Closure

So to help balance out my angry post, I want to post about something positive.  Something hopeful.  I actually wanted to do this Wednesday but I have been sick with a sinus infection and felt to crappy to blog anything.

We went and saw the geneticist on Wednesday.  I learned some things.  One being, ask your doctor to actually read your test results to you.  You see, my OB (with good intentions) misread some labs I had done and told me I was positive and homozygous for the C677T MTHFR gene mutation.  She had went on to tell my husband and I that this mutation is commonly linked to 2nd trimester loss and I would most likely be put on blood thinners during future pregnancies.  I looked it up, she was right.  Well, come to find out, she had the gene mutation wrong.  I am actually homozygous for the A1298C MTHFR mutation.  This one is less impactful during pregnancy.  It turns out, I don't have a baby killing gene mutation and was given the WRONG information at my OB appointment a while ago.  Let me tell you, I feel some pretty big relief! My husband gets to be tested for MTHFR because if he has it I still get to be treated, but I can handle that.

In fact, the geneticist went on to say that from the reports it was clear we lost Ashley due to an infection.  And when she discovered how soon I had my appendix out after we lost Ashley even she raised her eyebrows and wonders if I had undiagnosed appendicitis.  She told us that upon testing, EVERYTHING was infected from the placenta, to Ashley, to what fluid was left, to the umbilical cord!  Well... I'm no doctor but I'm placing a bet that I did have appendicitis and no one thought to look into that.  In fact, I'm willing to bet I had it since the beginning of June when I started having random side pains that would prevent me from being able to move that we passed off as pregnancy pains from pulling a muscle or something.  I am fully comfortable saying that I probably had infection growing outside my appendix for a while.  Heck, when we first went in to see if my water broke we were told my white blood count was elevated indicating infection.

So I gained some very important closure in this appointment.  My family had already decided the appendicitis was the culprit, but when I found out I had this gene that it turns out I don't really have, I just wasn't sure.  Now, I'm completely positive that I had undiagnosed appendicitis that caused infection to travel and cause my water to break and us to loose Ashley.  So I'm really glad it's gone.  Sure, I'll still be one paranoid momma in the next pregnancy, but now I won't have to worry about my appendix coming back.

So while my husband still needs some testing done and I still have some female issues to get fixed before we can get pregnant again, I have some peace of mind.  I don't have a baby killing gene and what happened is a fluke that can't happen again.   Sayanara appendix! Hope you enjoyed your trip to the bio hazard burn center or whatever they do with horrible things like you!

Anger and Bitterness Uncensored

As is evident by the title this particular entry is about anger.  Some of you may be familiar with the fact that anger is a stage of grief.  When we first lost Ashley I laughed at the stages of grief because I wasn't going through stages.  My stages were all jumbled together.  I guess, however, this is changing.  I've actually tried to avoid blogging about this, but the thing is, that is the reason for my blog.  I blog to be completely honest about what I am going through.  Because if I don't blog about my feelings then maybe you as the reader won't understand what someone in my shoes that you know is going through or if you're in my shoes you may not realize that if you're feeling something similar that it is completely normal.  So that's what this particular entry will be about.  My anger.  Please understand, consider this a small disclaimer, that these are simply my feelings as a result of my grief.  I cannot control them.  They are natural and I am not the only person who has lost a child that feels this way.

So here goes...

Life bites.  Yup.  Totally angry at life right now.  I am an angry and bitter person.  I guess it has to do with the fact that Ashley's due date is coming up on November 5.  It seems everywhere I go I have some stinking reminder that I am supposed to be pregnant.

Right now I am experiencing a daily reminder that I'm not pregnant.  Yup, TMI alert.  I have been on my period now for 20 days.  It's embarrassing and a problem.  Heck, it keeps me from leaving the house.  I hate it.  I hate my body.  Why can't it just go back to normal? Well, it turns out I have a thick uterine lining and require an endometrial biopsy to see if they can figure out what's going on.  Ok, I can handle that.  But really? Is this necessary? Do I really have to deal with this too? Isn't loosing my daughter enough? I guess not.  I hate the fact that I have to keep changing my pad every day.  It's a horrible reminder that I'm not supposed to be doing that.  It pisses me off.  You see, I wanted to get pregnant before Ashley's due date so I could say that SOMETHING good at least came from all this crap in my life.  Clearly, that is not going to happen.  Now my new goal is by Christmas of this year.  But for that goal to be met we have to get my body working right again.  So yeah, I'm a bit angry with my body.

Moving on.

We went to the fair this week.  Boy had I been looking forward to all the great food! And boy did I ever enjoy all that great food!  But walking around I was surrounded by reminders.  Reminders that I am not pregnant and my arms are empty.  One reminder in particular really ticked me off.  We walked by a clearly pregnant woman smoking.  Really? I take care of my body to have a healthy happy baby and loose her and that b**** is giving her baby harmful chemicals and she gets to stay pregnant? There is something clearly not fair here.  Granted, I am overweight.  But I made sure to take my prenatal vitamins until I couldn't choke them down anymore.  I craved and ate fruits and vegetables.  I might not have exercised like I should but I wasn't lazy either.  I went to work and packed up a house so we could move.  Heck, we uprooted our lives to give our daughter the best future in life we could.  I cut out and down the caffeine.  I stopped taking certain medications.  I made all these positive changes to give my baby a healthy safe haven and I lost her and some stupid woman is smoking.  I remind you, I am grieving and these are my uncensored feelings.  I am an ex-smoker.  Not everyone knows this.  So I get the whole addiction part of it.  But had I have been a smoker when I got pregnant I would have stopped cold turkey! So it makes me angry when women take advantage of their bodies and babies that can't defend themselves and abuse the privilege of parenthood by smoking and/or drinking.  In fact, I was so offended by this that if we passed her again I planned on saying something.  It's a good thing our God is awesome because I guess he told her she needed to move because I didn't see her again.  Before I was pregnant seeing a pregnant woman smoking bothered me, but not like this.  It really is about the unfairness of smoking being a danger to a baby and women getting to keep their babies when I didn't do things like that and lost mine.  So much is taken for granted every time a pregnant woman lights up a cigarette or takes a drink of alcohol.  And it ticks me off.  Heck, I've been craving cigarettes since I lost Ashley and had appendicitis and I haven't touched them because I want to continue preparing my body for another pregnancy.  The hard part is biting my tongue because I don't think some women do thing to purposefully hurt their unborn children.  But I bite my tongue quite often.

So also while we were at the fair there was this commerce stand that sold these really adorable baby blankets and such.  I told my sister, "I feel like I should be buying these." Her response was, "That's because you technically should be."  The honest truth of that makes me angry.  I should be due in a matter of weeks.  I should be going crazy buying up all sorts of cute things for Ashley to snuggle and play with and I can't because I have no reason to.  Instead I compulsively go to feel these soft things and want to cry because I can't give them to her and I have no reason to buy any of them.  It's painful.  And of course, walking around I see all these pregnant women or women with newborns.  I'm telling you, I have preg-dar and baby-dar.  I can see and smell them a mile away.  I see a tiny baby in a stroller and all I can do is stare and think about how I'm supposed to have one.  I see a pregnant woman and think how I should be at the fair totally fat and plump looking like I'm ready to pop any day, eating everything in sight and complaining about feet and back pain!  And instead, I'm thin (compared to what I would be 9 months pregnant), have no reason to over indulge, and can't buy my baby girl all these cute things.  It makes me angry!

I mean, to tie these together... Why is it that all these women who obviously abuse their babies and put their babies in harms way by drinking, smoking, and/or doing drugs get to have and/or keep their babies and I don't? What is fair in that? Nothing! Not that I want ANYONE to loose a child, because I don't, but in the world of fairness, something isn't right.  You have kids running around popping out babies that should have kept their legs closed and then people like my husband and I who are ready for a family that has their little dream ripped away from them.  You have young adults that have one night stands that get pregnant on a whim, and then people like me an others I know that fight to get pregnant because it's difficult and requires actual planning.  How is this fair? It's not right!

