Avery's 3rd Birthday

{To read Avery's birth story, written on her first birthday, please click here.}

I am sure I've already said it but I still can't believe it's been three years since Avery came silently into this world. It sounds so much longer ago than it feels.

Avery's day this year was gentler at first than I expected. Daniel, Jude, and I went out for the day. We stopped at Old Navy to buy Jude a shirt for St. Patrick's Day this weekend. Daniel and I can never help browsing over the girls' clothes, and today was no exception. I mentally pick out outfits I wish I could buy for Avery... ones that could hang in her closet... ones I would love to wash a fold... ones I'd give anything to watch her run and play in.

We settled on a green polo for Jude, since the boys' section is almost always lacking the same kind of cuteness as the girls' clothes. From there, we had lunch together at Texas Roadhouse. It's always strange going out on this day... We're not celebrating something... not quite. But in my family, we always go out for dinner on our birthdays and I guess I don't want Avery's to be an exception.

When I'm out in public on this day, I can't help but think about how isolated I feel, watching strangers around me. They have no idea that this day is the day I gave birth to my dead daughter. As the host asked me how I was, and I generically answered, "Fine, how are you?" he had no clue what today actually was for me and how I actually am. When the waitress thanked us at the end of our meal and told us to have a great night, she had no idea we'd be spending the evening in a cemetery, releasing balloons for our absent baby girl. I know everyone has their own story and their own trials and pains, but so often, I feel so alone. I feel like there aren't many people like me around here, in my day to day life.

After we ate, we stopped at Michael's to buy Avery some decorations for her stone. Jude was getting bored so Daniel took him outside. I browsed the aisle's on my own, picking out a few Easter decorations for next week. I remembered to check out the yard decor section. As I looked through, finding a pretty white ceramic bird on clearance, I thought about how pathetic it was that I was shopping for my daughter's birthday presents in the garden section... that essentially, we get to buy her lawn ornaments. It's an empty feeling, really. But it's all we have. It's the only way we can take care of her and treat her.

Next came Publix, the grocery store, for balloons, fresh flowers, and a small cake. This part always stresses me out. I don't like being asked whose birthday it is. I don't like having to feel the awkwardness that ensues when I answer honestly that the balloons are for a release for our daughter. I am aware that I don't have to disclose anything about the function, but in past times when I have tried to be vague, it has backfired and turned out worse than just telling the basic truth. Thankfully, the woman who filled the balloons, the woman at the bakery, and the cashier didn't pry. Jude even got his own little balloon to keep him busy while we waited for the 13 we needed. It was his first balloon and we had to tie it to his belt loop.

My family and Daniel's met at the cemetery at 7:00 pm. My cousin, Rachel, came this year, which I loved. She and I have grown extra close in the past year. I'm almost 12 years older than her, but as she's growing up, she's quickly becoming a close friend. Even though she's only 17, and not even a mother, she somehow has this compassion and understanding for the life I live. She's very sensitive to it and she loves Avery as if she knew her inside and out. Not many people care the way she does and I cherish that.

We each wrote a message for Avery on our balloons. Jude wanted to explore so it was a bit more difficult this year, but we managed. I'm usually surprisingly affected by releasing the balloons to Heaven but I was too distracted this time. I guess that makes it easier. We decorated Avery's spot with some pink roses, a tiara, a bird statue, a new pinwheel, and a pink stuffed bunny. I think it looked very sweet, though of course not as sweet as she would have looked if she was here to enjoy her birthday.

 

We take a family photo each year in front of Avery's plot. This year, it didn't turn out so well. Jude had no interest in posing. It was windy and chilly and getting dark. And we just weren't in the genuine smile mood. I guess this photo shows our mood quite well. But it's real. And I like that.

My dad took us out for pizza afterwards and that was nice. No matter how "well" the day goes, it's still not what I wish it was. It's never going to be what it's supposed to be. That's the problem. March 13th should mean nothing to us. Avery was supposed to be born at the end of June. She was supposed to be my summer baby. But instead, we're stuck with the "should have beens" and "what ifs" and Sharpie scrawled balloons in a cold cemetery at dusk to "celebrate" her birthday. I can't get over how ugly that is. I can't get over how scarring and wrong it is to survive her.

