Thanksgiving and Christmas

Thanksgiving and Christmas were bound to be fraught with dangerous opportunities to be sad.  But I'd like to say right now that the bulk of the holidays were awesome.  Full of family and laughing and new happy memories.  Everyone in my immediate family (all five kids across 4 states) got together along side significant others for Turkey Day at my parents house.  Christmas was fun and low key first with Dan's family, newly transplanted to Fayetteville and then with mine, back to Joplin, for gifts and meals and FaceTime with the one sibling that couldn't be there.

Now I will indulge myself by recounting the parts of the holidays that weren't so great.

No Baby's First Christmas

That's it.  All of it summed up in one phrase.  The day after Thanksgiving is when my family puts up decorations and all the old keepsake ornaments were unboxed and hung haphazardly on the tree, just like every year before.  But there was no baby's first ornament to hang.  No new person to buy presents for.  No little one to bundle up and bring to church.  No early bedtimes or feedings to interrupt late night board games or conversations. No one's every move being overly documented on cameras and phones.

I am looking forward to next year, when the Pick arrives.  The closeness of these two pregnancies means he will be almost exactly the same age for Christmas 2013 that Eleanor would have been for 2012.  I can't wait 'til we can celebrate with him and hold him.  But I wonder how often I will look at him during those first sets of holidays and think about how similar Eleanor's experience might have been just 365 days prior, in a parallel universe where she lived instead of left.

I am once again blown away by my friends.  A group of girls whom I have been friends with here in Fayetteville for years gave me a beautiful ornament for Eleanor.  A silver, wire elephant that has an E hanging from it.  Simple, not overly sentimental, not sad, just a nice way to bring her into our Christmas visuals.  I love it.  I had been dragging my feet about putting together a holiday card this year but once I had that keepsake, I had a little easier time sending them out.  I loved being able to include her on our card.

When we were planning for E, I kept gravitating towards elephants for decorations.  Elephants - Eleanor, it's not a great puzzle as to why.

But after we lost her, I thought more about these elephants.  They can carry great loads and the old saying is that they never forget.

That's such true sentiments for moms who have lost.

I love you and miss you, Eleanor.  I am remembering you this Christmas, everyday, and looking forward to next year.

9 Months: Good News

Today, Eleanor would have been 9 months old.  I hate that she missed Halloween.  I really felt her absence among the babies of friends dressed up and paraded through work and in my own family as my niece and nephews came over to trick or treat.  We had looked forward to her first costume - a hand me down plush Dumbo the Elephant costume - now tucked into a large drawer in a dresser sitting just to the left of me as I write this post.

But today was a big day for our little family.  We had our second appointment to see the genetics specialist in Little Rock.  I had worked myself up into an anxiety ball in the weeks leading up to this appointment.  We were there to look again at the diaphragm to make sure it was not herniated.  Plus a look at any other warning signs that may indicate that Pick was going to have problems.

I am happy to report they could find nothing out of the ordinary.  By all accounts Pick is a healthy, growing baby.  He even had the hiccups while they were taking pictures, as if to show off his strong diaphragm.

Dr. Wendell said there was nothing that made him nervous about what he saw.  He added that this far along, he felt that if something was wrong, there would be something off, some sort of visible indicator.  He tempered this optimism with the required acknowledgement that in our situation, we cannot know until he is here.  But overall, I could tell he was very confident about the results.

I'll say again today what I think every moment - it will never be okay that Eleanor isn't here.  I am so glad to know that Pick is getting close to making his arrival and that it would seem, at least for now, that he will not be sick.  But I love him alongside my daughter, not instead.  Sometimes, I think (torture myself) with the idea that if Eleanor had lived we would not be having this baby boy.  That loving and looking forward to Pick is at the expense of her.  But today I had a better thought.

Without having Eleanor, there would be no Pick.  If I had not given birth to my beautiful daughter and experienced her short life in 2012, then surely I would not have had her brother in 2013.

Of course, it still doesn't make it okay. I am just so bad at being noble or strong.  I really tried to be genuine and positive in this post but it still feels like such crap.  I will never, ever understand why I cannot have and love them both.  On some level I will never fully accept it.  At least not in this life.  Though I am genuinely hopeful that someday I will gain an understanding that is not available to me here.

And that IS the truth.  I promise.

6 Months

August 5th marked Eleanor Lee's six months.  It's been hard every month but this was especially hurtful because when I was pregnant I had very specific plans for this day.