One of the most painful things for me right now is seeing other babies or pregnant women.  Heck, it's painful for me to hear about my 1 year old cousin or my sister-in-law's new adopted baby that over 1 year old.  Which seems silly since there is obviously and age gap, but I do.  I guess it has to do with them being young enough to remind me of what I'm supposed to have had soon.  It just hurts.  It's not their fault (so if you're reading this please understand), it's just the result of grief.  I am happy for couple's that have their healthy happy babies.  Right now there are two people in my life that are both pregnant with girls that are due within days of my due date.  One effects me more than the other.  And that is my cousin.  See, her daughter's first name will be Elizabeth and she is due shortly after me.  I check up on her via facebook periodically but do it rarely because it hurts.  But I still want to make sure she's ok.  But I recently discovered this entirely selfish thought.  It'd be like a slap in the face if she had her daughter on November 5.  Now, I realize she can't control this.  But still... the things you think of after you've lost a baby.  Before we lost Ashley I thought it'd be kind of neat if we had them on the same day.  Now, I'm afraid to be around her when she's born because they would have literally been the same age give or take a day or two.  I guess living across the country can be a beautiful thing.  I'm incredibly blessed to have my aunt, her mother, understand exactly what I am going through.  She actually gave birth to a stillborn daughter at 9 months.  She remains sensitive to what I feel and how difficult this particular situation is and actually called to ask me if I would want an announcement or not because she didn't want to offend me either way because she knows how hard this is.  I told her to send me one and if I looked at it I did, and if not, I didn't but if I got one I could make that decision.  Because the truth of the matter is, no matter when Elizabeth is born, I will be happy for my cousin.  I'm by no means angry at her or anyone else.  I'm just angry at life's stupid reminders.  I guess it's just all the pain and grief I have to go through.  So, my dear cousin, if you read this, please understand I love you and am happy for you, this is just about my feelings of how difficult life is right now and it's so important for other people to realize how normal these kind of feelings are.

My husband and I were watching the news just the other night and a story came on about kids being helped by some online therapy for chewing and swallowing problems.  The little boy portrayed was old enough to be eating solid foods and walking but they gave some background on him.  He was born at 23 weeks.  My husband and I felt the same.  Really? 23 weeks? He was able to make it and Ashley wasn't? Sure he has some problems, but he's LIVING! It makes me so angry that Ashley didn't get that chance to survive! Why not Ashley? Why do we have to go through the loss of a child?!?!? Why is it people that don't want kids have kids and give them away but those of us who want kids have to fight to have them? It's not fair and it's infuriating!!

I'm clearly in a stage right now where every little reminder makes me that much more bitter and angry.  I should be having a baby shower.  I should be buying cute things for Ashley.  We should be preparing her room.  Heck, we uprooted from our jobs and our house and moved in with my parents.  And life is not what we planned.  I should be having braxton-hicks contractions right along with my friend from high school due around the same time as me.  I should be rechecking my hospital bag.  I should be taking classes.  I should be kept awake at night by Ashley kicking me.  And I'm not.  And the closer it gets to get due date, the more painful it is.

I'm in a private group or two.  And some of the situations I have mentioned in this blog also relate to the other Angel Mommies I have come to know and love.  They're feelings we all share about the various events in our lives.  Yet we feel restricted about talking about these feelings and guilty for having them.  At least I feel guilty.  The problem is, I can't help how I feel.  It's called grief.  And right now, part of that grief is anger at the hand I have been dealt.  Right now I am a negative Nancy because I am hiding from my pain with anger.  I have numbed myself with the feeling of anger.

The ironic part is I'm ok with being angry.  That means that I am working through my grief.  I would be more afraid if I felt absolutely nothing.  But the thing is, I have to cut myself some slack because grief can take more or less than 18 months and I'm only 3.5 months into my grieving.  So these feelings and such are actually healthy for me to have.  It means I'm working through things.  So yes, I'm one pissed off person, but I'm happy that I am because that means I'm working on healing! Odd way to look at it, huh?

To Work or Not To Work... That Is The Question...

So I have been faced with a rather huge dilemma since loosing Ashley.  That dilemma is working.  I have always wanted a career.  I've always wanted to work.  In fact, when I wasn't working at the end of 2009 and beginning of 2010 it drove me nuts even though I was in school finishing a degree.  I'm the type of person that goes crazy when not working.  Stir crazy, especially.

Now, I don't know what to do.  I have absolutely no desire to work.  Whatsoever.  Period.  Sure I've done a temp job or two.  But it's more of just to do something.  There is no desire or excitement.  I could care less.  In fact, I seriously wonder if I'm even ready to work.

It's so stinking complicated.  The money would be great if I worked.  But working is completely unappealing.  This is so new to me.  I've never wanted to be a "house wife".  But more and more that's all I want to do.  Sometimes the mere thought of working sends me into a panic.

Granted, I'm still applying for jobs but my heart isn't really in it.  And I'm kind of in the mindset that if I work I at least want it to be a worthwhile job that helps somebody.  Heck, I even have two county exams coming up for Social Services.  I'm going to both.  But even then, with worthy jobs, I'm ambivalent about working.

It's horrible.  I know some people want me to work but I just have no desire.  In fact, I want to get pregnant and stay home and be one of those crazy soccer moms on the PTA, driving my kid to dance and soccer practices, baking cookies for school, etc.  I've never been the type to want to be that person.

I guess there's something about loosing a baby that changes you and what you find valuable and important.  So for now I'm just coasting along seeing what comes my way.  Ironically I still want to get my Master's degree.  I just have no desire to work.

Sigh... to have the days back when I was blissfully ignorant!

Coffee....

So I have recently acknowledged that loosing Ashley has turned me into a bitter woman.  I see pregnant women and women with newborns and it just gets under my skin! Why do they get their babies and I don't get mine? It makes me angry and bitter that instead of Ashley's body growing big and strong, it is rotting in a cloth and wooden coffin inside a cement vault.  It's morbid to think about and disgusting that it's true.  I never had a thought like that until I lost Ashley.  I guess it's because anyone else I've known that's passed away my age or older had some chance of life and she had none.  I have all this bitterness building up inside me and I can't seem to get rid of it.  All I want is hope and some happiness.

So here is where coffee comes in.  I love Starbucks. My recent kick is a Venti Iced White Chocolate Mocha.  Yum! Yum!  However, I can't stand my coffee black! Why? You guessed it! It's strong and BITTER!!!  However, once I add that flavor and/or sugar and milk, it is yummy.  The bitterness becomes tolerable.  It becomes livable.  And getting an iced coffee instead of hot coffee in the summer is calming just as having a hot coffee in the winter is warming.

So here is where it ties in.  Right now I am like a big, fat, huge cup of piping hot strong bitter coffee in the summer.  I'm tired of the heat.  I need something soothing and calming.  My anger and bitterness are overwhelmingly strong.  In fact, much like coffee, they keep me awake at night even when I don't want them too.  And my bitterness in itself is hard to digest.  I can't stand my bitterness and I can't seem to change it.  So what I want and need is something sweet and flavorful, like hope.

The sweet hope I want is another baby, particularly another girl.  I crave pregnancy and having a baby much like I crave caffeine when I go too long without it.  Thing is, I can't always get caffeine just like I can't get pregnant on a whim.  I'm not that lucky.  I'm not the woman who can try to get pregnant once with my husband and be successful.  Heck, I only have one fallopian tube so it makes it that much harder.  But I want that hope.  As hard as it is, I want another baby sooner than later.  I want the sweetness of a little bundle of joy to start taking away some of the bitterness in me, just like I want sugar with my coffee.

I know that there will always be something of the anger and bitterness about loosing Ashley lingering around, just like the taste of coffee after you've finished the cup, sugar or not.  And really, that's ok.  Because I love Ashley and never want to forget her.  But I need some white chocolate flavoring and milk added to my coffee cup now.

So right now, if I had to describe it, I would say my grief is like a hot and strong bitter cup of coffee.

3 months...

Has it really been 3 months since we lost our beautiful daughter? I guess so.  Tomorrow, October 5, marks 3 months since we lost Ashley.  In one month, she would be due.  It's all so surreal.  At times I wonder, "Was I really pregnant?" And at other times I think, "OMG, I should have a baby in a month." I avoid pregnant women like crazy because when reality hits it hurts.  So if I know you and you're pregnant, don't take offense.  It's simply a defense mechanism.

It's so bizarre because I don't wish the pain of loosing a child on anyone, but at the same time when I see or hear of other pregnant women doing well I get so jealous.  THAT'S SUPPOSED TO BE ME! I'm supposed to be setting up a crib and going through clothes and learning how to breathe through labor! Instead, I see someone pregnant and just want to cry and hide from the world.

As Ashley's due date draws nearer I'm posed with a complex question.  Do we celebrate her birthday or her due date? Or both? This year it will definitely be both.  But what about the following years? I think that we will be inviting family to write little notes to Ashley and tie them to a balloon and do a balloon release.  Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes.

Tonight we begin a grief support group.  I'm excited and terrified at the same time.  I don't know what to expect.  But I really hope we can form relationships with other parents like us.  It's appropriate that this group starts in October which along with being Breast Cancer Awareness month is also Pregnancy and Infant Loss Month.

What's even greater? We start group tonight followed by individual sessions on Thursday.  It's right around the 3 month loss anniversary.  Amazing timing.

Oh, and I start a new job tomorrow.  As a transcriptionist.