So each year, and every day in between, we remember her. We honor our daughter because that's all we can do. We are left with almost nothing. We cling to all the pieces we can. Keeping her alive through these special dates, remembering the short time she was here, beneath my heart, is the least we can do for the little girl who changed our world. She made me a mother, made Daniel a father. She waits for us in Heaven. We will hold her again. So I won't forget her. I won't stop loving her and missing her. She is mine.

Happy birthday, sweet Avery... As long as I'm living, my baby you'll be.

Day 11: Falling From Cloud 9

Today, three years ago, is the day we found out we'd lost Avery. The day of the ultrasound that showed her still, lifeless little body. The day we found out I'd have to deliver her. There really isn't anything else that I can write for today that I haven't written before. I decided to just repost what I blogged on Avery's blog on this day two years ago, on the very first anniversary. It may be of special interest to newer readers who may not know the whole story. But first, I would like to share a photo from today when we took Jude to visit his big sister.

Originally posted on The Avery Diaries on March 11, 2010:

March 11th - The hardest day

Today, a year ago, our whole world came crashing down. Last night, a year ago, I had the strangest feeling that something was wrong. Heart palpitations all evening. Worry. Out of nowhere, really. Then, it all escalated into tears and a small panic attack. I believe in my heart that that's when our sweet girl was leaving us for Heaven. My body and my heart knew. But my mind wouldn't until the following day.

It was Thursday, March 11, 2010... I had called my mom and told her my concerns. She thought it would be best to go to labor and delivery at the hospital just for peace of mind. After all, we did have a date later to see Dear John at the movies together. So Daniel and I went. I felt kind of silly, assuming I didn't know what I was talking about since this was my first baby. But I needed to hear that Avery was fine and I didn't care if they thought I was paranoid.

After an agonizing wait, which was probably not half as long as it felt, they called us back and hooked me up to a fetal monitor. Well, they tried to. They couldn't pick up a heartbeat and decided to go with a regular fetal doppler. Three different nurses tried their hand at it. None of them said anything but I could see it in their faces that this was not good. Plus I knew Avery. In the doctor's office, her heartbeat was always found so quickly. Still, I refused to entertain the thought that she was gone. I couldn't handle that.

They sent me over to ultrasound and I got on the table, actually feeling a little excited to see our baby on the screen. A part of me was still hoping that the doppler issue was a fluke and that the ultrasound would show us a healthy beautiful girl. But she was so still. She looked so cloudy, faded. Two different techs looked for a heartbeat. I could see the flatline across the screen as they typed 'NO FHT.' No fetal heart tone. They weren't allowed to tell me Avery was gone, but I knew it. The techs left Daniel and I alone for a moment and I turned to him and finally beginning to cry, I said, "I'm going to have to deliver her." His eyes welled up, "No," he answered, still not wanting to believe it.
The tech returned and told me to go to the restroom. I remember it so perfectly. I felt like I was in a dream. I closed the bathroom door behind me and looked at myself in the mirror. I whispered, "This is the worst day of my life." Then I added, "My baby is dead." That's when I started crying more. To say it, to admit it... I knew it was true.

 

They took us back to OB and had us wait in an empty delivery suite. I looked around the room, knowing I wouldn't be coming to one of these rooms with joy. I would come back here to say goodbye. In a few moments, a nurse, Daniele, entered the room. Her face said everything. I was already crying. She came right up to me, knelt down in front of me and just pulled me to her. That is when I lost it, sobbing and sobbing. And that's when she finally said it. She told me 'the baby is gone.' I really don't think I've ever cried that hard before or since. It was truly the most devastating and painful moment of my life.

Daniele and another nurse, Vicki, told us our options. We could stay and I could be induced to deliver right then. Or I could go home, meet with my doctor in the morning and decide when to come back. It was all too much, too soon. We decided to come back the following day. I couldn't part with our sweet girl just yet. The nurses left the room for a moment and Daniel called the pizza place he delivered for at that time to tell them he wouldn't make it in that night. I started crying all over again when I heard him tell his boss, "I just found out my baby died." It hurt me so much to hear him say that. I hated that he was hurting so much. But Avery is something we share together.

