Today is the day. Was supposed to be the day, anyway. Only five percent of babies are born on their due dates. Lily's already gone, so no sighing when today comes and goes and I still have a huge belly to "sleep" around tonight. I wish I could rewind to the day I saw her tiny arms waving during her ultrasound. To the day our children's faces lit up at the thought of another baby. If only I could enjoy again those brief moments before we lost her. To rewind and not feel this pain.
Things are back to normal around here. However, it is not the same normal. After a tragedy, the old normal is never felt again. The same is true of any major experience. My life has to accommodate this change and all the pain, lessons, and inconveniences that go with it. It is a "process," it does "take time," but in the meantime, a new normal is constructed for survival.
We have a new normal and a new reality. Our baby plans have been pushed back. I am not having a baby girl, our last child, this March at the age of 36. We still want to go for another baby, because we are nuts. So, I will be pregnant this summer. I won't be able to paint and vacations must be considered. I have to wait another several months to find out if my daughter will finally have to share her room or if my oldest boy will get his own room. I will be another year older when our last Sullivan arrives.
These inconveniences won't mean anything when we finally hold that last little baby in our arms. The nine months we have to wait will be scary and tiring. Morning sickness and fatigue, etc. Before every ob appointment, I will be holding my breath until the heartbeat is heard or until the tiny image appears, moving, on the ultrasound screen. I wish I could fast-forward.
At the same time I wish to rewind and fast-forward, but we all know we have to enjoy life in the moment. The cliches are all true. Our children grow up in the blink of an eye. I have to remind myself daily to enjoy them now. So I smell the baby shampoo in my toddler's hair as he hugs his "Melmo," see my school-agers pretending to be spies with all their homemade gadgets, watch my husband squeezing our four-year-old who is giggling only as four-year-olds can. Pause.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Still
Still processing...
Lily, if you were alive I think we'd end up calling you "Lily-bell" or Lily-bug." We'd end up calling you silly names like the rest of them.
I hope you don't mind we gave you the name "Lily" instead of "Delaney" like I was planning. Delaney didn't seem reverent. You were born an angel, and some names are more earthly than others. Delaney is a name for a little girl who will run and jump, scream and throw tantrums, sing and eat lollipops with a melty smile. I am so saddened that you will do none of those things.
You are still and quiet. You were delicate in your body. Lily is a name for an angel.
I plan on planting some lilies-of-the-valley for you by Evan's magnolia tree. These are better for me than a cold headstone.
Lily, if we do have a Delaney that runs and sings and eats lollipops, I hope you will feel happiness. I hope you know that every time I see lilies, I will remember you.
Lily, if you were alive I think we'd end up calling you "Lily-bell" or Lily-bug." We'd end up calling you silly names like the rest of them.
I hope you don't mind we gave you the name "Lily" instead of "Delaney" like I was planning. Delaney didn't seem reverent. You were born an angel, and some names are more earthly than others. Delaney is a name for a little girl who will run and jump, scream and throw tantrums, sing and eat lollipops with a melty smile. I am so saddened that you will do none of those things.
You are still and quiet. You were delicate in your body. Lily is a name for an angel.
I plan on planting some lilies-of-the-valley for you by Evan's magnolia tree. These are better for me than a cold headstone.
Lily, if we do have a Delaney that runs and sings and eats lollipops, I hope you will feel happiness. I hope you know that every time I see lilies, I will remember you.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Processing
How discordant are my last two posts with one another? Wow. One is happy times and the other is like a smack in the face. Unexpected for sure.
Today I got the call telling me my daughter's cremains were ready to be picked up. Is that even a word- "cremains"? That's what the funeral director called them. So, I will be bringing home a tiny silver urn. It will be rough to do that. Going in the funeral home to sign the papers wasn't bad, but having the urn in my hands...
I'd say some days, I still forget what happened. Denial, maybe? It seems as I have already done the denial thing. However, I have read that grieving people skip around the phases of grief, coming and going and coming again.
I have my "postpartum" visit next week. I hope all my parts are in order. I had a thought today- if I cannot have any more children, I will be devastated. I will fall in a hole. That tells me I do want another baby. First, my visit and questions. Second, hubby?
I am heading to Indiana tomorrow to enjoy Thanksgiving with family. I know it is going to be uncomfortable. I still look pregnant.
I keep thinking about Ambercutie and her new favorite song. Before the loss, she had been singing along with her Barbie MP3 player to Carrie Underwood's "All-American Girl." When I heard it today, the lyrics made me sad. Ambercutie was so excited about that "little pink blanket" that she was certain we were going to bring home.
Well, we did get a girl, but we will be bringing her home in a little silver urn instead.
Today I got the call telling me my daughter's cremains were ready to be picked up. Is that even a word- "cremains"? That's what the funeral director called them. So, I will be bringing home a tiny silver urn. It will be rough to do that. Going in the funeral home to sign the papers wasn't bad, but having the urn in my hands...
I'd say some days, I still forget what happened. Denial, maybe? It seems as I have already done the denial thing. However, I have read that grieving people skip around the phases of grief, coming and going and coming again.