There has been so much that has happen in such a short time.  And I can't help but think that this isn't what we were supposed to have been doing.  I mean, instead of donating the Enfamil samples and coupons, we should be stockpiling the stupid things! I shouldn't even be able to see my feet!

Oh yeah, we got our first sample of baby formula, Enfamil, yesterday in the mail.  Talk about a slap in the face.  I'd kind of hoped that those would go to our Nashville address and not find us here in California.  All well, I kind of expected to get some of this stuff here and had planned on donating it if I got it.  At least it can help someone else out.

Oh, we have an appointment Monday afternoon to see the genetic counselor. I hope we get some answers and hope at that appointment.  Because I could use a big dose of it! Heck, I could use a big dose of being pregnant again, and soon!

I want another baby so badly! It hurts.  My arms ache.  No baby will ever replace Ashley, ever.  But I want one.  I need to love on a little one.  I have turned into a bitter woman and want nothing more than to have a healthy safe pregnancy to help sweeten myself back up again!

Oh, I ordered a couple of ornaments for Ashley for Christmas.  One for us and one for my parents.  I think we will have them engraved if we can.

To My Readers...

I wanted to take a moment to thank my readers.  I don't know your story.  Maybe you've lost a child or maybe you know someone who has lost a child.  Maybe you are simply curious.  Regardless of your reasons for reading my blog, I am thankful that you decided to take the time out of your busy schedule to do so.  It means so much to me that people are reading this.  It means so much that people are reading about my daughter.  It is my hope that this blog can help someone else.  I pray this blog can help those who know someone going through something similar or someone who is going through something similar.  My goal in this blog is to be as open and honest as possible.  As you can already tell I will be blunt about my thoughts and feelings.  I do so, so that others can relate. 

I want you to know, if you are going through the loss of a child, that it's ok to be angry, sad, and happy.  I want you to know that it's normal to go through so many emotions.  Maybe you don't feel exactly how I do, but that chances are you feel something similar.  I want others to know, if they know someone who has gone through a loss of a child, what that person maybe be feeling and experiencing.  It is my prayer that no matter why you are here, that this blog can help you in some way. 

I don't wish anyone the pain and torment of loosing a child.  But if loosing my daughter can help at least one person in some way then I would be content to know that some good came out of my loss.  Short as though her life was, I pray that her story, our story, can touch others.  I hope and pray that our story can raise some awareness.

I would like you, my reader, to pass on my blog.  Pass this on to someone who can use it.  Pass it on to someone it may help.  It may be painful to read at times, but I hope it can be a comfort to others knowing someone else is going through this and has been there.

But again, I would like to thank you for being here.  Your presence and your time reading this, is a wonderful tribute to my beautiful Ashley Elizabeth.

Bravery Redefined

This weekend at a women's retreat, the speaker called me brave.  I told her that I don't know what on earth gave her that idea because I'm not.  I told her that my husband literally has had to dress me and pick me up.  I told her I'm the farthest thing from brave.  Later she told me that I was brave because I was putting one foot in front of the other.

I still don't think I'm brave but she got me to thinking.  Maybe my definition of brave is wrong.  When I think about bravery I think about the thousands of men fighting for our country.  I think about a firefighter putting his life on the line to rescue a child trapped in a house.  You get the picture.  But I guess the truth is there are many forms that bravery takes.  After all, I think a woman leaving an abusive man is brave.  I think a husband raising his children alone is brave.  Again, you get the picture.  There are so many varieties of bravery.

So, maybe I am brave and I just can't see it because I'm not looking at myself.  In fact, in looking back at a dream I had just this afternoon after the retreat, I guess I can kind of see it.  You see I have been suffering from nightmares and I would classify this dream as a nightmare.  I dreamed that I was watching myself give birth.  I was screaming at the doctor that this isn't fair because she's going to be still born.  The doctor came over to me and said that it isn't fair but I'd get through it.  I watched my daughter's head being born.  I screamed in my dream as I was watching myself go through this.  Watching myself endure this horrible experience.

The thing is, I felt like my dream and I still do.  I can't believe it happened.  I can't believe that I am going through this.  I am screaming inside.  I am screaming for my daughter.  In that same dream I actually dreamed that someone said something about my daughter and I fought for her.  Literally went after him and started getting in a fist fight and yelling match.  I've never gotten in a fist fight in my waking life.  I was screaming about how unfair it is and how wrong it is.  I was screaming to defend my daughter's short but real life.  I was standing up for her and me.  And the other people in my dream let me.  They let me get angry and question things.

After this dream I realized that maybe I am brave.  Maybe bravery isn't knowingly going into a fire or a battlefield.  Maybe bravery is enduring a really crappy situation.  Maybe bravery is willing to acknowledge that you're not brave.  Maybe bravery is willing to admit that I am completely and utterly broken.  Maybe bravery is crying my eyes out.  Maybe bravery is getting a shower and getting dressed.

Maybe I am so wrapped up in my own pain I can't see what other people see.  I can't see how strong I really am because I feel so weak.  I feel beaten and bruised.  Tattered and torn.  The retreat speaker gave an example of a fruit tree not bearing fruit.  This person she knew tried everything to get this tree to bear it's fruit and finally called a help line.  They told her to do everything she'd already done.  She asked for a supervisor and he told her to try one more thing.  He told her that the roots of the tree weren't being stimulated and that when she did what he recommended she better make sure the neighbors weren't around to watch because they'd think she was crazy.  He told her to take a broom stick and beat the base of the tree with all she had.  To take all her aggression out on that tree.  So she did and the next year it had fruit.

The speaker went on to say that if that tree could speak it would probably not say "I know this beating is good for me so bring it on! Come on hit me again! Bring it lady!"  She said that instead the tree was probably wanting to scream, "Stop!!! I can't take this! What is the point? Why me?" She said the tree couldn't see to the future to see that it will bear fruit because of this beating.

I feel like this tree.  I don't know what kind of fruit I'm going to bear.  I don't know what God has in store.  I'm the one screaming, "Why me? What is the point? This hurts! Knock it off! I can't handle this!!!! GOD!!!! WHY ME????????" I'm not strong. I'm not brave.  Why me.  Why me.  But the speaker is right.  Something good has to come out of this crappy thing.  Loosing my daughter has left a permanent scar.  I can't see the future.  I can't see God's greater picture.  Right now, I'm the screaming tree that doesn't understand why I'm being beaten.  The only thing I can hold on to is hope that some kind of fruit will come out of this torment.

Am I brave? Right now I don't feel brave.  But maybe the speaker was right.  Maybe I am.  Maybe every step I take makes me brave.  Maybe getting up every day in spite of my pain makes me brave.

I will tell you this.  I don't feel brave.  I feel broken.  I feel beaten.  I feel like the only reason I'm standing is because of my husband and my family.

But maybe, just maybe I'm braver than I give myself credit score.  Maybe years down the line I'll see it.  But right now, I sure don't feel it.

Learning to live.

I was texting with an aunt of mine yesterday and a thought struck me.  She told me that you have to "learn to live with the shattering before healing begins."  The thought that struck me is I'm not even to that stage yet.  I am, quite frankly, still relearning to live.  In a sense, a part of me died with Ashley.  So now, I have to live again.

My whole life has been changed.  I'm not the same person I was.  I don't know what to identify with.  I have to force myself out of bed every day.  I have to remember to breathe, because sometimes I forget how.

And this learning to live involves learning how to respond to others.  Yesterday I got a call from my dentist in Nashville wanting to confirm my new address but the first thing she asked me was, "How is your pregnancy going?" My response? "It's not."  To tell people that were excited for you about having a baby that that dream is no longer a reality is painful.  Other questions I get are, "Why did you move back?" Umm... well... The truth is we moved because I was pregnant.  But I'm getting to the point where all I want to say is, "Because I have family here."  But at the same time, I don't want to ignore my daughter.  So depending on my mood, depends on my response.  In an interview today when asked why I moved back my simple response was, "We had an opportunity to move back."  I don't know where it came from.  I didn't need to mention the opportunity.

I'm learning to live and in that I'm trying to figure out what to tell people when those uncomfortable questions are asked.  I dread the day when I'm asked, "Do you have kids?" Well... yeah... technically.  My problem is, I don't want to ignore my daughter, but it's a little socially awkward to tell people I have a daughter in Heaven.  But I want people to know I have a daughter.  It's all so complicated.

Each day presents a new challenge.  And I have to learn to live through each new challenge.  It's hard.  And quite frankly, it sucks.

The irony of life.

