tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2518380920161950682024-03-19T03:16:59.382-02:30Notes from the Sparrows' NestBrandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.comBlogger56125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-90077505111020182542016-01-27T20:31:00.001-03:302016-01-27T20:31:28.753-03:30One TrackI have a one track mind. I pick up projects and pursue them sometimes obsessively, until one day I up and walk away from it all. I have done this more than once with blogs I've started. Terrible, I know. But this time, I did it for one of the best reasons. <div><br></div><div>If you hadn't guessed it already, not too long after my last post here, I discovered I was pregnant. I felt very protective in those first weeks and months and just couldn't find the words. When I finally did, I put them somewhere else: in my new blog. You can read it here: www.thesnowbaby.wordpress.com.</div><div><br></div><div>I think a part of the reason I didn't want to write about my pregnancy here is that I knew a lot of my fellow TTC after loss ladies read this blog and I didn't want to cause hurt by being one of those people who suddenly flipped from the trials of the two week window and OPKs to someone who could talk of nothing but their pregnancy, then floated off into the the "rainbow" sunset. Though I was always happy for those mamas who got what they so desired, it stung too, because I wanted so badly to know how it felt to bring home a baby after so much pain. </div><div><br></div><div>I have been thinking that I may combine all of my blogspot blogs into one to keep it all together, but that seems like a task for when I have more time and/or energy (will I ever?). For now, I would be tickled if you felt like following me over at my new blog. And if not, thank you so much for joining me here on my grief and TTC journeys. </div><div><br></div><div>Sending out lots of light and love to you all. </div><div><br></div><div><div><br></div></div>Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-74296765417249160892015-08-10T12:12:00.001-02:302015-08-10T12:16:26.566-02:30Riding the WaveSometimes I look at photos of my very pregnant friends and feel a particular kind of sadness. I mourn Haven, I mourn because our second baby never grew enough to round out my body, I mourn the innocence of pregnancy that is lost forever. Lately, I also grieve because I feel I may never get to feel that joy again. It was pure magic when Haven rolled and kicked inside me. I would laugh when she got the hiccups or tickled my cervix with her hand that was always at her cheek. My heart hurts when I think that I may never experience any of it again.<div><br></div><div>We wanted a big family; we'd talked so many times about having four kids. We even had names at one point! Neither of us could have imagined that we would be at this stage of life without living children and unsure whether we even can. </div><div><br></div><div>It is a very strange thing to be a parent but not be able to participate in conversations about how to handle teething or diapers or the spacing I plan to have between my kids (hearing that particular conversation especially hurts). I don't know how it feels to have Haven's arms around my neck or to hear her say, "mama." I do have love in common with other parents, but that is about it. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">When Haven died, I immediately felt an otherness from other parents and other people in general. I wish I could say that the feeling goes away, but it doesn't. I have learned to cope better, but there are situations where I stand awkwardly at the sidelines feeling utterly useless.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Grief is close to the surface this week as we start to get our hopes up for yet another month. I'm riding the wave as I have learned to do. It gets harder and harder to keep trying. </span></div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-81437655800583382592015-08-07T19:05:00.001-02:302015-08-07T19:06:51.921-02:30Here Comes the SunI have been preparing my heart to accept the idea that we may never have living biological children. To be clear, there is no actual reason to believe that we won't; I am 30 and healthy and all of the tests that the doctor was willing to do before the one-year-of-trying mark came back normal. For me to be sane and enjoy life, I need to be able to accept the possibility that I may never conceive again. It is pretty hard for me to believe in happy endings when our daughter has been in the ground for 18 months and our second chance baby, our Grace, was gone before we got to know him or her. This is our seventh cycle trying to conceive and we weren't exactly careful for the three cycles before that. Why would we easily conceive twice, then struggle, unless something was off?<br />
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Lately, I have a love-hate relationship with the baby loss community. On the one hand, I think it is important to have connections to people who know how you are feeling, but on the other, it seems that most of those communities have only half the story in common with me now. As much as I celebrate each new "rainbow" pregnancy or healthy newborn "rainbow," I am not anywhere near knowing what it feels like to find comfort in the warmth of a new life. I used to feel so encouraged and hopeful when I read those stories, but now I feel bitterness and loneliness as I think again and again, "why not us?" I try not to be resentful when the well-meaning rainbow mommies reassure me that my time will come. Though no one likes to talk about it, for many parents the rainbow baby never does come. I have met some absolutely wonderful friends and acquaintances online over the past 18 months, but I find myself withdrawing from that world to try and protect my heart.<br />
