Dreams are mean

Last night, I had such a sweet dream. It was very unrealistic, which isn't like my usual dreams. Surprisingly, I tend to have dreams that do a good job of coinciding with my normal life. Once in a while I'll get an odd surprise, but not usually. I never dream that Avery is alive. I only ever once dreamed that she came back to life after she'd been born, but that was years ago, just days after she died.

And last night came a dream that I never have because my mind knows better. It knows it's not possible. Last night, I dreamed I was pregnant with a third child. There was no fear, as if it were just a normal thing for me to get pregnant again. I'm not sure if Avery existed in this impossible universe, but I know Jude did. In the dream, we also quickly found out that this unexpected baby was a boy. There were no thoughts in my mind that he could ever die or that I was in any danger. It all just felt so calm and easy, like I assume most normal women feel when pregnant. I remember being excited to pick out a name. And just like in real life, if we were able to have another son, we chose the name Jonah.

I remember feeling so happy and so delighted over Jonah. I was excited that Jude would be getting a brother and that we would get to raise another baby. But then, inevitably, I woke up and Jonah disappeared. There won't be a Jonah.

And as I brushed my teeth and recalled the dream, I felt angry. I want to accept the fact that I can never be pregnant again, but if my mind is going to betray me (even in my sleep), then this will be so much harder than it already is. I wish so badly the dream could be real, without any possible consequences.

I just wish I could have Jonah.

Baby Girl

What's it like to hold your own chubby pink baby girl? What's it like to buy all sorts of pink and fill a room with girly cuteness? What's it like to hang and fold the sweetest of dresses? What's it like to paint tiny finger and toenails? What's it like to attend playful little tea parties, and watch your little girl breeze through the room dressed like a princess? What's it like to braid her soft hair on her small head, or give her a ponytail? What's it like to have your daughter?

I am left only to imagine what all of this is like. I've spent countless hours imagining all of this. The absence of this. The loss of this. I ache for my little girl. The one I lost. The one I can't have. I never dreamed I would never have the chance to have another girl after we lost Avery. I thought surely we could fix this monstrous defect inside me. That medical intervention would be all we needed to get the rest of them here. The sweet little lives I dreamed of bringing into this world. The ones that will never be. Who would they have been? I'm sure at least one would have been another girl. I still desire that so much. I ache to raise a little girl. To have the sweet relationship I share with my own mother. To watch her grow into a beautiful woman.

I had my heart set on raising my little girl. More than halfway through my pregnancy, I never thought I would lose her. I didn't know I'd be faced with a future without her. I believed she was my future, for the rest of my life. Then the rug was pulled out from under my feet, taking her away with it. All the plans and the dreams that were planted in my heart the moment she was planted in my womb. I have a daughter... but I don't. I have my daughter waiting for me and I will be with her again one day in Heaven, but here, my arms are aching for her. Aching for a little girl.

Sons are amazing. I would know, I have one. He satisfies my desire of having a son. He fills my heart with joy. He is exactly the son I dreamed of raising, when I named my first son Jude long before I even married his father. His entrance into this world was not what I had in mind, but I'm just thankful he made it here at all. If given the impossible ability to have more sons, I would accept them in a second and be grateful for them and love them completely as well. But still, my heart would ache for what I was supposed to have here.

I just wish so badly I could have another daughter to watch grow up. I think about it so often. I feel so incomplete. It's so difficult to have already lost what you wish you could have.

Day 5: Happy Memories

In early March of 2010, Daniel and I tagged along on a fun outing to celebrate his father's birthday. Daniel's brother and sister came along too. We went to place that had a go cart track, rides, and arcade games. I was 24 weeks pregnant with Avery so I wasn't allowed on any of the rides-- not even the little carousel!

It was a beautiful day. The weather was perfect. I spent a lot of time sitting by myself while I waited for Daniel and his family to finish each ride. I didn't mind waiting. I sat there thinking about my sweet baby, dreaming of her arrival. Dreaming of holding her and seeing her face. I felt so content even through my impatience. I can't believe how vividly I remember sitting there, watching the carousel, picturing that one day my little girl would ride one, laughing and smiling. I pictured her with curls like her dad.

