Raphy's Birth Story Part 2

I know you all (my two readers!) have been waiting on bated breath waiting to hear the rest of Raphy's birth story. I can't say that there hasn't been anything on my mind (more on that later), but I figure that it's better to get this all written down before I forget it. Some details are already a bit foggy! So, without further ado, the most exciting conclusion to my fifth pregnancy!

One thing that I have been very blessed with is a good instinct about when my labors would start. On Tuesday evening, April 8, I just had the feeling that I might be having a baby the next day. It felt like that moment when you are on a roller coaster and the train is plugging away to the top of the hill, click click click, and then, there's a brief moment before you go back down. That sort of sigh, that breathless, almost weightless moment when the real ride is about to begin. I must say that what followed was really a roller coaster.

I told Nate about my instinct and he encouraged me to try an get some rest in anticipation. I did try to sleep, I got a few hours, but woke up in the wee hours of the morning. This is very familiar to me as it followed the same pattern as the labors with Frederick and Cordelia, but that is about where the similarity between labors ends. For a few hours, my contractions were pretty consistent. They were increasing in frequency and seemed to be going the way they should be. I called my midwife, Cindy, and let her know what was going on. By about 9 that morning I was ready for her to come. I didn't want her to miss it! She arrived, but by the time she got there, my contractions had petered out. It was a bit discouraging, but I was still in that mindset where I wasn't really ready to be giving birth. She checked me, and I honestly can't remember how far dilated I was or anything, but it was still fairly early. She went home and told me to keep her updated.

I had contractions off and on all afternoon and got in a short nap. My dear friend Marcie came by and picked up the kids when the girls had returned from school. More contractions and more contractions that evening. Nate made soup. I didn't want to eat it but I was starving and tired, so I did. It was good. Nate and I talked in the quiet house. At this point, I was getting rather discouraged. I would get lots of contractions, then they'd stop. I experienced a bit of this during labor with Frederick, but I always felt like I was moving forward. I just didn't feel like I was getting anywhere.

Eventually, Nate tried to convince me to get some rest, again. I tried laying down at around 11 pm that night. I couldn't. I was uncomfortable and just couldn't understand what was going on! Why weren't things progressing? They were, but I just had no idea how much! I did some googling, as is my way, and read several women's experiences with this stop and start labor. I was resigned to the fact that Wednesday wasn't the day and maybe Thursday wouldn't be either. I felt reassured that it was within the realm of normal and that many women have a similar labor pattern when they have already had multiple pregnancies.

I decided once again to lay down when we got a call from Marcie. Frederick was very upset and would not fall asleep at their house. I had figured that might happen, and by 1:30 am he was back at home. We tried lying down with him, but my contractions were starting to get intense and it was extremely difficult to just lie there. A bit after 2, Nate tried to get me to call my midwife. I should have listened! I kept saying "not yet", because I didn't want her drive all that way for nothing. Again! (She would have done it happily, but it was just my insecurity talking). After about an hour of very intense contractions and Nate telling me that the contractions were "definitely doing something", I finally called her. I think Nate knew that I was moving toward transition, but he is gentle and kind and I think he wanted me to make the call and not step on my feet. It was nearing 4 am when I called her (she probably knows the times better than I do!). It was going to take her 2 hours to get there, and I just got the feeling that she might not make it about a half hour after that call was made.


I had sort of planned to do a water birth. I say sort of because it sounded interesting and I thought it might be helpful, but I didn't really go into it with my heart set on it. After I called Cindy, I wanted to take a shower/bath because I remembered how calming and helpful it had been with my last labor. As I was sitting in the bath, Nate hooked up the hose to fill up the birth pool. I hadn't really thought the whole warm water thing through. Ha!

4:30 am. Then it came. Pop! My water broke. Here's about where I start to freak out. My water doesn't break until the very end. Cindy was still at least an hour away. I was still in the bath an the fluid looked clear. I tried to calm down. Nate was still filling the pool. I got out of the tub and dried off. I told Nate that my water broke. My contractions were very intense with very little break in between. Poor Frederick was awake because of all the commotion watching Spiderman cartoons. I stood in the hallway outside the bathroom and would lean against the wall when the contractions would come. Standing was the only position that felt comfortable for me. This went on for about 20 minutes. Every contraction telling me that baby was going to be here. Soon! In the back of my head, I knew we were going to do this on our own, but I kept thinking I needed Cindy there. She'd tell me what to do!

