LG

Danny 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.

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. 

Yeah, life is good.

Recognition

"Boy, your body is just not the same after having babies, is it? Your abs just don't go back the same."

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.

I mumbled some kind of agreement and thought, what if she asks? What will I say? Does she know? I never know what to say.

I said, "yeah, it is just not the same." Dang, she is gonna ask...

"So you have a very young baby, do you?"

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."

She kindly said, "I am so sorry, I didn't realize."

"No, of course, it's not your fault. It just comes out so awkwardly sometimes."

We said our goodbyes and got into our cars.


On the way home, I thought, how did she know I was a mom? 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.

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 wonders 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.

I really took it hard when my period came this month, especially with Mother's Day right after. I can't help but wonder when? or...if? 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.

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?

Grief is a winding road with no destination...

Pitter Patter

I 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."

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 picture 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."

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.

Of Course

It 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.

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. 

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.

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.

Have any of you made a similar resolution?

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. 

Been a While

I haven't really felt the urge to write lately, and I have learned better than to force myself to keep up a blog (there are a few dusty, abandoned blogs out there saying "preach!")

Danny asked me about Sparrows Nest the other day and I told him that I had intended this blog to be a happy place, as I had started it when I was newly pregnant and hopeful. It just didn't seem right to post happy or funny things here now that it had become a place for me to air my grief. He reminded me of my last post, where I promised to start living and enjoying life and said it made perfect sense to write about whatever I wanted. Of course he is right - smart hubby. Believe it or not, my old blogs tended to be humorous. I don't find that as easy anymore.

Lately, I have been busy with living, I guess. We've eaten good food, spent time with friends, I've taken up craft projects for the first time in eons, read books, and am about to embark on an exercise project to boot. 

I've made some online friends who are going through similar things and it has helped to have a place to air my feelings. It always amazes me how good it feels when you share these kinds of fears and someone knows how you are feeling.

We're getting ready to start trying again and I'm equal parts anticipating and dreading it. I'm popping vitamins to help prepare my body to house new life. Even Danny is taking vitamins to do his bit. I wonder if this time it might work or if things will all fall apart again. It makes me so sad to admit that pregnancy is ruined for me; I absolutely loved being pregnant the first time, but now the thought of enduring those 9 months (if I'm that lucky) is much like how I would think about running across a minefield and hoping for the best. 

So that is an update of sorts. I will try to write more often. It really does feel good to talk about these things here.

Not Your Typical Fast

I have a confession to make:

I am a research addict.

When Haven died, I spent literally 2 months, morning to night, researching everything relating to stillbirth. And I mean Every. Single. Day. When her autopsy results came back, I again researched every day for several weeks so I could understand as much as possible about her cause of death. I am now a veritable encyclopaedia of knowledge on the topic. 

The problem? It turned me into a total basket case. It took months for me to figure out that the research was causing me intense anxiety. So much so that I fought insomnia for about four months and was having symptoms like shortness of breath, attacks, and heart palpitations.

Fast forward to the night of my D&C. I was only a few hours out of surgery and the search engine on my phone was being worked overtime.

Hubs has suggested (or told me sternly, perhaps) that I need to cut out the research completely. I think that he might be right. If I don't, there is no "cross that road when we come to it" because in my fearful mind, we are at ALLOFTHEROADSRIGHTNOW! I don't think I can handle much more of the constant panic (or the palpitations which have now been my friend for the last month and a half or so).

I hate to admit when hubby is right, but I have been slipping down that slippery slope again. I had a total meltdown this evening after finding out some really scary things I was unaware of and the fear and pain just swallowed me up without warning. See, though I am partly grateful for my extensive knowledge and understanding of the things we have gone through and now face, all of that research coupled with my fears has pretty much turned me into a fertility hypochondriac. If I read about something that is a scary cause of pregnancy loss or a side effect of the procedures I have had to go through, I am immediately convinced that I have those things. My hope is in tatters and I don't know how to overcome this.