So I'm uploading pictures of Ashley to be sent of for development so I can make a scrapbook.  I came across a picture of my positive pregnancy test that I labeled with the date.  The irony hit me.  I had to blow it up to be sure.  I took my first pregnancy test on 3/5/11.  Ashley left us on 7/5/11.  She was due on 11/5/11.  She left us exactly four months between both of those dates.  I don't guess I'll ever take another HPT on the 5th of any month now.  It's just too freakishly weird.  Really there's nothing to read into but irony.  But still.  It's a bit disturbing.  I guess her birthday was bound to be the 5th of some month.  But really, what are the chances of this? Kind of like the chances of my having appendicitis less than two weeks after giving birth to her? Why must my life be so bizarre? I guess I have something else to discuss in therapy on Thursday.  Not only will I be discussing my living angel baby story from the hospital that has given me nightmares, but I'll be discussing these freakishly bizarre dates.  I miss her so much.

Her Funeral...

The last time I really wrote about the story of what happened with Ashley, I wrote that I left the hospital.  Her funeral was most painful.  After I was released I saw my doctor and requested anti anxiety medication and anti depressants.  Just in case.  My husbands parents flew in.  It was all I could do to get out of bed.

The week before my daughter funeral was a living hell.  Well, the whole situation was and is.  I don't use that terminology to offend anyone but merely to portray how horrible it was.

I probably waited a bit to long to tell this part of our story, but it was so painful I couldn't write about it.  So if some of this is a repeat, please forgive me.  But I am going to now attempt to recall some painful memories.  Because any memory of a parent burying their child is painful.

After we left the hospital we came home.  And as I said earlier, his parents flew in a few days later.  My days were spent crying and answering questions about how we wanted our daughters funeral to be handled.  Could you imagine planning your newborn baby's funeral? Imagine her laying in a coffin? Laying in the ground? It's a gruesome and horrible thing.  We were and are so blessed to have my aunt who took care of the details.  We knew we wanted to keep it simple because drawing it out too much would be too much for me to handle.  So a graveside service was planned.  I chose two songs.  One was recommended to my aunt that I listen to over and over.  That song is "I Will Carry You".  I have actually posted the YouTube link on my blog.  The song portrays exactly how I feel.  The other song was "Jesus Loves Me".  From the beginning that song had been playing over and over in my mind.  Not all the verses.  But definitely the part about "Little ones to him belong".  I never realized how perfect the song really was until I listened to it at the funeral.

At one point we discovered that a pastor my husband knew was now living in CA.  Actually, he was the pastor of his home church in Birmingham and had recently relocated here.  I had already decided that I just wanted my grandpa to be grandpa and not carry the burden of presiding over his first great-grandchild's funeral.  So I suggested that we get the pastor my husband and his parents knew.  Not to mention, we'd just moved to CA where my husband hardly knew a soul outside my family and his parents know no one but us as well.  I thought it would give them a kind of comfort to see a familiar face.

We had an outfit given to us by the hospital to bury her in but that's not what I wanted.  Imagine having to pick out an outfit for your baby daughter to be buried in.  Horrible.  But I wanted her to have something pretty.  And I needed to pick it out.  I cannot describe to you how strong my desire was to pick this out myself with my husband.  In fact, the only reason my mother came was just to help me get around.  I remember combing Toys'r'Us, Walmart, and Build a Bear.  It was so exhausting, not only mentally but physically.  I guess most post-partum women aren't out running around days after they give birth because they're at home recuperating with their baby.  Instead I'm running around the store overwhelmed and determined.  We eventually found a white christening gown at a doll store that was perfect.  You see, she needed socks and shoes and this outfit had it.  Little white booties with socks and a beautiful dress.

I had my husband take me to Michaels at one point and I bought yarn.  It was the most expensive and tiny blanket I had ever planned to make.  I just did it.  I didn't really tell anyone, including him, what and why I was getting this yarn.  But they figured it out.  In fact, I didn't even want to say that I was making a blanket to bury my daughter in.  But I made it.  And boy was I determined to finish it.  It was pink.  And beautiful.  Just like her.

My other mission in regards to burying my child was to find a Bible to bury her with.  She needed a Bible.  I had something in mind and couldn't find it.  We went to several stores in search of the tiniest Bible we could find.  But the smallest thing we found was an New Testament.  So we left empty handed and had resigned ourselves to using a small pink new testament that my aunt had.  But then one day my mom stopped by a store we went and came back with a beautiful surprise.  It was a tiny white Bible.  Not a complete Bible, it only had some verses in it.  But it was perfect.  I cried.  It was her size.  I don't know why it was so important to me for her to have a Bible, but it was.  In fact, while we were looking I saw all these 'My first Bibles' and was saddened by not being able to get her one.  So I was so thrilled for her to have a Bible that was just her size.  And I'm so grateful to the store manager that when my mother told him what it was for, donated it to our Ashley.

I had one last mission for her funeral.  Those that know me, know I detest dresses.  In fact, I threatened to wear jeans at my own wedding.  Funerals? I were dark slacks.  But for my daughter, I had to have a black dress.  I went from store to store to store with my mother searching.  Searching and searching with nothing to show but frustration.  I went to at least 5 stores before we found the dress I chose at JcPenney.  I just knew I'd know the dress when I found it.  Kind of like the outfit I bought for Ashley.  I knew it was right when I found it and cried.  I did.  I cried the moment I saw Ashley's burial outfit and I cried when I tried on this dress.  In fact, I didn't try on the rest of the dresses I had in my hand.  Mommy found the perfect black dress for my perfect daughter.

When I wasn't on the hunt for the above items I was exhausted and heart broken.  I would break down and cry.  I would go without showering.  I was showing the signs of depression, post-partum depression.  Eventually my husband talked me into taking the anti-depressants and I took the anti-anxiety medication to sleep.

I remember my husband's parents taking pictures and my refusing to smile.  I could just not find any happiness.  I was in no mindset to make people happy and pretend to be ok.  People would ask me how I was and I would tell them I was doing crappy.  I learned to be blatantly honest.  I learned to cry without shame.

The days leading up to the funeral I kind of felt numb.  I had to put myself in this mindset to get through it.

The first time I went to the funeral home was to walk 3 stores down from the doll shop to the funeral home to deliver her outfit.  It was just something I had to do.  I remember my feet slowing down the closer we got.  I cried as we reached the door.  We got inside and I broke down.  I wasn't supposed to be there.  I told the funeral director to please take special care of her feet and hands and not to use much make up.

At Ashley's visitation I was shocked.  They had used too much make up.  I wanted her face to be red, not white with thick ivory make up.  I held her for a little bit but not long because I thought 'this isn't my daughter, she looks nothing like she did'.  I felt like my wishes were ignored.  She didn't look bad.  I just wanted my baby and everything was wrong.  The casket, her make-up, everything.  Everything was wrong because the whole situation wasn't right.  I remember my husband saying, "Little girl, you are wearing too much make-up for your age."  I remember people coming in and out.  I remember sitting there not wanting this to be my life.

The day of her funeral was rough.  I got up, showered, and got dressed.  I barely put on foundation. I mean, why was make up important? It wasn't.  I was doing good to be upright.  The pastor came to our house and we all drove to the cemetery.  My parents, my sister, the pastor, and my husband and I caravaned to the Clovis Cemetery.  My grandpa picked Ashley up.  He wanted to do this and we were honored.  What was more heartbreaking than that was that my husband wanted to carry Ashley to the graveside.

If my husband was going to carry our daughter to her resting place I was going to walk right by his side.  I don't know where he found the strength to do this.  Because I was broken.  I remember him shaking.  I held onto his arm to show my support.  We were both crying.  Why is this our life? Are we really walking and carrying our daughter to lay in the ground? I have such respect for my husband because of his actions.  A father should never have to carry his child to his/her grave.  It's a heartbreaking thing to see.  But it meant the world to me that he did this.

I don't remember the pastor's words.  I don't remember everyone that was there.  In fact, at the end I realized more people were in attendance than I thought.  I remember the songs.  I remember crying.  I remember wanting to scream out that I just wanted my baby.  I remember feeling like this was all wrong.  This tiny pink casket not much bigger than a large shoe box was the most horrible thing in the world.  Ashley was supposed to bury us, not the other way around.  Her casket was so tiny on thing that holds the casket.  I remember thinking how big the casket holder looked compared to her tiny casket.

We stayed to watch them put her in the ground.  It was absolutely heart wrenching.

My husband had to pry me away from the grave and the cemetery.  I was basically a rag doll being told where to go and what to do.  I felt so helpless.

It felt so surreal to have people hold a luncheon at the church for us and our loss.  I never realized how helpful having food prepared for you was.  We certainly learned that blessing with meals brought to us and this luncheon prepared.

No parents should ever have to bury their child!

A job too hard...

I accepted a temporary job this past week that should supposedly ended within the next several days.  It is to help a hospital "go live".  Really, they're going to electronic charting, aka, paperless.  I was told I would be doing a lot of walking.  Right before it started I told my mom that I hope I don't have to go to labor and delivery.  We both realized I need to accept the possibility.

