I know I have not blogged in quite some time now. I fear my reasons are as simple as grief, pain, and misery. I have been depressed and have been having an extreme struggle with my grief. One that has led me on some pretty interesting paths. But this is not why I am here tonight. I simply wanted to share with you a thought I had today, or yesterday as it may be at this point. So here goes.
Beautiful Dollbaby
Our Angel in Heaven
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Grief. Show all posts
Friday, January 20, 2012
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Supporting Those Who Have Lost A Little One
I wrote this on Friday, July 22, 2011 ---------
She was perfect. 10 fingers, 10 toes. A tiny mouth, two tiny ears, and a button nose. She just came too early. 18 weeks too early. Most are well aware that my water broke and I contracted a severe infection in my amniotic fluid. So severe in fact that my life was at extreme risk and if we had not went to the hospital when we did that I could have been hours away from being septic. In a matter of 48 hours my life went from a plan of joy to a nightmare.
June 22, "You are definitely having a girl!" A dream fulfilled. A little girl I've always dreamed of and had the name for since I was a child.
July 2, "Due to the uncertaintyy we need to get you another week and a half along and you need to be on bed rest."
July 4, "We're so sorry. The heartbeat we thought we had was your own."
July 5 @ 6:40am a beautiful baby girl is born at 14oz and 10.5" long. Stillborn.
I couldn't believe what I had to go through. I sat their listening being told I had to give birth to my little girl who was no longer with us. How was I supposed to be able to do this? How is a mother supposed to birth a child with no life when the whole point is to give your baby life? Devastation. Pure and simple. I went numb. I couldn't do this with feeling. I had to separate myself. It wasn't fair. The only thing I ever wanted in my whole life ripped away from me. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I would take 1,000 needle pokes and 10,000 times this pain just to have her back safely in my womb.
It feels hollow. My womb, my heart, my soul. I never knew that a heart could actually hurt. I swing back and forth from sadness, desperation, anxiety, fear, hatred, anger, numbness, and helplessness. At times I'm able to put everything aside and laugh.
When I feel I can't go on, everyone is there. My experience was exceptional. We were able to hold our angel any time we wished. We would send her with the nurses for the night and get her in the morning. I would wake up panicked. I needed my daughter. How could I not hold her for forever? The nurses would ask several times if we were sure we wanted them to take her when we had her. At one point, even though we said we were ready, a nurse decided to give us a bit more time. The doctor's a nurses were so sympathetic. They let me sleep, cry, mourn, and laugh. They told us their stories. They told us how hard it was for them. They told us how beautiful our daughter was.
My family has been exceptional. My aunt never left my side except for a couple of times. Coaching me through my birth. I don't know how she did it. But her strength enabled me to push on. I know she was heartbroken. Helping me through the hardest thing any of us have ever had to face. When she wanted me to breathe I wanted to tell her I hadn't had time to learn any of this. When I was told it was ok to cry, I wanted to say I didn't want this to be me. My family has laughed with me and cried with me. They hurt with me, and sat quiet with me.
See there are things you can do and things you shouldn't do. We have been lucky. Everyone has been so supportive. You see it's ok to not know what to say or do. Because honestly, not a word you say will bring Ashley Elizabeth back. Not a word will ease our pain or take it away. It's ok to visit and just sit quietly with someone that lost a little one. We had people do that. No words were needed, just the support. It's ok to say how sorry you are for the loss. It's ok to say that you don't know what to say.
I can tell you that there are those who held our precious dollbaby and that meant the world to me. Because it meant that other people accepted her as being real and loved too. People would ask, afraid of my reaction, but my heart was never so proud. Because now I'll forever remember that she was held by someone other than myself. I'll remember the love and compassion that people looked at her with. The gentleness in how they picked her up. The love in their eyes. They're admiration of how even though she was so tiny how perfectly she was already made. Not everyone may feel that way. But she was real, and it meant the world to me.
It's ok to talk about her and to ask questions. There may be answers we know and answers we don't. There may be times when we want to answer and talk and times when we don't. All we ask, is that you understand and be supportive of us and anyone else you may know. Meals, prayers, cards, quiet visiting, they all mean the world. We never realized how helpful a meal was until we were in this situation.
