It had been 2 weeks and it was time to celebrate our 11th year of marriage. My husband called the sitter & informed her of what had happened in our life so that she would not be shocked when she arrived to find that I was no longer pregnant. He had told me that he was taking me out & I knew that it needed to happen but I was not excited about going. I knew I needed to move through the motions because I could not stay stuck forever not wanting to celebrate another thing in life so I finally took a shower around 4pm and was barely ready by our 5pm start time. We had decided to treat ourselves to Ichiban figuring them cooking in front of us while eating would give us less time to think or sit silent. I thought about the last time that we had ate here and how I was pregnant and Jason had rushed me through the casino because people were smoking and he did not want me to inhale any smoke while being pregnant. Now I was sitting at the bar having a margarita feeling like my pregnancy had been just a dream.
Eleven years of marriage had brought us so many twists & turns none of them could we had predicted especially this last so knowing that as long as we held on tight to each other & to God that we could live a glorious life brought us both comfort. We could not have imagined going through any of this without having each other so if I could have picked one thing to celebrate first after such a tragic event in our life I would have to say that our marriage was certainly worth celebrating & smiling about.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
June 30th marked a week that had passed...
By now I was managing normal household duties during the day & my husband had worked a few days at his typical 8-5 hours. We were approaching the July 4th weekend with no plans because just like his birthday we did not feel like celebrating or being around other people. We were discovering that joy did not come by celebrating with fireworks or candles but rather by settling in to watch tv or a long hot shower or watching our kids run through bubbles in the back yard. Joy came in the simple things & we did not need to look far to find it. We were more appreciative and more willing to accept our schedule of having no where to go and no one to see as long as we were together we would find joy.
I had made it to the mailbox to find Calvins death certificate, many sympathy cards & a medical bill from the hospital. It seemed life was carrying on. People were still thinking of us but business was back to usual. I was thinking of Calvin almost every minute of every day but I was not as sad as I was. I was not angry, I was never angry and by now I had began to accept that God had a plan to help us through this and that we would be stronger because of this.
Each day brought new hope. I had received a small box from the hospital that contained a picture that was took while his body was at the hospital, it also contained a molded imprint of his feet, the hat he wore, the hospital bracelet that was on his ankle & a certificate that read "Congratulations on the birth of your baby". I found myself finding time each day to look at his photo. I would rub my finger across the molded casting of his footprint & feel his tiny toes. I would hold & smell his little blue hat. Each day I would cry while I did this but it seemed to help because I was spending time with him.
I had made it to the mailbox to find Calvins death certificate, many sympathy cards & a medical bill from the hospital. It seemed life was carrying on. People were still thinking of us but business was back to usual. I was thinking of Calvin almost every minute of every day but I was not as sad as I was. I was not angry, I was never angry and by now I had began to accept that God had a plan to help us through this and that we would be stronger because of this.
Each day brought new hope. I had received a small box from the hospital that contained a picture that was took while his body was at the hospital, it also contained a molded imprint of his feet, the hat he wore, the hospital bracelet that was on his ankle & a certificate that read "Congratulations on the birth of your baby". I found myself finding time each day to look at his photo. I would rub my finger across the molded casting of his footprint & feel his tiny toes. I would hold & smell his little blue hat. Each day I would cry while I did this but it seemed to help because I was spending time with him.
The week of June 27th
My inlaws would return home this week and my husband would return to work. My boobs were so engorged and so painful that I thought I might be the only person in the world to ever die from having her milk come in. I was so swollen that my bra left indentions and creases that marked up each breast. My boobs felt like they were on fire and contained what felt like many large rocks. They were horrifically lumpy, swollen, and more painful than anything I have ever experienced. I could not lay or breathe or walk or dress myself without being in so much pain that I would clench my teeth and squint my eyes. Holding or hugging my children had become impossible and I thought this stage would never be over. It was a constant reminder of what I should be doing but couldn't because my baby was gone.
I had always missed out on breastfeeding. I had adopted my children and had felt left out when I would see a mother feeding her baby or I would sit through a conversation about a pump a method or a way to wean a child without being able to give my input.