One of my biggest memories from that day is when I called my mom. I dreaded her answering because I knew I was about to shatter her world too. "Mom... she's dead," was all I could manage to say through my tears. "No, don't tell me that," she answered, immediately crying. I don't remember much else from our conversation, but I know I told her they couldn't find a heartbeat and the ultrasound confirmed she was gone. I'm sure I told her we decided to come back 'tomorrow' to induce and deliver. My father was appalled that I had to deliver a dead baby. But that was the reality of it.

After we left the hospital, we went straight to my parents' house. My parents and two of my brothers met us at the door. I broke down all over again when I saw them and they each hugged me. It all just felt so awful. More than awful. There is no word for it.
We spent the rest of the day and evening sitting in the living room. I cried all day and night, wishing I could be consoled. I just kept thinking about how my sweet little baby was dead inside of me. I hated it so much. I felt so much dread and sadness. I was afraid of what the next day would bring. So much pain. So much devastation.

I'll never forget how my dad wanted to try anything he could to help me. He ran out and got me a liter of Mountain Dew, my favorite drink of all time, and Doritos and a Butterfinger, which are a couple other favorites. I couldn't bear to eat, but I did allow myself to have the soda. I stayed away from caffeine through my pregnancy so it was nice to have it. Little good my caffeine avoidance had done.

That night, when Daniel and I finally got home, we got into bed. We cried for a while, holding each other so miserably. It was pretty late. Daniel is blessed to be able to fall asleep easily no matter what. I, on the other hand, was awake all night. I cried and cried. I pictured how the next day would go and what it might be like to see our baby. How would she look? Would it be disturbing? Would she look normal? Would she look beautiful and perfect? So many questions and worry. But most of all I was just afraid of how much it would hurt my heart to go through that. The labor to deliver a child is worth it, but to deliver a baby who is not coming home with you is a like a kick in the face.

Of all the days surrounding Avery's death and birth, this day was the hardest. Finding out that the baby I had waited my whole life to have was gone, was really and truly the very worst thing that I have ever been through. Sometimes I still cannot believe that this happened to us and that our sweet little girl is not here. Today is hard for me, reliving the day and remembering exactly how I felt to know our baby died. I will never forget that.

Thank you for reading. These days are so sacred to me.

Day 4: Regrets

It's strange how on a frequent basis, I think of blog posts that I would love to write having to do with Avery. Just random and completely out of the blue topics that seem somewhat out of place in normal day to day life -- like I would need an excuse like her impending birthday to get away with sharing these thoughts and memories that I haven't specifically shared before. And guess what? Now that I've presented myself with the liberty to do so, all of the previous mental blog posts have disappeared. Go figure.

This morning, as I was getting ready for the day, I was trying to think of an acceptable topic that I could write about and my mind wandered to my regrets. Yes, even three years later, I still dwell on the things I regret surrounding Avery's death... And her life as well.

I regret that we didn't try getting any clothing for Avery to wear. I know we weren't sure how small she would be but I wish we'd tried. I know going out shopping was the last thing I wanted to do while I carried my dead baby inside of me but maybe it would have broken up the sickening monotony of the waiting. To this day, doll clothes haunt me as I pass by them in stores. I mentally evaluate whether it would have fit Avery or not. Usually I quickly decide that it would have and the regret washes over, wishing I'd done that for her. I never got to dress my daughter.

I also regret that I didn't bring my own ink pad or get some kind of kit to take impressions of her hands and feet. The hospital did give us a few sets of her footprints but they only did one of her hands and you can barely tell what they are. I wish they'd done a better job. I wish I'd brought my own ink and done it myself.

I regret that I forgot about Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep. I wish they could have been there to photograph Avery. Because it was up to us with (at the time) our point and shoot, we don't even have a family portrait. I regret that so much-- that I didn't realize we hadn't taken a family photo. I don't care how sad of a photo it would have been. At least we would have it. I wish the hospital knew to contact NILMDTS. Several things left me feeling like I was their first ever stillbirth. I wasn't even given any information on grief and loss and how to cope.

