2013

This year was much different. It was probably the most healing year I've experienced since Avery died. Life was relatively normal this year. Of course, it wasn't without conflict, but it wasn't fraught with profoundly earth-shattering circumstances to hurl us off course like previous years. I struggled horribly with my anxiety in the first few months and it wasn't until my writing took off that I felt some relief from that.

Possibly the most thrilling and notable detail of this year would have to be my novel. I can't stress enough how writing has saved me. I was becoming a shell of the person I'd been, so full of fear and sadness. I was constantly worrying about something, convinced that demise was certain at any moment. Writing gave me a reprieve, new thoughts to dwell on, something to be excited about. My characters became special to me and their fictional world my refuge. It might sound crazy to those who don't write, or to those who haven't experienced emotional turmoil. But this was the change I needed. 

Sure, I still have my occasional setbacks and I still have bouts of anxiety and worry, but I am no longer paralyzed by the darkness that was consuming me. My monthly doctor appointments don't grip me with fear any longer. I've learned to contain my thoughts better. 

The struggle I do still deal with is the insatiable desire for more children. As Jude gets older, it only gets worse. He is growing up alone, not even with any cousins, and I long for him to share life with someone like him. I grew up with three brothers who, to this day, remain my very best friends. It hurts that Jude won't know that bond. I find myself still holding onto hope that someday surrogacy will be possible, because that's all I have. I'm not sure what plans God has, but hope is greater than despair. 

New babies are still painful to me. Pregnant women still have me turning my head the other way. It still hurts very much and it's so difficult to be stuck in this place where everyone else around me can move along in their life while I cannot. 

I turned the big 30 this year, which I'm still in disbelief of. I don't think 30 is old, I just can't believe that I'm here already and that time has gone so quickly. Jude turned two in July and that is crazy to me as well. Didn't we just bring him home? 

We lost Bailey this year, but I was surprised to find how quickly I was able to get past it. I guess after losing my own daughter and my grandfather, the loss of a pet wasn't quite the crisis I'd imagined it would be.

Daniel left his CNA job at the health and rehab center and now works at a hospital. He's so much happier and I love that. Lately he's been caring for an elderly man in his home a few days a week and that has definitely helped us out financially. Less stress is nice! Next week, Daniel will begin nursing school to get his RN. I know that will open up so many more opportunities for him and a better life for us a family. 

I pray 2014 is gentle and kind. I pray I can continue on this better path. I look forward to watching my precious boy grow and learn. I will be finishing my book soon and will be publishing it in the coming months. I am very excited about that! 

Right where I am 2013: three years, three months, eight days

Just like the past two years, Angie at Still Life with Circles, has encouraged us all to share right where we are at this moment in our grief.  My post from last year can be found here.

So, where do I stand in this up and down journey on this rugged terrain of grief? My grief has changed shape and size in the past three years, as life takes me down more paths that intertwine with this same road that I've trudged along. Right now, I am stuck. That's the only way I know how to describe it. Losing my daughter, Avery, three years ago at 25 weeks caused a ripple affect that has not seemed to cease. It's brought about so many other circumstances that I was never prepared to face, and now, I still face them everyday.

My son, my Rainbow Baby, will be two years old next month. As he gets older, my insatiable desire for more children gets stronger. Because of the unpredictable nature of my high risk pregnancies, I have been strongly advised to never attempt another pregnancy again. This has been a struggle that I still have never been able to accept. Right now, I am watching everyone who was pregnant with their Rainbows along with me become pregnant once again. Their bodies no longer fail them. They've seemed to be able to remedy what caused them to have their losses. But not me. Even those who have the exact blood clotting disorders I do have gone on to have healthy, full term pregnancies, and are having third babies now as well. My premature Rainbow was nearly lost as well, my body barely responding to what was supposed to fix it. All of this leaves me with so much anger. I don't understand why my body was not made for the one thing my heart has always longed for. I am grateful for my precious Jude, but I never wanted him to be alone.

When I had Jude by emergency c-section while on blood thinners, it caused me to develop blood clots in my lungs. I was hospitalized for his last week in the NICU, and it was one of the most traumatic experiences I've ever endured. I thought I would be over it by now, but it still haunts me. I have been left with a ridiculous struggle with anxiety. Because of the clots nearly two years ago, I am on coumadin and have to get my blood checked once a month (PT/INR). My anxiety has turned these routine finger pricks into horrifying moments to dread all month long. As they get closer, I am filled with fear. I know there is nothing to really worry about, but I cannot shake the feeling of dread over it. Things that never would have bothered me before have my stomach in knots now. I worry that I could lose my husband. I worry that my son could get cancer (ever since his febrile seizure seven months ago). I think about things no one should dwell on. I rob my life of the joy I should have by marring it with the fear of what isn't. I truly cannot control this and sometimes it consumes me.

Right now, I long for another daughter. I so badly want to be able to raise a little girl. I eat my heart out at the store, glancing over the sweet pinks and frilliness of the baby girls' section, knowing that the only baby girl clothes I'll ever buy are in a box in the top of my closet, purchased for a sweet girl that never made it home. I long for the little sandals and the dresses. The dolls and the bows. I love having a son, but I want a daughter again too. I was supposed to have that. I feel like there will forever be a gaping hole in my heart without a daughter to watch grow up. I'll never see my little girl as a bride. Never share girly heart to hearts or give mother-daughter advice. There's so much I can't have and I am dreadfully aware of that. I wish I didn't want it so badly, but I do.

I have a hard time with people who question my situation, just shrugging it off like I could just go to a specialist if I want another baby. They don't understand how serious it is. I almost died twice having my son. He almost died. My daughter did die. Since there are no guarantees at all when it comes to pregnancy for me, how could anyone think I should try going against the advice of more than one doctor? Then people nonchalantly suggest adoption, as if I've never heard of it before. That is not something that we can afford. And my heart aches for my child, so adoption does not heal what is broken. My dream is surrogacy, if that is even possible one day. If someone is truly selfless enough to give us the greatest gift imaginable. It's a huge deal. And very unlikely, but even so, I still keep a mental log of my favorite names... just in case.

I am convinced that if what happened to Avery was the end of our losses, that I would be a much better version of myself now. I grasp onto my loss more tightly than I would if we hadn't lost our future children as well. When I was pregnant with Jude, and everything was going perfectly, I felt at peace. I thought of her lovingly, without so much pain attached to her memory. I felt like I could survive and move past it, always carrying her close but never letting her death define me. But as soon as things went badly with Jude, and I lost all of his future siblings, a dark cloud moved in and it's hovered over me ever since. I'm stuck in the mud. I'm standing still while everyone moves on... But at least I'm standing.