I wound up starting at the hospital I first went to when we weren't sure if my water broke.  The second day we were there we hit labor and delivery.  I managed to do just fine with it.  Then we hit more of L&D.  Only this was where new mom's stayed after they delivered. We went into one room to check a computer and I did well.  We'd been at this for about 2.5 hours now.  The second room, did me in.

We walked in and a newborn was getting their picture taken.  The baby's knees were underneath the belly and the arms tucked in with the baby's head laying on the bed.  Imagine the fetal position.  The baby was wearing a blue onsie and was wearing angel wings.  The baby's eyes were closed.  When we first walked in I had to do a double take.  It was the closed eyes.  We went on about our business but standing in there I couldn't stop the tears and I had to walk out.

The experience crippled me.  I think it was the angel wings.  I saw this newborn and had this horrible thought about dead angel babies go through my head.  In fact, I can still close my eyes and picture this innocent baby.  I couldn't help but think of Ashley.  It took me at least 30 minutes to compose myself before I could walk back in and help finish the job in this department.  I wasn't even sure I could go back the next day to work.

The experience was one of the hardest I've faced.  When I got home I pretty much went right to bed.  My husband was a bit concerned and came in the room and asked me if I was ok because of my experience.  I lost it.  I cried like a hadn't cried since we lost and buried Ashley.  Deep wailing and sobbing.  Heart wrenching noises.  Anxiety and heartbroken tears.

I feel so horrible for looking at this baby and thinking about dead babies being angels.  But my baby is an Angel Baby.  And I guess I just flashed back to her getting pictures taken, her eyes never to open and see the world.

I went back to work yesterday.  This incident took place Thursday.  And I will go back on Monday.  But I wonder if I was really ready to go back to work.  I had comfortable detached myself from what had happened so I could cope and that band aid has since been ripped off.  And I do seriously wonder if my grief and depression is crippling me far beyond what I thought and realized and if I'm ready to join the rest of the community in working.  Then again, maybe this was just the worst possible job I could have accepted a little more than two months then loosing and burying my daughter.

I wish every day that I had never been forced into this community of grieving parents that loose their babies.

Oh Ashley, how I miss you! I miss and love you so much! I wish I never have to think about dead Angel babies! I wish I never had the need to visit you at your grave.

A Single Pink Balloon...

I knew birthday parties and being around babies would be rough.  But I went to my one year old cousin's first birthday this weekend.  I stayed for about an hour before becoming overwhelmed.  Actually, for some reason it was them getting her ready to get her first cake that did me in.  So I went and hid so I didn't ruin anyone else's fun.  Shortly thereafter, my husband and I left.  I was glad to have taken our own car instead of carpooling.  It's odd knowing that something is difficult but at the same time being sympathetic to others and not wanting to ruin the moment for them or make it sad.  I enjoyed the time I spent there, don't get me wrong.  But sometimes it's hard when a mother who's lost her child looks around and sees babies and parties and knows she doesn't get to experience this first hand with the child she lost.  But at the same time, she, rather I, am happy for other people because I wish this solitary burden on no one.

However, there was a moment during the party that I don't think any else noticed.  A single pink balloon broke free.  I doubt anyone but myself watched it happen.  But I watched it float to the sky.  It was almost like it was a message from Ashley and she was saying, "I know you miss me mommy.  I love you.  I'm celebrating with all of you.  And this party balloon is coming to meet me in Heaven."  I can't explain it really.  Because it was more of a feeling.  A feeling of knowing she was there.  And in that same moment as I watched it float out of sight I couldn't help but think that that balloon, that solitary balloon, represented my Ashley.

It's been hard lately.  I guess as my due date comes nearer it will become more difficult.  After all, it was just last week that two months had passed.  But especially this weekend I'm reminded that I'm not pregnant.  I look at myself in the mirror and am disgusted by how thin I am.  A bit ironic, honestly, considering I wear a size 24. Gasp, I just shared my pants size.  All well.  The thing is, yes ideally I would like to be smaller, but right now... Well... Right now I'd do anything to feel like and look like a blimp.  A large overfilled balloon.  You know, to look pregnant.  And I crave nothing more than to hold my Ashley in my arms.

I'm sad this weekend because I can't feel Ashley in my belly or see her sleeping in my arms.  It's a loneliness that no amount of company can fill.  I long for my child.  And maybe it hurts even more because my body is being silly.  TMI time, but monthly cycles bite.  For some reason my body has decided that it was time to cycle again after only two weeks.  A little painful since it's truly a horrible reminder that I'm not pregnant.  And there is a big part of me that had wished I would become pregnant rather soon.

I miss Ashley, but I still want more children.  And I'm craving it.  I'm craving holding a healthy living baby in my arms.  I'm craving the joys of pregnancy like morning sickness, excess gas, food aversions, cravings, uncontrollable bodily functions, back pain, swelling... you get the idea.  Because as miserable as all the sounds its joyful.  Because it means my body is doing what it is supposed to be doing to create a new person.  I want a baby to drive me nuts by playing with my bellybutton and kicking me in the middle of the night.  Not only that, but for me particularly, I think I would find it healing.  And I guess, I haven't really just been feeling down this weekend but since I've started this stupid period.  Because I'd really hoped to be experiencing pregnancy again.  I guess it's something I will struggle with until it is time to have another baby.

But yes, while I would give everything to have Ashley with us I know I can't.  It is still painful.

Let the counseling begin...

I had my first individual post-partum loss counseling session.  I really need to learn not to separate myself.  But I did learn that what I'm going through is normal.  I think I'm learning more and more that I should get my Master's in Social Worker.  I know it would be difficult working with people like me or anywhere in the counseling realm, but it would give me the most purpose in life.

Closure is the hardest thing right now.  I wish I had it.  Instead, I only have more questions.  Was it the appendicitis that caused us to loose our daughter or my gene mutation?  Before the gene mutation discovery I was so comfortable blaming the appendicitis because that can only happen once.  I guess the genetic counselor will be able to answer those questions.  Though, like my counselor said, sometimes with answers you get more questions.  Well, we have answers which gave us more questions and now, well, now I want more answers.  I want to know exactly what caused this grief to come to be.  Or did they work together to give us these heavy hearts?

More than that... I want a sense of purpose.  I want a career with meaning.  I don't want a random job, though I guess it would be a start.  Instead, I want something with meaning.  And more than that, I want another baby that I can actually see grow up.

Two months...

Dear Little One,

How ironic that two months ago this past Monday it was that we lost you and you are due in exactly two months from that date.  The closer it gets, the more I miss you.

Mommy and daddy have decided to try again.  We're both looking for jobs.  But we want a baby.  It's not to replace you.  You are irreplaceable.  We love you so much.  I read somewhere that someone viewed their angel baby as best guardian angel for their brothers and sisters ever.  And I like that thought.  Even though trying to have another baby will be difficult, I know you'll be the best guardian angel ever.

Mommy is very scared to try again.  I don't know that I could handle loosing another baby.  But I want very much to have another one.  Knowing that mommy has this gene that can cause me to loose little ones like you is a nightmare.  But you were still very precious.  I guess we'll never know if it's this gene mutation or my appendicitis that caused you to have to go to Heaven.  But at least that's where you are.  Sitting in God's lap.

I miss you so much.  Every time I go shopping I see things that I wish I could get for you.  I have outfits that I bought for you that you'll never wear.  Maybe if you have a sister she can wear them.  It would be like an angel's hand-me-downs.  I don't know.  I bought them especially for you so I guess we'll see.

I love you little one.

Love,

Mommy

Why can't I at least be a cool mutant with awesome superpowers?

So, we got all our testing back today.  Pathology, genetics, lab panel.... you name it.  Ashley was healthy.  Nothing wrong with her.  Nope, not a thing.  It's mommy.  Me.  It's my problem.  You see, we learned I have a C677T mutation of the MTHFR gene.  This can cause pregnancy loss.  According to my doctor, primarily second trimester loss.

Now I don't expect everyone to get my feelings, just acknowledge them.  Put yourself in my shoes.  Because if I feel this way, if you know someone else that's lost a baby, chances are she's felt this way too.  I would offhandedly say that my body killed Ashley.  I mean it's true.  My water broke and I got an infection.  But that was before I found out about this mutation.  Before I was comfortable blaming my appendix.  And now, well, now we'll never know the true cause.  But now, I feel like a failure.  Because it really is my fault.  It's not my fault because I did something wrong, but it's my fault for being, well... me.  It is my fault because I am.  It's a horrible feeling.  And I mean horrible.  No, I can't control it or fix it or change my genes.  But I feel so GUILTY! Now logically, I understand it's not my fault.  I understand I didn't choose my genes and that they chose me.  I get it.  But it's not how I feel.  I'm so angry and hurt and baffled! I am absolutely heartbroken! My baby was perfect and my body failed her! In essence, I failed her.