It's ok to mourn the loss of our baby and the loss of the things we'll never do or have. We'll never hear her laugh or cry. We'll never see her roll over, crawl, or walk. We'll never hear her first words or have her call us mommy or daddy. We'll never ground her, threaten her boyfriends, buy a prom dress, or have her walk down the aisle. There will be no graduations, skinned knees, splinters, Christmas cards, fights, or pedicures. We will not have grandchildren by her. We won't see her get her heart broken. We won't see her first date. But we saw her. We saw her have no suffering. We saw her loved. We saw her 10 fingers and 10 toes. We saw her sleeping. And it is ok to mourn all of this for and with us. Because we wll not heal over night.
But please do not discredit our loss or anyone else's. Each loss is different. Some people it is much harder for some people it's not. At times I think my loss is so different then a miscarriage, and to an extent it is. But the fact of the matter is, a loss is a loss. A baby is a baby. You can see a little one's heartbeat as early as 8 weeks. Probably earlier. Don't say that at least she didn't suffer. Because as odd as it may seem, we grieve that we don't get to see her heartaches. Don't tell me that it wasn't my fault. Because even though I logically know it is not my fault and I could have done nothing, I am her mother and it was my responsibility to give her life and protect her and I feel as though I failed. Like my mother who stood on the sidelines watching me do the hardest thing I've ever had to do knowing we'd be having a funeral, I am a mother who was helplessly lying in a hospital bed wanting to do whatever the doctors wanted if it meant bringing her back and I couldn't. So while I know that I tried and did everything I could, I feel guilty and that is something I have to work through. So acknowledge those feelings and support me or anyone else you know. Because a mother's sense of love and obligation is indescribable and goes further than I ever thought. And please know I am always a mother. My husband is always a father. Our parents are always grandparents. Our sisters are always aunts. And our nephews and nieces are always cousins. I may not always feel I'm a mommy because I don't get to push my daughter around in a stroller, walk her into her first day of school, or take her to Sunday school, but I had and have a baby.
We have had such a great experience except for one. And this is primarily for any medical personnel. Never ever forget that a parent who has suffered a loss no matter how far along is grieving and it can only take one word to flip a wrong switch for someone. You see, as most also know, I had an emergent appendectomy less than two weeks after giving birth. Not once, not twice, but three times 1 nurse and 1 doctor later I was asked about my 'fetal demise' and if I had to 'expel the parts' of my baby. This infuriates me because I had a baby. I did not have a screw, a fan belt, a motor, a leg, or an arm. I had a baby. Please remain sensitive to this and change your terminology because it's NOT appropriate. No matter how far along I was she was a growing person with a heart, liver, lungs, intestines, brain, eyes, fingers, toes, and everything you or I have. Just much tinier. She could hear me. She could feel pain. She had nerves. She could even taste. Do not discredit that. Your beliefs may be different, but you need to assume to err on the side of caution that any patient believes their baby was and is a person. If I did not have the loving husband, family, friends, and church family I do, I might have or might decide to give up. A woman who has given birth, primarily to a little one she had to bury is at high risk for post-partum depression and demeaning her child could be the one thing to push her over the edge into a dangerous territory no one wants anyone to enter. So remember, miscarriage or stillbirth, a woman still had a baby.
Just remember, our baby is loved, with us or not. She is in the arms of Jesus. "Jesus loves her this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to him belongs. They are weak, but he is strong." And please don't forget that Jesus called the little ones to him, "Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”" This is not mentioned once but three times in Matthew 19:14, Mark 10:14, and Luke 18:16. Please take comfort with us that Ashley is in Heaven at the feet of Jesus and is in a place of no suffering.
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And in response to being told I was mature and strong I wrote this: "Please don't be decieved. There are moments where I become as immature as the best of them. I go silent and refuse to talk. There was a day when my husband had to actually dress me. There are times ...when I would rather die. It is extremely difficult most times but I have to hold onto some home or I would drown. There is a song played at her funeral that said it the best, you may think I'm strong but I am much weaker than you think. I'm as fragile as they come. I've been angry at God and probably will be again. But I know I could not do this without my family, particularly my husband. He's not perfect, nor am I, but he is the perfect husband for me. He has literally had to be my strength. Pulling me out of bed when I either refused or when I could not get up without help because of physical weakness from surgery. In a fit of grief he held me tight and let me beat his chest. So please don't put me on a pedestal because I am not as put together as people think. I just would be less without how supportive everyone we know has been. However, when we first found out we may loose her "Jesus Love Me" kept playing through my head and I knew when we lost her it had to be played at her funeral. Listening to the words I didn't realize when I picked it how appropriate it was. I particularly found comfort in this verse "Jesus loves me! He who died Heaven’s gate to open wide; He will wash away my sin, Let His little child come in." Because I know his child is home. I will try to see if I can find the other song played at her funeral."