Goodbye, Bailey

 

On June 10th, our beloved pug of 13 years, passed away.  He had been deaf for some time and his health was deteriorating quickly so it wasn't much of a surprise that it was his time to go. I always feared losing Bailey in all the years we loved him, but when it finally happened, it was admittedly not the tragedy I had pictured. 

I remember when we got Bailey. In January of 2000, my parents came to pick me up from school (I was in 10th grade) and when I approached my mom, she had something furry sticking out of her coat that she was trying to keep closed. I'll never forget when he popped his little face out and I saw him for the first time. He was so cute and tiny, almost silly to look at. I paraded him around to my friends, so proud of my cute new friend. 

It took us a couple days but we finally all agreed on Bailey's name (Parker and Cyrus were also in the running). I spent his first night on the floor outside of his cage while he cried in between sleeping. It didn't take long for Bailey to get his chubbiness that we loved, exaggerating his wrinkles even further. He was fun and sweet, chasing my little brothers around the house. He would come running the second you called his name. He loved treats and pizza crust the best. I loved how he always wanted to be where we were. If you left the room, he followed, just to be close by. 

Bailey was never aggressive, never threatening. He was the perfect dog for us. He lived with Daniel and me for 14 months after we got married. He was such a good sport, moving to a new place and then moving back home after our new landlords didn't allow pets. 

I always loved Bailey's snoring and I'll miss that. He was always wagging his tail... even up until the last minute. What a good boy. It's hard to believe he's gone now, the last piece of childhood faded away. 

Now, I have personal insight to the whole 'comparing losing a pet to losing a baby' issue that exists in the baby loss community. I have come across so many women who have had someone try to comfort them by saying they can relate since they lost their dog. I had that said to me as well. Now, after losing Bailey, I can honestly say that it is not the same thing whatsoever. Yes, I was sad losing Bailey. At times I felt like he was my baby, but that was before I ever had my own baby. It is very different to birth a child that is your flesh and blood, than to raise an animal in your home. Losing Bailey did not paralyze me in any way. Losing my daughter has marred me for life. It does seem that the people who try to compare it don't have children of their own. They must not, because then they would understand what they're saying. I hope that doesn't offend anyone, but I have yet to meet a bereaved parent who has not been hurt by that false sentiment. The life of our children cannot be compared to that of an animal or anything else. No two losses are the same. Comparisons are not necessary, no matter what they are.  It's okay for someone to consider their pet to be their child, but they cannot assume that someone else would hold their pet to the same esteem as their lost child.

So, with that tidbit of recently affirmed knowledge, I say goodbye to a dear old friend, who made life sweet and memories sweeter. We love you, Bailey!

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 12: The Day Before Goodbye

Again, I am sharing a post I wrote two years ago, on the first anniversary of this difficult day:

March 12th - The day of waiting and induction

Today, last year, was another hard day. It was the day between the knowledge of death and the day of birth. We started off this day very weary and emotionally broken. I had not slept. We had to be at my doctor's office to meet with my OB early, around 9:00am if I remember right. (Times are the only trouble I have in my memory of these days. I recall the events perfectly, but minutes and hours melt together and I couldn't tell you what time many things occurred.)

It was very painful to sit in my doctor's office, waiting. The place where I had just been only three days before for a routine visit was now a place of torment. Pregnant women everywhere, while my baby lay dead inside of my womb. Of course, the office would have to be busy today. Finally, I was called back and Daniel and I followed the nurse to a room where we sat and waited for the doctor.

She was very kind to us and was visibly broken for us. She said she went through my chart over and over again to see if there was something she had missed but could not figure out why our baby had died. I could tell this was something that bothered her, that she felt she had failed us as a doctor. I didn't feel this was her fault though. According to ultrasound techs (at a separate facility) Avery was doing just fine.

We decided to go through with inducing and the nurse's assistant got on the phone with the labor and delivery department at the hospital just around the corner to set up a time. The first available delivery suite wouldn't be ready for me until 6:30 that evening. A long day of waiting. Waiting for the most bittersweet moments a person could possibly experience. The birth of a dead child.

We went back to my parents' house since they live no more than five minutes from the hospital. We took our places on the couch where we had sat all the day before and just cried and shared our thoughts. I broke down over and over again, thinking of all the things I had lost. First smiles, first laughs, first crawls, first steps, first words... So many things that some take for granted as just being typical life. Family frequently called my dad to see how we were doing. I couldn't bear to talk to anyone.

Then my dad was on the phone with his friend, who owns a funeral home. He would be the one to come and pick Avery up from the hospital. He wanted to know what our preferences were for the funeral. We had to pick what color her casket would be. (We chose white.) And then, he needed to know her name for the obituary.

At this point, we hadn't chosen a definite name for our little girl. Only two weeks before, at our last ultrasound, we were given an '80-90% chance' that she was a girl. Up until this point, we'd been considering Sawyer for her, but hadn't made it definite since I was afraid others would think it was too boyish. So when thinking about our sweet little girl, Sawyer just didn't fit anymore. I thought through my mental list of favorite names, back to the one we loved originally. I started to cry when I thought of it. "I want to name her Avery," I told Daniel. He immediately agreed. We decided to give her my name as her middle name, as a way to have a piece of me with her. Avery Nicole. We had just named our baby.

The day went on. So much crying. So much agony. Awaiting what was to come that evening. I hadn't eaten in almost two days. The thought of doing so made me so incredibly sad, thinking about how Avery used to share my food with me and now she no longer would. Regardless, I forced myself to eat half of a bagel, figuring I may need some energy for that night. Who knows how much pushing and labor I may have to go through. My attempt failed, however, because I threw it up almost immediately.

Suddenly, it was somehow time for us to go to the hospital. My parents drove us there and my brothers and Daniel's family would be meeting us a bit later. I had my mom check in for me and tell the front desk why I was there, but even she could barely get through the words. My amazing nurse, Daniele, appeared and called me to her side to show me to my room. She put her arm so lovingly around me and I just leaned against her and started sobbing once again. She knew exactly what I was going through. Not too many years ago, she had a baby girl who died shortly after birth. It felt nice to have someone there who understood this pain.

