Sometimes I Wish I could Forget....

It's been one year.

But I still remember everything. And at times, the pain is so fresh that it feels like I'm reliving every moment.

I remember how callous the doctor was, as he said "yes, your baby is dead. Look, you can see his head is already caving in."

I remember how hurt and alone I felt when this same doctor dropped me from his care because I was "questioning his authority."

I remember sitting down at my kitchen table with phone in hand...calling doctor after doctor, and explaining through tears over and over again that my baby had died, my doctor had dropped me from his care, and I needed a new doctor. And listening over and over again as each doctor told me to just go to the ER.

I remember finally finding a doctor. A kind, compassionate woman who sat with us for over an hour to explain my options and completely let me lead the way when choosing how to deliver my baby.

I remember packing for the hospital, and being at a complete loss at what to bring.

I remember sitting at the kitchen table and knowing it was time to leave, and saying over and over again "I don't want to do this....I don't want to do this..."

I remember feeling the cytotec finally kick in, and thinking how all the websites lied, it did feel like full blown labor, in fact it felt worse than any other of my other labors!

I remember weeping into The Knight's shoulder through every contraction, saying over and over "This isn't fair, this isn't fair...."

I remember all this, and I wish I could forget.

But I remember other things, too.

I remember the compassion in my doctor's eyes, and how kind and patient the nurses were.

I remember how perfect and tiny his body was. I remember how the nurse didn't hesitate at all when taking his pictures, his footprints, his measurements.

I remember that they blessed him in the early morning, and how the soft lights and shadows made the ritual so peaceful.

I remember the sincerity on the funeral directors face, and how he wrote "no charge" at the bottom of our slip.

I remember knowing once and for all that I will NEVER take a healthy pregnancy for granted again.

I remember realizing that despite all that happened, I still have faith in my body's ability to carry and nourish a child.

And finally, I remember all the emails and cards the flooded in, some from people I didn't know, so many of them saying "It happened to me too". Reading their stories, stories that they probably haven't felt comfortable enough to share so openly in a long time, for in our culture discussing pregnancy loss is taboo.

And I remember feeling less alone. And then, stronger.

Yes, sometimes I wish I could forget. But Kalei is a part of our lives, our family. He has changed us for the good and bad.

I never knew that I could never know someone, and yet miss him so badly. But I know that he is still here with us, in one way or another.

We miss you, our little angel.

Sometimes I Wish I could Forget....

Megan's Hope

To lose a child is something that no parent should ever have to face.

And then to lose a child to something preventable, right around the holidays.....I have no words.

Today marks the five year anniversary of the death of sweet Megan, a 3 year old who was killed when her dresser fell on top of her.

The Knight and I have anchored most of our furniture, but this morning when I went to double check I found that not ALL our furniture is anchored....and we will be fixing that this weekend.

Please take time out of this busy holiday season to double check and make sure ALL your furniture is anchored....even if you think it cannot tip over, anchor it anyway. As Megan's mother writes, "Instead of putting a few holes in our walls and furniture, we forever have one in our hearts that will never heal. Walls can be fixed, broken hearts cannot."

For more information, visit Megan's Hope and learn how to baby-proof your furniture.

Megan's Hope

Remembering Kalei

This past Saturday, the Knight and I held a small ceremony to remember Kalei. My mother, her boyfriend, and a dear friend were also present.

We lit a baby blue candle in a candle holder shaped like a baby shoe and then each held small white candles and went around and each said something nice. We were on the back deck the whole time and the weather was beautiful, the sun was warm and the breeze was causing the leaves on the trees to move and whisper....a perfect atmosphere.

After we blew out the candles we sat around and talked and had a discussion about how our culture has a hard time accepting death, especially when it happens to babies. I think that is a large reason for the silence in our culture surrounding pregnancy and infant loss....people get uncomfortable when talking about it, or even acknowledging that it is a real loss.

Afterwards we drove up to my grandmother's grave and spread a small amount of his ashes there. I felt good about that, knowing that now not only are they together spiritually but physically as well.

My mother was carving a stone for me to put in our garden with his name and date of birth, but it cracked when she was halfway finished. So, she gave me a nice tablet with a quote instead to put in the garden until she can get the stone finished.

All in all, I felt really good about the entire day. The ceremony just felt so peaceful and "right" to me, and I was really happy that we decided to do it.

Remembering Kalei

Don't Want To Let Go...

Today is July 4th, Independence Day.

It was also my due date with Kalei.

Today, instead of going to my IL's cookout, the Knight and I are going to hold a small ceremony. We're going to spread some of his ashes on my grandmother's grave, so that they can be together both physically and spiritually. We're also going to spread a small amount in our backyard, so he can be with the girls when they play outside. The rest we will keep, in the heart-shaped urn in our living room.

I'm grieving, yes. But mostly I feel anger. I heard his heartbeat at 12 weeks, and it was perfect. Why the f*ck did it stop beating? What the f*ck happened?

I know that he probably would not have been born today, with my history of being at least 7 days "late". He probably would have sat, safe and snug, in my belly for at least another week.

I should be at that cookout today. With my big belly and swollen ankles, sitting in a chair and holding a glass of water, hoping that someone else will push the Guppy on the swing because there would be no way I could get out of that chair without the use of a crane. There should be boxes of supplies for the homebirth set up at home. Instead there are boxes of baby stuff that were given to me by friends, still sitting in my bedroom because I still cannot bring myself to put them away in storage.

I'm angry, at myself and at God. But then I think about those two weeks that I carried him, after we found out that he had died. I remember how sometimes, when I was just waking up, in the funny stage between sleep and being awake, I would actually forget that he had died and I would think that I felt him kick. At the time I thought that it was so cruel, that moment of forgetfulness. But now? Now I wonder if that was God's way of letting me know that Kalei was, and is, still with us.

