hallmark sucks at grief

I went to look for a sympathy card today. So little exists to talk about a dead baby. Unlike the death of an adult or a pet, the cards lack the ability to convey the simple thought that I am sorry that your baby died. These cards seem to assume that you have a lifetime of memories or experiences to remember when the person you are mourning is gone. In reality, we loss moms have moments. We have the experience of carrying our child. But we don't usually have the same thing that these cards assume we had. So, they just don't fit. And it creates a bit of a dilemma. Who wants to hurt someone by sending them a card that says, in essence, at least you have comfort from the warm memories of your loved one.

I know that we moms have love for those we lost, and love is certainly a warm thing, but it isn't the same when you are talking about the death of a child in utero or shortly after birth as opposed to the loss of an adult (for example). A lifetime for us is often compressed into those short moments where we hope, most fervently, that our little ones know that they are loved, that they know only peace and that we are immeasurably sad to see them leave us. For those of us who lost our babies before birth, we hope, in retrospect, that all of that love and peace was somehow conveyed across our placenta and across the universe, to our little one, to whom we said hello and goodbye to at the same time. Because they aren't supposed to leave us that soon.

I don't know a single mom who wouldn't give up everything for more moments, for more time to love, for time to create those memories that are all we have to sustain us later.

Most of all I wish that we didn't have to go looking for appropriate cards to express sadness at how much it sucks to be a loss momma.

Remembering a friend's losses

Today I mourn the death of my friend's twins, who were born way too early. Their mom is a special, strong woman who I met shortly before I brought home my rainbow last year. She had lost another son before we met. She is now a mom to three little boys who soar above this world. My heart aches for her and her husband.

Rest in peace little men. You are loved and missed.

“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart.. i'll always be with you.” a.a. milne

Hello and goodbye

Two years ago today, we said hello and goodbye to Shannon. We miss her and love her still.

Shannon - mommy and daddy sent you a beautiful red balloon today. We hope that you got it. We love and miss you very much...

I don't like February

Just the thought of February can make me cry. The overwhelming sadness that I associate with this month, the fear, the pain, makes this month suck. It might be the shortest month of the year, but I loath it just the same. I pause lately, by Shannon's urn, and I stop and wonder about the alternative universe, where she didn't die, where things were very different, where February didn't suck. And I miss her. I wonder what she'd be like. I wonder if she would have been an easy going baby, like her big brother and the rainbow baby. I wonder what dealing with little girl fashion would have been like, because big brother pretty much wears anything, and rainbow baby wears whatever big brother wore all those many years ago when big brother was the baby.

And I miss her. I miss the concept of her. The thought of what could have been, or might have been. I wouldn't trade rainbow baby for anything, but just the same, I wish I could have them both. Rainbow baby has been a great healer, time has too, but it's still not the same.

Two years ago, we said hello and goodbye to our little girl. My little girl. And there's a part of my heart that still feels that pain. A part of my heart that always will. There's a part of my brain that relives a labor and delivery without joy, one that doesn't end in congratulations, but one that ends in a quiet room with a tiny baby in a little blanket. A baby who is small and cold and still. My baby. Shannon.

And I miss her. And love her. And cry for her still.

Next.....

I went back to work 2 months ago. Most of the people I worked with only found out I was pregnant shortly before I left (if they knew at all). Part of this is because I am a private person, but part of it was wanting to keep my pregnancy under wraps, in case something bad happened.

When people who don't know me very well find out that I have two boys, almost all of them say, "well, now you have to try again for a girl." And I look at them, wondering what to say. To some, I say that we won't be trying for a girl, that I had a girl, and that she died. Now, I can't say that to everyone, because sometimes it just isn't worth it, but sometimes it is just the right thing to say. I had my daughter, and she is not here anymore. And that makes me sad.

In a few short months, it will be 2 years since we said goodbye to Shannon. That is really weird to me. In some ways, it doesn't seem like it could possibly be that long. It makes me realize that while I have come far since February 2008, there is still such as long way to go.

Thanksgiving 2009

As Thanksgiving weekend draws to a close, I have been thinking back over the past three years. I started my pregnancy journey in December 2006, and ended it in July 2009. Along the way, I met some wonderful people, and cried more tears than I had in my entire life before that time. But I am, despite the pain and the losses of my butterflies and Shannon, grateful for those that I have met along the way who have provided me with love, comfort, support and a surprising number of laughs. So, I am thankful.

I am thankful for my children, those here with me on earth, and those that soar in a different reality. On our annual trip northward, I told my oldest that I was thankful for my family. And he said, "I know why you are thankful. It is because this year we have a baby, and last year the baby died and this baby didn't die. I have a brother, and the other baby was my sister." And then he asked why the baby died. And I still don't have a good answer for him.

He asked that question a few times this weekend. He doesn't talk about his sister very often but, when he does, it is like a waterfall of questions and issues about why she isn't here. And there are no good answers, other than saying that sometimes bad things happen, and that is how life is sometimes.

Looking back on how far I've come and, recognizing that I still have far to go on this loss journey, I realize that the people in your world make all the difference along the way. This journey would be so much harder if there weren't people who understand that the grieving process doesn't end, even if you have much to be thankful for. But I am thankful, just the same.

Nineteen months....

Damn, that's a long time. I hate that every month, on the 8th, I'm drawn back to figuring out how many months it has been since the most horrible experience that any mom should have to endure, maybe a close second (or a tie) with the "I'm sorry" from the OB that we heard the day before.

I wish there was some magic in the universe that could prevent any other moms from feeling this pain. It can't hurt to wish...

Shannon - it's September, and we miss you so. The butterflies are still here for a little while longer, and the leaves are starting to fall. Much love with all my heart, mommy.