and she said "the million dollar family". I didn't bother telling her that that isn't quite the case, that that boy died. Other times I've said that my first passed away and awkwardness ensues and I feel bad for making the other person feel bad. It's easier for them if I say yes, but it isn't necessarily easier for me. I do it anyway and then feel like I've betrayed my other children.
What will I say when Emily is old enough to understand. I don't want her overshadowed by her siblings that are no longer here, but I also want to acknowledge them. I guess I'll figure it out as I got along.
This life of balancing joy and grief continues and that is just the way it is going to be. I don't want the grief to go away anyway, as it is another tie to my lost babies. But it is so good to feel good again. I am a changed person, but changed for the better. I am a mix of happiness and sadness, of longing and hope.
Just one more month and it will have be 2 whole years since we held Jacob in our arms. Today I read over some of my earliest blog posts, describing the day I found out he had died and the day he was born, and some I wrote in the 2 months after he was born. I am so glad I wrote in the blog. It helped me then and it still helps me now. I also spent some time today staring at his ultrasound picture, which has been on my desk since I got back to work after he was born. He was so beautiful, so perfect in that picture. Moving all over. I only got that picture because he was hiding his hand throughout the scan so I had to get up, walked around for awhile, then come back. Had he not been hiding his hand that day, I never would have had such a great picture of him.
I don't know what his second birthday will be like yet. I'm not approaching it with the same dread, the same heaviness, that I did his first. But it still hurts and there is still time for it to get worse and I know it will. I still think about him all the time. I still talk to him and I still write his name on the shower door every day when I have a shower.
A few weeks ago, my Mom told me that she bought a quilt from her friend Bev for Jacob when I was pregnant with him. After he died, she just kept it for the next baby, I guess. I told her that I would really like to have it now and she gave it to me a week ago.
It has a Noah's Ark theme.
I turned it over and the back of the blanket couldn't be more perfect.....rainbow.
This blanket will be in Jacob's little sister's room and eventually she will sleep under it. It seems surreal that that might happen one day, but there is a very good chance that it will.
My Mom gave this to me when I met her, Laurie, Ben and Danny at the mall. We were at a restaurant and after eating, Laurie left the table for a minute. I asked Ben what he did with his friend Drake when they got together a week or so before. He told me the things they did, then said that he had a balloon but it went into the sky to Jacob. My Mom and I sat across from him with our mouths hanging open and looked at each other astonished. Ben said it like it was just the way it is. I don't even understand if and how he really understands who Jacob is. We've explained that Jacob is his cousin and Jacob would have played with him a lot if he hadn't gone to Heaven. From the beginning, Ben has never shown any confusion and he has never even seen Jacob, not even a picture of him.
Anyway, Laurie got back to the table and I told her what Ben said, trying not to cry as I did. She said that when the balloon got away, Ben was upset so Laurie told him that it was ok, that the balloon was going into the sky to Jacob and Jacob would love playing with it. Ben calmed down right away and was fine with it. A few days later, he had another balloon, which also got away. This time, right away, Ben said that the balloon is going to Jacob to play with.
About a week ago, my Mom asked if Jacob's cheeks were as chubby as Boh's cheeks look. I said they weren't, but thanked her for bringing Jacob up so easily. There is no awkwardness when his name is said and it doesn't seem like anyone in my family is afraid to bring him up for fear of upsetting me. I love that they do, I love that my Mom asked that question, I love that Laurie talks about Jacob to Ben and Danny. I love that he is always included. I miss him terribly, but I'm so grateful to have had him.
Mrs. Spit, Gabriel's Mom, wrote this amazing post over at Glow in the Woods - http://www.glowinthewoods.com/home/2012/4/17/see-magic.html
I've copied and pasted it below, just in case anyone has trouble going over to the original. And because it's something that I know I will want to read time and time again.
I am sitting on my front porch with a cup of coffee, watching the sun set on the brick building in front of me. The sun behind me, and the world is a beautiful place, filled with red and yellow and gold. My chair is comfortable, my coffee is good. The dogs are sniffling around the front yard. I can hear the sounds of children, in those last few moments before the call to come in for the night will go around the neighbourhood. It was a busy week of travel and meetings, it was a busy Saturday of errands and household things, and I have this brief time – with nothing but to sit and enjoy, watch the changing of the light.
They call this the magic hour.
What is grief, but a form of magic, I ask you? What is the terror and the pain and the horror that I found myself in four years ago, but a form of magic, a spell, an incantation that was thrown over me? It is easy to imagine the vile and loathsome creature that took my son away from me – it is easy to think of a cave, a foul smell and the guttural words of a spell. That seems as good and as reasonable an explanation of any about why tragedy struck me, struck mine, struck you and struck yours.
Magic, all around us. Old order magic with no waiving of hands, muttering of incantations. Magic, hiding in plain view. Magic that is good and magic that is so terribly evil it is impossible to behold. Magic held into balance, just barely.
And it seems a reasonable explanation that the magic of that spell would slowly wear off, that I would be able to find my way in the world. I look the same as I did back then, more or less, I walk and talk but I am utterly changed. See? Magic.
I believe in goodness and mercy, all the days of my life, in spite of what happened. Perhaps I believe more strongly now. See? Magic.
And on my front porch, watching the liquid line of gold fall towards the ground, I can be captivated by sudden and ephemeral beauty. See? Magic.
