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.
Beautiful Dollbaby
Our Angel in Heaven
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Monday, August 15, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, August 12, 2011
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.
"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.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
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
Love,
Mommy
Thursday, August 4, 2011
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Panic at the WIC office...
July 2. The beginning of the worst nightmare ever. I was sitting in my chair thinking I'd lost bladder control only to be faced with the reality that my water might have broken. It's now one month later. I guess I'm thinking more on it because of yesterday. Yesterday was NOT a good day for me at all. You see my grandmother had surgery for breast cancer. Her surgery went well and she is doing well. But that's not what made my day so horrible.
On July 1, I walked into a WIC office to get some help since my husband and I uprooted our lives. I was supposed to have had an appointment yesterday. Well considering I'd spent half July in the hospital and the other half recooperating I wasn't up to an appointment. So on the way to the hospital to show some support my husband stopped by the WIC office so I could cancel my appointment. Though I couldn't remember what time it was supposed to have been. He stayed in the truck. Next thing I know I'm being roped into a post-partum appointment. I guess they give help to post-partum women even if you've lost the baby. And to a degree that's great. But I just wanted to cancel my appointment. I filled out the form they gave me and waited.
It was horrible! I was sitting there looking at all these kids, the father holding his newborn baby, the pregnant women, the stupid posters, not to mention the pregnant women in the dvd they were playing. The room was closing in on me. The longer I waited, the worse it got. My heart was starting to race and all I wanted to do was leave. About the time I was about to leave they called me back. Then it got really bad. I was supposed to have brought in proof of income to this appointment. But because I had been in the hospital and been through so much it was the furthest thing from my mind. I remember needing it now, but I didn't think about it since I was just there to cancel my appointment.
They were trying to find a way to get me services for another month until I could bring this income proof in. And the longer it took, the worse I felt. Finally another lady sat down and I explained the timeframe. July 1 I walked in here. July 2 my water broke. July 4 I was hospitalized. July 5 I gave birth. Then I was released that Thursday. The next week was the funeral and that Sunday I was hospitalized again for an emergent appendectomy and released that Wednesday. And my grandmother is now in surgery as we speak for breast cancer. I was near tears. My chin was quivering, I was starting to shake. I told her all I wanted to do was cancel my appointment. I just didn't want to not show up and I couldn't find the number to call in. She told me to lets pretend the appointment never happened. But she begged me to come back with proof of income because I guess they can help for 6 months after my loss. She finally showed me to the door and asked me to please come back.
I just don't think I can go back. Yes right now we are in a time where we need help. We have been through more than any couple should. We gave up our jobs and our home (it's being rented) to move in with my parents. We gave up our privacy. I can't start working just yet, though I'm getting there. Just another week or so. My husband had to quit the job he took when we got here because there was just too much stress and he was too worried about me. So now it's all up to the contract work he has, and a job search I need to start up again. The problem is, my energy fails me. Some days I have the heart and some days I don't. Like today. I need to make a call to follow up about some testing I took for a job and I'm just drained. Mentally drained. You see that appointment took so much out of me my husband had to bring me back home to take an anxiety pill. I had to calm down before going to the hospital to see my family.
What's worse is I'm having a hard time focusing on anyone else. I'm so wrapped up in my own grief, I can't see anyone else's hardly. I want to be there for my grandma but I'm even having a hard time with that. So I went to the hospital to show some form of support even though my heart wasn't necessarily in it. I'm being raw here. Bluntly honest. I want to be there, but I don't. It's so complicated. My family has shown us so much support I want to give something back, but I'm so drained I don't have much to give. I'm so glad my grandma's surgery went well. I just wish I had more to give. But I'm so broken.
I was able to put aside how I felt after walking into WIC yesterday until I went to bed. My husband knew something was wrong because I didn't want to talk. I like to use right before we fall asleep as a time to chat and I didn't want to. All I wanted to do was cry. I was so heartbroken. I just want my Ashley back. I miss her so much it hurts. I'd had so many good days lately I wasn't expecting the shock of a panic or anxiety attack. The medicine helps and I know without it I would have been a much bigger mess after that experience. I realized last night how much I miss her. I've put myself in a shell trying to protect myself. I've had such bad days before I agreed or allowed myself to take the anti-depressent and anxiety medicine. Such horrible days. Days where I would just stare at a wall. Days I'd refuse to get dress or go anywhere. You see I'm not perfect. And maybe most wouldn't admit to being on medication but I need the help. Because my raw pain is so disabling it was becoming dangerous. I was loosing myself.
If I'm really going to be honest here, then I'll admit I'm afraid to leave the house. I am. I'm afraid of going into a store and being surrounded by pregnant women, kids, and babies. And most of all I'm afraid of the anxiety and panic that happens. And truth be told, I was never more painfully aware of how many there are until after I lost Ashley. I can't stand being surrounded by crowds. I learned that at a Walmart trip, though I didn't tell anyone. My excuse typically winds up being that I'm tired and need to leave. And really I do get tired but I'm not sure if it's from all the physical stuff I've been through or if some of it's the mental draining and exhaustion.
