welcome little rainbow

After a long, LOOONG journey, we have welcomed our little rainbow baby. He fills my heart with joy, and provides me with hope. His arrival was bittersweet, as it was an arrival that followed a great loss. His presence in our lives doesn't diminish the sad that exists because Shannon only lives in our hearts. His smiles, which are so much like the smiles of his big brother, remind me of the four little butterflies that flew on before him.

Shannon looked like her big brother, this little guy looks like his big brother, ergo, it seems likely that this little one would have endured comparisons to Shannon, had the two been able to exist in the same reality. But that reality doesn't exist. For to have Shannon would mean that I wouldn't be holding this little one and singing him to sleep, or waking up with him endlessly in the night. And that realization makes me sad, yet happy at the same time. For my life is more complete, but for the gaping hole that Shannon left. And my life is more fulfilled, except for the missing piece that is my daughter in my arms.

Earlier this summer, my big boy commented that, had the baby lived, it would be one, but this new baby was only zero. I told him that was right, his sister would be one. He said, "sister?," and fell quiet. He forgot that Shannon was a girl, but he never forgot her. I thought it was wonderful that he not only remembered his sister, but that she was supposed to come in July. Kids' minds are such amazing things.

When my new one came crying into this world, hearing that cry brought on a lot of feelings. I felt incredible relief that I had this living child, unbelievable happiness and an adrenaline rush that sustained me for hours. At the same time, a feeling of sadness hit me, remembering what we had lost and what we had gone through to get to this point. Since December 2006, when I started my pregnancy journey, I had been pregnant for well over 70 weeks. More than a year. And it seemed that we were finally at the end of that road.

I purposely did not acknowledge my pregnancy because I was afraid that it would disappear. I didn't dare complain about the heartburn or the endless trips to the bathroom or anything else for fear that someone might hear my complaints and think that I didn't want this baby enough, or that I didn't appreciate every kick. I didn't want the cosmic wheel to sense anything that could cause it to take this away from me.

From talking to other moms who are and, who have been, on this road to a rainbow, I know that my paranoia and caution is common. It's so hard not to be hopeful when you and your kind know, better than anyone, that the same hope that can sustain you, is the same hope that stings so much when it is dashed. You want that successful pregnancy so badly, but you are afraid to show that want, or to really freely embrace hope, or to allow that hope to cradle you through the fear. I know that I needed to protect myself. I only allowed myself to kinda start to feel that hope towards the very end of my pregnancy, but only a little. I believed that, until I held that rainbow in my arms and, heard him cry, that I wasn't done. My pregnancy journey was still going. And I am so happy and grateful that it ended well.

Now, my little family, now one bigger, continues down this road of life missing Shannon. The sadness is still there. It will always be there. But I am happy too. And that is very good.

Shannon's first birthday

Shannon was due one year ago today, July 12, 2008. But she died. And, sitting here, on what would have been her first birthday, I wonder what life would have been like, had she lived. And I miss her and love her very much.

Happy birthday little butterfly. I know that you are in a better place, but we still miss you here. Love always, mommy.

The butterflies are back...

It's so very hard to believe that yet another July is almost upon us. Shannon would be turning one soon, and I guess in the alternative universe, where the bad stuff doesn't happen, she is turning one. I look out the window, at the summer flowers that are almost in full bloom and I am struck, again, by how much things change, yet how much they stay the same. I still miss my little girl, she has changed me in numerous ways, some that I recognize right away, and some that are too subtle to really put my finger on.

But what strikes me the most is how much time marches on, whether you want it to or not. If someone told me a year ago that I'd be sitting here, staring at the same flowers, and wondering what was next for me down the road, I would have laughed. I am hopefully shortly going to welcome Shannon's sibling into this world, yet I still worry and wonder and miss my baby girl everyday. I worry about my answer when people ask - is this your second? Well, actually, it's my sixth, but you probably don't want to know that story.

And I worry, and wonder, about the passage of time on the human heart. How does time change how I miss Shannon? Does time make it hurt less - yes and no. Time makes it hurt differently. Time creates a big scab that, for the most part, keeps the hurt in one place, but constantly reminds you that the hurt is still there. At the same time, though, that scab gets slightly smaller with time, constantly reminding you that life does go on, and that you are, despite your best efforts, moving on too.

For me, though, moving on is not moving away from that essential piece of what and who I am because of Shannon. I don't want to change in that way. Shannon made an impact in my world, and through me, I guess, Shannon makes an impact on the rest of the world.

She gives me empathy to cry for other lost babies and sad moms, and to really get why I am crying. She gives me strength, to know that I have made it another day and that I can tell people that, they too can make it another day, and believe it to be mostly true. She gives me hope, that things and people can change because I've changed. And she gives me the butterflies, who linger too long in my garden to be anything other than gifts from her. And I love and miss her for it.

missing my baby

Sitting at my desk, watching the spring plants start to really take off, I'm taken back to this time last year, when I sat in the same spot, watching the same plants, which were much smaller last year, not having had a full growing season yet. I remember just how sad I was last Spring, planning Shannon's memorial flower garden, and missing being pregnant with her. Spring brings some sense of anticipation, of thoughts of warmer weather and being outside and being able to appreciate how all of these little plants live in the cold hard ground for so many months before they just pop out again, bigger than before. It's really quite amazing.