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I accidentally came across a wonderful blog today called <a href="http://losinglucyandfindinghope.com/" target="_blank">Losing Lucy and Finding Hope</a> (click the text to visit). The author, Bethany, and her husband have been through stillbirth, two miscarriages, and adoption loss and just welcomed their "rainbow baby" in July at long last. I wept as I read post after post; her story and all of the scripture verses she shared along the way touched something in me that I have been trying to squelch. <i>Hope</i>. Though I am a long way from being able to believe in a happy ending for <i>us</i>, it helped to read her stories because I realized that she must have felt how I am feeling at so many points along their journey.<br />
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What <i>is</i> hope, anyway? These days, I'm trying not to be so specific with my hope. My heart believes that, one day, we will have a chance to parent children, however it is God chooses to bring them to us. When Haven died, I thought that my redemption as a mother, a wife, and a woman would only come through successfully bringing home another baby, but I don't know now if that is where our lives are headed. I surely do hope so, but I am trying to keep my heart open for the other possibilities that God may have in mind for us.<br />
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Soon after Haven died last February, we treated ourselves to iPhones. I immediately downloaded the Beatles song "Here Comes the Sun" as my ringtone, because it spoke to me of hope after such a heartbreaking winter. I feel now that we are coming out of a figurative winter and into the sun. I'm looking forward to what this "summer" will bring.<br />
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"Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun, and I say 'it's all right.'"</blockquote>
You know, I really think it will be all right.<br />
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<br />Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-7239232967419270102015-06-30T11:34:00.001-02:302015-06-30T11:35:11.275-02:30SunshineSince I heard the words, "I'm sorry, there is no heartbeat" I have been a different person. I stared at the ultrasound screen that showed my completely still daughter and the Brandi I was ceased to exist. In the weeks and months that followed Haven's death, I was afraid to leave the house and have to face a world where I was an outsider, where I would have to answer questions. The whole summer came and went and I barely left my house or office at work. I was constantly afraid that someone would interpret a smile or laugh as a sign I no longer mourned my child; I was afraid to be happy. I was afraid my baby girl would be forgotten, that <i>I</i> would be forgotten. I honestly could not imagine that my life could ever improve or that I would ever be able to be more than the woman whose baby died.<br />
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Before I continue, let's establish one thing: I'll never be the same again. Burying your child will shake you to the core, shake your whole world, and you'll struggle to pick up the pieces. I was a pretty carefree person before those words tore my life apart, but now I carry a heavy weight in my heart. These are scars that will never completely fade. I'm twice a mom with twice-empty arms. No amount of time or yoga or even future children will change this. My self esteem will probably never fully recover, or my faith in people, or in my old perception of order in the world. My heart will always walk with a limp.<br />
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BUT.<br />
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I've been working hard to free myself from the anxieties that weighed me down and I am starting to see that there <i>is</i> life after your child dies. There's life! And joy. And fun. Things aren't all sad days and gray skies forever (though I will viciously defend my right to a sad day when I need one!) Yes, life can grow bright again. You can make friends, grow relationships, and find new sparks with your love. I can't say I'm always content, but I can tell you I'm finding myself again.<br />
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I'm grateful. So very grateful. I can see the sunshine again.<br />
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<br />Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-51307710076110160962015-06-19T14:44:00.000-02:302015-06-19T14:44:06.701-02:30At the StartI've been thinking about endings and beginnings and how they are two sides of the same coin. I had an ending/beginning this week; I put in my resignation at work. I won't get into the whys here, but let's just say that I made the right decision and this is another step toward hope, health, and living life to the fullest. I certainly feel a sense of loss, as I established the job and put processes and materials in place that will now be inherited by someone else. It's hard to leave it all behind in favour of a fresh start, but I do feel excited at the thought of a new adventure. Things worked together financially at just the right time, so I do not have to rush into a new position just yet.<br />
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I did have another short cycle in May as predicted - only 23 days! But this cycle seems to be normal and I am grateful. With all the work upset we didn't try all that hard, so I'm not expecting anything this month. It was kind of nice to step away from it while we figured things out.<br />