More painfully, I am terrified. I am absolutely terrifed of going through any of this again. I want a baby so badly but I don't want to loose another one. It hurts so much. My brutally honest question to my husband last night was, "What if I can't have a baby? What if I keep loosing them?" It is my fear. And it is a fear that grips any mother who has lost a baby. I'm even more afraid of becomming pregnant again and being so scared that I can't enjoy the pregnancy.
I am sad and I am heartbroken. I am so heartbroken I can hardly focus on anyone else's pain. So if you know me and are reading this, please know that I want to be there for you but I'm so broken I don't know how. I am weak. And I am healing.
I am tired. I sad. I am devastated. I am not always happy and I cannot always see the good though I am trying. I am not always postive. And sometimes I am angry. While I look for the positive I still want to know WHY!? Why me?!?!?? Why is it that women who abuse their bodies with drugs and alcohol and ignore their children have healthy babies but I'm left to loose my daughter but I took care of myself and wanted her? Why do women who don't want their babies get to keep them? Because it's not fair. And I ask those questions. But I try and look for the positive. But yesterday and today are days when I have a hard time doing that.
I am broken.
On July 1, I walked into a WIC office to get some help since my husband and I uprooted our lives. I was supposed to have had an appointment yesterday. Well considering I'd spent half July in the hospital and the other half recooperating I wasn't up to an appointment. So on the way to the hospital to show some support my husband stopped by the WIC office so I could cancel my appointment. Though I couldn't remember what time it was supposed to have been. He stayed in the truck. Next thing I know I'm being roped into a post-partum appointment. I guess they give help to post-partum women even if you've lost the baby. And to a degree that's great. But I just wanted to cancel my appointment. I filled out the form they gave me and waited.
It was horrible! I was sitting there looking at all these kids, the father holding his newborn baby, the pregnant women, the stupid posters, not to mention the pregnant women in the dvd they were playing. The room was closing in on me. The longer I waited, the worse it got. My heart was starting to race and all I wanted to do was leave. About the time I was about to leave they called me back. Then it got really bad. I was supposed to have brought in proof of income to this appointment. But because I had been in the hospital and been through so much it was the furthest thing from my mind. I remember needing it now, but I didn't think about it since I was just there to cancel my appointment.
They were trying to find a way to get me services for another month until I could bring this income proof in. And the longer it took, the worse I felt. Finally another lady sat down and I explained the timeframe. July 1 I walked in here. July 2 my water broke. July 4 I was hospitalized. July 5 I gave birth. Then I was released that Thursday. The next week was the funeral and that Sunday I was hospitalized again for an emergent appendectomy and released that Wednesday. And my grandmother is now in surgery as we speak for breast cancer. I was near tears. My chin was quivering, I was starting to shake. I told her all I wanted to do was cancel my appointment. I just didn't want to not show up and I couldn't find the number to call in. She told me to lets pretend the appointment never happened. But she begged me to come back with proof of income because I guess they can help for 6 months after my loss. She finally showed me to the door and asked me to please come back.
I just don't think I can go back. Yes right now we are in a time where we need help. We have been through more than any couple should. We gave up our jobs and our home (it's being rented) to move in with my parents. We gave up our privacy. I can't start working just yet, though I'm getting there. Just another week or so. My husband had to quit the job he took when we got here because there was just too much stress and he was too worried about me. So now it's all up to the contract work he has, and a job search I need to start up again. The problem is, my energy fails me. Some days I have the heart and some days I don't. Like today. I need to make a call to follow up about some testing I took for a job and I'm just drained. Mentally drained. You see that appointment took so much out of me my husband had to bring me back home to take an anxiety pill. I had to calm down before going to the hospital to see my family.
What's worse is I'm having a hard time focusing on anyone else. I'm so wrapped up in my own grief, I can't see anyone else's hardly. I want to be there for my grandma but I'm even having a hard time with that. So I went to the hospital to show some form of support even though my heart wasn't necessarily in it. I'm being raw here. Bluntly honest. I want to be there, but I don't. It's so complicated. My family has shown us so much support I want to give something back, but I'm so drained I don't have much to give. I'm so glad my grandma's surgery went well. I just wish I had more to give. But I'm so broken.
I was able to put aside how I felt after walking into WIC yesterday until I went to bed. My husband knew something was wrong because I didn't want to talk. I like to use right before we fall asleep as a time to chat and I didn't want to. All I wanted to do was cry. I was so heartbroken. I just want my Ashley back. I miss her so much it hurts. I'd had so many good days lately I wasn't expecting the shock of a panic or anxiety attack. The medicine helps and I know without it I would have been a much bigger mess after that experience. I realized last night how much I miss her. I've put myself in a shell trying to protect myself. I've had such bad days before I agreed or allowed myself to take the anti-depressent and anxiety medicine. Such horrible days. Days where I would just stare at a wall. Days I'd refuse to get dress or go anywhere. You see I'm not perfect. And maybe most wouldn't admit to being on medication but I need the help. Because my raw pain is so disabling it was becoming dangerous. I was loosing myself.