But, this is yet another Spring without Shannon. Instead of wondering what my 10 month old baby would be doing right now, I find myself seeing little girls everywhere I go, and seeing the future that I will miss out on. The little girl on the train, with her pink raincoat and the barbie doll with the really cool spring outfit - nope, not gonna get that opportunity with Shannon. The little girl being trundled off to daycare with her dad this morning with the really cute pigtails. Nope. Instead, what I've gotten this Spring is big, hot tears that show up and catch me by surprise, taking my breath away when I tried to go to sleep the other day because I was wondering how to properly remember and incorporate Shannon into any birth announcements that I might send out this summer. I was in tears last night watching Greys Anatomy, because there was a sick little girl who died in her daddy's arms. I mean, I cried. Full on crying. Over a stupid TV show. I'd blame hormones, but that's only part of it. The fact is that I really miss my little girl.

I don't like crying, it messes up my already messed up sinuses. I don't like crying because it doesn't make me feel better anymore, it just makes me feel spent. I don't like crying because it isn't going to bring back the little girl that I haven't held in over a year and will never hold again. It makes me realize that, no matter how much time goes by, no matter how far removed time makes the death of my little girl, it will always be there, just a moment away, waiting for the tears to start.

And Shannon will still be gone, even though her butterflies will be back soon.

A Different Child by Pandora MacMillian

A Different Child by Pandora MacMillian

People notice
There's a special glow around you.

You grow
Surrounded by love,
Never doubting you are wanted;
Only look at the pride and joy
In your mother and father's eyes.

And if sometimes
Between the smiles
There's a trace of tears,
One day
You'll understand.

You'll understand
There was once another child
A different child
Who was in their hopes and dreams.

That child will never outgrow the baby clothes
That child will never keep them up at night
In fact, that child will never be any trouble at all.

Except sometimes, in a silent moment,
When mother and father miss so much
That different child.

May hope and love wrap you warmly
And may you learn the lesson forever
How infinitely precious
How infinitely fragile
Is this life on earth.

One day, as a young man or woman
You may see another mother's tears
Another father's silent grief
Then you, and you alone
Will understand
And offer the greatest comfort.

When all hope seems lost,
You will tell them
With great compassion,
"I know how you feel.
I'm only here
Because my parents tried again".

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto.

I’ve got a secret I’ve been hiding, under my skin…..

In the loss journey, there are a lot of stops on the road. And I’ve reached another stop. so here goes if you haven't figured it out.

We are Pregnant again.

We are 24 weeks today. And, I did NOT tell anyone until these past few weeks. We couldn’t. Losing Shannon has taken away that ability to just put it out there and figure that everything will be ok. Because I don’t believe that it works that way. I worry every day that it doesn’t work that way. I don’t believe in happy endings. I believe that stuff just happens. And I have no end game. I get up every day and hope that nothing bad happened. I wake up every night and hope nothing bad happened. It is always in my mind.

And, rationally or irrationally, we needed to get to March, and out of February, when two of our babies died, and make sure that this one didn’t too. Yes, it may be morbid – welcome to my world…

And no, being pregnant does NOT take away any of the grief I feel over my little baby girl. Not a bit. In some ways, it makes it more acute. As I sit here, crying for Shannon and (Lucy and Tristan and Gregory and Richard and Dash and Josie and Tyler and Collin and for all the other lost babies of my dear other deadbaby moms,) I know that this is a really long road. And I am nowhere near the end. And even getting to the end of this pregnancy won’t bring me to the end of this road. This baby is pretty much due on what would have been Shannon’s first birthday, IF she lived. But she didn’t. So, what do you do with that? Knowing that in a different universe that that cake would have one more candle, and a different baby in front of it, and all you do is hope that this year, you have a reason to be happy.

This blog was never meant to be about anything or anyone but Shannon. And it always will be. I don’t plan on playing out this pregnancy publicly, and talking about it here all that much. I don’t think that works for me. But the feelings and the fears are very intermixed, and how I feel now is just another part of this journey – Shannon’s journey – and we are on this road together, Shannon, baby and me. And it has changed me and how I feel. And reality is that a lot of you already know. And more good thoughts in the universe can't hurt. And I feel it’s more intellectually honest to put it out there. And it only seems right to say it out loud. And I really hope it works out this time.

Thirteen months

Now that that first year, that sad sad terrible first year has come and gone, time is speeding by. It's so hard to believe that this much time has gone since we first met Shannon, and said goodbye to her. It's hard to believe that, this time last year I was planning her memorial garden, and today, I sit here watching the first green start to poke its way out of the cold Mid-Atlantic ground. There were so many tears then, and there are still tears now, but they don't come as often, and I find that my grief and sadness, while always there, are further back, and don't fly forward nearly as much as they used to, but when they do, it is still often unexpected and much stronger than you think that it should be, after thirteen months.

And I've come to recognize the person that I see when I look in the mirror again. I guess, for better or for worse, this is me, and it's probably as good of a me as I am going to get anytime soon, if ever. And I am ok with this new me, for the most part. I've learned that while grief comes in all shapes and sizes and likes to sneak up on you sometimes and say "boo" and see if it can scare the crap out of you, you develop this "worldliness" about you that helps you be less scared. That sounds weird. I guess it is more like a wariness or maybe a weariness, where you just know that this is a world where bad stuff can happen and that sometimes it does.

I don't know. It has just been a really long time.... And I miss my little girl.