In my room, I had to change into a gown. I went into the bathroom and just started crying all over again. I had always dreamed of coming to one of these rooms to have my own baby, instead of just being here to visit everyone else's. Finally, I was here to deliver my baby, but it was all wrong. So wrong. She would not be coming home with us like everyone else's has. This was not the happy moment it was supposed to be, the excitement of bringing a crying chubby pink baby into the world, our eyes about to meet for the first time. No one would bring 'It's A Girl!' balloons or stuffed animals. No one was celebrating her life... just mourning her death before she was even here. When I think back on these horrific moments, I feel so insulted by some of the women who complain at the end of their pregnancy, who are upset that their baby hasn't come when they wanted them to, acting like it's a huge cross to bear. I understand that one could become impatient since it's uncomfortable to be that large and that pregnant, but there's a difference between being uncomfortable and being ungrateful. And also the people who sympathize with the ingrates and act as if the woman is enduring something terrible by having to wait longer. Really? If you are going to be pushing out a living child that you get to take home and watch grow up, then you deserve no pity. Go through labor to deliver a dead baby and leave the hospital empty-handed and then see how 'miserable' you feel. End of rant.

Once in bed, I'd been given the medication to begin inducing labor, which was administered in a very uncomfortable and violating manner (that I will not speak of) every three hours. It was probably about 7pm at this time. Daniele stayed with me even after her shift ended. She told us the story of her baby girl and even brought some humor into the room. I actually smiled. I felt guilty at first, but realized how amazing it felt to be distracted enough to show positive emotions. Another nurse, who'd lost a son due to preterm labor, came in. She had been one of the nurses who had tried to find Avery's heartbeat the day before. She brought in a crocheted blanket and matching hat for Avery to wear when she was born. I remember thinking that the hat looked so tiny and there was no way she was going to be that small, not according to her gestational age. I would find out later that that same hat would be much too big and we'd end up with an even smaller one.

Soon, my brothers, and Daniel's parents and siblings had arrived, followed by my aunt and uncle. Everyone just sat around, some trying to lighten the mood. I could hear a brand new baby just on the other side of the wall, crying. Every time I heard that little one, tears poured down my face. I knew my little one would never cry. She would come silently into this world, just as silently as she left it.

Every hour I had to get up to use the restroom. Every time I'd drag my IV pole inside and shut the door, all the emotions would flood in all over again. Maybe it was being alone that did it. But I would look at myself in the mirror, hold my belly and just hate and dread everything. I got extremely upset when I began bleeding. Pregnant women aren't supposed to bleed. But technically I wasn't pregnant anymore. This medication was taking my baby away from me. She wasn't supposed to be gone. Each time I exited the bathroom, my eyes fell upon the the little, wheeled hospital bed that the babies are supposed to sleep in. Seeing that pierced my heart every time. I knew my baby would not be using that. In fact, it would only be used to wheel her out of the room for the last time. Thankfully, I couldn't see it from my bed.

Hours passed and I could feel my contractions. They got more and more painful as the time went on. I wanted to brave them without any pain medication for as long as possible. I was allowed to have an epidural if I chose, but I knew I didn't want that. Not this time. I'd save that for a bigger baby, I thought. I remember thinking that I wanted to feel the pain. I wanted to hurt for Avery. I had no idea if she suffered but if she had at all, then I wanted to suffer some too. I waited almost seven hours before I finally asked for pain medication. I waited until they hurt bad enough to make me cry. I could no longer be distracted from why I was here.

By this time it was 1:30am. My nurse gave me some pain medicine and sleeping pills so I could finally get some rest. It had been a while since I'd slept. All of my family, except Daniel and my mom left for the night. I felt so tired but even with the drugs, my mind kept working. I wondered when Avery would finally come and what she would look like. I was so afraid of how much it would hurt to see her and so quickly say goodbye. Trading a lifetime with her for just a few hours. Eventually, I fell asleep, but it was definitely not peaceful.

 

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 9: How Three Years Feels

I still cannot believe we're already hitting the three year mark on this road without Avery. So much has changed and yet so much has not changed at all.

I live my day to day life in a relatively normal way, enjoying Jude and Daniel, and taking care of our home. It's the moments that come and the occasional thoughts that haven't really changed. I still want my daughter here. I still miss her. I still feel the scars of those traumatic days that I somehow lived through. They were so emotionally scarring, something impossible to get over. I live on but I don't move on. That is my child. I carried her. She's me and Daniel, just like Jude is. I dreamed her whole life out. That love doesn't just stop. The pain of losing that entire life doesn't just shut off when the pregnancy is over.

I really believe I'd be a bit better off if my situation were different. If Jude didn't have to be the last child we have, I think I'd have a healthier heart and mind. I wouldn't ache so much inside. I will never raise a daughter. I will never buy those irresistibly sweet little girl outfits that rip my heart out when I see them in the stores. All I'll ever have are the few outfits we bought for Avery that still sit in a box in the top of my foyer closet. I can't part with them; they're a fraction of all I have of her... which isn't much to begin with. I lost Avery, and the future daughter I wanted to have. I never thought Jude would be it. I always hoped we had learned all we needed to know from Avery to save Jude and the rest of our children from the same fate she suffered. I thought I had the magical fix during Jude's pregnancy. But that still wasn't enough. It started to happen again. It would have happened again.

I try to be graceful. But sometimes I feel angry. Sometimes I just feel so bitter about all of it... that we couldn't change it, couldn't fix it. That the agony didn't end with losing Avery. We had to lose our future babies too, and endure a rough and frightening start with Jude, that nearly took my life and left me medically dependent. Most times, I just don't understand.

I know if things had turned out differently-- if the Lovenox injections and folic acid pills had been the successful regimen it was supposed to be-- I would still miss and love and ache for Avery, but I think the pain would fade a bit into the background, and not be such an agitated sore. I felt myself healing and accepting Avery's absence when I was pregnant with Jude. As soon as things went wrong at 31 weeks and my doctor gave me the news the changed my entire future, I felt that band-aid rip off, tearing flesh with it. A new wound, a new scar, a new loss. And that's where I am.