It was probably about 4:50-4:55 when I started to feel the urge to push. Other ladies may understand that sometimes that comes along with feeling like you need to use the rest room. So, I went to sit on the toilet, after about a minute sitting there, I knew the baby was right there. I got off the toilet, knelt down with my hands on the side of the bathtub. I yelled at Nate something akin to "I'm pushing!". He came over and I pushed. Raphy's head was coming out. I reached down, something I had never done before and felt the top of his head come out. i remember feeling his squishy hair and then another contraction came and he just sort of fell out. Thankfully Nate was there to catch. Frederick was outside the door, watching, completely baffled by what happened. Raphy looked around and I rubbed him and just kept saying things like, "Hi baby!" and "I did it!". Nate ran to call Cindy to tell her that the baby had been born. We weren't sure of the time, exactly, but it was right around 5 am.

Frederick, still in the hall, was a bit reluctant to come see the baby, but he did and he approved and said it was a "good baby".

After a few minutes, I moved to the bed. Cindy and the other midwife, Nancy, arrived about 20 minutes after he was born. He was a little blue for her liking, so he got a bit of oxygen and the room was warmed up and he looked great. We were all a bit baffled by the fact that he was born with a very intense looking rash. It looked like chicken pox several days in. We contacted the pediatrician's office and they recommended we transfer to the hospital.

Sigh. I must admit that it was very nerve wracking and stressful to be back in the NICU. I had to mourn a little bit because I missed out largely on the first couple days of bonding that I wanted. In the end, after testing negative for everything, just like I thought would happen, his final diagnosis was pustular melanosis, a benign newborn rash. Funny, because it was exactly what Dr. Google told me! It was fine, though, and everything worked out in the end. A real roller coaster.

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Different: A Birth Story (Part 1)

To set the scene a bit:

It was maybe six weeks after my mother passed away. More grief. More sadness.

More baby?

Yes. Pregnant.

Ready or not, we were going to have a new baby. I wondered if my mother was laughing somewhere about it all. She seemed to have hinted at it more than once when she was sick. Perhaps she knew the future better than I did. And yet, it was hard to accept. Another child borne through grief? I guess that's what we do around here. Looking forward to new life forces you to make steps ahead, too. No waiting around. No stagnating.

Then I realized when this new little bundle would be due. Early April, maybe mid-April if the babe made us savor pregnancy like its siblings. Great. April. The month we lost our son. The month we lost an uncle. And, most recently, the month we found out we'd probably lose my mother too. 3 out of 4 years made me, well, a bit superstitious. I started to assign more significance than I probably ought to a month that generally symbolizes rebirth, resurrection and regeneration. A good month, right?

My pregnancy was fairly standard for me. I have been incredibly blessed to have had healthy pregnancies. Incredibly blessed. This time was a struggle. Life seemed in tumult. Things that I have had before in pregnancy were gone. The floor felt like it had been pulled out from under me and I had to find a way to gain some stability on my own and with the help of my little family. Without too much detail, it was hard, but I am grateful for those wonderful souls who stepped in to support us.

This time was different indeed.

I contacted C. She had assisted with both of our boys and now she was my primary midwife. The familiar face was comforting and I enjoyed some great chats with her.

Still, there were moments that gave me pause. More than one thing happened in a similar manner to what had happened in my pregnancy with Phineas. There were moments that I felt like I was treading ground that was all too familiar. For whatever reason, I felt more nervous, less self assured and less trusting than I had during my previous pregnancy with Freddie. I thought that it would be the other way around. Still, I prayed everyday. I prayed for the health and safety of my baby, that I would bond, that I would be ready for whatever happened and that the baby would arrive safely. I felt reassured that these things would be granted to us.

The day we had the ultrasound was a turning point. My midwife wanted to check the position of the baby because he had chosen to be in an unusual one, not unlike his siblings! Though, I didn't know he was a "he"! I was 36 weeks and I had convinced myself that this baby was a girl. I think I wanted a daughter to name after my mother. It would be poetic, right? I had guessed correctly with 4 out of four of my other babies, how could my intuition go awry? Very quickly, though, we discovered that I was completely wrong! Nope, another son! There was something exhilarating about having a complete surprise. It isn't that I really cared about the sex, but I could not wipe the smile off my silly "but I'm always right!" face. On the drive home, Freddie held the ultrasound pictures tightly and Nate and I named his little brother.

The final weeks went smoothly and while I was still nervous (hey, I know what unmedicated birth is like!), I finally accepted the pregnancy and could prepare to meet my third (third!!!) son.

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Hello...

Long time, no blog. But....

This is Raphael Joseph.

He is now 11 days old and is perfect and cuddly. He had a pretty wild entrance into the world (which I do plan to write about), but he's doing great.

I spent a good deal of my pregnancy with the notion that we'd have another girl. (Hey, I've been right 4 times before!) Now that he's here, I couldn't imagine anyone other than my new little redhead.