Dan and I have always joked that one of the perks of having children will be that we can finally buy one of those ugly plastic wading pools they sell at the grocery store for the back yard. We talked about how nice it would be that Eleanor would be 6 months old and still have a solid month of warm weather to enjoy. We would have bought the very smallest of the plastic pools. She would be steady enough to hold her head up and, maybe with the help of her bumbo chair, don her very first swimsuit and have her very first dip in the pool!

So that's why I am especially sad on her 6 month day.  Because I had so clearly pictured how this day would be and, of course, it looks very different.

But there is some good.  We are 15 weeks along, awaiting our second child.  The risks are scary, one in 10, so they say.  But we are praying and hoping everyday that this will be out take home baby.  There are so many here that are waiting to meet this sibling.  And I feel that Eleanor is rooting for us and, if she can, doing everything to get this baby here and home.

But I will never call this baby my Rainbow Baby, as is often the terminology among parents who have experienced a loss.  I understand the thought behind the words but they just aren't for me.  Eleanor was not a storm I had to endure and this baby will not be my reward for losing her or a symbol of the end of the grief.  She was a beautiful first child and I will love her and miss her and enjoy remembering her forever.

The Stupidest Thing Some Said, and a Surprisingly Comforting Comment from a Stranger

Eleanor would have been 5 months old today. I wasn't able to finish my work day and am now home thinking about her and for some reason, what I am remembering is the stupidest thing anyone has said to me since she died - and a comment from a stranger that was amazingly poignant and comforting. The first comment, the stupidest(most stupid?), came from someone I considered a good friend. Someone who had been through his own, much different, tragic loss only months before. While I don't like to talk about what happened with everyone, I thought of him as a person who could understand, empathize because of his own grief. So a few weeks after losing Eleanor, I was talking to this friend, explaining what had happened and telling him how it had been since. He listened then thought a moment and said to me,"Well, it will be hard for you because since abortion is legal, people won't be able to understand that you feel like you lost your child." It was such a ridiculous lack of understanding that I could hardly believe it. To not be able to, or not take the time to, understand the difference between an infant, born on her due date, who died just 14 minutes after birth and what he was suggesting is something I will never be able to wrap my head around. I have not mentioned Eleanor to this person since. But then, there was the exterminator. My husband and I live in an older house, on a crawl space so we have a contract with a bug guy who comes once every couple of months to spray for critters. When we found out we were pregnant we suspended the treatments, concerned that the chemicals could be bad for baby. Dan had told the company that they could resume in February, one he nugget was here. So just two short weeks after everything happened, I was sitting at home, alone when the doorbell rang. The bug man. He explained who he was and asked if I was ready to have him start back up. I said yes but on another day. We talked a few minutes, arranging when he would come back. The whole time I prayed that he wouldn't remember why we had suspended service. We wrapped up the conversation and he turned to leave - and I said I silent thank you that he hadn't asked after the baby. But about he was only a couple of steps down the stairs when he turned back. "Hey! Didn't we stop service because you were pregnant? Did you have the baby?" I am sure I looked awful, I immediately teared up and gave him the shortest of explanations. He looked surprisingly unphased, and said simply, "I am just so sorry. My wife lost 4 pregnancies before she had our daughter. Don't lose hope." It was just a very unexpected moment of empathy.

Things that remind me how much I wish she was here

Seeing paper snowflakes or any number of other little kid friendly craft project.

A bunny running through a yard early in the morning while I am getting ready for work.

When I go visit my parents.

Bed time.

When I get out of bed.

Mother's Day and other Heartbreaks

I am getting so worn out with the holidays that were supposed to be joyful markers of first experiences but have become another thing to put my head down and get through.

Other days that have been painful? Super Bowl Sunday 2012 (started as the happiest day of our lives which became the most shocking, saddest one I'll ever know)

February 5th, for the rest of my life.

Valentine's Day, the first holiday after we lost her.

St. Patrick's Day, which in the weeks leading up, before losing Eleanor, was to be possibly my first adventure back out for the green beer that has become a cliche tradition among my girl friends.

Easter. This one was tricky. After breaking down in front of a display of baby bunny books and plush toys in Barnes and Noble, I wailed to my mother, "I forgot about Easter!!" everything becomes a reminder about the child you lost, but the idea that Eleanor would not be among the little, fat babies, clad in pastels with baby animal patterns, sitting in front of an Easter baskets full of candy she'll never eat just killed me all over again.

And now here we are, Mother's Day. What shall we say? I will throw down the guantlet, concede that you may win the battle this year, but I challenge you to come back next year, when I hope to be on stronger ground and can best you. And celebrate with a baby I can hold while celebrating the baby, I hope, is holding me.