Yes, it's been three years since we lost Avery. It sounds like a long time from the outside. It sounds like enough time to get over a baby we didn't know... if you have no idea what losing a baby feels like. Three years is like three months. It doesn't take long for the time to pass, but time and grief are irrelevant to each other. If anything, the passing of time makes it harder. It's been longer since we've been with Avery and were able to touch her, feel her, hold her. As time goes on, everyone forgets. The world moves on even when we don't. I am always feeling like most people in my life forget her, don't count her, and don't remember what we went through. If they do, they don't show it. Some do. Most don't. I wish people would approach the situation through my eyes and not theirs. It's my situation after all. I need the acknowledgment. I cannot be denied her or what I've been through. It makes the difficult life even worse. It makes it harder to truly heal.

My desire is to be the kind of person Avery would be proud of. I want to be strong and happy and inspirational. I don't want to be praised or applauded, but I don't want to be the walking sad story who drags around the darkness of her struggles. I'm trying to be better and feel better. I'm trying not to want what I've always wanted because it hurts too much. I am a work in progress. Always.

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.

Day 3: Avery's Heartbeat

I don't have an awful lot of physical proof of Avery's life. I have a handful of ultrasound images. I have a few sets of her perfect tiny footprints. But the most precious thing I have in my possession is a sound clip of her heart beating. I thank God that Daniel recorded it at our very first prenatal appointment in December of 2009. It was also the very first time we heard her heartbeat. It was an amazing moment and we have it forever.

I remember sitting and just listening to the clip over and over as she grew inside me. It made me feel closer to her, to be able to listen to her heart. After she died, it was painful and a bit strange at first, to listen to a heart that no longer beats. But after a while, it brought me comfort. The proof that her life happened and she existed. She was alive inside of me, a real and whole person.

I'm so grateful to have this piece of my baby girl. To be able to hear the sound of her precious heart long after it no longer beats.

Day 2: Avery's letters

I grew up very sentimental and nostalgic. I had planned for a while to write letters to my babies. I started Avery's journal of letters when we began trying to get pregnant with her. I guess I just couldn't wait, and it kept me busy for those five months while we waited impatiently for that positive result.

My relationship with my daughter started long before the day she was born. I dreamed her my whole life. I wanted her since I was a child. Daniel and I talked about our children even while we were just dating. When we were only engaged, we had Avery's name picked out. We decided to start a family just eight months after we got married. (We even wanted to start sooner, but we felt obligated to become more financially secure first. Yeah, we still aren't.) The first letter in this journal is dated April 14, 2009, the three year anniversary of when we started dating.

It was so surreal to make that decision to have a baby. I remember it so well. I couldn't believe I was finally going to live the rest of my dreams (Daniel being my first dream). Excited doesn't even describe how I felt. We even went out to an expensive restaurant (thanks to my parents) to celebrate the beginning of our journey.

Of course, there was that fear that I wouldn't be able to get pregnant, and even when I did, I feared miscarriage for the first trimester. I would write my letters and I had a thought in the back of my mind... What if I lose this baby? What about these letters? A part of me worried that my baby would never read them. I wish I hadn't been right. Even so, I kept writing them, believing everything would be fine like it was supposed to be, like it always was for everyone around me.

I introduced myself to Avery in the letters, told her my thoughts about being her mother. Daniel wrote a couple of letters, telling her about his three jobs and the fun things he dreamed of doing with her. I wrote because my longing to be with her was so strong, I had to do something. And I formed a love and a relationship with her, even deeper than it already was from my desires that stemmed since childhood. I already loved her. I didn't need to meet her first. She was so wanted.

I decided that I wanted to share "a few" excerpts from this journal of letters. I always feel the need to express how much Avery was loved while she was alive so it can be better understood why she is still so loved even now. She matters. She is part of our family. She isn't just a lost pregnancy. She isn't the loss of something that never was. She was and she is.

"I was looking at baby clothes today at Baby Gap just for fun while I was out shopping with my mom, your Grandma! Oh, it made me want you! I almost feel like I miss you. But I can't say that cuz I've never had you. But I already love you, and I care about you, and I think about you... so it makes me sad that you're not here with me. I guess that's what makes me feel like I miss you. I don't know how else to describe it. One day, Baby!" - May 18, 2009 (almost a month before we started trying)

"I'm a little nervous. Not about having you, but about being able to easily get pregnant and to be able to keep you without anything going wrong. I need to not worry, but you are what I've wanted since I was a little girl. I guess it seems too good to be true that I get to have you soon!" - June 5, 2009

"Baby! We found out on the 16th that you are here with us!! As of today, I'm only 5 weeks and 2 days along but you are growing everyday! Daddy and I were so excited when we read the test and it said 'Pregnant,' I have been praying to see that for so long! You are what I have dreamed of my whole life. You and your Daddy... and of course your future siblings someday. :) Everyone is so excited that you're coming! I can't wait to find out if you're a boy or a girl. I can't wait until I can feel you living inside me. Stay healthy, baby! I can't wait to meet you and I already love you!" - October 22, 2009

"I haven't been feeling too well lately, but I don't even care. I'm just so thrilled that you're here with me. I pray for you all the time, that you're healthy and that God will keep you safe. Sometimes I'm so scared that something could happen to you. I shouldn't ever think like that, but I guess it's just cuz I want you so badly." - November 12, 2009

"We've moved to a new house since I wrote you last. This is the house you'll come home to. I picture cuddling with you in these rooms and I can't wait 'til you're here with us." - December 11, 2009 (right before our very first ultrasound)

"Hello Baby, I think about you constantly. I wonder what you think about. I know you're young and don't understand life yet but I know that you experience sensations and some emotions. I bet you're happy -- all warm and nourished. I wish I could see you. You're so close to me, within me, and yet you seem so far away. I can't wait until we can find out what gender you are, so I can know who you are -- who it is I've been loving. My son or my daughter. Jude or Avery." - December 16, 2009

And then on March 30, 2010...

"My sweet Avery Nicole, It's been 20 days since you met Jesus. It's been 17 days since I held you for the first and last time. Something suddenly went wrong and we lost you. You were born on March 13, 2010 at 5:05am, a beautiful Saturday morning, weighing 8.2oz and just 8 1/4in long. Despite the fact that you were already gone, you were still so beautiful and perfect. Daddy and I already loved you, so seeing you just deepened that love. We held you and kissed you and savored you for about 7 hours before we said goodbye. Oh. baby girl, that was the hardest thing I've ever done. I relive those moments with you over and over. We miss you so desperately, Avery! Your funeral on Tuesday, March 16th was bittersweet. So many people came. So many people love you as if you'd been here a lifetime. It was so hard to see your small, pretty, white casket, knowing you were inside it instead of in my arms... or in my belly where you should still be. It's so hard without you here, sweet girl! I cry all the time cuz it hurts so bad. But it's not your fault. God needed you. We don't know why, but we believe He had a special purpose for you. I'm so proud of you, Baby! You touched so many lives and you changed people. I miss you, my sweet Avery. I wish I could cuddle with you right now. I hope you're having fun in Heaven. Picturing you playing and laughing always makes me feel a little better. I love you, sweet girl. Forever, Mommy."