So, dear husband, who reads my posts, I am going on a research fast...for now at least. You are permitted one free "I told you so" on the house.

Lessons and Signs

I have been thinking back to a post that I published on my Map to Joy blog in September (click here to read it). We had just come off of our fourth unsuccessful month of trying to conceive again and I was overwhelmed with weariness and sadness and feelings of failure. When I read that passage of Hind's Feet on High Places, it came to me so clearly that I had a choice to become twisted and bitter or to accept with joy the circumstances of my life. As I sat on the gravel overlooking the river at my in-laws' cottage, I surrendered.

The same weekend, I wandered into the kitchen and froze; there was a rainbow dancing against the white of the oven. For those who don't know, rainbows symbolize babies born after miscarriage or stillbirth in the loss community (rainbows come after a storm). I looked up and saw that the rainbow was coming from a flat crystal which hangs in my mother-in-law's kitchen window on which Haven's footprints are etched. It was one of those experiences where time seemed to stand still; I felt so strongly in that moment that we would have another child.

We found out I was pregnant again about a month after that day and I thought immediately, "this is it! The baby I sensed was coming." We had come such a long way and this was our second chance. As you can probably imagine, I felt so betrayed, angry, and confused when we lost our "rainbow baby" to a miscarriage. I told Danny then that I didn't believe in signs anymore. How could I? He said that maybe we just misunderstand them when they come, though I thought, "what is the point of a sign then?"

I still don't know what the rainbow moment meant, or if it "meant" anything at all. Perhaps it was just that I needed hope that day and so it was communicated to me in a way that really caught my attention. I think I needed to receive that "sign" and this important lesson of acceptance at the same time so that I would not forget either one. I can't explain all of the changes that have happened inside of me this year, but I believe that God is at work in my heart, teaching me acceptance with joy. Teaching me empathy and generosity. Out of the worst pain has come some of the most beautiful fruit. It has been a year of surrenders.

A Beginning

It is hard to know where to begin. For those who know me, the back story is mostly clear, but for anyone who might happen upon my little corner of the blogosphere and wonder what I'm all about, a little introduction may be in order.

My name is Brandi. My hubby, Danny, and I live on the island of Newfoundland on the East Coast of Canada. We both studied Linguistics, but I'm a desk jockey and Danny works in Loss Prevention. I didn't grow up here; I fell in love with Newfoundland, then I fell in love with Danny and made this beautiful place my home. But I guess the thing I am trying to tell you, the thing that I am skirting around, is that we lost our beautiful daughter, Haven, at the end of a healthy and uneventful pregnancy on Valentine's Day this year. I won't tell the story here, but if you visit my pregnancy blog (click here) you can read about it. I no longer feel like I can truly tell someone about myself without first telling them about what happened. Even though it is not obvious, I'm a mother to an absent child.

After Haven died, my life fell apart for awhile. I look back now and it's scary to see how far into the fog I had gone. The shock took about three months to wear off, then I realized that a lot of the feelings I had attributed to grief were in fact severe depression and anxiety. It took time, love, medication, therapy, and people's prayers to get out of that place. Depression's grip is not altogether loosened, but I find myself living again. Scarred, but looking to the future that was so recently obscured. Joy has also crept in, and I find myself living with a depth that I have never experienced before. Grief has a way of focusing you; nothing looks the same through its lens.

Now I'm going to tell you another thing about us. We are expecting again after a few months of trying. I'm happy and grateful...and utterly terrified. I process best through writing, so naturally, I knew that this is where I had to come. I'm just 7 weeks pregnant now, but whatever may come, I want our loved ones to know where we are at. If this year has taught me anything, it has been that we need each other.

There is a passage in the Bible that became special to me this year. Matthew 10:29-31 says, "Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care. And even the very hairs on your head are all numbered. So don't be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." It spoke to me that God knew my little daughter, even if no one else ever would, and that she was in His care. We had that verse printed on her headstone, and it is the inspiration for this blog's title.

I plan to use this blog to track my pregnancy and our journey along the way...to wherever life leads us. I invite you to follow along.