I have my "postpartum" visit next week. I hope all my parts are in order. I had a thought today- if I cannot have any more children, I will be devastated. I will fall in a hole. That tells me I do want another baby. First, my visit and questions. Second, hubby?
I am heading to Indiana tomorrow to enjoy Thanksgiving with family. I know it is going to be uncomfortable. I still look pregnant.
I keep thinking about Ambercutie and her new favorite song. Before the loss, she had been singing along with her Barbie MP3 player to Carrie Underwood's "All-American Girl." When I heard it today, the lyrics made me sad. Ambercutie was so excited about that "little pink blanket" that she was certain we were going to bring home.
Well, we did get a girl, but we will be bringing her home in a little silver urn instead.
Friday, October 30, 2009
Lily
Lily is the daughter we didn't get to bring home. At least, not the way we expected. She will be in an urn beside the urn of her older brother, who would have been seven this January. Yes, we have two urns now. I did not plan on being a collector.
This is our third loss so far. The first was due to a blighted ovum, so no urn for that one. The second loss was a baby boy, Evan, who had Trisomy 18. Now Lily, whose death is undetermined at this time. Fortunately, we have five BEAUTIFUL children, and I feel blessed more than ever now that I know how fragile life can be. Thank God for these children at home; they are a life line right now.
What happened to Lily? I have seen a specialist for my past three pregnancies after Evan. I had the neuchal translucency scan to check for chromosomal abnormalities. I did the same for Lily. Her scans at twelve weeks all showed a healthy fetus with no defects. My blood work indicated our chances for a chromosomal problem were one in 3000. At about seventeen weeks, I heard her heartbeat. Less than a month later her heartbeat was gone.
I have gone over everything that I did in that month. The exterminator came. We were around livestock at the fair. There was mold in our basement. I drank caffeine. I had a sinus infection. I don't think any of these things was the cause, but I wonder. No word from my doctor yet, and it is so hard not knowing.
I wonder if we will be able to have the sixth one we were all looking forward to. Because we are already so blessed, I feel bad complaining about it if we can't. However, will I always see the empty seat, the empty coat hook...? Most likely, we do not have a genetic problem that has caused these tragedies. I believe they all have different causes. We were just unlucky. If that is the case, and our doctor says we are not likely to have another stillborn or miscarriage, we may try again. We have much to learn and discuss before we make that decision.
Until then, we will also mourn and heal. I miss the baby for whom we planned. At least I got to meet and hold her. At the last ultrasound, when the heartbeat was not detected and she was still, the doctor told me the news. He switched off the monitor, and all I could think was "turn it back on." I saw her face, and then it was gone. I felt I would never see her again, but I forgot about the part that comes next. I forgot we would pack our bags and go to the hospital. We have done this many times with happy outcomes. This time I would not leave with a baby on my lap, but a memory box instead.
Just a few "memories" are in that box. Among them are tiny footprints and a lace-trimmed blanket the size of a handkerchief. What is not in the box are the dreams of a precious life not lived and love for a little girl named Lily. No box is big enough.
This is our third loss so far. The first was due to a blighted ovum, so no urn for that one. The second loss was a baby boy, Evan, who had Trisomy 18. Now Lily, whose death is undetermined at this time. Fortunately, we have five BEAUTIFUL children, and I feel blessed more than ever now that I know how fragile life can be. Thank God for these children at home; they are a life line right now.
What happened to Lily? I have seen a specialist for my past three pregnancies after Evan. I had the neuchal translucency scan to check for chromosomal abnormalities. I did the same for Lily. Her scans at twelve weeks all showed a healthy fetus with no defects. My blood work indicated our chances for a chromosomal problem were one in 3000. At about seventeen weeks, I heard her heartbeat. Less than a month later her heartbeat was gone.
I have gone over everything that I did in that month. The exterminator came. We were around livestock at the fair. There was mold in our basement. I drank caffeine. I had a sinus infection. I don't think any of these things was the cause, but I wonder. No word from my doctor yet, and it is so hard not knowing.
I wonder if we will be able to have the sixth one we were all looking forward to. Because we are already so blessed, I feel bad complaining about it if we can't. However, will I always see the empty seat, the empty coat hook...? Most likely, we do not have a genetic problem that has caused these tragedies. I believe they all have different causes. We were just unlucky. If that is the case, and our doctor says we are not likely to have another stillborn or miscarriage, we may try again. We have much to learn and discuss before we make that decision.
Until then, we will also mourn and heal. I miss the baby for whom we planned. At least I got to meet and hold her. At the last ultrasound, when the heartbeat was not detected and she was still, the doctor told me the news. He switched off the monitor, and all I could think was "turn it back on." I saw her face, and then it was gone. I felt I would never see her again, but I forgot about the part that comes next. I forgot we would pack our bags and go to the hospital. We have done this many times with happy outcomes. This time I would not leave with a baby on my lap, but a memory box instead.
Just a few "memories" are in that box. Among them are tiny footprints and a lace-trimmed blanket the size of a handkerchief. What is not in the box are the dreams of a precious life not lived and love for a little girl named Lily. No box is big enough.
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