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So I'm home. Sunshine is pouring through the window, one persistent bird has been singing for hours outside, and I've had a peaceful day reading articles, eating healthy food, and talking to friends.<br />
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I'm at the start of something new. I hope that it is also something good.<br />
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<br />Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-73233246712340413852015-06-19T14:01:00.000-02:302015-06-19T14:01:15.542-02:30WhiplashI always struggle to put into words how it feels when your child dies. It is life-sized whiplash. One day you are at the top, moving forward, your life is planned out, you know what is coming. You're suspended for a moment, but you don't even know it until it's over. Suddenly you snap back, you find yourself at the bottom, lower than you ever dreamed the bottom could be, and you stare and strain upward, trying to glimpse what you thought was your reality. Surely this isn't real? The denial takes months to lift, and even a year later, your mind has moments of stubbornness and refuses to believe.<br />
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Eventually you climb your way up, up, up, but you never reach the top. You can't. The top was for Before You and you will never be that person again. </div>
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As I end cycle 4, feeling that it has also been unsuccessful, I am a little melancholy thinking of Before Me with her baby alive and kicking, her nursery set up, baby clothes hang-drying on the rack, the bassinet sitting smugly next to the bed. What I wouldn't give for an hour in her shoes, not a real care in the world.</div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-4864455609308118952015-06-07T22:57:00.001-02:302015-06-19T13:59:11.903-02:30Weary<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sometimes I feel like it was all a dream, that it didn't happen. That I didn't give birth to a little girl who died. That I didn't miscarry just nine months later. That stuff happens to other people, after all. It feels like a story that belongs to someone else. </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">We have been trying to get pregnant, but I somehow don't believe it's possible to get there again; a baby in my belly, looking forward to a certain future. Maybe that stuff just happens to other people too. My reality is a body that seems to be sick somehow, that is not getting pregnant. </span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Some days I feel really at peace with it all. Others where I feel paralyzed by the fear of what could be wrong. I hate that our experiences have robbed me of my peace of mind. I worked hard to cultivate that trust in the world only to have it totally ripped away.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Weary, weary, weary. In all ways.</span></div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-37805622843229558662015-05-30T00:02:00.001-02:302015-06-19T14:18:00.278-02:30Shark Week in 3...2...1This cycle, I was the most "unplugged" that I have ever been since we started trying to conceive (TTC). I didn't look at my tracking app other than to log ovulation and to check something for the doctor. I put in a few notes today when I felt familiar (unwelcome) cramping start, but I was a good girl for almost a whole month! I'm proud of myself - gold star! Now to keep up the good habits next month. :)<br />
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This will be another short cycle once the Red Lady (aka: Aunt Flo) arrives, but at least within the normal range. I wish my body would straighten itself out and decide what it is doing!<br />
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Since we're on the topic of periods, I will share two great period euphemisms that I learned today:</div>
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1) The commies are in the funhouse. (Think about it).</div>
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2) Shark week. (It slays me).</div>
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They're both great. I laughed a great deal when I read them in an email exchange with someone much cleverer than I. What are your favourites? (Seriously, cheer me up - spill!)</div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-60635325237170982422015-05-29T19:23:00.001-02:302015-06-19T14:00:00.901-02:30Survivor-ishI have struggled for most of my life with some level of anxiety; sometimes minor, sometimes oh-my-God-my-heart-is-going-to-explode-please-just-kill-me-now. It often paralyzes me when I need to take action, and I live in fear of the "what ifs." I have to admit, though, that going through the absolute hell of losing Haven gave me some perspective. A lot of things are much less scary than I thought before. I'm less willing to put up with situations that are not benefiting me or are causing harm, or people who tear down instead of build up. I'm less afraid to risk, because I realize that, other than those I love, the rest of it just doesn't matter all that much.<br />