I regret giving Avery my name as her middle name. I wish it was something beautiful like Grace. After my grandmother. Instead it's Nicole. Just filler. I'm not a fan of naming my children after us. At the time I guess it made me feel like she would always have a piece of me and now I feel it's just lack of time and creativity. And we always thought we could have another daughter. Surely, her middle name would have been Grace.

I regret that we chose Avery's stone so quickly. It was the day after her funeral and for some reason I felt like it had to be done as soon as possible. I don't know why I felt that way, as if there was no option to wait. I wish it said something better, sweeter. I wish we'd spent more time waiting for a better design. Sure, hers is pretty, but I still think it could have been better.

I know Daniel wishes he'd been one of Avery's pallbearers. We didn't know he had the option. It may seem strange but he wishes he could have laid our baby girl to rest for the last time. Instead, it was the funeral director (who thankfully is a friend of my father's) and a random cemetery grounds worker. I regret that we didn't know to ask more questions. I wish the professionals involved who weren't blinded by grief had spent more time with us to let us know what our options were and what we may wish we had done.

I regret that I didn't start blogging sooner. And that I didn't start when Avery was still alive. I kept a personal journal though at least. Blogging helped me so much. Maybe I would have started healing sooner if I'd started sooner.

So right now, these things are my regrets. Why think about them? Why torture myself with what I can't change? Well, sometimes you can't help the what ifs. But I'm hoping that in sharing mine, maybe someone who reads them will be more prepared if, God forbid, they find themselves in a similar situation. Also, in a world where baby loss is a hushed taboo, I find it important to express the lasting effects of loss. And to remind anyone who might think that time or Jude could erase her, that she still matters very much.

Seizure

Yesterday was one of the scariest days of my life. There are a few horrifying days in my memory and this is definitely at the top of the list.

Yesterday, Jude had a seizure.

Jude has been completely healthy since he's been born, despite his nine week early entrance into the world. Yesterday, he showed no signs of sickness, no indication that anything was wrong.
Jude and I went with my parents, my grandma, and my aunt to the cemetery to visit my grandpa.

It was warm, but nothing alarming. Jude played on the ground for a few minutes, Then I picked him up and took him to stand under an umbrella to take a break from the sunshine.

Just a moment later, he arched backwards in my arms. At first, I thought he was being silly, leaning back. But when I turned to him, he was making a weird sound. The second, I realized something was wrong, my dad took him from my arms and said he was having a seizure. My mom and I immediately went into hysterics as we followed behind my dad, who was rushing Jude to the car. He yelled for us to call 911. I pulled out my phone and dialed it with shaking hands... the first time I've ever called it in my life. I couldn't believe I was saying "my son is having a seizure."

There was a couple who was helping us, as we brought Jude to the air conditioning in my parents' car. He was shaking and his eyes were rolling back. He was drooling. It looked like my little boy was gone. I couldn't believe what was happening. I was so afraid he was going to die. I pleaded with God in my head as the couple gave us pointers. They told us to drive to the entrance of the cemetery so the ambulance could find us better. I took Jude in my arms, surprised that he felt like dead weight. The woman was telling me how to do CPR in case he stopped breathing. As soon as she mentioned that, I tuned out and started freaking out all over again, not hearing a word she was saying. I couldn't wait to get him to the ambulance. I did not want to be responsible for resuscitating my own baby. I didn't trust myself to do it properly. I didn't want to experience that with him.

Thankfully, the ambulance pulled up to us on the side of the road and I got out of the car, my mentally absent child in my arms, as I cried and shook. His breathing was returning to normal, but he didn't seem at all like himself. A paramedic took him from me and I turned to my dad and asked him if it was possible that Jude could now be mentally handicapped from it. He told me no. I figured my parents knew about seizures, since my younger brother has epilepsy and has had about four seizures in his 22 years of life.

I climbed into the ambulance and my parents followed behind. By this time, Jude was crying and getting upset with the paramedic's prodding. He was looking around at the lights on the ceiling and I felt so relieved. I held his hand and talked to him, so afraid that something terrible inside him had caused his little body to seize. There's no way I could lose him. I'd never survive that.