She was perfect. 10 fingers, 10 toes. A tiny mouth, two tiny ears, and a button nose. She just came too early. 18 weeks too early. Most are well aware that my water broke and I contracted a severe infection in my amniotic fluid. So severe in fact that my life was at extreme risk and if we had not went to the hospital when we did that I could have been hours away from being septic. In a matter of 48 hours my life went from a plan of joy to a nightmare.
June 22, "You are definitely having a girl!" A dream fulfilled. A little girl I've always dreamed of and had the name for since I was a child.
July 2, "Due to the uncertaintyy we need to get you another week and a half along and you need to be on bed rest."
July 4, "We're so sorry. The heartbeat we thought we had was your own."
July 5 @ 6:40am a beautiful baby girl is born at 14oz and 10.5" long. Stillborn.
I couldn't believe what I had to go through. I sat their listening being told I had to give birth to my little girl who was no longer with us. How was I supposed to be able to do this? How is a mother supposed to birth a child with no life when the whole point is to give your baby life? Devastation. Pure and simple. I went numb. I couldn't do this with feeling. I had to separate myself. It wasn't fair. The only thing I ever wanted in my whole life ripped away from me. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. I would take 1,000 needle pokes and 10,000 times this pain just to have her back safely in my womb.
It feels hollow. My womb, my heart, my soul. I never knew that a heart could actually hurt. I swing back and forth from sadness, desperation, anxiety, fear, hatred, anger, numbness, and helplessness. At times I'm able to put everything aside and laugh.
When I feel I can't go on, everyone is there. My experience was exceptional. We were able to hold our angel any time we wished. We would send her with the nurses for the night and get her in the morning. I would wake up panicked. I needed my daughter. How could I not hold her for forever? The nurses would ask several times if we were sure we wanted them to take her when we had her. At one point, even though we said we were ready, a nurse decided to give us a bit more time. The doctor's a nurses were so sympathetic. They let me sleep, cry, mourn, and laugh. They told us their stories. They told us how hard it was for them. They told us how beautiful our daughter was.
My family has been exceptional. My aunt never left my side except for a couple of times. Coaching me through my birth. I don't know how she did it. But her strength enabled me to push on. I know she was heartbroken. Helping me through the hardest thing any of us have ever had to face. When she wanted me to breathe I wanted to tell her I hadn't had time to learn any of this. When I was told it was ok to cry, I wanted to say I didn't want this to be me. My family has laughed with me and cried with me. They hurt with me, and sat quiet with me.
See there are things you can do and things you shouldn't do. We have been lucky. Everyone has been so supportive. You see it's ok to not know what to say or do. Because honestly, not a word you say will bring Ashley Elizabeth back. Not a word will ease our pain or take it away. It's ok to visit and just sit quietly with someone that lost a little one. We had people do that. No words were needed, just the support. It's ok to say how sorry you are for the loss. It's ok to say that you don't know what to say.
I can tell you that there are those who held our precious dollbaby and that meant the world to me. Because it meant that other people accepted her as being real and loved too. People would ask, afraid of my reaction, but my heart was never so proud. Because now I'll forever remember that she was held by someone other than myself. I'll remember the love and compassion that people looked at her with. The gentleness in how they picked her up. The love in their eyes. They're admiration of how even though she was so tiny how perfectly she was already made. Not everyone may feel that way. But she was real, and it meant the world to me.
It's ok to talk about her and to ask questions. There may be answers we know and answers we don't. There may be times when we want to answer and talk and times when we don't. All we ask, is that you understand and be supportive of us and anyone else you may know. Meals, prayers, cards, quiet visiting, they all mean the world. We never realized how helpful a meal was until we were in this situation.
It's ok to mourn the loss of our baby and the loss of the things we'll never do or have. We'll never hear her laugh or cry. We'll never see her roll over, crawl, or walk. We'll never hear her first words or have her call us mommy or daddy. We'll never ground her, threaten her boyfriends, buy a prom dress, or have her walk down the aisle. There will be no graduations, skinned knees, splinters, Christmas cards, fights, or pedicures. We will not have grandchildren by her. We won't see her get her heart broken. We won't see her first date. But we saw her. We saw her have no suffering. We saw her loved. We saw her 10 fingers and 10 toes. We saw her sleeping. And it is ok to mourn all of this for and with us. Because we wll not heal over night.