My oldest had inquired years prior if I had breast fed her and I remember feeling "less than" because I had not. I explained to her that she was adopted so I had fed her from a bottle and I felt a sense of failure as if I had let her down. I had wondered throught the years if I would have had difficulty breastfeeding if I had ever had the chance to give birth-it was a way that I could make myself feel better each time that I felt left out I would just say to myself "you probably would not have been able to anyway" ...but now as I sat in a bath watching my milk drain from my breast (the warm water would cause them to drain some) I knew that I would have breastfed with ease.
The bath water became murky and I felt relief that some milk had left my boobs before they had a chance to pop like a balloon that was too full of water. At the same time I felt immense pain that what God had given me to nourish my baby with was now leaving my body being sent down a bath tub drain. It would never cross my babys lips. I would never need to cover up while nursing or keep track of which side my baby had nursed from last. My baby was gone & I never even had a chance to feed him.
I had always missed out on breastfeeding. I had adopted my children and had felt left out when I would see a mother feeding her baby or I would sit through a conversation about a pump a method or a way to wean a child without being able to give my input.
My oldest had inquired years prior if I had breast fed her and I remember feeling "less than" because I had not. I explained to her that she was adopted so I had fed her from a bottle and I felt a sense of failure as if I had let her down. I had wondered throught the years if I would have had difficulty breastfeeding if I had ever had the chance to give birth-it was a way that I could make myself feel better each time that I felt left out I would just say to myself "you probably would not have been able to anyway" ...but now as I sat in a bath watching my milk drain from my breast (the warm water would cause them to drain some) I knew that I would have breastfed with ease.
The bath water became murky and I felt relief that some milk had left my boobs before they had a chance to pop like a balloon that was too full of water. At the same time I felt immense pain that what God had given me to nourish my baby with was now leaving my body being sent down a bath tub drain. It would never cross my babys lips. I would never need to cover up while nursing or keep track of which side my baby had nursed from last. My baby was gone & I never even had a chance to feed him.
Sunday June 26th
It had been three days since my son was born and three days since he had died. Today was my husband's birthday and no one felt like celebrating. I encouraged him to go & play golf which is his favorite thing to do. It took some convincing but he finally arranged a round to be played with his Dad at a new course that he sounded almost excited to play.
We were trying to do normal things so that we would not be zombies around our three small children. Having his parents here helped because we had conversations that kept the silence away. Silence seemed to bring anguish that was so deep I would feel like I was falling inside of a dark hole that I could not get out of. I had woke up every morning since I had been home at or around 4:09 am. I would lay there & cry and think why am I waking up? Is God punishing me because he wants me to relive the most terrible moment of my life? After telling my brother he said that maybe Calvin would visit me at this time just to see how I was doing & to remind me that he was still with me. This helped and each night there after instead of crying and feeling angry that I was having to relive the moment I began to cry and feel joy and comfort that maybe my brother was right and maybe Calvin was in the room with me trying to tell me that he was ok & that I would also be ok.
My milk was beginning to come in and my boobs were becoming huge. They were so big that they would not fit in any bra that I had so I made a trip to Walmart to purchase sports bras. I was still healing and the Dr. had said that if I walked too much that it would cause me to bleed more & would prolong my healing so I sat in a power wheel chair and rolled my way through the bra department. I felt awkward but also felt freedom since I had been on bedrest and now was finally beginning to do what seemed to be a normal task.
I had picked up a cake mix the day before with plans to make it for Jason's birthday but I just did not feel like baking & I knew Jason would not feel like blowing out candles or hearing our kids sing. We were beginning to do normal stuff but had not yet reached a place where we could be that normal.
I had used the power wheel chair at the grocery store while my mother in law walked next to me to stock up on all that we were out of and all of the junk food that I would need to emotionally eat my way through the next two weeks and had walked into Kohls to buy something elastic that I could fit into since the thought of wearing maternity clothes made me want to curl up and sob & wearing what I wore before pregnancy was not an option because none of it would fit. I was slowly walking towards normal. My trip to Kohls was not without a crying episode in the car & discovering that nothing fit from my closet but maternity clothes caused me to break down and fall to the closet floor sobbing but slowly I could take little steps toward healing. I could slowly walk towards what would one day be normal again.