March is Here

I've come to sort of dread March. It's unfortunate because it kicks off with my youngest brother's birthday, followed by my other younger brother's birthday three days later, and then it ends with my mother's birthday. So many celebrations speckle the calendar, strewn amongst the jagged pain that is March. The joys and the sorrows interwoven in these weeks. Making new memories each March as my loved ones get another year older, and reliving old, gut-wrenching memories of a birth day
that was anything but joyful. In twelve days, Avery will be three. But not really.

I was thinking about possibly writing a post each day, through Avery's birthday. Just random thoughts and/or memories about her, leading up to her day. There isn't much else I can do to make these days count. I can't be with her, can't celebrate with her, can't marvel over how much she's grown. All I have is what I remember, what I captured on camera, in words. The sacred remnants I held onto, that still sit in a box on my dresser. She matters too much to do nothing about. To forget her is to lose her in a way that would sting as badly as her death. I cannot deny my child. She lived and she was born. I have to honor her. She made me a mother. She is a soul in Heaven, basking in the Glory of God, waiting for me until I join her. You better believe she still matters.

It's so strange how the anniversary of an event can break open the flood gates. How it can bring back all of the emotions of those exact days in years past. I guess it sort of pulls off the band-aid, tearing at the scab that never quite seems to heal. Maybe one day it will finally become a scar... but even scars never go away.

Taken Back

This time of the year always gets me. The January-to-March time, ever since Avery died. These last weeks when she was still alive three years ago. Three years? It sounds like it should feel so long ago, like I should be so removed from it by now, but really it was just a breath ago. Time somehow passes, but a piece of me stands still, frozen in that moment forever. Anything can take me back to it, and make it feel like yesterday. A song, a smell, an article of clothing- anything - can trigger it, like a time warp. As if it's happening right now. I just can't forget it. And I can't ever forget her. Even if I could, I wouldn't want to. This is all I have left of her. Even this aching in my heart is better than having nothing left of her.

We had two ultrasounds in February of 2010. One at 20 weeks, and another at 23 weeks, which was actually tomorrow, three years ago. Looking back, there was a difference in her appearance the second time, just two weeks before she was gone. The tech said she was sleeping and it was the reason she was so inactive. Her chin was resting against her chest exactly how it rested when we held her lifeless body. I truly believe her health was already declining at this ultrasound. Sure she may have been sleeping but it was probably because she was so deprived of nutrients and blood flow. So tomorrow marks three years since the last time we saw our little girl alive...

I try not to allow myself to dwell on her last days. I try not to wonder about her suffering or possible pain. I try not to imagine that she felt any discomfort. I like to think that maybe she just fell asleep and peacefully slipped away. And then I step back from it and realize how horrifying it is that this all happened in the first place. That it happened to my little girl. That it happened inside my body. It may have been nearly three years ago, but the reality of it still shocks and astounds me. How did I go through this? How is this my life?! Why does this happen? Why me?!

And that's my broken record. On and on, as another year pushes us even further away from her and the time she was here.

Flashback : 1.21.11

Today, two years ago (two years already?!), we found out I was pregnant with Jude. I remember it so well, still. Such an amazing and unbelievable day.

It was so difficult, trying again for another baby, when we were supposed to be raising our little girl but weren't. The fear mixed with the excitement mixed with the frustration. Not only was I trying for something I was supposed to already have, it was taking longer than it should. For couple who struggle with infertility, I know nine cycles is a dream. But for me, who is supposedly "normal" is that department, it was just another nagging thing. I can't imagine being one of those women who get pregnant on the first try... or even on accident. I can't fathom how that's possible.

So today, two years ago, as soon as I got up that morning, I dragged Daniel into our bathroom and took a test. I wanted to just put myself out of my misery and see that we failed yet another month. I thought it would be easier for the test to tell me than to wait for my body to. We stood there for just seconds, it seemed, as the little hourglass displayed on the digital screen. Suddenly, there was just one beautiful and alarming, glorious and terrifying word: Pregnant. I couldn't believe it. I let out a joyful shriek and threw my arms around Daniel. It was the beginning of a lovely and scary journey that would end in both victory and defeat.

Pregnancy after loss is such a rollercoaster of emotions. In one moment, you can feel both excited and scared. Both confidence and doom. The bliss is gone, but there's still so much joy in carrying life again, in the same exact spot where there was so much loss. I remember I used to think about how strange it was to have Jude dancing around where Avery died. That his heart beat exactly where hers stopped. He is the only person to be in the very place where she lived, and the very place she passed away.

Her death saved his life... Her death is the reason he is even here, just as he is. I never would have gotten pregnant two Januaries ago if Avery had lived. She'd only be 2 1/2 right now if she'd made it to her due date, so I doubt we'd even have another baby by now. Even when we would give Avery a sibling, in this alternate universe where she never died, it wouldn't be the Jude we know now. He would be a completely different person. It's crazy to think of that. I'd never change Jude, but I wish Avery was here.

I'm so grateful how everything turned out with my second pregnancy, despite the new horrors that came with it. Standing in my bathroom with that positive test in my hand, I was not promised that our second baby would make it here alive. There was so much left to uncertainty. So much fear and worry. So much hope and joy. I've never prayed more in my life than I did when I was pregnant with Jude. Most days, I begged God for his life. I thank God He brought Jude here safely, even if it was too early and not the experience I dreamed of. I'm so glad this day in our history is still a happy day, the day we found out our boy was coming.

"Mighty glad you stayed..."

2012 : Finding peace

We started out the year hopeful that it would finally be a calm and normal one. We craved an eventless year. Needless to say, 2010 ravaged and destroyed us to the core. 2011 was definitely better, but still pulled the rug out from under our feet and knocked the wind out of us. 2012 was both good and bad. Joyful and agonizing. That's life, though, isn't it? The bitter sweetness. The constant conflict of happy and sad.