After all, isn't it in those moments of stillness, those moments of quiet transition, when our guard is down and our minds are open, that we are most able to hear His voice?

Don't Want To Let Go...

The Post In Which I Talk About Nothing And Everything

I'm running a little short on inspiration here right now.

Since the week of never-ending rain finally did end, the sun has been shining and the girls and I have been spending every minute outside. My days are so slow and relaxing; sitting on the deck with my laptop and reading blog posts while drinking herbal tea and watching the girls run around in the yard.

We've been in this house for six months and I fall in love with it more everyday. I love that it's clean and small (I can clean it in 15 minutes) and comfy and lit by the sun, that we are surrounded by amazing neighbors, and that we have such a wonderful backyard and garden.

My deck is large and we've got comfy patio furniture and a patio set on it, as well as a canopy to protect us from the sun. There's something about this deck that draws people; at first I thought it was just me but yesterday a friend came over and she requested that we go outside and sit on the deck while the kids play.

My friend recently had suffered a loss much like we had with Kalei and had come over visit and talk. We live in the city but our street is extremely quiet and secluded and we have a wonderful yet private view from our deck. I made us some herbal tea and we sat at the patio table and talked and talked in a way that only two people who had suffered the same loss could.

At one point we lapsed into silence, both of us pondering our own private thoughts about our experiences. I looked over at my friend and immediately wished I had a camera to capture her in that moment; she was gazing thoughtfully and a little sadly across our yard towards the city, a breeze gently blowing wisps of her hair across her face, and she looked so beautiful, serene and strong.

I hope she realizes how beautiful and strong she really is. I hope she knows that although you never really get over a loss like she had, it gets a little easier as time goes by. And I hope that I was able to offer some form of comfort or peace to her during her visit yesterday.

The Post In Which I Talk About Nothing And Everything

On The Fridge

Have you ever noticed how much a refrigerator can tell you about a family?

If the kitchen is the center of the home, then the refrigerator is the heart.

Not only because of what is in the inside (food that nourishes us), but for what is on the outside.

A busy family might have calendars, lists of things to do, etc. on their fridge. A family falling on hard times might have less inside their fridge than a family who is prospering. A family who is grieving might have nothing on their fridge, save for a lone obituary, clipped from the newspaper.

Don't ask me why I think of these things, I just do.

When Kalei died, our fridge told conflicting stories. The outside was bare, telling of our grief and inability to sit down and color happy picture with our children to hang on the fridge. However, the inside was stuffed full of food, meals brought over from loving friends and family, reminding us how lucky and supported we were.

Today our fridge is full, on the inside and out. We are nourished and happy from its insides. The front of the outside is covered with happy artwork, the sides covered with invitations, cards, lists, etc. There's not an inch to spare for sorrow and grief.




I hope it stays that way for a long time.

What's on your fridge? If you feel like posting a picture, leave a comment and link to your post.

On The Fridge

Too Many "Shoulds"

Today, I should be 26 weeks pregnant. I should be getting to know his movements and kicks. I should have a nice round, cute pregnant belly. I should be having to go to the bathroom every two minutes, be uncomfortable at night, and have slightly swollen ankles.

Instead, all I have is an urn and a box of mementos.

It's been six weeks and I still feel a small emptiness inside of me. Going to the La Leche League conference was great, but it was really hard to see so many newborn babies.

It has gotten a little less hard as more time goes by, but once in a while Kalei will pop up in my thoughts out of the blue, making my heart skip a beat and my stomach flip. The world slows down, and my mind goes blank, except for the image of his perfect little body, wrapped in the hospital blanket.

And I have to stop what I'm doing, sit back, and let the tears come.

Too Many "Shoulds"

Grieving

I haven't posted in a while, I know. But this week has not been a good week for me at all.

Friday we found out that a friend of ours died. She was only 25. Her daughter is 6 months old. Her and her husband had moved into their new house only a week and a half ago. When I heard the news, I felt my heart break. How can it be that one day you are making plans with someone to take your children to the zoo, and the next they are just...gone?

Then I found out about two other devastating, life changing events that had occurred to two other people close to me in my life. My heart broke even more.

The Guppy is teething, and she has a cold. The Mermaid is feeling neglected (rightly so) and is acting out as a result. I can not put the Guppy down to do anything without her screaming at me. I can't even go to the bathroom alone. Normally, I wouldn't mind. I understand that she is only 8 months old and is in pain from her teeth and is sick, and I would gladly hold her 24/7. I would gladly set some time aside for the Mermaid and I to do something special together, I would be glad to sit and talk to her through one of her tantrums. But I just can't do it this week. I find myself losing patience with both my girls, and snapping at my Knight. I can't be a good Mommy right now. And it just adds to my grief.

This is what I want to do: I want to lock myself alone in a room, without having to listen to the Guppy scream because her mommy has just left the room without her and without having to listen to the Mermaid yell and kick the walls in frustration because she can't seem to get my attention this week. Then I want to cry. I want to cry long and loud without worrying about upsetting the girls. I even want to be able to throw things in anger. Then when I am all cried out, I want to bury myself under the covers and sleep for an entire day.

I want to grieve.

But instead, my guilt doesn't allow it. I know that this is one of those times that my needs have to come first for once, but I do have a guilt complex. I always put my girls first. And so, I will put on a fake smile for the girls. I will play with them like nothing has happened, like the lives of three people whom I care about did not just get devastated this week. I will grieve silently.

I really, really wish I didn't have a guilt complex.

Grieving