As for our name choice (we had a name picked out for a girl, but not a boy!), the conversation went about like this-

Him: So, what do we like?
Me: Well, my favorites haven't really changed. Abraham?
Him: I'd prefer Gabe to Abe. Gabriel?
Me: Well, I've always liked a different angel's name. Raphael?
Him: Yes, that's it. That's his name.

This is only a slight exaggeration, believe it or not. We decided over about a 10 minute conversation.

Raphael means "Healed by God" and we definitely could use a bit of healing in our lives. Joseph is Nate's middle name as well. It means "God shall add (another son)" and it felt quite appropriate for our third son.

Birth story soon, but for now, I am just soaking it in.

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What to say when you don't have the words.

Today, I was talking to my sister. She has been writing songs. They are beautiful. She is speaking about our mother's death. Yes, my mother died. I have ached to write something, but each time I sit down to try, I can't. I don't know why. Maybe I haven't found the words, or they haven't found me yet. In April, she was diagnosed. Brain cancer. She fought. She fought hard. But in June, she had moved on. I miss her terribly.

This is what I wrote for her memorial, though my words have been few since. Maybe they will find me.

Anyone who knows my mom has likely been acquainted with her affinity for The Muppets. Through the hallways at Cal State, her Muppet and Sesame Street CDs might be heard from time to time. She would joke that people might think she was crazy, but I think she enjoyed the fact that it drew people into her office and that it brought a smile to their faces.

She would often be asked who her favorite Muppet was and without hesitation she would reply: “Kermit”. She loved the song, “It’s Not Easy Being Green” where Kermit is ruminating about identity and accepting yourself even if sometimes you feel you fade into the background. I think she enjoyed the character of Kermit and how he was always trying to manage the madness around him and allowing other people to shine. My mom knew how to do this and yet, deep down, she wasn’t fully a Kermit. No. My mother was a Gonzo. Why is she a Gonzo? Well, let’s examine the evidence.

After Kermit meets Gonzo he asks himself: What is Gonzo anyway? “He’s a little like a turkey. Yeah, a little like a turkey, but not much.” The other muppets classified him as a Weirdo, or a Whatever. Gonzo was unique. There was never any doubt that my mom was as well. There is a quote from a movie that I enjoy where someone something to the effect of “when you start out in life standing out, you just keep on standing out”. My mom embraced her “differentness”. She couldn’t help the fact that she was tall, striking, and redheaded, but she embraced it fully and started to stand out in other ways as well. The way she walked with purpose, her commanding voice that when she sang you could hear her from far away. Her whistling any tune she had heard. Even in expressing herself, she would sound different. Her large vocabulary and unique writing style certainly let you know it was her. A family favorite being “Nice evasive maneuver, Matthew!” after my brother had a near miss on a sledding adventure. Even if, perhaps, she worried about being ordinary, it was clear she wasn’t. And, like a friend said, “did I mention she had red hair?”

Gonzo is well known for his many ideas. Sometimes, it wouldn’t work out so well, but it never spoiled his enthusiasm or desire to try again. Once before a stunt, Floyd Pepper asks Gonzo “Do you think it will work?” to which Gonzo responds, “No! Isn’t it terrific?” Our mom was always full of ideas. Even when she was ill, I would get phone calls from her that would start out, “I’ve got a couple of ideas for you....” Even when something wouldn’t work out, her mind would still be percolating on something new or thinking of another way to approach a problem.

Gonzo and Kermit are both known for being fearless. Kermit for leaving the swamp and pursuing his dream and sharing it with others. Gonzo for his stunts and generally living his life on the edge. She was ahead of her time in many ways which I think carries with it a great degree of fearlessness. She was certainly not afraid of being herself. The only time she seemed to fear anything was when it regarded someone she loved and cared about, rarely was it fear for herself. She’d shoot herself out of a cannon if the situation called for it! I think she inspired others to be fearless as well, to go after what they wanted, the way she did.

How do we remember such an individual? Well, I’ve got a couple of ideas. Be yourself, don’t be afraid to be daring and follow where your heart and your mind lead you. And even though she is no longer in our company, in the words of Gonzo: “We can hold onto love like invisible strings”.

So whether she was being a Kermit and bringing people together or a Gonzo and pulling off feats that are unexpected, I’d like to say in her own words, “What a character!”

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Tragedy

I joke sometimes that since we've moved to Connecticut, there seems to be disaster after disaster and that maybe if we moved, things would go back to normal. Maybe I am not so funny.

We live a few miles away, but attend church in Newtown, Connecticut. The congregants in our ward come from multiple towns in the area. Today, one of the families lost their precious and beautiful six year old daughter. Tomorrow, we were to have a Nativity celebration and she was to have been an angel in the play. Instead, she is a true angel.