Insomnia

I just can't sleep anymore. I have never been someone who needed a lot of sleep but this is ridiculous. I just can't go to sleep. I end up taking something to help me every night, which can't be good. Dan is the opposite. He wants to go to bed as soon as possible each night, sometimes going to bed as early as 7:30 - I wish I was exaggerating. Then that leaves me up all by myself, brain going a million miles a minute. As I write this, it is past midnight. Which means it's time to think about taking something because I am not the least bit sleepy. And even when I can go to sleep, I am back up in a few hours.

Going Back to Work

I have been back at work now for a little more than a week, after taking 6 weeks of leave for Eleanor.

Pros:

A good source of distraction
A reminder that the world is bigger than just me and my grief
Seeing people I genuinely care about again

Cons:

People don't ask about Eleanor
The day keeps going, regardless of my mood
Much of the time, I just don't care about the work anymore

Observation:  I am surprised by how normal I am able to act.  Interacting with people in much the same way I did before.  Things are dumb and funny.  Exciting and infuriating.  Gossip swirls.  Newscasts are created. Tempers flare. And I can operate in it.  Even enjoy many moments in the day.  Spend hours at a time not crying or sinking into my own thoughts or despair.

I cry the whole way home some days.  Then I go to work the next day.  While I can't say my enthusiasm for the job has returned in any real way, my ability to do the work is back.  So that's good, right?

The Crushing Disappointment of the Sameness

The problem with losing my first born child is that everything has reverted back to much the same as it was before I got pregnant.  It was months of preparing to enter a brand new chapter of life.  Parenthood was guaranteed to be completely different from not being responsible for another initially tiny and helpless human.

But instead things are the same.  Except worse because it's all wrong.  We're not supposed to be able to pick up and go out to eat, make plans with friends or go get a drink without careful pre-planning.  We're not supposed to be able to go to bed when we want to, get up with not quite enough time to get ourselves ready for work, opting for more sleep and accepting this means looking sort of crappy at work.

So for me, every small self-centered indulgence feels like an extremely inadequate consolation prize for what I really want and can't have.

This Just In

I went back to work today.   As I predicted everyone was very nice and mostly kept their distance.  Many noted my return with a friendly welcome back comment and absolutely no one mentioned the loss of E specifically.

I think the nature of my loss naturally keeps people from asking too much about it.  It's use too much.  Any question that you could ask is way too personal and intrusive to be tempting.

The news station was comfortably and frustratingly the same as I left it.   Reporters half heartedly complained about having to cover the severe weather that was brewing for the area and made jokes at each other's expense.  Photographers arrived a little late, crazy people called the newsroom.  A good reminder that the world keeps spinning and I have to find my new place in it.

One More (Less) Thing

I went to visit Eleanor's site on Friday only to discover the potted flowers and pinwheels I had put out days before had been removed.  I went to the office where they told me I wasn't allowed to put anything out on the grounds until her permanent headstone was in place, and even then would only be allowed to place flowers inside the stone's vase.

Normally, they don't let extra arrangements stay out on the sites after one week following the services but I guess they had been making an exception for Eleanor because of our situation.  I am thankful for that kindness but it just felt like such a blow.

I had two very dear friends with me when I was handed this fresh hell.  I was embarrassed and grateful they were there as I fell apart, sobbing and screaming in the car outside the cemetery's office.

I had been regularly leaving fresh cut flowers, visiting every couple of days, making it pretty.  It meant so much to me to do this one thing "for" her.  One many painful things about losing E was never being able to care for her, do anything for her. Now it feels like this is just one more thing that has been taken from me.  One more thing I can't do.  One more way I am reminded that I was not able to take care of her.

Pinwheels and Snapdragons

"It looked really nice.  The picture made me happy-sad."

This was my mother's response when I sent her a picture of what I did out at Eleanor's site today.  And it pretty much sums up how I feel after doing anything nice to remember or honor E.  When you lose a baby you are left with so little - so few tasks.  While others spend the 6th week of motherhood sleep deprived, washing bottles, bibs and blankets - I cling to the few "duties" I can take on for my precious daughter.  So I take her fresh flowers, spend time in her room and write these entries.

And I hate it.  Because it feels like such a charade. So unfair.

Just as I am starting to feel comforted by these little rituals, happy with what I have done her for - I inevitably get smacked in the face with a child in a stroller, a children's book display or some other item that brings it all back into sharp focus.  And then I am sad again.