If I'm really going to be honest here, then I'll admit I'm afraid to leave the house. I am. I'm afraid of going into a store and being surrounded by pregnant women, kids, and babies. And most of all I'm afraid of the anxiety and panic that happens. And truth be told, I was never more painfully aware of how many there are until after I lost Ashley. I can't stand being surrounded by crowds. I learned that at a Walmart trip, though I didn't tell anyone. My excuse typically winds up being that I'm tired and need to leave. And really I do get tired but I'm not sure if it's from all the physical stuff I've been through or if some of it's the mental draining and exhaustion.
More painfully, I am terrified. I am absolutely terrifed of going through any of this again. I want a baby so badly but I don't want to loose another one. It hurts so much. My brutally honest question to my husband last night was, "What if I can't have a baby? What if I keep loosing them?" It is my fear. And it is a fear that grips any mother who has lost a baby. I'm even more afraid of becomming pregnant again and being so scared that I can't enjoy the pregnancy.
I am sad and I am heartbroken. I am so heartbroken I can hardly focus on anyone else's pain. So if you know me and are reading this, please know that I want to be there for you but I'm so broken I don't know how. I am weak. And I am healing.
I am tired. I sad. I am devastated. I am not always happy and I cannot always see the good though I am trying. I am not always postive. And sometimes I am angry. While I look for the positive I still want to know WHY!? Why me?!?!?? Why is it that women who abuse their bodies with drugs and alcohol and ignore their children have healthy babies but I'm left to loose my daughter but I took care of myself and wanted her? Why do women who don't want their babies get to keep them? Because it's not fair. And I ask those questions. But I try and look for the positive. But yesterday and today are days when I have a hard time doing that.
I am broken.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Poem we put on a bookmark for Ashley's funeral
Someone posted this for me on facebook. It was so perfect that we put it on a bookmark and passed it out with the program for Ashley's service.
______________________________________________
These are my footprints,
so perfect and so small.
These tiny footprints,
never touched the ground at all.
Not one tiny footprint,
for now I have wints.
These tiny footprints were meant
for other things.
You will hear my tiny footprints,
in the patter of the rain.
Gentle drops like angel's tears,
of joy and not from pain.
You will see my tiny footprints,
in each butterflies' lazy dance.
I'll let you know I'm with you,
if you just give me the chance.
You will see my tiny footprints,
in the rustle of the leaves.
I will whisper names into the wind,
and call each one that grieves.
Most of all, these tiny footprints,
are found on mommy's heart.
'Cause even though I'm gone now,
we'll NEVER truly part.
By - Tamara Barker, Hope's mommy
______________________________________________
These are my footprints,
so perfect and so small.
These tiny footprints,
never touched the ground at all.
Not one tiny footprint,
for now I have wints.
These tiny footprints were meant
for other things.
You will hear my tiny footprints,
in the patter of the rain.
Gentle drops like angel's tears,
of joy and not from pain.
You will see my tiny footprints,
in each butterflies' lazy dance.
I'll let you know I'm with you,
if you just give me the chance.
You will see my tiny footprints,
in the rustle of the leaves.
I will whisper names into the wind,
and call each one that grieves.
Most of all, these tiny footprints,
are found on mommy's heart.
'Cause even though I'm gone now,
we'll NEVER truly part.
By - Tamara Barker, Hope's mommy
A parent's love for their child...
I'm going to continue from a thought I had yesterday. It was my thought about my willing to take 1,000 needle pokes, 10,000 times the pain I've experienced, and been willing to subject myself to any medical test or proceedure they could conjure just to save my beautiful Ashley. My love for her is so great I would be willing to subject myself to such pain that I would normally never volunteer for. I would have appendicitis 20 times if it would bring her back.
If I would be willing to subject myself to such pain for my child, what did God go through when his son was on the cross? What does God go through when we hurt and experience loss? Truth be told I realized something when I was thinking on this last night as I was trying to fall asleep. I realized that God does not wish us to know the pain of loosing a child or any other such pain. I realized that God hurts with us because he made the ultimate sacrifice by sacrificing his son for us. How much pain does God experience when he looses one of his children to hell? God's heart breaks with us and for us through everything. His heart breaks when we hurt. His heart breaks when we loose a child or other loved one. His heart breaks when he looses a child. He would do anything to save us from this pain and therefore sacrificed his son so that we could spend eternity with him.
While I have been angry at God and may be again, I know he loves me. And I know he intended for a perfect world but sin and evil are present and therefore perfect is nothing but a dream. I know that he wishes I didn't have to go through such painful heartbreak, such suffering, because our God is a loving God. As a parent hurts for their child, as my mother hurt for me watching me loose our beautiful Ashley, God hurts for us! And such hurt for someone is only possible through such a great love I can't begin to describe it.
I realized how much I truly love my Ashley when I was willing to put my life on the risk to save hers. I risked a lethal infection. And I was willing to subject myself to the worst pain of my life if it would help her. A child I never knew outside my womb. I had wondered before this if I'd be a good mother. Would I love my baby enough? Would I do right by her? Would I be there for her? And realizing now I would have sacrificed my life for her, I know that I loved her as much as any parent can love a child. And that my love for her is as indescribable as it comes.
If I can feel such love for a child I only knew inside my womb, imagine the love God has for us.
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