I have tried to put together words that would be eloquent or that would really capture the feelings of this day and give it the reverence it deserves, but, I struggle. Even having walked the path of child loss, I can't even begin to comprehend what anguish so many families are dealing with.

I looked so many times at my daughters, who would sit near that little girl in Primary on Sundays, and just thanked my Heavenly Father for each moment I get with them. Thankfully, they put up with my many hugs and squeezes and kisses today.

Tonight, they prayed for this girl's family. Unfortunately, the know death all too well. I prayed that they will turn to God always in the face of tragedy and that we will all continue to hold each other close.

With such a heavy heart, I hope that we can all "mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort."

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A Lifetime

Sorry for the lack of blogging. Life just gets crazy, I guess. Today is eleven years since that day that changed the world. September 11th. Everyone who was old enough can cast their mind back and remember the moments of that day, where they were, what they were doing when those things happened. A friend mentioned today on Facebook that it felt like just yesterday. Yesterday.

No, not yesterday. For me, now, it feels like a lifetime ago. I can remember that day with great clarity, indeed, but its shock and misery pierced another me. A person who was not quite an adult. Someone on the brink. I do remember thinking to myself that day that things, the world, would never be the same. It is rare that one event can cause collective feelings of grief and loss and a different outlook on life.

But our lives are made up of more than just collective experience. I was trying to remember last night when 9/11 started to feel so far away. It was two years ago when a personal and family tragedy rocked our world and we knew that our lives would never be the same.

A couple years ago, Johnson & Johnson had a beautiful ad campaign that featured black and white footage of adorable babies and their parents and at the end it would say, "having a baby changes everything". Indeed. Two weeks ago, my two little girls, my first two babies, went back to school. Cecily in first grade, Cordelia in kindergarten. Their lives have existed only in a post 9/11 world. This changed world is their world. I looked at Cordelia last night and remarked to Nate, "She looks like a kindergartner." I know, of course she does! She is growing up, a lifetime away from what happened 11 years ago.

When Phineas died, our world changed. Our little family was irrevocably different. I stressed and worried about imposing grief on my daughters' young souls. And yet, we are coming through it, bit by bit. But even beyond our family tempest, there has been another lifetime. Freddie was born into a world where 9/11 and his brother's death were just part of the fabric of life. He officially went to nursery on Sunday and again I was just amazed at how quickly things pass.

It is strange to look back at such a tragic and life changing event, back when you were a different person, because really, who is the same after 11 years? It feels like looking into a vision of the past, like in Harry Potter, looking into the pensieve where your mind has stored your experience of events. Each person's would be different, but when you stop and look, you are different and the world is too. But then it is okay. New life springs forth after tragedy and destruction, new lifetimes always being built. This does not diminish what has been lost, only strengthens the knowledge of what should be kept and treasured. Those people and experiences and little lifetimes. The world can be better and not worse because of what happened.

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Huh

Sorry for my super down-in-the-dumps post. I was planning to write something else right after but "going to" doesn't necessarily mean that I am going to.

Funny thing happened.

We were packing boxes. Cleaning. Preparing for the realtor to come over to the house to photograph. We were planning on making a trip cross country to California.

Then, anxiety. An anxious feeling came over me that I could just not shake off. Just like that, we decided to stay. A couple weeks ago, Nate mentioned that maybe "Connecticut wasn't quite done with us yet". I think he was right. Over the last weekend, Nate and I both had so much anxiety and were panicking. Red flags.

So, after a five minute conversation, we changed our minds. I emailed the landlord. Almost instantly, our burden was lifted and we both felt an immediate feeling of relief. We are winging it, yes, but I know this is the right choice. Things are looking better, brighter.

We also made a pact to "live" here. So much of our time here has been spent with us apart. Nate working, me hanging out with the kids.

The past couple days, we have gone swimming on the lake, yes we live on a lake. Nice, huh? It felt like a mini-vacation, a bit of release for us. A renewal.

Hoping for more good things to come.

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Heartsick

Do you ever just feel so heartsick you want to vomit? That sick feeling in your stomach when things just aren't right? That's me right now.

Today at church, I held a brand new baby boy. He was sweet and lovely. Freddie climbed up next to me and leaned his head in close and smiled and squealed at the baby. At the time, I wanted to hold the baby. I chose to. It was wonderful.

I looked at Freddie and how big my baby boy is in comparison. Huge! This sweet new baby has a sister just a bit older than Freddie, so quite close in age. I've done that, didn't want to do it again. And still.