I mean, if I have to have this stupid ugly genetic mutation, couldn't I at least have a COOL mutant power to go along with it? Or even better, in place of it? You know... like super strength, flying, or invisibility? Couldn't I be Wonder Woman or Storm or Batwoman or something? Instead, my mutation has the ability to kill my babies. Really? I'd rather fly, and I'm terrified of heights!

So now on I go to individual therapy.  And boy will I have lots to talk about.  Because I feel pretty darn tootin' low.  I mean, now I'm craving pregnancy and I'm craving a baby, and now I'm terrified to boot! I used to be afraid I couldn't get pregnant.  Now I'm terrified I can't stay pregnant.  My husband wants to try again, and so do I, but I'm terrified of going through this again.

Now our lives include a genetic counselor.  Not to mention the high risk doctor I will always need on my team in any pregnancy.  What a nightmare.  Now with every pregnancy I face I will be absolutely paranoid.  I mean, I'm going to be the pregnant woman that stubs my toe and rushes to the ER.  Well, maybe not that drastic.  But from my understanding to improve my incurable circumstances I will be on blood thinners with every pregnancy.  Maybe the genetic counselor and high risk doctor will say different.  But now, for our peace of mind, this is our life.  People educating me on things I hated learning about in high school biology.  Facing the terror of whether or not my body will let me stay pregnant and not get blood clots.  I hated learning about DNA in high school, and now I get to take a deeper class on the subject.

I will say I'm glad my doctor is being aggressive.  I would rather know now than 3 graves down the line.  While I absolutely need to see a high risk doctor, I think she's including the genetic counselor to give us as much of a peace of mind and education as possible.  But now we have to 'plan' our pregnancies...

Ugh.... I'm so angry right now.

I really wish I had superpowers instead!!!

The things I would have loved to get for you...

So I was at Target today.  Shopping with your great-aunt.  She was buying things for your second cousin.  I saw the cutest shoes in the world! They were white and fuzzy boots with pretty pink bows on the back.  I also found cute ballet shoes that were pink.  Along with a pink onsie outfit.  I'm seeing all these things that I would have loved to have bought for you.


I'm thinking about you a lot.  I guess that's normal since you would have been here in two months.  My heart has a hole in it.  A hole that is especially for you.  I didn't know it was possible to miss someone so much when I didn't even really know you.

My life is a rollercoaster of emotions.

So the past few days I have been on constant edge.  I guess part of it is (potential TMI alert) that my body is getting back to its womanly duties.  While I'm glad to have my cycles back, I hate it with every breath.  It's a horrible reminder that I am not pregnant.  It's a horrible reminder that I should still have Ashley growing inside me, safe and sound.  But it's also hope that I can have another baby.  But I guess for now my pain is so deep that my monthly cycle brings more painful reminders than hope.  Not that the constant attack of emotions I've been under since we lost Ashley is enough, buyt now throw in mother nature's female curse.  You know, cramps, pms, hormones, period stuff.  Hello mother nature! I already have enough hormones right now as it is!


Then of course there is everyone else.  Everyone wanting me to move on.  Trying to get me out of the house.  Except I have to go when I'm ready.  And quite frankly, I'm not sure how ready I am.  It's starting to put me a little on edge being someone that people make decisions for.  "You're going out." "You're leaving the house." "You need to do this." I'm still my own person! I get that people are trying to help me.  Really, I do.  But it's frustrating.  I've been battling insomnia, so I'm exhausted as all get out and on top of that my family wants me to go out and is hardly giving me a choice.  Heck, I got so fed up with it and so angry that I grabbed my stuff and left.  I put gas in my car and just left.  They wanted me out of the house, they got it.  Of course I came back.  But I was just so overwhelmed with what everyone else decided I should be doing and with everything they were telling me I was going to do, that I left.  It's hard enough to grieve without other people trying to make your decisions for you.  Find a job. Call the recruiter. Find a job. Walk the dogs. Do something. Get out the house. ARGHHHHHHH! What if I'm so tired all I want to do is sleep? What if I'm so tired I can't walk the dogs? What if I'm so sad I just DON'T CARE!?!?!? What if everything everyone wants me to do is just stressing me out to the point where all I want is to shut down.


I guess you could say I'm finding my anger.  Because I am.  Angry.  Very angry.  At myself nonetheless.  You see we had a plan, well sort of.  We'd move here to CA, get jobs, get on our feet and have our own place.  And me? Well I went and ruined it.  I lost my daughter.  I lost my baby.  It's my fault.  Because now we're struggling for longer then we were supposed to.  We're all feeling the stress of living in the same house because I couldn't stay pregnant.  Basically, we're all miserable because my body failed my daughter and basically killed her.  Yup.  Self-blame.  No matter what anyone says, I feel it.  Throw in the fact that we're all grieving seperately and I'm severly depressed and the picture starts to become clear I guess.  Because I do feel like it's my fault.  Life turned to poo because I couldn't keep my baby safe inside of me.  All I want is to be left alone.  All I want is for other people to let me make my own decisions in my own time without being forced.  All I want is my life back.  The life where I have the job I loved and my own space in my own house.  And instead, I'm sharing the smallest room  in my parents house with my husband with no job, no baby, and no sense of purpose.  I am completely lost.  I can't even begin to explain how I'm really feeling and this blog doesn't even touch the tip of the iceburg.


I feel all this pressure from everyone.  And that pressure makes me want to just run away and hide.  Because I AM NOT the same person I was.  Yeah, I need to get out of the house.  But really, you can't make that choice for me and force me out.  Yeah, I need to get a job.  But I have to find that job and I can't be forced into it.  I look for jobs and intentionally don't say a thing because I don't want the pressure of being asked if I've heard anything on the job I applied for.  I'm going through a process and quite frankly it's one I don't understand.  I know it's not my fault but I feel like everything is my fault.


To make matter worse is my birthday is coming up.  It's a birthday I don't even want acknowledged.  I don't want a cake, cards, happy birthday wishes, gifts, nothing.  I want it to go by just like any other day.  I don't want the reminder that I am alive and my daughter is rotting in a grave.  Sounds harsh, but it's how I feel.  How can I celebrate my birthday when my daughter will never celebrate hers? This is definetly a birthday I could live without.  Top that off with the fact that I was wanting my baby shower to be held on my birthday this year to make it extra special.  So this years birthday is exceptionally painful.  Because I don't want the reminder.  I don't want cheesey stupid happy birthday cards because it's not one.  If anything I want sympathy notes.  But please don't tell me happy birthday.  The closer my birthday comes the more angry and grumpy I'm getting.


I guess it's probably not helping that I haven't been sleeping and I stopped taking my anti depressents.  Not intentionally, it just happened.  Though of course now I have practically locked myself in my room with the exception of eating, showering, and going to the bathroom.  Now the past couple days I've really done nothing but sleep.  In fact I went to bed about 1am Friday morning and woke up at 6pm just to go back to bed at 10:30pm and wake up today at about 1pm.  It's pretty ridiculous.


Add in the fact that I'm a pretty sensitive person.  I take things that are said to me to heart.  And lately I've had some pretty ugly things said to me.  Things I took to heart.  I took this thing that was said to heart so much I now feel like EVERYTHING is my fault and if one more thing goes wrong that will be my fault too.  Instead of acknowledging that I'm grieving, I had myself ripped to shreds and torn down.  So please watch what you say to someone in pain.  The past couple of days have had me so down I literally wondered what it would be like to walk away and never look back.  I wonder if I walked away if it would make everyone's life that much easier because I'm not here to screw it up.  Yes, I feel that miserable.  I feel that alone.  I am in that much pain and agony.  Every harsh word I hear just makes it that much worse.  I have never wanted to just walk away and leave everything behind me.  And really, I don't want to do that now.  I'm just on that much of a rollercoaster of emotions.

It's the small things that make it real.

Most days I can get through with realizing  my life was supposed to be different.  I can look at my baby cousin and think "I'm still supposed to be pregnant" or "I'm supposed to have a daughter." It's like recognizing what was supposed to be.  But it never really hits home.  And then there are those moments that are as clear as day.


My family went and saw the Smurfs last weekend.  Great movie.  But I wasn't prepared for the couple in it to be pregnant.  The male lead would talk to the baby still in his wife's tummy.  It brought back my husband talking to our baby.  We'd lay in bed and I'd say 'Say goodnight' and he'd lean over pat my belly and tell our baby goodnight.  I cried at that point in the movie because of the memories it brought with us.  There was also another point where it showed an ultrasound that was 'baby's first picture'.  I cried then to.  I remembered getting our ultrasounds done and how excited we were to see our little one growing inside healthy as can be.