January

Jude turned a whole six months old this month. Four months adjusted, sweet thing. My biggest memory from this month is when Jude had solid food for the very first time. Homemade banana purée. I was excited to see him try something new but so sad watching my baby grow up so quickly.

This month my grandpa celebrated his 80th birthday. (We didn't know it was his last.)

February

This month was tragic. I never blogged about what happened. I meant to but it just seemed at the time that there was no way to put it into words. Our family's pastor and dear family friend lost his 20 year old daughter, Hannah. A gun went off by accident, striking her in the head. She was in a coma for several days. Despite incessant prayers from literally around the world, beautiful Hannah, who we watched grow up, went to be with Jesus. It really shook my faith. I couldn't understand why God didn't save her. I couldn't believe He could allow that to happen to her precious family. Hannah was so young, so innocent. I still think about her all the time. I still ache for her parents and her little sister.

I've since stopped being angry at God for taking Hannah, just like I eventually had to stop blaming Him for Avery's death. I don't believe God does these awful things to us. No doubt, He is aware they will happen beforehand. But no one is exempt from the perils of this fallen world. God knew Hannah would die. He didn't like it. But He will make sure her legacy changes the world. He'll make sure her death was not in vain. He'll make sure souls are saved and hearts and lives are changed because of her. He'll use tragedy to bring about victory. In one way or another, He will and He has.

Also in February, my parents took my family and my brothers away to Tennessee, as they'd been planning for weeks. It was exciting to go away and get a break from everyday life. To take Jude somewhere fun and make some memories with him. At just 6.5 months old, Jude saw snow fall. It took me 28 years to see it!! It was definitely a sight for us Florida folk. We enjoyed our time there as a little family.

March

We celebrated (if you can call it that?) Avery's 2nd birthday in Heaven on the 13th. We released balloons at the cemetery and decorated her grave just like last year. It was surreal and bittersweet to have Jude there for it. For Avery's first birthday, I was 11 weeks pregnant with him, so unsure of whether he would make it here alive. But Jude was able to release a balloon for his big sister this time. I'm sure he had no idea he let go of the string, much less that he was even holding it, but it was still a touching sight for me.

In March, Jude also got his first two teeth and tried a sippy cup for the first time. ;)

April

Jude was sick for the very first time. He was put on nebulizer treatments but was better so quickly. It took him 9 whole months to catch anything! That's pretty good, I think. We're still weird (or just paranoid preemie parents?) and sanitize everything out in public, like restaurant tables and high chairs, shopping carts, etc. I guess it's paid off!

I stopped using Facebook. Yup. Life is so much better. My anxiety, sadly, just cannot take it.

This month, Jude also fell in love with swimming in the pool, usually with my dad. I loved watching him splash and enjoy the water.

April 14th marked six years since Daniel and I started dating. ;)

May

Daniel turned 25.

My grandparents celebrated their 61st wedding anniversary.

Jude had a follow up eye appointment (last one was when he was 5 weeks old). He was perfect, even when they put drops in to dilate his eyes! His eyes were still perfectly healthy. (The reason for his eye appointments was because preemies can suffer eyesight damage from receiving oxygen.)

June

June 1st marked TEN years since I graduated high school Yikes!! Where has the time gone?!

Daniel and I had the honor of photographing my cousin, Jason's wedding. I was very happy with how the photos turned out. It was a lovely day!

We experienced our first ever tornado while at my parents' house one weekend. We all actually had to cram into the bathroom to take cover. It was so loud but was over so quickly. The damage was pretty bad. Trees broken, screen, ripped, roof damaged, glass broken, cars dented... It was crazy!

Avery would have been two at the end of this month had she not passed away. I'll always think of that as my would-be due date of June 22nd comes and goes.

June 30th marked five years since Daniel and I got engaged. ;)

July

Jude experienced his first 4th of July and saw fireworks. We weren't sure how he'd react, but he loved them! We found it a little sad that this holiday was Jude's last 'first.' It goes so quickly!

Daniel and I took Jude to visit the NICU where he stayed for almost five weeks. All the nurses remembered him and were so excited to see him. It was so neat to be back there and to look at the isolette where Jude spent his first few weeks of life. We're so blessed that he's so healthy!

We went away to the beach over night with my parents and brothers. It was Jude's very first time at the beach. He enjoyed the sand and he even liked the Gulf! It was amazing to watch him experience it all for the first time. I love it so much!

This month, Jude started crawling and pulling himself up to stand. He's always a little late with his milestones but as a preemie, it's expected. I know he's smart and that he's just growing and learning at his own pace!

We had Jude's 1st birthday party on the 28th. It was a photo theme, (surprise, surprise!) "One Year Old in a Flash." The colors were aqua and red. My mom and I worked really hard to put it together. It was so much fun and I think it came out great! Jude had such a great time, and a lot of people showed. It was so lovely that my grandparents were able to make it. It was the first and last time my grandpa has ever been to my house (We've lived in three different houses since we've been married and my grandpa didn't get around well). I'm so glad he came. So special.

Thanks to my grandparents' generous birthday gift, we were able to finally buy Jude a 'big boy' car seat and get him out of his infant car seat at a year old!

On July 31st, our sweet boy turned one! His first year went so quickly but was beautiful nonetheless. I spent a lot of it feeling extremely happy but reluctant for time to pass and for Jude to grow up. It was a struggle for much of the year, actually.

August

I think this month was the peak of my anxiety issues. I spent so much of the year, since my blood clots the previous August, battling paranoia and fear over my health. Any twinge of anything sent my mind racing, thinking I was forming a clot or even the opposite extreme... that my Coumadin was causing me to bleed internally. It was ridiculous! I felt like a slave to fear and it was no way to live. I hated it so much. I even started getting anxiety attacks at my monthly blood checks (INR). The one this particular month had my pulse at 127 bpm. The nurses didn't understand my anxiety and started throwing around heart conditions. That did NOT help my fear and got me worrying I had heart problems for a while. I seriously contemplated trying to get on medication for my anxiety. I've since calmed down a lot, but if I'm being honest, would probably still benefit from taking something. :/

September

The 1st marked an entire year since Jude graduated from the NICU. Unfortunately, this day, my grandpa was also admitted to the hospital for congestive heart failure. He never came home. On September 6, my Poppop passed away. It was (and still is) a huge devastation to my family. I still can't believe it sometimes. Aside from Avery, he's the first close family member I've lost. I miss him so much. It's not the same without him here.