I have had this pang for another child for awhile now. No, we are not planning it anytime soon, not very good timing. Just wishful thinking, I guess.

Within the next few weeks, we will be headed back to California. It feels like the right choice for us. I have to admit, we stayed here far longer than we should have. Why have we stayed? The cost of living is horrendous, things just haven't worked out the way we planned job wise, and it's hard to be such a distance away from family. Why? Honestly, our boy is here. He's buried in the town we live in. It hurts to have to leave him.

I want him to be near. I want more children, yes, but at this second, I just want the one I can't have. The boy who should be two.

I am just having a moment. Living in Connecticut has felt like our refiner's fire. There is hope and opportunity coming our way. We just have to take the next step. I just wish the next step would have all our children in it. Not one constantly left behind.

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Right Where I Am: 2 years, 2 months

Has it been a year already? Last year, I participated in Angie's Right Where I Am project and she has decided to run another this year. I am looking forward to being a part of this again and to seeing where others are. If you are a part of the babyloss community, I urge you to share where you are, too, here.

Twenty-six months ago, today, our third child was born. He died 9 days later in another state after existing almost entirely on life support.

I remember those early days, when I would wish myself a couple years in the future like other mothers were, wanting to escape the ever present pain I felt. I read in books about the stage of grief called Acceptance.

Acceptance.

How I longed for it and feared it. I feared betraying my boy. That accepting his death and my grief would not be keeping him present in my life.

I am there now. Acceptance. Not so scary as I thought. He's mine, he's present. He is a part of our lives everyday. I see his picture on our wall and now, there is usually a smile and a tear for my dear one. I see his image in his younger brother's face still sometimes while he sleeps. Little moments everyday, weaving himself into our new normal.

I imagine sometimes that my grief is like a well. Deep and dark blue. I go everyday to take a bit of it. Some days, I drink a little more deeply and I need that. Other times, the well overflows, and that's okay. It's my well and I can visit whenever I need.

I struggle, I cry. Today is a good day and those are becoming more common. Today is a day that I can rejoice in the person my Phineas is helping me become. In the life we are leading because of him. I still hope that I am the mother he needs me to be.


.................................................

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A Funny Thing

A couple days ago, I was messing around on Facebook. Just looking at pictures and things that my friends had posted. A couple friends had posted pictures of their sons. They are both in the 4 year old range and adorable kids. I had a strange feeling of longing. A pang of sadness. A stab of anger. Why?

Usually, I have tried to avoid pictures of the babies, now toddlers, that had been born around the same time as Phineas. I know quite a few, actually, and they are mostly boys. It's getting easier, but there are still moments I wonder. But why had these pictures affected me so?

I longed for my son, for the boy he'd be becoming. Now, as his younger brother is starting to become a proper little boy, I know we are well past babyhood for both of them. I don't have the sadness I did when I was around small babies that I did for a long time. I can see them and marvel in them. There is no rage of jealousy or anger that their parents got what I didn't.

We watched a show last night where people were discussing their lives and a couple people had suffered significant losses in their lives. Of course, one of them had lost a baby boy at birth. Like that mother, our loss has caused me to examine myself more, to cherish more.

Nate and I sometimes say how enamored we are with our little Frederick, and why that is. Why is our connection so powerful, even stronger than when the girls were babies? It's not him, though, it's Phineas. We treasure all of our children much more since we have lost. Sometimes I just sit and gaze at my children, trying to soak in every bit of them, counting moments. I know there are only so many for each of us. I think this is the essence of what loss has done to us.

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A Good Day

Saturday was Phineas's birthday. I struggled to think of what to do for his day. I have seen things that other people have done and it just didn't feel like me. I asked Nate what he thought and he just said, "let's try to have a happy day". Okay.

At the last minute, Cecily was invited to her little friend Noah's birthday party. I took the girls and they played at the park and I talked a bit to Noah's mom. She told me that she used to work as a NICU nurse when I told her about Phineas. We had a good conversation. We then went to get ice cream and the kids played some more.

We went home and got ready to go to the cemetery. The girls hadn't been for quite awhile, but they remembered about cemeteries when we went to a couple when my parents visited last summer (apparently I have ancestors buried in Connecticut near Massachusetts). Cordelia made a card and wrote a note and drew some pictures for her brother. We drove over and the girls saw their brother's "rock". It was suddenly getting colder so we made a pretty quick trip.

But not without a picture of all my babies together, more or less.

Then we went and had dinner, Freddie flirted with people at the table next to us and we just enjoyed each others' company. We picked up a cake for our boy that we had at home.

All in all, a peaceful day. It was a good day.