We finally got to the hospital, and by this time, Jude seemed pretty normal, just very upset and tired. Daniel arrived just minutes later. His temperature was 102.7 and was probably much higher before (somehow, the paramedic had no thermometer). They took some blood from Jude, a urine sample via catheter, and a swab from his nose. They were checking for the flu, and RSV, and also checking his blood count. They did an x-ray of his lungs to check for fluid. He had an IV so his arm was taped down to a little board. He was hooked up to a monitor with leads all over his body. He had a little blood pressure cuff on his arm. It sort of felt like the NICU all over again, with my wired baby.

After putting on a saline drip mixed with a medication for infection and giving him Motrin, the nurses finally left him alone. As the medicine kicked in and he started to feel some relief, Jude fell asleep on my chest. I stroked his hair and cried in the unusual silence, remembering all of the horrific emotions I felt in the last hour, believing I may lose my most precious blessing. The fleeting, quick thoughts that had crossed my mind in those frightening unsure moments... Wondering if the last photo I'd ever take of Jude would be him at my grandpa's grave. Wondering if I'd ever see him smile again. I didn't dare imagine a funeral, but the quick thought crossed my mind with a sickening pain.

Thankfully, it wasn't long before the doctor explained to us what happened to our baby. Jude had a febrile seizure. They can commonly occur in children from 6 months old to 7 years old. They can be triggered by a sudden high fever. Upon checking, the doctor found that Jude had an ear infection and that must have been what caused the fever. What a way to discover your first ear infection! He hadn't even been showing any signs of it! The assumption was that Jude was starting to get a fever in the car while he napped on the way to the cemetery. As we were visiting my grandpa, his fever rose, the outside heat propelling his temperature faster, causing a seizure. Febrile seizures do not cause any damage and aren't neurological. They are not necessarily reoccurring. Jude may never have another one. I pray to God he doesn't!

Jude spent about five hours in the ER yesterday. It felt like forever. Even after learning he was going to be okay, it was still easy for the day's emotions to bring us to tears as any given moment. We're relieved that he's fine, but we'll never forget those fearful thoughts and the horrific notion that we were going to lose our baby. It was so difficult to watch Jude go through all of that pain. I know he didn't understand why people he didn't know kept hurting him. The lab messed up one of his blood tests and they had to poke him two more times to get more blood from him. We had to help hold him down as he screamed and fought to break free. It was awful.

So when Jude finally smiled again, it made my heart sing. Tears filled my eyes and I felt so happy to see that my little boy was coming back and that his spirit was still joyful even after all of the torture. He even managed to bounce around and laugh and babble, just like he always does. He was so happy. It was the greatest sight I could ever imagine.

It was so wonderful to bring Jude home. By then, he was completely himself. He crawled around and played. You would never know he had a seizure just seven hours before. Jude's now on medication for his ear infection and rotating between Motrin and Tylenol to make sure he doesn't get another high fever. So far, he's been great, just slightly fussy at times, probably when his ear is hurting him. He goes to his doctor tomorrow for a follow up.

I am so beyond grateful that Jude is alright. I would much rather that the seizure never happened, but I'm so thankful that God protected him and that he recovered quickly. I'm so glad that it wasn't triggered by something serious or life affecting. I already cherished and loved my little boy to a ridiculous degree, but somehow, my love has grown even more. He is amazing and strong and I'm so proud of him.

“Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.” - Elizabeth Stone

Capture Your Grief : Day 17 // Birthday

Avery has already had two birthdays. Not the kind of birthdays filled with smiles and laughter, cake and ice cream, presents and games. Guests and decorations. Her birthdays have been spent at the cemetery where her shell rests. Both years, we have decorated her spot, covering her stone in little trinkets and tokens of our love for her. Fresh, pretty flowers. A birthday balloon.