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There are a few situations in my life that are causing me great anxiety at the moment, but today I looked at it all and thought, "I am going to find a way through it, and even if the worst case scenario happens, it will somehow be okay." So I am trying to remember that. I have been through one of the <i>worst</i> worst case scenarios and lived to tell about it. I'm a survivor.</div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-13681857968223357922015-05-21T17:28:00.001-02:302015-06-19T14:02:04.426-02:30LGDanny came home from a trip a few days ago and I have been soaking in the sight of him since then (I am a big hubby sook). I've been thinking that, despite it all, life is good. Despite my hurting heart, my anxieties, my fears, life is good.<br />
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I hope I can remember that in the coming weeks and months and years. What a gift for me and my loved ones to be mostly healthy. For Danny and I to have good, stable jobs and a decent place to live. To be able to buy groceries without eyeballing the price (after years of having to!) To be loved by my friends and family. </div>
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Yeah, life is good.</div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-29344161002519641102015-05-17T12:48:00.002-02:302015-05-17T12:52:11.009-02:30Month Four and the KicksI think one of the cruelest physical symptoms left over from my first pregnancy is phantom kicks and flutters. <a href="http://notesfromthesparrowsnest.blogspot.ca/2014/11/phantoms.html" target="_blank">I have mentioned this sensation before</a>, but this just really, really gets to me. I've had them almost every day for the past week and every time I catch my breath for a second and think, "what if I am actually pregnant?" even if I know for sure that I am not at the moment. My mind goes wild for a few minutes... "maybe I am one of those rare cases where I continue to bleed every month but am actually pregnant, and maybe I'm also one of those rare women who doesn't get a positive pregnancy test for one of her pregnancies." Geesh.<br />
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It's just a cruel symptom. I don't know what causes them; I know it's not trapped gas, because that feels different. I wish they would end or, better yet, that there would be a real baby in there sometime soon who would give me real flutters and the reassurance that they are growing.<br />
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I keep a mini daily journal - just a few lines to describe my day, or to include a quote or thought. I recently looked back on last fall when I got that second positive and we thought for a few weeks we might have a second chance. I was surprised at how hopeful my entries were, and how excited. I don't feel I can muster much of those feelings anymore after 15 and a half months of grief and disappointment, then hope, then more grief and disappointment.<br />
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The last little hopeful part of me thinks, "you got pregnant in month four of trying last time...maybe that will hold true again this time around." Who knows? It would be kind of cool, because I would be due just weeks from when I was due with Haven if I were to conceive this cycle or next. The idea of it being so close totally freaked me out when we were trying last year, but now I think it would be kind of comforting.<br />
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And on with the day. Stupid kicks.<br />
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<br />Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-33365969837458333002015-05-13T19:34:00.000-02:302015-06-19T15:12:11.155-02:30Recognition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBHXggJGxBVNFV-Ap1y2qf15kTcDW32Y9cALxTXO9W9Ptc2DEQMAqxeWEtITICc2vK57QzgxaSSOJGcV-lojnNl1H5oeTTNUpfF2O5tR1nYCI4oc8Ioyr5aY689fh8nHAp7j8ESDKfd5X/s1600/May+13+2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBHXggJGxBVNFV-Ap1y2qf15kTcDW32Y9cALxTXO9W9Ptc2DEQMAqxeWEtITICc2vK57QzgxaSSOJGcV-lojnNl1H5oeTTNUpfF2O5tR1nYCI4oc8Ioyr5aY689fh8nHAp7j8ESDKfd5X/s320/May+13+2015.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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"Boy, your body is just not the same after having babies, is it? Your abs just don't go back the same."<br />
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We were walking out to our cars after our Pilates class, where we'd both laughed as we failed at trying to do a full sit-up. I don't know her name, but she is quiet and nice.<br />
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I mumbled some kind of agreement and thought, <i>what if she asks? What will I say? Does she know?</i> I never know what to say.<br />
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I said, "yeah, it is just not the same." <i>Dang, she is gonna ask...</i><br />
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"So you have a very young baby, do you?"<br />
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Pause. Panic. "Uhhhhh, I did, but she died. Oh goodness, that sounded terrible, I'm sorry... yes, I had a baby daughter, but she died."<br />
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She kindly said, "I am so sorry, I didn't realize."<br />
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"No, of course, it's not your fault. It just comes out so awkwardly sometimes."<br />
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We said our goodbyes and got into our cars.<br />
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On the way home, I thought, <i>how did she know I was a mom?</i> Then it dawned on me that I have a mommy body now. She could see my baby pooch and the same weaknesses presenting themselves in my body as in hers. It made me proud and sad at the same time to be recognized this way. I'm part of the club, but not really part of the club. My body was a baby home, but my arms stayed empty.<br />