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Our Guy

On Saturday, our little boy turned one! Frederick is just an incredible boy. He has been so easy and such a joy, and as Cordelia said, "the perfect baby for our family!" Indeed. Fred is a charmer. He is an observer and a flirt. He is quick to smile, slow to cry and adores the circle of family around him. He is crawling all over, not walking yet, which is fine by me. I know, I am gushing, I can't help it.

He has indeed helped to heal our hearts a bit. Having these wonderful kids has made me such a blessed woman and I am forever grateful.

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Counting Up Counting Down

On Saturday, Frederick will be one year old. (How did that happen?) Three Saturdays after that, it will be Phineas's should be 2nd birthday. I have been counting down to these dates for a couple months. These two March babies, their existence so intertwined.

In the early days, I remember counting the days beyond his birth, beyond his passing. One day, three days, twenty. Soon, it became weeks, I don't think I got much past ten, but every Friday would sneak up as a reminder that I had lived another week without him. And so, it goes. Months were what I counted and when I reached the horrible time that was 18 months since his birth, I stopped. Then I started to countdown to two years. Here we are now, a matter of days away and slowly, slowly, his life and death is starting to weave itself into our everyday lives. I read this piece today and pondered whether I had crossed into mourning. I think I have. Please, go read it, it's really good.

Tonight Nate switched some photos over to my computer from his and among them were the pictures we took of him. They did not paralyze me, they even made me smile a bit. My son, my son. I thought of how he might look now. How he would look similar and different to his siblings. How he'd fit in. My arms don't ache like they used to, they are usually full, but there are moments, many, when I wish I had a toddler to snuggle.

Now, I must figure out how to honor him properly on his day, to help our growing girls to know about their brother. I am working on it. Struggling some days, succeeding others. I feel heartened that I can do it, that I will be a good mother to him and all his siblings. The counting up and counting down will never stop, his time and the present growing further apart. I am holding him close, though, now and always.

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Where do we go from here?

I have a conundrum. I stared this blog partly due to peer pressure. I posted about everyday events, funny stuff and things I was interested in. Then Phineas died, and i became a blog mostly about him. Now that we have Frederick, I feel like I have moved to another chapter. I am not sure what this chapter is. Post baby death, post rainbow baby birth. I know that I should just post about what I want and it should be fine. I am hesitant. I am likely overestimating my readership, since I barely post and when I feel moved to do so, I write about my dead son, but I feel sensitive about who is reading. I am protective of my own feelings and more concerned of others as well, because I have hurt others through this blog.

So, where do I go from here?

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Here, there and everywhere...

It all starts simply enough. I am horribly behind on laundry. Seriously, I have been way behind for months. There are too many clothes. The girls clothes need sorting. What to keep, what to toss, and the storing of off season clothes now that winter will be settling in in a matter of just a couple weeks.

There are mountains of clothes waiting to be washed. Loads waiting to be folded and put away. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy a shirt. The shirt. The one I wore when he died. A grey blue half sleeve, flowy thing my husband's sister had given me. I think I wore it because it fit.

Oddly enough, I have been able to wear it since. It hasn't bothered and teased me like the outfit I chose for his funeral. They had a singular purpose and have not been touched since. I want to get rid of it, though something just makes me stop.

This time, spotting that blue top about knocked the wind out of me. In my head, the lyrics of John Lennon's song went through my head. The song that I sang so quietly to my little boy when I held him once in the NICU, "beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy..."

In that moment, I just panicked. I struggled to think of him, the way that his soft skin felt under the heating element on his bed. I worried that I was losing him. I hadn't shed a tear for him in many days.

I was getting so mixed up, my little fiery boy and his baby brother. Their existence so interconnected and weaved together through fate and circumstance. I have a baby. He is magic for us. But I have another, one who came and went so quickly I can't reconcile it to reality sometimes.

And then I wonder. And worry. Is it enough? What is right? How should I remember my boy? Am I OK? Nearly 20 months have passed and the world moves on, farther away each second. Am I lingering too long?

I have to remind myself that he's fine, that I will see him again. But I also wish him to be here. The constant struggle in my head about being his mother without him.

This is where my mind goes at the sight of a blue shirt.

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The Place Where He Lived

This is something that has been waiting in my brain for awhile. I took this picture when I was 38 weeks, 5 days pregnant with Phineas. It would be another couple weeks before he was born, barely lived, and died. It all happened so quickly. A flash, really. A couple weeks is nothing in life.

A week after this, I was whining and complaining about being pregnant. Wah, wah, wah. I feel ashamed to admit it. I was big. Phineas just felt different, always changing position which was not the most comfortable thing. I ached all over and had a bit of anxiety over the impending home birth. I just wanted him there. Pre-labor had begun and most women who are pregnant can attest to what a mind game it is, wondering when labor will well and truly start.