On her first birthday, we released seven balloons, one for each hour we spent with her in the hospital room after she was born. On her second birthday, we got one balloon for each person in attendance (my family and Daniel's) and we all wrote a message to Avery on our balloons. Obviously, it was done for us and not for her. But it's comforting to pretend that she could receive the words we so lovingly scrawled. Jude was there for his sister's second birthday, which was bittersweet. He even released a balloon for her. One day he will understand what this all is. And he will know he has a sister in Heaven, a sister who saved his life and taught us how to help him survive.

Capture Your Grief : Day 16 // Release

Today's topic is release, relating to balloon, butterfly, or lantern releases in memory of our babies. Yesterday, I considered going out and purchasing a few balloons to release for Avery, so I would have a relevant photo and story for today's post. But when I woke up this morning, my throat so raw I could barely speak, my day was instead spent on the couch, all thoughts of balloon purchases gone out the window.

However, we have released balloons for Avery before. This kind of steals from tomorrow's post, but it's okay. It's odd how emotional it is to release balloons into the sky in someone's memory. I don't think I ever gave it much thought until I did it on her first birthday last year. There's more significance and meaning attached than one could realize. An emotional release more than just a physical one.

I remember last March, in the cemetery, 11 weeks pregnant with Jude, holding tightly the clusters of balloons in my hand. I was so reluctant to let go. I'm not even sure what the correlation of that emotion is. And when I finally did, I choked back tears. A few tears escaped as we all watched the seven balloons -- one for each hour we spent with Avery -- drift off toward Heaven. Maybe it's the act itself in place of a real birthday that evokes such a stir. Maybe it's the fabricated notion that the balloons will reach her at her Heavenly party so she would know we were remembering her special day.

Capture Your Grief : Day 10 // Symbol

There is one special symbol that has always reminded me of Avery. That is the butterfly. I have come to find that it's a very popular symbol among the babyloss community. It signifies transformation and flight. Delicate beauty. While these things apply to Avery, they're not the initial reason that butterflies are significant to me when it comes to my daughter.

This light green piece of paper with a pretty black butterfly printed on it was taped to the door of my hospital room while I was in labor with Avery. They do that to signify a loss so all the nurses taking care of that patient are awake of the situation before they even walk into the room. I appreciated that there was never a need for a nurse to pop in all cheery and excited and for me to explain the horrific reality to her. They all just knew to enter the room with extra tenderness. Nurses that weren't even assigned to my room would come in and share their grief with me, telling me of when the same thing happened to them. It helped so much to know that I wasn't alone so early on. I guess this butterfly invited those women to share their hearts with me and show me it was possible to heal one day.

I'm not even sure how or why I thought to have Daniel grab the butterfly off the door before we left the hospital. For all I know, it could have been Daniel's idea. I had barely known it was there. But for some reason, it seemed significant. And I was still grasping for any shred of evidence that the day happened. That my daughter came into the world. Since I couldn't take her with me, I guess I needed every possible souvenir or memento I could find.

When it came time to choose the design on Avery's stone, all we knew was that we wanted butterflies. There was a definite lack of choices for children's stones, so if I'd had more time or more of a selection, I would have chosen something different overall. But I do not regret the butterflies. They are still something that always make me think of my girl.

Capture Your Grief : Day 9 // A special place

On day 5, I spoke of Avery's resting place and what a comfort it has been to us since losing her. In the early days, we would go to the cemetery so often and found so much peace there.

Yes, it's extremely heart wrenching to stand over your child's grave and read her name etched in the cold granite. But there has always been some solace in that grassy, tree-covered place.

Decorating Avery's spot has always been therapeutic to us. With each season or holiday comes new little things we can do for her. It makes us feel like we can share our life with her... at least a little.

Capture Your Grief : Day 5 // Memorial

There are several things that exist in Avery's memory. We have a small shelf that holds special things like her photo and her Molly Bear. A pretty box filled with mementos still sits on my dresser. But I think the one thing that serves as the biggest memorial to her is her grave stone. It's a testament to the world that she was here. It's the most official tangible evidence that she was ours for a time here on Earth. And it rests where she does. Her grave was such a place of comfort and solace in the early raw days. Daniel and I knew she wasn't there, just the shell of her tiny body, but it still made us feel closer to her. Such a peaceful place to sit and miss her. To dream about her 'would have been's.