Sad that burns in my throat and aches in my empty arms.  Sad that crushes me under the weight of its horrifying permanence.

Tiny Pinpricks of Comfort

I visit Eleanor's site every couple of days.  Thanks to the mild temperatures, I have been able to keep fresh flowers out there.

When I went yesterday, there was a small bouquet placed near her marker.  It really meant so much to me that someone came to visit her.

Painful Reminders and Closure

Today was my post partum visit with my doctor.  For some reason I did not realize it was going to be as hard as it was.  I was okay through the blood pressure and temperature taking, talking to the nurse about the weather.  I even made a half-joke about being dressed nicely for the day noting that I was making an effort to "fake it, 'til I make it."  (As a side note: her comment about my appearance made me sure of what I already suspected - that the last time she saw me, only two weeks out from losing Eleanor, that I looked like a total zombie mess.)

But when she asked me to undress so the doctor could check the episiotomy site and make sure my cervix was closed - I lost it.  It just hit me like a bullet.

Now, let me say that my rational mind knows that I am not pregnant.  I know that I delivered and lost my sweet E.  But as I have said before, it all happened so quickly, turning from celebration to tragedy in a blink, that I remain very much in shock.  I often tell Dan it feels like we are still waiting for her to arrive.

So while I waited for the doctor, I grieved.  That this visit really meant it was over.  That I was not waiting for her to arrive but coping with the loss of her.  That in a few minutes, I would have to endure an examination that over the last few months had been associated only with good news - the progress of the pregnancy, the excitement as we neared the due date.

To be honest I think I was suffering from post traumatic stress at the thought of, this time, this examination would be further proof of the finality of what had happened.  My body had returned to non-pregnant condition and I had no baby girl to acknowledge it had ever happened.  It felt so barren and, as always, so painfully lonely.

But my doctor is wonderful and saw I was a woman on the edge.  So rather than coming in a quickly preforming an office visit that should have taken 5 minutes, she sat and talked with me.  How was I feeling? Physically? Mentally? Emotionally?  She gave me an update on their progress of trying to get answers about what happened to E.  Options for how to approach another pregnancy. Only after I was calmed down did she do what she had to.

And I got through it.  Just like with all new things I have to do as I carve out what my new normal looks like.

One Month

Eleanor would have been one month old today.  I cannot believe it has been a whole month but at the same time, my old self feels very far away.  I can hardly remember how it feels to not feel sad and when I think of happy memories, they feel so poignant.  I look back at the old versions of me and can't help but think, "That girl never saw this coming."  Irreverent is gone.  Content is gone.  But I hope one day they will be back.

I went to her site today and the flowers we left yesterday looked fresh and happy.  The weather was beautiful so I sat down for a while.  Eleanor is not at Fairview Memorial Gardens.  I know that.  But it's a really nice, peaceful place to remember and reach out to her.  I talked to her, noting the day.  I said I thought if she had stayed, we probably would have spent some time outside together today.  Told her I figured by now she would be a little bigger already, maybe out of some of her tiniest clothes and up a size in diapers.  That so many friends and relatives would have wanted to see pictures of her progress, so I would have had to put her in a really good outfit.  Today would have marked the halfway point of my maternity leave - something else I pointed out.

To the outside world I am sure I looked nuts - I was sitting there talking to myself after all.  But talking out loud felt better than just thinking the thoughts racing in my head.  It gave them a pace and rhythm, rather than the flood of jumbled mess that happens when I am silent.

I have never been someone who talked out loud to myself but I firmly intend to do it again.  Only time will tell if this is something I will do to help heal - or if this is the beginning of the mental break I have felt on the verge of since this happened.
We'll see...

Before I got up, I apologized to her.  I have done this before and I am not sure what I am sorry for.  Sorry she can't be here.  Sorry her earthly life amounted to 14 minutes of a fated fight to live. Sorry to my family and friends who'll never know her.  Sorry to Dan that this was to be his future when he married me. Sorry for myself.

I also told her she was a good girl.  Dan said this same thing to her at the funeral.  "You're a very good girl" he said over and over again.  I really liked that.  I like to think it would have been something he would have repeated to her through her life as she grew.  Maybe it would become something of a catchphrase around our house.  Maybe she would jokingly throw the words back at him when in trouble for something, pointing out to him that she was, in fact, a very good girl.

But instead we will have to settle for our eternally perfect girl who just wasn't made for this earth.