Lately, I have had several women in my life complaining and complaining about being pregnant. I know it may sound hypocritical, but frankly, it annoys me. I know it's just me. I have a different perspective. I don't expect people to be the happy and carefree pregnant woman I was the first go around, nor do I expect people not to ever complain. Pregnancy is hard and not always the most blissful experience.

I just want women to stop and think for a moment.

To savor what moments they can. The only time I truly believe that Phineas was alive was when I carried him. I wish that I had cherished it more. Remembered his idiosyncrasies and the way he would stretch and shift. To remember what his possible future might have held.

Life is so fleeting. It slips through your fingers and you wake up and realize your child is headed off to school. You never know what kind of time you have. Several years ago, after feeling unwell one evening, my cousin suddenly passed away. He left his wife and young children. Others in the babylost world are well versed in how things can turn from just fine to not suddenly.

This is a reminder for myself as much as anyone, to savor the moments in life with the ones you love. Cherishing your children, even before they are born. Thankfully, most babies are born healthy and robust, children grow to adulthood without much trouble. But still. Still. It should not be taken for granted.

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Just putting this right here...

I grew up on music that my sisters loved. The Eurythmics were heard quite often and I have been a fan of Annie Lennox ever since.

Only since becoming a babylost mother did I discover that Annie Lennox was one as well. In 1988, her son, Daniel, was stillborn. I have rediscovered her music and under the veil of baby loss, her music sounds so different. Themes of loss are common (she also lost both parents to cancer).

I just wanted to share, and just because I love her music anyway.

This song has long been a favorite of mine, and the lyrics really speak to me at this moment:

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4 Years

It is hard to believe that four years ago, I was snuggling my beautiful second daughter for the first time. Cordelia's labor was 10 hours, almost exactly, from start to finish. It was my first time going trough labor. It was hard, but so easy by the time it was over. She was posterior. She wanted to do things her own way! Not unlike her siblings, I guess. I recall being amazed that, even from the start, she was so different from her sister. Her own little spirit.


As the years have gone by, we have discovered just how different they are. Cordelia is abrupt, friendly and a bit temperamental. She can go from one emotion to another in a millisecond. She is a word smith and always wants her voice to be heard. She is independent, mostly, though maybe her self sufficiency is a result of being very much her mommy's girl for a couple years solid. There are so many layers to each person, it is amazing to see each part grow and develop as the get older.


I am so grateful to have her as a daughter. She lifts my spirit when I am down, adore her brother and a best friend to her sister. A wonderful and amazing girl!

Happy Birthday, Wia!

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Right Where I Am: 14 Months

Fourteen months. It almost feels impossible that so much time has passed. I survived a year, I keep surviving. It doesn't seem like much, breathing in an out, trying to hold things together enough. At the beginning, the months went agonizingly slow. I just wanted to be further down the road. further away from the pain. All of a sudden, here I am with a new baby at my breast, wondering if he's anything like his brother might have been.

And guess what? It still hurts. Just as deeply as did before. The difference now I think is that it comes less often, I'm more distracted and I can hide it better than I did before.

To be perfectly honest, though, I am also happier. The lows are just as low, but the highs are higher. I drink more deeply from the happiness of my children. My smiley baby certainly does a lot to extinguish my pain.

There are moments that jump up at me and I have a flashback to that terrible night he came out the wrong way. The pain and fear are palpable and so very fresh. I am not sure that I will ever forget that. A sort of personal flashbulb memory. The sights, sounds and smells that night come back in very real ways.

My view on why he died has changed a bit, and my faith in God has increased. I still
wish for him, but I know it's just a passing thought. I know I can't have him now. I know it and yet I still imagine what he'd be like.

For a long time, I refused to think that his little brother looked like him, for fear that I'd replaced him. But his brother does look like him, and I get a glimpse of what might have been. Sometimes I catch sight of a little boy toddling around and remember, but my son isn't there. I feel like I will imagine what he'd be no matter how long its been.

I know someone with children my age who lost her son after his birth. I wonder if she's imagined. I would bet she has, counting the years silently. Silently, because people don't really care to hear about it for the most part. Those who do are certainly treasured. But unfortunately, the path of grief is often quite lonely.

And that is right where I am. 14 months later. Full of Joy and sadness and everything in between.


Join the conversation. Link your blog to Angie's blog and let other babylost parents know where you are in your grief.

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Names

I thought of writing a post similar to this awhile ago (meaning a couple years!) but now, I feel the subject is more relevant and much more significant.