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I drove home to my quiet house and now I am sitting here intensely missing my little love, wondering what she would be like now. My 15 month munchkin, drooling and giggling and causing beautiful chaos for her mom and dad. I know she would have been a character - she already was, even in my belly. When a child dies, they leave such a void. A lifetime of <i>I wonders</i> and memories you don't get to build. I have been thinking a lot about our second baby lately too. We would be in the final stretch now, just about ready to bring home Haven's little brother or sister.<br />
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I really took it hard when my period came this month, especially with Mother's Day right after. I can't help but wonder <i>when? or...if?</i> My arms just ache to hold, my body to give, my lips to kiss. I yearn to see my husband fulfilled as a dad, finally able to give way to all of that love inside him.<br />
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I wonder where we will be this time next year? Will we have a house that is alive again, or will I still be listening to the refrigerator hum? Will we be facing a life without biological children or will my womb finally be blessed again?<br />
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Grief is a winding road with no destination...<br />
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<br />Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-27927815552009285402015-05-07T15:36:00.001-02:302015-06-19T15:12:53.299-02:30How to Let Go?As I sit here facing the disappointment of yet another cycle where we didn't conceive, the seventh such cycle in a year, I can't help but think how hard it is to let go. I know that I need to let the hope die and just live my life, because the heartache every month is too much to bear. It is always a reminder of how much we have lost.<br />
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I often drive past an abortion clinic on my way to work and think, "what I would give to have those babies." On that same stretch of road is a pharmacy which I remember walking to when we were first married where I bought a pregnancy test; I was worried that I might be pregnant. How I wish now that I could shake myself and tell that version of me how wonderful it would be and to not be afraid. I can't believe this is my life sometimes...<br />
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How do I let go of the dream of a family and live my life? I wish I knew. For more than a year now, my daily focus has been on bringing another baby into the world, hopefully one that is screaming his or her lungs off. Even though a part of me feels that I will never have more babies, my mind can't wrap itself around that possibility. I watch the pregnancy announcements roll on with a numb feeling and wonder, "will it ever be me?" </div>
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How the heck do I let go?<br />
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-14864817386192956942015-05-02T00:05:00.001-02:302015-06-19T14:05:06.381-02:30Swallow it Down<span style="font-family: inherit;">Some days it is very clear that I have a choice whether to be bitter or to embrace life. Some days I just want to give in, but...I usually just swallow it down and try to look forward. Other people's decisions and circumstances can't determine my own.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yup, it is a choice, but it can be a very hard one to make.</span></div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-63300887174576442952015-04-28T08:15:00.001-02:302015-06-19T14:13:23.875-02:30Mother's Day and Empty RoomsI can feel Mother's Day lurking around the corner. Last year, I felt something like panic in anticipation of it...facebook was thick with sappy memes and posts (which are, without meaning to be, very exclusive), stores were oozing with merchandise, the radio and TV blared its soon-coming arrival, and everyone soaked it up. My broken heart was filled with bitterness and anger instead.<br />
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I avoided church last Mother's Day, knowing they would have all the mothers stand to be presented with flowers. It never occurred to me until Haven died how many women that tradition hurts - the infertile, the single women who want to be mothers, those whose family is broken for some reason, those who have come so close, like me, only to have their babes snatched away...and the list goes on and on. I won't be taking part this year either. Honestly, I don't think I would even if I was holding a new baby in my arms or my belly right now.<br />
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I don't feel the same level of panic this year as last, but there is an ache in my heart all the same. </div>
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An order from Old Navy was the first time I bought anything for Haven. I was only a few months pregnant but found these cute onesies that said "I love my mommy" and "I love my daddy" for Mother's Day and Father's Day. I hope one day I can fill them with a new life. Right now, they are squashed together with all the rest of Haven's unused things in a big tub in the nursery closet. The nursery is still a reminder of what is not. I may finally work up the courage to dismantle it in the coming weeks. It stands as a symbol of expectancy and it crushes me every time I look inside.<br />
