Here Comes the Sun

I 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?

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.

I accidentally came across a wonderful blog today called Losing Lucy and Finding Hope (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. Hope. Though I am a long way from being able to believe in a happy ending for us, 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.

What is 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.

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.

"Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun, and I say 'it's all right.'"

You know, I really think it will be all right.

Survivor-ish

I 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.

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 worst worst case scenarios and lived to tell about it. I'm a survivor.

Bumpy Road Behind, Bumpy Road Ahead

I'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.

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.

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.

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.

Missing

There 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.

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. 

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.

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. 

I miss my babies so much tonight. I miss the life I should have had. 

Question Mark

I 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.

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 is both liberating and terrifying at the same time. 

I very much hope that we are granted joy in the wake of so much sorrow.

Crystal Ball

There 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.

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. 

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.

My confidence is in tatters.

Ugh. Down day.

The Ol' What Ifs

I don't often give in to the What Ifs, but every now and then my mind just can't help itself.

Ugh. I miss my babies tonight.

Week 8: The Chill Creeps In

Winter is settling on St. John's. The wind is icy, the leaves are dead, and...I have dug out my impressive scarf collection! This one is a giant double-sided plaid dealy that I am loving right now - it's almost the size of a blanket!

But this post isn't about my scarf love... 

This Week

It went by quickly! With the preparation for the dance recital, the event itself, and the aftermath, I didn't have time to think about being pregnant. As a highly internal person, the idea of being happy about less time to think is strange, but I have learned the value of quality distraction this year. Though us thinkers crave time alone, it is not always beneficial. A task, something that makes me feel worthwhile, is helpful in getting this anxious mind out of the what ifs.

I still haven't fully wrapped my mind around the fact that I am pregnant. I even caught myself running and doing things that I probably shouldn't have been doing during the event. Not from neglect, but because I actually feel pretty normal most days. If it wasn't for my extreme exhaustion and a few other mild symptoms, I wouldn't even believe this was actually happening. It is a mercy, though...if I were constantly reminded of this pregnancy and all that could go wrong, I would be nonfunctional right now.

A part of the calm is, in a way, to do with the fact that I have already done this once and most things are not a surprise. For instance, this time I know that I can sleep however I want until the second trimester, whereas last time I suffered right from 6 to 38 weeks on my side! I also know that most aches and pains are just par for the course, like round ligament pain, etc. It's good to know this stuff because it helps me to not worry every time I have a twinge!

Telling People

We were shown love in so many ways after Haven died, and it really changed my perspective on a lot of the people in our lives. It is not often you are in a situation where all of the masks fall off and the curtains are flung back. I have been feeling a little of that again since we started telling our friends about this pregnancy. The reactions have been so happy and so excited. There have been tears and hugs and exclamations...it is good to be loved.

I don't think we will go the social media route this time with telling people. I have been enjoying just telling people as I feel ready to. Having a not-secret secret is a bit fun too!

The Bean

Baby still has no nickname. I think we'll just do without this time, unless something great comes along.

Anyway, this was not the most focused post, but there it is.

Scarves!!