Last First

When you are expecting a baby you can't help but make plans, especially for your first year. It's like a script that has already been written for you with the specific details left to develop. First time sleeping through the night, the next size up diapers, teething, weaning, babbling, walking, words, etc.

When your baby dies, the script goes out the window. There is unfortunately not a handbook out there that can instruct you how to not feel like you want to die that first Mother's Day, or how you will push away fellow moms whose babies were born near yours, all living while your sweet one is underground and their nursery quiet and dusty.

The first year is a minefield of firsts and unfulfilled dreams, especially when facebook cruelly shows all of those babies hitting milestones that your baby should be experiencing. Your heart will twist and shrivel at the joy on their parents' faces and the unintentionally shattering comments that people tend to leave. "You deserve this more than anyone!" "There is nothing better than baby snuggles!"

Holidays and parent celebration days are the hardest, I think. You can't help but remember on those days that your life has been pulled apart and scattered to the wind. 

I was afraid of Haven's birthday, especially so soon after our miscarried baby and Christmas so fresh in our hearts. But thankfully (and surprisingly), I found this weekend peaceful. Rather than be sad at home, we stayed at a friend's cabin (he is out of the country). On the way out, I picked up a rose for Haven to quietly remind us of her. I lit a candle on her birthday (February 16th) and let it burn all day next to her rose. Danny and I relaxed, played games, watched movies, and enjoyed the quiet time together. On the way back into town today, I placed her rose on her stone. 

Yesterday was our last first. It is with some relief that we pass this milestone. I don't believe there is closure when your child dies - how can there be when you are constantly aware of their absence? But there can be peace and healing. I hope that both of those things continue to grow in us. 

Happy birthday, Haven. Mama and Dad love and miss you every day. I hope that wherever you are, you are warm and happy and laughing. 

The End, the Beginning

One year ago today, perhaps to the very hour, I felt my daughter kick inside me for the last time. Sometimes I wish I could go back to that night and savour it. Just soak in the magnificence of my big belly and the beautiful life inside.

We stayed up late even though the next day, Valentine's Day, was my last day of work before maternity leave. We were in a good mood, I remember. High on life - our family was about to be made complete. The next day was the final step toward parenthood - once maternity leave started, it was just a matter of days or weeks before our baby was here. We went to bed like any other night. Our lives as we knew them were over...we just didn't know it yet. Sometime between Haven's last kicks and the morning, she died.

I remember thinking the next morning that she must be sleeping in; usually she was pretty active in the morning. I even poked my belly a few times and said "wake up, sleepy-head." A coworker wanted to feel her move, but my belly felt soft. I was having Braxton Hicks contractions all morning, which felt sometimes like she was stretching inside me, so it wasn't until I returned from my farewell lunch that it dawned on me that she hadn't kicked yet that day.

I called Danny and waited for him to pick me up from work - I was distracted and a bit worried, but the possibility that she was gone didn't fully sink in. Someone handed me a big gift on the way out - they had missed my baby shower a few days before. It would sit in the back seat of our car with the car seat while I laboured to bring Haven into the world, silent.

Those days haunt me. They have played on a loop so many times in my mind since then and the sting has never left. I remember so much of that day in excruciating detail - what I ordered at lunch, what I was wearing, that I accidentally ripped my purse as I sat down, the winter storm raging outside. Later, my clothing piled on top of my winter boots next to my hospital bed as the look came into the nurse's eyes...

I wish I could let go of this trauma. I live with it pretty well most days, but it is always there under the surface. 

One year. I should be planning a birthday party, wiping up drool, trying to get some rest. I should also be halfway through a second pregnancy, but I am laying in bed typing this with an empty womb and an empty, quiet house.

I hope it is not always so.

Welcome, 2015

I've been thinking for a few weeks about what I wanted to say today, here in the waning hours of the year that has taken so much. It's hard to put into words what I want to convey, but I'll give it a go.

In 2014, grief was our constant companion and teacher; tears have wet our cheeks, our pillows, each other, and there have been many days when we couldn't see our way forward. We've paid dearly in hope and peace - these things aren't easy to grow again.