My interest in names started when I was a child. It wasn't a huge interest but I would notice names that were unusual and was interested in what they meant. As a young teenager, back in early internet days, I did a lot of searching for names. The names were mostly Scandinavian in origin. I suppose to reflect my father's heritage. Names like Mette and Arvid were incredibly appealing to me. My brief dabbling in a name forum earned me a stern talking to from my mother. No more.

It wasn't until I got married that my interest in names was rekindled. I immersed myself in it. It wasn't so much an interest in naming a child, surprisingly enough, just a renewed interest in meanings and trends. It also made me a bit of a snob. I was only interested in names that were uncommon. The idea of naming a child something in the Top 500 names was unthinkable (ha!). Unless it was something time tested and waning in popularity like George or Anne. The older and more outdated the better (Nate still teases me that I like anything that is old and ugly. Read: Maude and Agnes). I raised my nose at the super popular names like Jayden and the like (not so much anymore), as well as anything made up (coughNevaehcough).

Now that I have named four children, my snobbery has changed a bit. I know what it is like to call a living person a name and also choosing a name for someone who didn't. I am more tolerant of what people choose and why they choose the names they do. I know how a name becomes someone and how they become a name. A name so tied to a particular identity that you cannot disassociate it from who a person is and how it shapes who they become.

So without further ado, I would like to share the names we have chosen for our children.


Cecily Ruth:

When I was a teenager, I was on a road trip to my grandmother's house. We had a pit stop at a mall. I went into a discount book store and picked up some one dollar books to read along the way. One book was an Oscar Wilde play. I had never been exposed to his work before and I fell in love with it. The language, the comedy, all that was in "The Importance of Being Earnest". I also fell in love with the name Cecily. When I got pregnant years later, the name immediately came to mind. It was perfect. Though, Nate didn't agree. Later, I learned it was just a misunderstanding and that he loved it, too. At the time, my grandmother was struggling with a bout of cancer and I felt strongly that we should somehow incorporate her name into the baby's name. And so, Cecily Ruth it became. I love that she has the name connection with my only living grandparent. She also shares a birth month and hair color with her awesome great-grandmother.

Cordelia Susannah:

Ha! Well, after the dream I had while I was pregnant with her, for awhile, I thought it must be a boy. Then, I became increasingly convinced that it was a girl and that we should choose a name for her. Nate wouldn't budge until we learned her sex at a scan. Names that we had previously considered with Cecily were out and we were sort of at a loss. We somehow agreed on the name Alice but then one evening , as I was huge and pregnant, Alice Cooper came on a talk show. I freaked out. No way did I want her to share a name with him! (I wasn't exactly rational at the time!) I mentioned the name Cordelia in passing to Nate one evening and he said, "How about that?" Yay! I loved that it had a literary connection as well, though comments have tended more toward Anne of Green Gables rather than King Lear. I don't mind that, I am a devoted fan of L. M . Montgomery (Lucy Maud, any guesses where my love for Maud came from?). We were split on middle names. I wanted Mary and Nate wanted Lorraine. As I was poring over our family trees, the name Susannah kept popping up. In my head, she became Cordelia Susannah, I couldn't shake it. I didn't tell Nate until after she was born. I had just barely pushed her out and he was asking me what her middle name was. Susannah just sort of came out. It suits her, I guess!

Phineas John:

The name Phineas also came from our family tree. Nate had multiple ancestors named this. I fell in love with it when I was pregnant with Cordelia. Phineas James was what we had selected until I had that dream. John, instead, became his middle name. I knew I would have a son named this. When Cordelia was born, female, of course, I had a feeling my next child would be Phineas. My beautiful boy. I had no idea that some of the dream became reality. My son, my Phineas. His name. So perfectly suited. He even looked like a Phineas. The meaning of the name, though debated, means "oracle" which seems so incredibly appropriate.

Frederick James:

Fred. The family name for the ages. I will have to remember all of the Freds. Nate's father and also maternal grandfather have Fred, just Fred, as a middle name. He also has a great-uncle and great grandfather named Fred. His aunt is Freda as was his grandmother. Just to add to the fun, we thought Frederick would fit in quite well. Not Fred, but just a bit more elaborate. It also had a literary connection and a connection to an historical figure I have admired since I was in school, Frederick Douglass. Nate felt strongly about using the name James. When I was in labor, we finalized the name. Funny how it was the middle name we'd considered for Phineas, but was more fitting for his younger brother. I love that connection. And then, shortly after he was born, we'd learned of Uncle Jim's cancer. After Jim's passing, we both felt that the name James was to honor and remember him, though it seemed merely coincidental.


If you have made it through all of that, I congratulate you. I love how multi-layered the names of our children have become. How one generation follows into another. How lives can touch simply by sharing a bit of our identities, our names.

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