Daniel left his CNA job to help take care of my grandma.

Jude stood on his own, got his first diaper rash, got his first fever, moved up to a size 4 diaper, and started waving this month.

October

Daniel and I celebrated our 4th wedding anniversary. How has it only been 4 years? I feel like we've lived a lifetime together!

Daniel went back to his old CNA job. He made plans to go back to college and eventually become an RN.

I turned 29! Again, where are these years going??

Jude was Superman (sort of) for Halloween.

November

On the 12th, Jude had a febrile seizure, which was absolutely horrifying. We were visiting Poppop's grave and it just happened. An ambulance came and Jude spent several hours in the ER. He was perfectly fine and bouncing around like normal by the time we left. I was very scarred for a while after that. At Jude's follow up appointment with his doctor, a blood retest was ordered. The results came back elevated in some areas that concerned the doctor. He wanted Jude retested in two weeks to make sure the levels returned to normal. I worried so badly and was extremely fearful for those two weeks. I cried a lot, so afraid something was wrong with my baby boy. It was the longest two weeks of my life. But thank God, after his retest, his results came back perfectly normal. And that changed a lot of things for me. It helped me finally feel content with just one living child. (I'd still change it if I could.) I stopped dreading Jude growing so quickly. It just helped me heal a lot so I could just live in the now and enjoy my little boy without so much reluctance and wishing.

I saw my doctor for the first time in nine or so months (I usually just see nurses at my monthly visits. I only see the doctor once or twice a year now.) Speaking to him eased so many of my fears and he reminded me how safe I am on my blood thinners. I was so grateful to be able to shed so much of that worry I was carrying around for no reason.

Jude started taking steps this month!

We celebrated Jude's 2nd Thanksgiving. He was teething, working on two molars, so he couldn't fully enjoy eating Thanksgiving dinner for the first time. Bummer!

December

It was so much fun seeing Jude enjoy the Christmas season this year. He loved seeing all the Christmas trees at Home Depot (that's where we Florida folk get our trees!) He loved seeing the lights on our house. He loved the lit up Christmas tree with all the pretty ornaments in our house. He loved our nativity scene and always wanted to hold baby Jesus.

My favorite thing during the season was when we took Jude to the zoo to see Santa and all the lights. He loved it so much! I can't wait to go again next year!

Christmas was so special with Jude. He understood a little better this year.

Jude got a little better at learning to walk. He finished out the year with seven being his record number of steps before falling. ;)

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And that was our 2012. More for my documentation than anyone's enjoyment, I'm sure! My little journal to Jude is much more detailed with some tidbits written for just about every single day. I couldn't bear to stop documenting his days when his first year calendar ended in July, so I kept going, writing it down in a journal. I love keeping track of all his amazing sweetness. I'm sure my above recollection of the year is proof of my notorious sentimentality. I have always been this way, but losing a child and only having the chance to enjoy one child makes it even stronger.

2012 was both wonderful and hard. We always struggle with money. We struggle with our absent child. We struggle with peace. We struggle with the new losses we've acquired this year. This year, I believe we healed the most over our personal struggles. I did lose my grandfather, but besides the pain of that, I'm learning to live with the pains I've been dealing with since Avery died. The pains since I found we couldn't have any more babies. I've found so much more peace in my heart, even while acquiring more hurt. It's a different kind of pain, losing a grandparent. It's inevitable. Never easy, never wanted. Not a day goes by where I don't think about him...

But I thank God for the gift of peace this year. I so greatly desire to enjoy my life and the blessings we do have. I want to dwell on the good and not the bad. I don't want to forget Avery (it's not possible), but I want to feel joy over her life, not just the grief over her death. I will always miss her and grieve her, but I can't live in that devastation anymore. I have to piece it back together for Jude. He won't carry that grief. He will know of his sister, but he didn't experience her loss. I need to be the best version of myself for my little boy. I can't very well do that if I'm still broken and still pining for what I've lost, past and future. He is enough and I can't ever let him question it.

I will still have my moments, my days, of when I fall back into those sad thoughts and bitter mindsets. Loss doesn't go away. But I can choose joy. And that's exactly what I'm doing for 2013. I pray it's our best year yet!

Capture Your Grief : Day 30 // Tell the world

If I could tell the world one thing about grieving a lost baby, no matter the gestation, is that it's a real, legitimate pain. That our babies are real and they still belong to us. We don't mourn for just a moment. We lost them for a lifetime and that's how long we have to cope without them. I wish people were more willing to be empathetic and just imagine being in the shoes of a bereaved parent. Most say "I can't even imagine what you're going through." Why not? Just picture what it might be like, imagine the horror and the agony. For anyone who's ever loved a child, it's not hard to imagine that life would be hell without them. No one would ever want to erase the joy and the beauty of the years with their child, just like we did not want to give up those years.

Above all, I desire for everyone to count Avery. If I consider her my child then there is no question. It's not up for discussion. It's not for anyone else to decide. Just because she wasn't here long or because some didn't have the chance to see her, it doesn't change how real she is and that she existed. Her heart beat on this earth beneath mine. She is in Heaven waiting for us and we will be with her again. Jude does not replace her. Death does not erase her. Time does not erase her.

I long to know she is remembered. I long to hear that she's missed. I love to hear her name and to know she's crossed someone's mind. That is such a gift to any bereaved person. No matter who you have lost. The first horror is losing them. The second horror is that they will be forgotten.

I have two children. Not just one. Someone very special came before my sweet boy. She is the reason he is here.

Capture Your Grief : Day 28 // Memory

It's been so difficult for me to choose one significant memory that stands out above the rest... the one I want to single out and share. So many moments come to mind immediately. The ultrasound where the tech wouldn't say what we already knew. Calling my mom to tell her Avery was gone... The list is endless.

I think though that the tenderest moment, one that I cannot and do not want to forget, is when Daniel and I were left completely alone with Avery in the hospital room. We were saying our final goodbye to her and spending our last moments ever with our daughter on this earth.

Daniel sat down with me on the bed and took Avery into his hands. We looked at her together, huddled close, tears streaming down our faces. I remember looking up at Daniel, miserably, and saying, "Daniel, what happened to our little girl?" It was almost pleading, begging him to give me answers I couldn't find, but knew full well he couldn't either.