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-40510674191410595542015-04-26T19:43:00.001-02:302015-06-19T14:07:58.615-02:30Always, With the NewsToday, some good friends told us that they are expecting their first baby. It is the second friend's pregnancy we've learned of in a week. The third announcement in two weeks. I expect there will be many more in the coming months as many friends' babies who are Haven's age hit their first year. I'm not sure how many more facebook profiles and posts I can "unfollow" on facebook - I already shield myself from a lot of other people's joy.<br />
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I always feel both elated for our friends upon hearing this kind of news, yet completely distraught and empty at the same time. Every pregnancy announcement is a little like a punch to the stomach. It's hard to not be jealous of the innocence of pregnancy that they are experiencing...which I will never take part in again. I always think (with a little bitterness, I will admit), "when will it be our turn? We've waited long enough."<br />
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I wish our friends all the happiness they deserve. I just hope it is our turn to be happy someday too.</div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-48102365609687519272015-04-25T17:51:00.001-02:302015-06-19T15:18:40.095-02:30Bumpy Road Behind, Bumpy Road AheadI've been thinking a lot lately about the last few years and how life has changed since Haven. When she died, I felt that I had died too; there was a Before Haven Me and an After Haven Me. In a lots of ways, I would say that is still accurate, but the more time that passes, the greater my acceptance of what happened.<br />
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I do not want Haven's death to define me; I have seen where that leads. There are moms in the online forums I used to frequent who live in the depths of grief every day, years out, and I don't want to end up that way. Yes, Haven is irreplaceable and I will always mourn her death and feel her gaping absence, but I believe life can be good again with or without the children we long for. We are still a family no matter what happens.</div>
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I feel in some ways as though the trauma we have been through has set me free. I lived in so much anxiety in the aftermath that I felt paralyzed, but now I can see that it can be a gift to embrace the fragility of life. We only get one crack at today and I want to make the most of it. If it means a change or a risk, so be it.</div>
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A friend of mine was talking about her own anxiety and how her husband stopped her one day and said (about her particular fear), "well, what if it does happen? Then we will just deal with it." Hearing that made me stop and think... I have already had the worst happen; I have held the body of my child and I am still getting out of bed every day. Whatever may come, I will deal with it. I made a promise to myself that I will really live, so...here we go.</div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-81734600570562741572015-04-11T08:53:00.001-02:302015-06-19T14:15:56.524-02:30Pitter PatterI was writing in my journal yesterday and found myself writing, "Who am I now? What will my life be? I can't see into the future anymore."<br />
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If you had asked me before I became pregnant with Haven what I would like my life to look like, I would have had no trouble laying out a 5, 10, 20 year plan for you. But now that she was here and is gone, I can't see ahead anymore. Sure, I want children, I want to pursue my dream of working with endangered languages abroad or find another way to help people full-time, I want to grow old with Danny...but I can't <i>picture</i> any of it anymore. After so much disappointment and grief, none of my dreams feel possible. I feel stuck and unhappy in the life we find ourselves in. I guess it is just empty now. There is a line from an Iron and Wine song that sums it up: "we both learned to cradle then live without."</div>
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Anyway. It is an early, melancholy morning at the end of a terrible week and it is raining cats and dogs outside. I am sure I will feel motivated and okay again later, but for now I am listening to the patter against the window panes and longing for the sounds of new life instead.</div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-63094428006529547142015-04-10T08:54:00.001-02:302015-06-19T14:17:45.327-02:30Of CourseIt always seems to be the case that, when you make up your mind to change something, factors play together to foil your intentions. After deciding to quit my app's social group and stop tracking, I had the weirdest cycle of my life and ended up recording it in my app and sneaking onto the social part sometimes too. Ovulation more than a week early, wild symptoms, extreme cramping for days on end, crazy mood swings, and then a period early too...so early that the entire cycle was only 18 days in duration. I have not, in almost 20 years of having my period, ever had such a thing happen. I'm bewildered, depressed, and, of course, feeling hopeless. So...now it is resolution time again.<br />
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I decided this morning to listen to my smart hubby and declare we are no longer "trying." That doesn't mean we will prevent pregnancy from happening, but we can't live in this endless state of expectancy and hopeful "planning" and, ultimately, disappointment. I'm putting away the ovulation sticks, writing no daily notes, and just going on with my life. It's time. Past time, really. </div>