It is hard in our situation to see beyond our heartsickness and confusion, our empty arms and quiet house. But today, as I went about my tasks, a few thoughts and moments made an impression. I soaked in the sun when I went out to buy our New Years' feast and reveled for a moment in the beauty of the world we live in. I noticed that I have learned to be still and really see what and who is around me. I gave thanks more than once for the amazing man who I am so proud and grateful to call "husband" and for the beautiful years we have weathered together. I thought of all of the relationships which have blossomed in the shadow of our grief; we learned this year how not alone we are.

Our plan is to flip the bird to the passing year during the countdown to 2015, then kiss in the new year, but I know that I won't look back on this time with only a feeling of loss. If I have a resolution, it is to not squander the lessons we have learned, because they came at such a high price. I want to honour our daughter by living fully and not letting any precious time slip past.

Here's to new beginnings, clean slates, fresh starts. Here's to an increase of hope, love, joy, peace, kindness, and growth in the new year for us and for all of you.

Happy New Year!

Bereft

I have written 3 or 4 posts but stopped with my finger hovering over the "publish" button because I realized that I was not really getting out what I wanted to say. The problem is that what I want to say is inexpressible. How do I explain just how broken my heart is?

This December, this year, has been watered with so many tears that I am surprised I am still capable of producing them. I cry at home, I cry in the car before and after events, at events, with friends, alone...there isn't an end, it seems.

I've been so incredibly angry this past week, and it has taken all of my willpower to hold it inside so that it doesn't spill over and hurt someone I care about. It's just a symptom of my shattered heart, I know.

So here we are. Christmas Eve. Two, not three. Quiet. Alone. Bereft.

Just the Two of Us

This Christmas was supposed to be a lot of things. Last Christmas, I was a few weeks into my third trimester and glowing with holiday excitement. We were given gifts for Haven: little moccasins from Labrador, rainbow striped leggings, and a set of warm onesies for the winter. I was happy. So incredibly happy. After a lifetime of a lot of disappointments and anxiety and hurt, I had finally won the lottery and was going to bring home the greatest gift. 

I remember soaking up my two weeks of holidays, almost looking forward to my last 6 weeks of work after the break. Our maternity photo shoot was coming up, and my first OB appointment was right around the corner. We were both healthy - the picture of a perfect pregnancy. My concerns were about getting my cloth diaper collection ready for use, getting my hospital bag packed, and hoping we got a late ultrasound, because we wanted to get a last sneak peek before Haven was born. It was bliss.

The people who think of stillbirth as just a  loss of pregnancy are so wrong. I delivered a perfect, healthy baby who came out still. Had she been breathing, we would have left that day with her. She would be a drooly, chubby little fiend pawing at her first Christmas gifts.

This year has been a year of firsts, as it is for all new parents. Except our firsts are of the saddest kind; first one month without her, first Easter, first Mother's Day, first Father's Day, first 6 months, first Thanksgiving, first little friend's first birthday party, and now, first time she has been on the outside as long as she was on the inside. Except that she is outside and in the cold ground under a tomb stone. All of that potential for joy has instead been reminder after reminder of how how much we are missing.

Christmas is not yet here, but we can't read anything on facebook or go anywhere in the city and not be reminded that our daughter died and she is not coming back. This holiday, always my favourite, is like an open wound being jabbed over and over and over.

I wish that I could dig a hole and hibernate until February.

'Tis the Season...for Heartbreak

It's stuff like this that makes me dread Christmas so much. I felt a stab in the heart when I saw it on facebook today.

The flip side to this is that the worst thing ever is not having your child with you during the holidays. When all of your many friends with kids get to buy gifts and plan new traditions while parents like us struggle to hold it together. I don't begrudge all of those families their happiness, but my aching arms long to hold my little ones too. Deep in my heart, I worry I will never get the chance.

I remember going to Target with Danny and looking at monogrammed stockings for Haven last year. It feels like another lifetime. Another us. I could never have imagined that our lives would fall apart like they have. That this year two babies would be gone and our house would be quiet as a tomb. 

Today was hard and it is only December 1. God, help me survive this month. I feel so weary.