Grief then a form of magic. It seems appropriate to think that – the best explanation. So much of our world seems fragile, improbable. The quickness of the life and death, the peace of a Saturday night sunset. The curve of my son’s ear, the way his finger was crooked just like mine. See? Magic.
And this. The world I live in now. This wholeness and this peace that I find has come over me. My contentedness and my delight in beauty. I wouldn’t have believed it possible. See? Magic.
We had a good day today. A really good day. I've written more about it on my other blog.
I am 20 weeks and 3 days pregnant with my rainbow baby. That makes tonight the eve of the day we found out that Jacob had died. It hit me full force when I was standing in the garden tonight before going to church. I was telling Jacob that this baby will never replace him, that we love them equally. I stared at the spot where he is buried and I suddenly had a flashback to being at Dr. A's office and her not being able to find his heartbeat and the sinking feeling I had the longer she tried, then the feeling when she stopped. It was terrible.
I got home, told Ted what happened there and his face fell and I knew he was feeling the same pain.
I got in the shower and had a flashback to him being born and Dr. A passing him to me. For a few minutes, the pain was as bad as it was that day.
As I was writing this, I started talking to Ted about it again and the tears came, streaming down my face and if I had let it happen, I would have been sobbing. We ended up standing in the living room hugging for a few minutes.
As painful as it was reliving those times and feeling the pain again, I was glad to. I'm glad I still feel it so deeply.
I don't have much to say that I haven't said before, but I couldn't let a monthly anniversary pass without writing something.
We drove by the garden last night after going to a movie and parked across the road from it. There were lights all around it and it always makes us feel better that it isn't dark in there at night.
We sat for awhile and I felt the sadness getting stronger and stronger and told Ted that I wanted to leave, that I was getting really sad and he said he was too.
I am at about the same stage in my current pregnancy that I was when Jacob died, although I didn't know he had died for another week. It's a scary week for me, I feel reassured with every kick that I feel from this baby, but then worry when I haven't felt anything for an hour or longer. I didn't need anything to magnify what a loss it was to lose Jacob, but it certainly feels more acute right now than it has in a little while.
It doesn't really matter how much time passes. Our boy isn't in our arms and that will always hurt.
Wonderful piece by Fran over at small bird studios. If you have not read this, please do. It is amazing!
When you lose a baby...
You don’t know what to expect.
People surround you. For a couple of weeks. Making sure you are not going to kill yourself, refuse to get out of bed, or start rocking a baby doll like the crazy lady they heard about from a friend.
You get lots of sympathy cards, clearly written and designed to be sent to console a daughter losing her father. Not the other way around.
You get free baby formula in the mail. For months and months and months.
And free baby magazines. And free baby coupons.
You secretly envy every pregnant woman. But not without a tinge of guilt, because you know all too well that she might be one in four- expecting her rainbow child.
It seems like the whole world is expecting a baby.
You have baby stuff around your home. Because you never imagined you wouldn’t need it.
You feel jarred. In the grocery store. At a birthday party. At the dinner table. At Christmas. Driving.
The baby you never knew, but lost changes every part of your life. Every. single.part.
Forever.
You see baby clothes and it brings tears to your eyes.
You get sick and tired of crying. You never knew it was possible to cry this much.
You find yourself angry at God. Angry at yourself. Just angry.
You sware you can feel them kick but they’re gone. They call them phantom kicks. I call them painful, all kinds of painful. But sweet too.
You know, or you have a strong feeling of knowing what your child would have looked like, and been like. You see a child in the store, or on the street. Their hair color, dimples, smile, their personality and suddenly you are reminded of your child. You miss your child even more, if that’s even possible.
Your Babies R’ Us Registry is still active. There is no delete button on their site. The babies r’ us people don’t make a dime on people like us. Why bother right? You have to call them, plead with them to remove your freaking’ registry, because there will be no baby shower. There is an awkward silence. There is sadness. There will be no baby.
You get hospital bills about 3-4 months after you buried your child. You have to pay for the baby you delivered but didn’t bring home.
You find that moment of happiness in life for the first time, but the guilt swallows it up almost immediately.
You remember the size of the casket. The size of the plot. The face of the funeral director. The expression of those that attended the funeral. The feeling of raw pain, like your chest has literally been ripped open.
Somehow you convince yourself that you deserve happiness. Because you really do. But in the happiest, purest moment, there is still that hole that only they were meant to fill.
People compare your pain to their own pain. The loss of their grandmother, husband, their failed marriage, rebellious teenagers. Somehow this comparing leaves you stranded. If they can compare their pain of a situation to the loss of your BABY, they will likely never get it. Babies are not supposed to die. End of story.
You lost a dream. And it almost feels like you imagined their entire existence up. Their name becomes a distant memory on the lips of others.
There is awkwardness when you talk about your child in a crowd. No one knows whether to cry, walk away or pretend you never brought him or her up.
You lose friends. You find new ones.
You can’t believe that women have actually survived this and you never knew about it. Not really, anyway.
You would do anything for another minute with your child.
You cry when others bring up your child, not so much because it hurts but more so because it such a precious and rare gift.
You long for the rewind button, even after many many instances of acceptance.
You want to know what went wrong, and why…
You find a new appreciation for moments in life that make you laugh… you laugh harder and love stronger.
You know that you can die bitter, or die thankful. There is no in between.
You never ever, EVER get over your child. The one you hoped for, prayed for, carried and loved for the weeks and months they were with you.