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My two week yoga and Pilates class trial opened my eyes to how much I need movement and self care in my life. Though my muscles are aching from all the work, I feel revived and refocused. My goal from here on out is getting myself physically, emotionally, and spiritually where I need to be. If expanding our family happens on the way, that would be amazing, but it can no longer be my primary focus.</div>
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I will say that a cycle 18 days long truly is abnormal and I will be consulting a doctor about it...it just won't be Dr. Google.</div>
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Have any of you made a similar resolution?</div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-44843280942683766852015-03-31T20:49:00.001-02:302015-06-19T14:17:31.617-02:30Another StepIt's often very apparent what we need to do, yet we resist, thinking, "I'll start tomorrow" or "things aren't really that bad." I've known for a very long time that I needed to get my body healthy and that my poor diet and lack of exercise needed to change. I'm chronically under-hydrated and never get enough sleep too, so basically everything needs a fixin'. What really put me over the edge is the discovery of painful varicose veins in my legs, which I have read can be helped by exercise. Well, FINE then!<br />
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I finally got up the courage to try a yoga class today after a full year of good intentions and it was...wonderful. I left feeling so at peace and empowered. I'm really excited for my next class! This past year I have worked hard on getting my mind and emotions to a healing place and now it is time for my body to follow suit.</div>
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For the first time since I lost Haven, I have felt this week that I am really going to be okay no matter what happens. I'm letting go of my "control" over the situation and stepping back to let what is going to happen, happen. I have to be honest, of course, and say that I slip up alllllll of the time and fall right back into my old mindsets, but it's a journey, not a destination. :)</div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-72204192918332846952015-03-23T14:13:00.001-02:302015-06-19T14:18:35.861-02:30A Step BackI had a sudden realization this morning that I am investing far too much time and energy and emotion into the process of trying to conceive and it is negatively affecting my life. With symptom notes and potential due date calculations and pregnancy tests and google searches and obsessing over everything, my mind has been so wrapped up in it that I have ended up with a big joy deficit. I haven't been the wife, employee, or friend that I should be, and that's not cool.<br />
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I made the decision to mostly step away from the app that I use to track everything. It was a really hard decision because I have been a part of an absolutely wonderful group of ladies on the social part who have had similar experiences to me and are also now trying to conceive. They've really kept me afloat some days, but I don't have the willpower to open the app to talk to them and not end up staring at my notes and making calculations.<br />
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As I drove to work today, I was listening to a devotional CD in my car and the message was basically about letting things distract you from what is important in life. I wasn't looking for a confirmation, but there is was all the same.<br />
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I am taking a step back. I plan to use this blog a little more often to channel my emotions into something positive, and in all the time I will save by not obsessing, I'll do things that I enjoy and invest in all of my relationships in a new way.<br />
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I'm only a few hours in and it is already so hard (I miss my app ladies!) but the sense of relief I feel is another confirmation that I am doing the right thing.<br />
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-37426021068345076922015-03-22T23:13:00.001-02:302015-06-19T14:19:34.425-02:30MissingThere is always a piece missing from our lives; the little dark-haired girl who would be finding her legs and warbling out her first words. Well, two pieces; the little one we never got to know. There aren't words for how hard it is to be a childless parent. Because no one can see you are a parent, it is easily forgotten that you are constantly navigating a present that is drastically different from what it should have been.<br />
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I should have my hands full with Haven, big and pregnant with our second baby. We had talked about getting pregnant again right away so our kids would be close in age and so I could be home with them for as much of their early lives as possible. Yet here I am, nearly two years from when I first became pregnant, three negative pregnancy tests in the bathroom garbage, laying on the couch listening to the silence. One baby in the ground and one...I don't know where. </div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I have been trusting God and choosing to believe that my time will come, but when months pass without another pregnancy, I feel like I am losing them again and again. When my period comes, it always feels so final. A friend of mine was talking about how stressful it can be to try and conceive and I felt like saying, "just imagine if both of your experiences with pregnancy ended in death." It's so hard to believe I will ever know the joy of parenthood.</span></div>