Then there are those moments when the smallest of things are said.  We went for lunch with for my sister's birthday and me, my mom, my sister, and my two aunts went to get pedicures afterward.  Then I wound up at a women's meeting.  They did a devotional and one of the ladies said that she believed God places a person on other's hearts for a reason.  She went on to say that she'd had my aunt on her mind and wound up calling her and going with her to the hospital and the funeral home.  She didn't mention me or my daughter.  But it hit me that's who she was talking about.  The moment she said funeral home tears started falling.  My life was real again.  The pain was back.  And now I'm sitting around a bunch of women I don't want to cry in front of because I don't want to recognize my own pain.  I want to run.  I wanted to get up and leave.  I didn't want to break down.  It was so hard to hold it in while tears were still running down my face.  The reality of my daughter in a grave was strong and painful.  My life wasn't supposed to turn out this way.


I guess I'll never know what will trigger my sadness and bring reality back into stark clarity.  I know that I don't want my daughter forgotten and I want people to talk about her.  But I guess it will never prepare me for the pain. Because as much as I want to remember her, it hurts.  It hurts in a way no mother should ever have to experience.


Just know if a little thing is said and I start to cry it's ok.  Part of it is the pain, but part of it is joy that she is remembered.

I am.....

"God said to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM. This is what you are to say to the Israelites: ‘I AM has sent me to you.’”" Exodus 3:14

"Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. ⁷ If you really know me, you will know^[b] my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”" John 14:6

An interesting thought to ponder.  "I am who I am."  When I invision God, knowing him as him, is a powerful thought.  Because he is everything.  And we know that Jesus is the way to God.  However, what strikes me about these two passages is that Jesus and God know exactly who they are and what it means.  It's a strong statement, "I am."

How often do we forget who we are? Do we even know who we are? It's a question I have pondered quite a bit latey.  You could say I'm having an identity crisis.  I'm well aware that I'm a daughter, granddaughter, sister, wife, friend, etc.  But now I'm wondering who I really am.  See, I had just become comfortable with the idea that I am a mother.  And now, I'm not.  But at the same time, I am.  Because I will always be a mother.  I am a mom without being a mom.  It's a weird feeling.  I knew who I was and who I was becoming and a general direction my life was taking.  And now my world is turned around.

It's kind of this pondering of who I am that has kept me from blogging and journaling.  You see, I'm searching.  I'm searching for what I'm supposed to do now.  I'm searching for who I am to become.  I'm searching for how I am a mother without being a mother.  I am lost.  Not lost from Christ.  I've lost myself.  In loosing my daughter, I've lost me.

When she was born they put on a hospital bracelet that said "Community Hospital" and "Mother".  This bracelet was one of the best things they could have given me to take home.  When we didn't have her in the room with us I would play with and read this bracelet.  It was a reminder of who I am.  When I got home from the hospital I asked my husband to cut the other hospital band off my other wrist.  He offered to cut my 'mother' bracelet off too.  I about flipped out.  I told him that that bracelet wouldn't come off until I was ready.  I needed the reminder of who I am.

This bracelet is the only thing I had that called me a mother.  This cheap, plastic hospital band identified me.  So I kept it on.  Until this past Wednesday, August 10.  I realized I had been looking at it less and less.  It was just there.  It just was.  It is.  Just like I am here.  Also this bracelet was beginning the process of degrading and becoming hard because I had exposed it to so many elements.  I want to keep this bracelet and scrapbook it with the rest of Ashley's stuff.

But let's go back to the bracelet just being there.  While I mostly cut this bracelet off to preserve it, I also cut it off because I realized this bracelet had become a part of me.  Well, maybe not the bracelet, but it's meaning.  I realized that while I don't necessarily feel like a mother all the time and while I feel like part of my life hasn't happened, that I began to accept that I am a mom and didn't need the constant reminder.

I am a mom but I didn't need the constant reminder of a hospital bracelet to tell me that.  At first I did.  Like getting her death certificate told me the state recognized her as a baby, the hospital bracelet told me they recognized me as a mother.

Not knowing who you are can be just as powerful as knowing exactly who you are.  Right now in my life I'm on the path to rediscovering myself.  Because who I was is not who "I am" and now I need to figure out who I am.  I am searching the direction God wants me to take.  And while I have faith we'll have more kids, there are times where I'll need to be reminded that I am a mom.

And while I may not know who I am, I know who I'm not.  I also know that I can pull strength from God knowing exactly who he is and I can pull strength from knowing God.  I may be searching for a new meaning and purpose in my life.  I might have lost myself.  But I know God is carrying me when I can't carry myself and right beside me when I don't need to be carried.

I Will Carry You

One month....

One month today, I gave birth to you.  You will always be my angel dollbaby.  You're so precious and will never leave my heart.  I love you little one.  I love you my Ashley Elizabeth.

Love,

Mommy

Random Ramblings....

The thing is even on my bad days I feel a peace.  I think if we had stayed in Nashville life would be much different, and not for a good reason.  I think I would have sunk into a deeper depression than anyone or any medication could bring me out of.  If it weren't for my family I'm not so certain there wouldn't have been two graves instead of one.  It sounds horrible to say but I think I would have been that broken.  Either that or I wouldn't have realized I needed to go to the doctor.  After all, I thought I'd lost bladder control not that my water broke.  So we might not have went to the doctor and we might not have known the signs of infections to look for and it could have been too late.  Even if we'd waited much longer to get me to the hospital for my appendix it might have been much different.  Normally an appendectomy is an in and out kind of thing and they kept me over Sunday night, Monday night and let me go at 12:30am Wednesday morning because the infection had been so bad.  I didn't know it had been so bad until my follow up appointment.  I know we couldn't have done it without everyone here.  We moved to CA on blind faith.  We knew everyone thought we were crazy.  We had a house and jobs in Nashville and we were moving to CA in with my parents to no jobs.  Not to mention we didn't know what was going to happen to the house.  But we felt it was the right decision.  Then it was because we knew we couldn't raise a family without the biggest support system we could have.  Not to mention my dad's health and then finding out when we got here my grandma had breast cancer.  We could have moved closer to his family but didn't feel it was right.  His family is more spread out and they're not as close and so there was never any debate.  I'd been feeling the pull since January.  In the beginning of March there was a question of my contract being renewed so I brought up moving and my husband just wasn't sure.  Then we found out about Ashley and he said to start packing because we were moving.  We still have a lot of what ifs.  Yeah, my husband is doing contract work for the company he was working for.  But there are a lot of what ifs.  But we both somehow know coming here was the right decision.


Now I wonder if it wasn't because God knew we'd need the support.  And we would not have had it in Nashville.


I still ask God why and I'm sure I will for a long time.  Especially as anniversarys, due dates, holidays, and birthdays pass.  Like tomorrow.  It will be one month since I gave birth.


I'm a completely different person now.  I will never be who I was.  And I can't help but feeling that my life is being directed somewhere new.  And now I'm searching for what I'm supposed to be doing.  I have a stronger feeling then ever to get my Master's.  And I know I need a job.  I'm just wondering what it is I'm supposed to be doing.


Yes, I wonder all this through my pain because trust me it hurts.  But I loved her. Even on the days I 'forgot' I was pregnant because I didn't feel pregnant I know with all my heart I loved her.  My dad almost died from an infection the day after we found out and the hope of her was the only thing that got me through being so far away.  And now that she's gone my dad has told my husband that he used to think he wasn't going to be around much longer but now he thinks he'll be around for a long time.  It's interesting how things work.


But I still have my bad days.  I fear leaving the house.  I fear the looks I know people will give me that know what happened.  I fear seeing pregnant women, babies, and kids.  And I know eventually I'll have to move past that.  And there are times I don't know how I'm going to get through it but I know I will.  Even when I'm bawling my eyes out and screaming, I have a peace.


Now that I'm finally healing from everything we'll probably start counseling soon.  My grandpa knows someone who's volunteered to see us and there's a non-profit agency that can see us as well.  So we may see the guy my grandpa knows together and see the agency individually because I think we need both.


You know my biggest fear is not being able to have a baby? Ironic since I was afraid I could never get pregnant.  Now my fear has changed to never having a living healthy baby.  I want to try again but it frightens me.  It's like my fear hasn't really changed.  I asked my husband that.  I asked him what if we couldn't have kids? What if this keeps happening? I asked him how he could want to be with me if I couldn't give him children.  I did.  It's some of the things that roll around in my mind and I know I can ask him these things without judgement.  He's a great husband.  He told me that he has no doubt in his mind that I am who he wants to spend a lifetime with no matter what happens.  Kids or not, he has no doubt of his love for me.  Time and time again God is proving I married the right man.  Even the women that visited me at the hospital commented on how much he was there for me, how attentive he is and how supportive.