We were trying to do normal things so that we would not be zombies around our three small children. Having his parents here helped because we had conversations that kept the silence away. Silence seemed to bring anguish that was so deep I would feel like I was falling inside of a dark hole that I could not get out of. I had woke up every morning since I had been home at or around 4:09 am. I would lay there & cry and think why am I waking up? Is God punishing me because he wants me to relive the most terrible moment of my life? After telling my brother he said that maybe Calvin would visit me at this time just to see how I was doing & to remind me that he was still with me. This helped and each night there after instead of crying and feeling angry that I was having to relive the moment I began to cry and feel joy and comfort that maybe my brother was right and maybe Calvin was in the room with me trying to tell me that he was ok & that I would also be ok.
My milk was beginning to come in and my boobs were becoming huge. They were so big that they would not fit in any bra that I had so I made a trip to Walmart to purchase sports bras. I was still healing and the Dr. had said that if I walked too much that it would cause me to bleed more & would prolong my healing so I sat in a power wheel chair and rolled my way through the bra department. I felt awkward but also felt freedom since I had been on bedrest and now was finally beginning to do what seemed to be a normal task.
I had picked up a cake mix the day before with plans to make it for Jason's birthday but I just did not feel like baking & I knew Jason would not feel like blowing out candles or hearing our kids sing. We were beginning to do normal stuff but had not yet reached a place where we could be that normal.
I had used the power wheel chair at the grocery store while my mother in law walked next to me to stock up on all that we were out of and all of the junk food that I would need to emotionally eat my way through the next two weeks and had walked into Kohls to buy something elastic that I could fit into since the thought of wearing maternity clothes made me want to curl up and sob & wearing what I wore before pregnancy was not an option because none of it would fit. I was slowly walking towards normal. My trip to Kohls was not without a crying episode in the car & discovering that nothing fit from my closet but maternity clothes caused me to break down and fall to the closet floor sobbing but slowly I could take little steps toward healing. I could slowly walk towards what would one day be normal again.
June 25th 2011-My first week home.
My Mother & father in law had drove up from California to help out around the house. I had been home for about 24 hours when Jason & I drove to the funeral home to speak to "Vivian" A.K.A the sympathetic stranger. We arrived at what felt like an abandoned building. The parking lot needed to be repaved & the parking lines had all but dissapeared. I remember thinking that maybe i should have driven past the place first before I chose it to handle the cremation. What was I thinking? Why was I thinking this? What did it matter what this place looked like? I would only have to visit this building twice. I shouldn't be thinking about how esthetically pleasing this building is but I guess it took my mind off of the real reason why I was there.
We buzzed a doorbell because the door was locked and waited. Vivian answered and showed us to a small table that had 3 wobbly chairs surrounding it. We had walked through a veneer coated door and down a ramp that was covered with what seemed like outdoor carpet because it was so thin & I could feel the plywood beneath it as I took each step. Several shelves were hung along the wall and displayed many urns and momentos like porcelain angels that could be purchased. I asked to use the restroom even though I did not need to go. I just needed to look myself in the mirror and say to myself "Be Strong"! I knew if I began to cry that I would not be able to stop & all I wanted to do was speed through this process & not prolong it. I walked back to the table to see my husbands look of relief that I had actually came back.
As she began to shuffle through the papers and instruct us on where to sign she asked if we wanted to see our baby and for a moment I was torn because I pictured him so tiny wrapped in a blanket all by himself in a huge room and I had to remind myself that he was gone & that me not wanting to see his cold lifeless body was not a sign of my love for him but rather a sign of my sanity & how I knew I needed to move forward if I were ever going to be emotionally healthy and that seeing him again would not only put a memory in my mind that I may not want but would also cause me to take a giant step backwards when I knew I needed to just keep moving forward even if it hurt to do so I could not stay stuck.
We signed and initialled as she rambled through each paragraph and then she handed us a book that we needed to flip through to decide which urn to order. She excused herself from the room and we had a simple conversation of just a few words. What about this.. one of us would say and the other would say...too dark or too square or too urn like until we came to the one that we could both agree upon. It was called the chestnut bronze heart & it measured 2"x2". What a tiny little capsule I thought when I read that it was 2 inches-I actually asked her when she walked back in if what we picked out would be big enough to hold his remains. Why did I ask her that? Like I thought the smallest urn in the book was too small to hold my 1 pound 11 inch long baby. I am not sure why it would even be in the book if it were to be too small for this paticular purpose of holding a micro-preemie.