But please do not discredit our loss or anyone else's. Each loss is different. Some people it is much harder for some people it's not. At times I think my loss is so different then a miscarriage, and to an extent it is. But the fact of the matter is, a loss is a loss. A baby is a baby. You can see a little one's heartbeat as early as 8 weeks. Probably earlier. Don't say that at least she didn't suffer. Because as odd as it may seem, we grieve that we don't get to see her heartaches. Don't tell me that it wasn't my fault. Because even though I logically know it is not my fault and I could have done nothing, I am her mother and it was my responsibility to give her life and protect her and I feel as though I failed. Like my mother who stood on the sidelines watching me do the hardest thing I've ever had to do knowing we'd be having a funeral, I am a mother who was helplessly lying in a hospital bed wanting to do whatever the doctors wanted if it meant bringing her back and I couldn't. So while I know that I tried and did everything I could, I feel guilty and that is something I have to work through. So acknowledge those feelings and support me or anyone else you know. Because a mother's sense of love and obligation is indescribable and goes further than I ever thought. And please know I am always a mother. My husband is always a father. Our parents are always grandparents. Our sisters are always aunts. And our nephews and nieces are always cousins. I may not always feel I'm a mommy because I don't get to push my daughter around in a stroller, walk her into her first day of school, or take her to Sunday school, but I had and have a baby.
We have had such a great experience except for one. And this is primarily for any medical personnel. Never ever forget that a parent who has suffered a loss no matter how far along is grieving and it can only take one word to flip a wrong switch for someone. You see, as most also know, I had an emergent appendectomy less than two weeks after giving birth. Not once, not twice, but three times 1 nurse and 1 doctor later I was asked about my 'fetal demise' and if I had to 'expel the parts' of my baby. This infuriates me because I had a baby. I did not have a screw, a fan belt, a motor, a leg, or an arm. I had a baby. Please remain sensitive to this and change your terminology because it's NOT appropriate. No matter how far along I was she was a growing person with a heart, liver, lungs, intestines, brain, eyes, fingers, toes, and everything you or I have. Just much tinier. She could hear me. She could feel pain. She had nerves. She could even taste. Do not discredit that. Your beliefs may be different, but you need to assume to err on the side of caution that any patient believes their baby was and is a person. If I did not have the loving husband, family, friends, and church family I do, I might have or might decide to give up. A woman who has given birth, primarily to a little one she had to bury is at high risk for post-partum depression and demeaning her child could be the one thing to push her over the edge into a dangerous territory no one wants anyone to enter. So remember, miscarriage or stillbirth, a woman still had a baby.
Just remember, our baby is loved, with us or not. She is in the arms of Jesus. "Jesus loves her this I know, for the Bible tells me so. Little ones to him belongs. They are weak, but he is strong." And please don't forget that Jesus called the little ones to him, "Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”" This is not mentioned once but three times in Matthew 19:14, Mark 10:14, and Luke 18:16. Please take comfort with us that Ashley is in Heaven at the feet of Jesus and is in a place of no suffering.
------------------
And in response to being told I was mature and strong I wrote this: "Please don't be decieved. There are moments where I become as immature as the best of them. I go silent and refuse to talk. There was a day when my husband had to actually dress me. There are times ...when I would rather die. It is extremely difficult most times but I have to hold onto some home or I would drown. There is a song played at her funeral that said it the best, you may think I'm strong but I am much weaker than you think. I'm as fragile as they come. I've been angry at God and probably will be again. But I know I could not do this without my family, particularly my husband. He's not perfect, nor am I, but he is the perfect husband for me. He has literally had to be my strength. Pulling me out of bed when I either refused or when I could not get up without help because of physical weakness from surgery. In a fit of grief he held me tight and let me beat his chest. So please don't put me on a pedestal because I am not as put together as people think. I just would be less without how supportive everyone we know has been. However, when we first found out we may loose her "Jesus Love Me" kept playing through my head and I knew when we lost her it had to be played at her funeral. Listening to the words I didn't realize when I picked it how appropriate it was. I particularly found comfort in this verse "Jesus loves me! He who died Heaven’s gate to open wide; He will wash away my sin, Let His little child come in." Because I know his child is home. I will try to see if I can find the other song played at her funeral."
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