Story Continued...

You all know our daughter was born on July 5 and now I will continue on with our story.

Before giving birth I had distanced myself.  But I remember asking if we'd get to hold her.  The nurse said that was one of the questions they were going to ask along with whether or not we'd want pictures taken.  She told me to think about it and not answer yet.  I was torn.  Do I want pictures? I pondered it for a few hours and finally said that I did want them.  Even if I didn't look at them for a long time I would rather have them then regret later not having them.  I'm glad I made this decision.

Her birth seems like such a blur.  I know the labor was painful and my aunt was there coaching me through it.  They asked me if I wanted an epidural because the pain medication really wasn't cutting it.  I said yes.  For those that know me, I never wanted an epidural, but for this, I just didn't want to feel anything.  I had only been checked once because they figured I'd be laboring for more than 24 hours, especially since this was my first baby.  The anesthesiologist came and told me he didn't not want to give me an epidural because I'd only been in labor for around 4 hours and I can only have the epidural for so long.  An hour later I remember looking up at my aunt and saying, "I feel the need to push." They got the doctor immediately.

The doctor checked me and said she felt the head.  I remember her sitting on the foot of the bed because there was no time to break it down.  She looked at me and told me that we would take a few minutes and when I'm ready I could push.  No sooner had she said that then Ashley was born.  You see, I didn't have to push.  She came on her own because she was so tiny.  We'll never know how dilated I got.  It was the most bizarre feeling in the world.  Not to be disgusting but the only way I can think to describe the feeling for those who haven't given birth and for those who can't (like my husband) was to equate it with needing to have a bowl movement.  You feel this pressure and this need to push but when you got right down to it, it happened on it's own and you didn't nothing.  Really and truly I'm not trying to be disgusting but it's the only way I can think to describe it.  Nature took over.  I'm sure it would be a bit different if she was full term.

They took Ashley and cleaned her.  They even put her in a little outfit.  Did you know there are groups that make tiny outfits for preemie babies and babies who don't make it? I didn't.  I do now though.  They took some pictures.  I wanted to hold her but I didn't.  Would it be morbid to hold my dead child?  I think my husband had her and asked me if I wanted to hold her.  That's when I knew I wanted to.  That's when I knew it was ok to.  Seeing someone else hold her made my maternal instinct spring up.  Holding her for the first time was the most painful thing in the world.  I cried.

When she was born everyone kept telling me how beautiful she was.  When I got her in my arms I wanted to call them crazy.  It took me a while to realize she was beautiful.  She really was.  But I was so horrified initially at how small she was and how it wasn't right that I couldn't see the beauty.  It felt so wrong.  I should be pregnant.  I should be here 4 months from now.  I should be holding a crying baby and learning how to breastfeed.  But she was perfect.  Her chin was a little smooshed on the left side and her left ear was bent but I think it was how she was laying in my uterus with no amniotic fluid.  Because the longer she was out the less smooshed she was.  And she was red! You see at 22 weeks babies are just beginning to developed thicker skin.  Her skin was still thin enough to see all the blood vessels.

She was so tiny! Only 10.5 inches long! But she was perfect.  One of the first things I remember doing was to check to make sure she was a girl.  It felt so odd lifting her little outfit to see.  But then I looked at her fingers and toes.  10 of each and each had their own little nail.  She had eye brows and eyelashes.  Tiny ears, a tiny nose, and a tiny mouth.  She even had a tiny tongue! Yes, I opened her mouth to see this.  I even lifted her outfit and turned her over to see her tiny toosh.  By the way, we'll never know who's bum she got because she didn't have enough fat on her to have a bum.  No little butt crack.  I looked because before all this I'd become enamored with the fact that a little baby butt was growing in my tummy.   But she was just starting to gain the fat she needed and apparently if she'd made it, her hips and butt were the last place any weight would take residence.  I never saw her completely nude and I don't know why I never took her clothes off.  I guess it was to give her some kind of respect.

Eventually I was wheeled to my own room.  There was a flower on the door I didn't think much about.  I held her all the way from delivery to my private room.  I'm glad they gave me that.  We kept her for hours.  Finally I told my husband we should think about sending her with the nurses.  We knew where she'd go but I didn't want to say it.  We knew they'd place her in saline solution to keep her for the funeral.  They'd told us they would bring her back at any time.  We eventually called the nurse in.  Before handing her over I asked if we wanted in the morning if we could have her back.  Her response was a quick "absolutely!" So we said good bye.  We were so heartbroken.  So heartbroken the nurse told us we needed a few minutes and left.  Finally they came and got her.  Letting her go was the most difficult thing to do.  But I knew she needed to be in the saline solution.  We'd been told if they brought her back she may look different.

That next morning I woke up sad.  It wasn't long before my heart was wrenching.  I didn't know your heart could literally hurt.  I was devastated.  I started wailing and panicking. I wanted my daughter! How could I NOT have my daughter? I need her! My husband called the nurse and asked for them to bring her in.  Less than an hour later we had our daughter back. I won't forget it.  They brought her back in the outfit shown on this blog with a little bonnet wrapped in a blanket.  She had a crocheted rose in the basket with her and she was in a perfect white basket.  It was absolutely beautiful.  We took pictures, well obviously.  The presentation of our daughter to us was so precious and perfect.  The fact that they did that was beautiful.

What was the most beautiful to me was when other people held her.  I know at least 3 people from my church held her along with most of my family.  This made my heart swell with a joy and pride I cannot describe.  They admired how tiny she was and how perfect.  They couldn't believe how much like a baby she looked.  The thing is you know she does look like a baby in the womb, you just never see it.  Because you're not supposed to.  To me, when others held her, it was like them saying, "She is real and she is a part of us.  She is a baby." It was her being acknowledged and respected.

We sent her back again that night and it was easier because we knew we could have her back.  Every morning I was there I woke up and had the same panicky reaction.  I needed my baby.  And without fail they brought her to me.  The last day I was there we sent her back much earlier because I knew dragging it out would be most painful.  And it was.  How can a mother say good bye to her baby she never got to hear say 'mommy'?

It's funny as I write this I remember asking the doctor when I could go home.  Since I'd been so sick with infection he said they really wanted to keep me a day or so longer.  I told him I would be ok with that if they stopped poking me with stupid needles.  See, my veins, they stink.  I can hydrate for days and nurses still can't find my veins.  He agreed by the way.  They only poked me one more time after that to check my white blood count levels.  The things you remember.  But I also remember wanting to go home to get away from this nightmare but not wanting to leave because that meant leaving my daughter.

Eventually though I did leave on Thursday morning/afternoon.  It was then that I realized what that flower on my door represented.  We still have it, by the way.  It represented my loss.  No one else had a flower on their door.  Because as the nurse wheeled me out I peeked in some of the rooms.  They were mother's with their babies.  That flower served to tell anyone who entered that I'd lost my baby and to be sensitive.

Leaving the hospital was painful.  I don't really like to show my emotions and I especially hate crying in front of other people, especially strangers.  But I couldn't help it.  I couldn't help feeling angry that I was leaving with empty arms and an empty womb.  I cried.  And I cried.  I held onto the bear that was given to me and I cried. My husband had went to get the car and my mother rode down the elevator with me.  I remember people in the hallway tearing up.  I remember another lady riding down the elevator with us tearing up.  She never said a word.  But she rested her hand on my shoulder and hugged me.  I'll never know her name but I'll always remember her gesture.  It felt like a ride of shame (since I was being pushed in a wheelchair) as I was wheeled out front crying.  People looked at me and turned away.  I felt like I had a neon sign above my head saying I'd lost my baby.  Some looked at me in sympathy and others couldn't look at me.  I remember this.  Someone from church was there as I was being wheeled down and I cried harder as he hugged me.  My arms were empty and my heart broken.

My hospital stay was made as comfortable as possible by the kind words and visits from family and friends and church family.  The nurses I had would tell me their stories and spend time with me.  They would check in with me.  But throughout the whole process I couldn't help but feel that it was too early.  From the day we went in to see if my water broke to the day I left it was wrong.  I remember looking at the infant bed on that Saturday thinking, "I shouldn't be here." And I shouldn't have been.  I should be blissfully pregnant and complaining about the heat.  I should be throwing up my breakfast.  I should be threatening to ground Ashley if she kept playing with my belly button.  But I'm not.  Instead I'm mourning the loss of my daughter.

You see, no mother should ever leave the hospital without her baby.  No mother's arms should be so empty.  No mother's heart should be so shattered.  No mother's womb should be emptied so soon.  But there are those of us that have been thrust into this experience.  And we are grieving.

I will keep telling you are story but for now this post is too long.  Not to mention it has been emotionally draining for me to write.