I picked up the camera and took more photos of her, capturing her ink stained feet one more time. As I snapped more photos, I realized how much she was physically deteriorating. It felt unfair to keep taking her picture, as if I was compromising her dignity. I set the camera down and Daniel and I both agreed it was time for her to go. For us to give her up and say goodbye. It was the hardest thing we've ever had to decide together. Something we never thought we'd discuss... Not what color to paint the living room, or what to make for dinner... We had to decide that it was time to say goodbye to our daughter, after just seven hours with her. To give her to a nurse to take away so the funeral director could pick her up and take her to the funeral home to prepare her for her casket. How could we endure that? I still can't fathom it, though I've been living it for two and a half years.

It was God orchestrated that our pastor happened to arrive then to pray with us. He'd been away on a trip to Tennessee and just happened to get back in time, before Avery was taken away. Everyone came back into the room as Pastor John (one of my old high school teachers, my old youth pastor, the pastor who married Daniel and me) prayed over us. I do not remember what he prayed; all I could do was stare at my little girl, desperately trying to memorize every inch of her, the curves of her face and the feel of her skin. I ached to remember her always. Every precious detail.

Daniel made the horrific call to the front desk, requesting that the nurse come take our baby. It was awful. I don't know how I actually managed to hand Avery over to nurse. How I let her little body leave my hands for the last time. As the tears flow now, recalling it, I know they poured then.

After the nurse took Avery, she turned around to place her into the bassinet. I waited for her to move so I could take one last glance at my little girl before she was gone forever. But to my horror, when the nurse moved to the back of the rolling bassinet, I saw Avery was covered with a blanket... just like a dead body under a sheet.

I felt angry and upset that my last chance to see her was taken away. In these moments, this was not a dead body, a stillborn baby... This was my daughter, my precious baby, my little girl. She looked like her Daddy. And in this last second, I was angry on top of my grief. If that nurse could have just waited until she wheeled the bassinet across the room and behind the curtain before she covered her... It probably never occurred to her what a big deal that was. I'm sure she was just doing her job, shielding all of the normal happy moms that might be out in the hallway from seeing my dead baby. But she ruined my last moment. Maybe it shouldn't matter, but to me it does. She was the only nurse who took care of me during Avery's birth that had never experienced a loss. And she was the only one who did insensitive things... more than once.

Despite the nurse's inability to meet our needs, our last moments with Avery were so tender and precious. I felt so much love for Daniel, that we were holding each up through this, facing it together. And even though I felt so sick with grief and devastation, such a sense of dread and reluctance, I still felt so much love for that little girl. I still do.

Capture Your Grief : Day 23 // Name & photo

I still remember the exact moment we settled on Avery's name. My dad was on the phone with his funeral director friend and he needed her name for the obituary. That's when she was officially named. I hate that she died before it was definite.

When I was first pregnant, we had always said, if it's a boy, he will be Jude and if it's a girl, she will be Avery. That was it. But we began to question things, as I'm really bad at coming up with girl names and Jude had been set in stone since before we were married. We considered Sawyer Grace for her for a short while, but ultrasounds at both 20 and 23 weeks couldn't completely determine her gender. It was probably because she was slowly dying. But of course, we didn't know that.

Daniel and I just looked at each other, wondering what our poor lost baby should be called. She was still with us, but gone at the same time. Not even born yet, but already in Heaven. She no longer felt like a Sawyer. I hadn't been sure it was girly enough anyway. (I worry about what other people think) I asked Daniel if he wanted to name her Cadence, his favorite, and he shook his head. I agreed. Then I started to cry, knowing her name in my heart. "I want to name her Avery," I choked out. And he knew it as well. We weren't sure on a middle name, and at the time, didn't feel like it mattered a whole lot. We gave her my name as her middle name, to kind of keep us "together." And now I regret that. I wish she had a beautiful, meaningful middle name. Avery doesn't mean anything special... (Elf ruler?!) so it would have been nice if it was something like Grace (after my grandma and just the beautiful trait itself). But that's her name. And it's okay. There are worse things... like her being gone.

I love the name Avery. I think it's the most beautiful name in the whole world. I wish I could actually call that name and see a precious little head of ringlets turn to answer. I wish I could hear that name spoken on more lips. I just wish she was here to have her name and use her name and be her name.

"Remember me," she said, smiling. "Write my name somewhere safe..." - Jimmy Eat World

Capture Your Grief : Day 6 // What not to say

I've had to sit and think for a long while about all the things I wish I didn't hear when Avery first died. I chose "It was God's will" because I feel it caused the most internal damage, though all of the ignorant comments still hurt. I had a hard enough time struggling with my faith and feeling angry at God. When people told me Avery's death was 'God's will' or 'He had a purpose' for it, it felt like they were saying, "God chose to kill your baby. He wanted her to die." Obviously, I know this isn't true, but when you are drowning in the ugliest despair and feeling forsaken, it might as well be. I know God loves me and His hand is on my life. He knew Avery would die, but I don't believe He chose it. Terrible things happen as a result of being a part of this fallen, evil world. It just comes with the territory. For me, hearing that God orchestrated the most horrific nightmare of my life was in no way comforting. It just made my anger worse. I did not want to be in a place where I blamed God for taking Avery. But being told "God had a reason" just exacerbated those thoughts to no end and pushed me further from Him and His healing.

Sadly, it was hard to choose just one statement, because inevitably, careless words always seem to find a  way. I understand that the death of a baby is a very difficult thing to watch someone you know go through, and it's not easy to find the right words. But honestly, a simple "Sorry" will always suffice. A little extra thought and care about your words can help so much.

 I used to write blog posts in my head about 'what not to say.' For some reason, it never happened. I guess this is my chance to share the things I wish I never heard.

This too shall pass.

We've recently experienced tragedy as well because our puppy just died.

At least Daniel doesn't have cancer or something.

Everything happens for a reason.

This will give you such a great sense of appreciation for life.

Maybe something would have been wrong with her if she'd lived.

You'll have another baby.

I can't even imagine THAT.

You have to get over this.

Don't you think you should keep her photos private? People may find them graphic and disturbing.

Was all that pain worth it??

Having a living baby is hard too.

And then the things spoken behind my back that got to me anyway... (I was unsure of whether or not I should share these, but decided to go for it.)

Nicole needs therapy.

Avery doesn't count because she didn't survive.

Don't let her watch your kids, she might hurt them or steal them.

Nicole is dangerous.

I was surprised she was nice to my baby.

How could she still miss her? She never got to know her.


I also came to find, it's almost more painful when they say nothing at all.