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.

Friends forever

I had a moment this weekend when I thought it would be ok to post a link to my blog on Facebook. So, I did. For less than 24 hours. And then I took the link down. I don't know why I thought that I was ready to put the blog up, but I guess, in the end, I just wasn't ready.

I guess, for lack of a better way to say it, I am not entirely ready for my land of the living to be invited into my land of the dead. And, reality is that some "friends" might actually be referred to as people who didn't exactly shine when Shannon died. On the other hand, some other "friends" showed me immense love and support. But, I don't know if the casual reader, the person who is looking to find out what I've been up to the "x" years since we last chatted, is looking for more than a place where I express my feelings about loss and life and life without my little girl. The people who might live and/or be more comfortable full-time in the land of the living might not get it.

There is a great book I read in high school, can't remember the title, but it contains the following: Why am I afraid to tell you who I am? I am afraid to tell you who I am because you may not like who I am, and it is all that I have. All of my Shannon world, while stronger than it was just a few months ago, is too new, too fragile, too fresh to me. I'm just not ready. While my world without Shannon is a big part of who I am, I can't write worrying about whether I am going to offend someone who *might* read my blog, figuring that I am going to critique bad tv or write about my love of thin mints, and instead reads something else. Because, those are also parts of who I am. And I caveat that by saying that I don't worry about offending the casual reader who might stumble upon my blog when searching for information about certain "D" list celebrities who *might* share my daughter's name. They are on their on (mostly because I don't know anyone who might actually search for such information)

Memories of a life lost

http://www.newsweek.com/id/182572/page/1

A Vast and Sudden Sadness

--This article appears in this week's Newsweek. It is about stillbirth and the use of photography to remember our lost babies. Shannon was technically a week and a few days short of being a stillbirth, but it is all the same, regardless of the name you use. The photographs and memories which we made of her help to sustain me through some of the harder days. I am glad, despite the enormous sadness depicted in those photos, that we have them. I will treasure them forever as the visual record of her.

When mom's first find out that their babies died, and that they'll actually have to go to the hospital and go through labor and delivery, they often ask what they should do. I am forever grateful that there were moms out there who told me to bring a camera. Some hospitals actually have a "care package" of sorts for parents like us, which contains a disposable camera. Mine didn't. Some hospitals will take photos for you. Mine did, but lost them and found them months later. But we had our camera, and we have photos of our little girl. They aren't always easy to look at, because the day was so overwhelmingly sad, but they are part of our life, her life, and our memories and short time with our little girl. And they helped.

Shannon

Was born sleeping on February 8, 2008

in Washington, DC, USA

She died on February 7, 2008.

"She is loved and missed."

http://namesinthesand.blogspot.com/2009/02/shannon.html

One year ago

One year ago, my little girl was born. That day really sucked. Seriously. One year later, it still sucks, but only because I miss her and I still don't understand how it is that such a terrible thing could happen to an innocent creature that had everything ahead of her. I don't get it.

I don't get how some stupid people have 14 kids because they are dumber than a bag of dirt and think that they are some kind of "parenting" expert who will be able to support 14 kids on giving other people advice. Here's some advice - don't listen to stupid women who get 8 babies through IVF and think that is ok. So many of us just want one. The one we lost. The one that broke our heart. The one we didn't get to keep.

I don't get how there are so many moms and dads who don't want the kids they have, who treat them so terribly, who just don't care, who do unspeakably bad things to them. All the while, so many of us mourn what we lost and feel the sadness of the universe bearing down on us. I weep for more than my loss, I weep for the losses of my friends, and the losses of people I don't even know. Because I know what loss feels like.

We did a balloon release for Shannon's birthday yesterday. We set two balloons free - one yellow and one pink. And, because nothing is easy, they went right into a tree. The yellow one worked its way free first, and ran right into another tree. Eventually the yellow one got free of the second tree and went on its way, hopefully to brighten the evening of my evening star. The pink one - well, it got free of the first tree and went right for the second tree. One bounce, two bounces, three bounces, POP!, no more pink balloon. So, being the anal retentive tree-hugger that I am, I trotted off into the street to pick up the carcass of the pink balloon and brought it home. I'll put it in Shannon's memory box as just another pathetic reminder of a rather pathetic year. Then, my husband said, I don't like pink anyway. I said, neither do I. I'd like to think that Shannon let that balloon pop because, being my child, she just wouldn't have been that into pink either. At least the yellow one flew free. Frankly, I'd have rather have just had her here instead. Oh well.

Shannon - we miss you lots and love you more. I don't think Happy Birthday is right, because there was nothing happy about the day that we said hello and goodbye for the first and last time. You'll never be forgotten, my little one... I love you. --mommy