The Day Before She Arrived

The last Saturday of my old life was a really good one.  My due date was the very next day, February 5th, and I was scheduled to induce the following Wednesday.  I had little progress at my last two doctors appointments and it was beginning to look like Eleanor wasn't going to arrive on her own.

But I was too excited to wait.  I had made up my mind I was going to have her on her due date.  My parents had come to Fayetteville for the day on Saturday and tagged along as I finished up some errands including grocery shopping to get the cabinets stocked.  I had decided that morning that I had not planned adequate headwear for E so I picked up some tiny hats - this was a February baby after all, what was I thinking?!

In an effort to get things going, we ate a spicy pizza for lunch and I went on a walk that afternoon.  I text messaged Dan, who was volunteering at a high school track meet: "Went for a brisk walk. Still no baby." To which he responded "Oh jeez."

My parents headed home and I assured them Murphy's Law was on our side.  Since they had just been up that day and were now leaving - we could only assume as soon as they got home - I would go into labor and they would have to come right back.

One really great thing about being pregnant is you're totally allowed to stay home all the time and be super boring, under the guise that "I'm exhausted!, My legs/feet are so swollen!, I am concerned about being too far away from the refrigerator and television!"

So needless to say - plans for that night included feeding Dan the leftover pizza and watching TV.  We discussed watching a movie but deemed that "too much effort."

Around 10:30, I got up to use the bathroom (for the 20th time).  Then as I walked back tot the living room I though I wet my pants a little.  Or it was time!

"I think my water broke - or I peed my pants?" I said to Dan. A moment later it was very clear - It was time to go to the hospital.  We high-fived.  Because we are the dorkiest people.

As anyone who really loves me knows - I am always super prepared for everything so I threw my pre-packed bag in the car and we were off moments later.  

OR, closer to the truth - Dan and I scrambled around, changing out of jammmies, into clothes and throwing things into a bag.  I DID actually have Eleanor's things picked out and put aside and, thanks to a thoughtful gift from my sister-in-law, a bag full of any toiletries anyone could want.  I called my parents and confirmed that I was, in fact, right about Murphy's Law and come on back to Fayetteville.  They actually did have their overnight bag packed and ready to go.  First grand baby and all.

Because of the late hour, we had to check in through the emergency room.  By this time, my pants were soaked (sorry) and I was a little embarrassed.  As the lady in admitting brought the wheel chair to take me to labor and delivery, I looked at her square in the eye:

"Um, I have wet my pants completely - should I still sit down in the chair?"

"Thanks, but I think it will be OK."

We got to the birthing suite, Eleanor and I were given a once over by the nurse, everything looked good.  They sent the anesthesiologist in to give me my epidural which went off without a hitch (but the doctor who administered it was a bit of a grumpy-bear type and not particularly responsive to my nervous chatter during the process.  They stick a needle into your SPINE! As a first timer - some fear babble should be expected.

Even though by now it was near midnight I sent a text message out to some of my friends and my sisters:

"Baby time! Water broke this evening. Checked and waiting for her to arrive. :)"

My parents and youngest sister as well as my brother and his fiancee got there a short time later, we talked for a while but everyone decided it was better to get some sleep while we could.  The ruse said I was not dilating very fast and it would likely be hours before I began to push.

Everyone went to the hotel and Dan settled in on the tiny hard sofa that pulled out to a tiny hard bed.  So comfy!

I did not sleep, feeling very much like a kid on Christmas Eve.

I am Always Missing Her

I miss her all the time, everyday, every minute.  I can physically feel her absence.  Many, even most, hours of the day.  I can be up, walk around, get dressed, spend time with loved ones, and pose as a semi-normal human.  But instead of it just being natural, done without thought or planning like the un-grieving world, every moment not spent thinking of Eleanor, crying for her, wishing she was here and talking about her is 100 percent forced.

I do this for two reasons.  One: I fear that if I indulge these thoughts all the time I will actually go insane.  I can feel myself slipping away some moments, wanting to just lean into these dark thoughts.  So I make myself compartmentalize those most extreme feelings of sadness, letting them out only when I truly cannot hold them in a second longer.  And then I let them out.  And the process starts over again.

Two: The sad truth is, life goes on.  The days will keep coming.  And I will miss her want her and feel her empty place on the earth for the rest of my life.  So if I let myself drop out of the real world right now - what then?  When do I come back? How do I come back?  Could I?

So the old "fake it 'till you make it" adage comes to mind.  If I can make myself do the things that used to be real and ordinary in my former life - then maybe someday they can feel real and ordinary again.