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As selfish as it is, I get anxious and angry when I think about the fact that some of my friends with babies Haven's age are probably already pregnant again and will have a second child before I bring home one living baby. I selfishly feel that it is my turn now. Anytime. </div>
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I miss my babies so much tonight. I miss the life I should have had. </div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-47275667305363962052015-03-03T23:36:00.001-03:302015-06-19T14:20:17.492-02:30Question MarkI used to be so sure of the future and what it would hold. I felt certain that, no matter how hard things got, it would all be okay and we would have the things we dreamed of.<br />
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There is nothing like child and pregnancy loss to shatter your illusions of control. Now the future is a big question mark; I can't look forward even a few months with any confidence. It <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">is both liberating and terrifying at the same time. </span><br />
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I very much hope that we are granted joy in the wake of so much sorrow.</div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-14978630846727516012015-02-22T11:01:00.001-03:302015-06-19T14:21:19.034-02:30Not ForgottenAround two years ago, I was sitting in church and a lady whose name I didn't know at the time came up to me and said that, if I didn't mind, she would like to share something with me that she felt God was telling her regarding me and Danny. Inwardly, I was a little turned off and skeptical - I had attended a few extremely charismatic churches when I was younger and found myself a little leery of that kind of thing.<br />
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"Sure," I said, not wanting to offend her.</div>
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What she said has stayed with me. She said, "I feel that God is asking me to tell you that you have not been forgotten. You and Danny have not been forgotten."</div>
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At the time, it had significance for me - I was newly pregnant with Haven, which had been a welcome but scary surprise, and we had a lot of worry surrounding our finances. We had dreams which were hanging so far off in the distance that we never knew if we'd ever reach them. It was definitely applicable to us, as we had often felt forgotten. I was touched; I wept and thanked her for sharing with me.</div>
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Just a few months later, I was laying on a hospital bed having just heard that Haven had died. My heart was shattered. Suddenly, those words came to my mind and filled me with peace and the assurance that, somehow, everything was going to be okay. As I have seen many times in my life, sometimes we don't understand the significance of something until much later. This moment is when I needed those words the most.</div>
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This memory came to me again this morning as I lay awake in bed, depressed about our situation and wondering if we will ever know the joy of raising children of our own. As we step into the unknown and into another cycle of trying to conceive, I am going to hold onto those words, which are a promise.</div>
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"I am with you always, even unto the end of the world." (Matthew 28:20)</div>
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"I will lead the blind by a road they do not know; I will guide them on unfamiliar paths. I will make darkness into light before them and the rough places into level ground. These are the things I will do, and I will not forsake them." (Isaiah 42:16)</div>
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"And we know that in all things God causes everything to work together for the good of those who love him, who are called according to his purpose." (Romans 8:28)</div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-251838092016195068.post-31782835876473472292015-02-21T11:18:00.001-03:302015-06-19T14:21:54.016-02:30Crystal BallThere has never been a time in my life where I have so wanted to know the future. If I could just look forward two years and know what becomes of all this, I could make decisions and find a way to be content with whatever our lot is. Instead, we are back on the trying to conceive wagon hoping that this time is different.<br />
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It's so weird to be in this place. My pregnancy with Haven was a blessed, unplanned surprise. I was totally happy to wait to start trying, but she just...happened. I was sure everything would be okay, and everything pointed to me being right. Even after she died, I felt positive that, once I conceived again, that would be it, our second chance. I was worried about the end, not the beginning. Again, I was wrong. </div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My mind is full of worries over my reproductive health and whether I will be able to bear living children. My body has changed so much since birth and even more since the D&C and I am worried it has been damaged.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My confidence is in tatters.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Ugh. Down day.</span></div>
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Brandihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15630757387966832038noreply@blogger.com0