We had to finish the paperwork and she began to ramble about a funeral of another baby and I am not sure what she said because all that I could think was why are you telling me this and wont you just be quiet so this can be over! She also mentioned that she too had lost a baby at birth and was not even able to hold him so she asked me if I held mine and tried to talk to me as if we both belonged to some newly formed club and I did not feel sympathetic to her nor could I relate because all that I felt was that my baby was the only baby who had ever died without even being allowed to live and that my pain was greater than anyone elses pain and that I did not want to even try to think that this stranger could relate to me because her pain was the same as mine. I just wanted to be done & never have to see, smell or be in this place again. I answered in one word sentences hoping that she would get the hint.
She asked questions like did we want him cremated in a special outfit or blanket or did we want to witness the cremation? I was so ready to be done and to never have to think these horrible thoughts ever again. I felt like a caged animal and would have done anything to have sped things up. We walked out with a paper in hand and her informing us that she would call when he was ready for pickup..."he" I thought, why don't you just call it what it is...The Chestnut Bronze Heart measuring 2x2 that will hold my sons ashes.
We buzzed a doorbell because the door was locked and waited. Vivian answered and showed us to a small table that had 3 wobbly chairs surrounding it. We had walked through a veneer coated door and down a ramp that was covered with what seemed like outdoor carpet because it was so thin & I could feel the plywood beneath it as I took each step. Several shelves were hung along the wall and displayed many urns and momentos like porcelain angels that could be purchased. I asked to use the restroom even though I did not need to go. I just needed to look myself in the mirror and say to myself "Be Strong"! I knew if I began to cry that I would not be able to stop & all I wanted to do was speed through this process & not prolong it. I walked back to the table to see my husbands look of relief that I had actually came back.
As she began to shuffle through the papers and instruct us on where to sign she asked if we wanted to see our baby and for a moment I was torn because I pictured him so tiny wrapped in a blanket all by himself in a huge room and I had to remind myself that he was gone & that me not wanting to see his cold lifeless body was not a sign of my love for him but rather a sign of my sanity & how I knew I needed to move forward if I were ever going to be emotionally healthy and that seeing him again would not only put a memory in my mind that I may not want but would also cause me to take a giant step backwards when I knew I needed to just keep moving forward even if it hurt to do so I could not stay stuck.
We signed and initialled as she rambled through each paragraph and then she handed us a book that we needed to flip through to decide which urn to order. She excused herself from the room and we had a simple conversation of just a few words. What about this.. one of us would say and the other would say...too dark or too square or too urn like until we came to the one that we could both agree upon. It was called the chestnut bronze heart & it measured 2"x2". What a tiny little capsule I thought when I read that it was 2 inches-I actually asked her when she walked back in if what we picked out would be big enough to hold his remains. Why did I ask her that? Like I thought the smallest urn in the book was too small to hold my 1 pound 11 inch long baby. I am not sure why it would even be in the book if it were to be too small for this paticular purpose of holding a micro-preemie.
We had to finish the paperwork and she began to ramble about a funeral of another baby and I am not sure what she said because all that I could think was why are you telling me this and wont you just be quiet so this can be over! She also mentioned that she too had lost a baby at birth and was not even able to hold him so she asked me if I held mine and tried to talk to me as if we both belonged to some newly formed club and I did not feel sympathetic to her nor could I relate because all that I felt was that my baby was the only baby who had ever died without even being allowed to live and that my pain was greater than anyone elses pain and that I did not want to even try to think that this stranger could relate to me because her pain was the same as mine. I just wanted to be done & never have to see, smell or be in this place again. I answered in one word sentences hoping that she would get the hint.
She asked questions like did we want him cremated in a special outfit or blanket or did we want to witness the cremation? I was so ready to be done and to never have to think these horrible thoughts ever again. I felt like a caged animal and would have done anything to have sped things up. We walked out with a paper in hand and her informing us that she would call when he was ready for pickup..."he" I thought, why don't you just call it what it is...The Chestnut Bronze Heart measuring 2x2 that will hold my sons ashes.
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