Every few minutes, Daniel would speed by me on the go cart track and each time he would smile real big and blow me a kiss as he passed by. I loved seeing him enjoy himself and have fun. At the time, he was working three jobs so leisure time was scarce. But his joyful grins and boyish excitement made me so happy that day, knowing all of the beautiful moments that were ahead of us with coming birth of our first baby.

We all had dinner at Hard Rock Cafe. I had chicken fajitas with lots of guacamole, one of my most common cravings when I was pregnant with Avery. I remember as we walked to the car, Daniel's sister asked me what baby kicks feel like. And I told her they feel exactly what you'd think they feel like. I didn't know she should have been kicking much harder than that by then. And I didn't know I'd stop feeling her in just a matter of days.

But on this day, all of those horrors were far away in the unknown, not yet a part of reality or my world. I like to think back to the days before I knew this could happen to us. Before I knew we'd have to face life without her and all of the things we thought we would share with her. I like to remember the joy and the excitement and not only remember the pain and the grief. Avery deserves that. She should never be diminished to a source of agony or a sad story. She is my firstborn, the first to hear my heartbeat from the inside. She made me a mother and she will always be the joy of my heart.

Not allowed

Tonight (yes, after American Idol), I was watching the local news and there was a story about a wife and mother who desperately needs a kidney donor. My initial thought was that I wish I could help her. Of course, even if I was a match for her (I'm not), I would not be able to do something like that. Major surgery doesn't go well with someone on blood thinners... and surgery was how I got my blood clots in the first place.

After seeing that woman's touching story, I kept thinking about all the things I wish I could do for people. I used to donate blood, back before I was married... before I knew anything was wrong with me. I didn't mind doing that. I enjoyed feeling like I was helping. Now, with two blood clotting mutations, I am not a candidate for donation. Every time I see one of those blood mobiles parked somewhere, I feel a little guilty that I can't help.

Another thing I would love to do, is surrogacy. I would have no problem carrying a child for a couple facing infertility. I love being pregnant. My heart breaks for those who cannot conceive and who ache to hold their own baby. I know what that longing is like. I wish I could help even one couple. But of course, as we all know, my body cannot handle pregnancy. I can get pregnant, I just can't stay pregnant without my body failing the baby. I can't even carry another of my own babies without the risk of death (for both of us) let alone for someone else. I wish that weren't at all the case.

I've always enjoyed taking care of other people or using my abilities or resources to bless others. I know if I was the one in need, I would pray someone would step up to help. I wish these issues in my body didn't have to affect so much of my life and my desires.

I'm sure there are dozens of other ways I can help people, especially in situations close to my heart. I just have to realize them and go for it.

Blog thoughts

I've been thinking about my blog a bit lately. It doesn't appear to have too much of a following and usually I'm torn on how I feel about that.

To be quite honest, on the rare occasion that I get an email alerting me of a blog comment, my first reaction is nervousness. Sometimes I fear that someone doesn't like what I have said and has commented to ridicule me on my unpopular grief-induced opinions. This has thankfully never happened but I worry about it. In that way, I'm happy with my very small following, with much less of a chance that someone could attack me. I cannot handle confrontation. Another one of my anxieties. I don't share my blog link in my Instagram profile and I no longer use Facebook so I don't share each post there like I used to. I'm also a little afraid of putting my family out there. If you google image '31 weeks gestation,' Jude is the 19th photo (and the 46th). But when I google 'premature baby boy' Jude is the FIRST photo. It's a little scary to have my precious boy floating around in the cyber world. But I don't know how not to share my story.

On a brighter note, I'm proud of my blog and wish that more people could see it. From time to time, (like last night) I randomly redo my header and I enjoy the way it represents my family and me. With each layout that I come up with, I feel that my design improves. I enjoy being creative and making my ideas come to life in Photoshop. But even more than the aesthetics, I desire for the content to mean something to someone. I would love for others to read my writing and feel less alone. For something to strike a chord in someone's heart because they've read the exact description of what they couldn't put into words themselves. I would love to help people and to use my suffering for good. If I could be a guide for a newly bereaved parent or a comfort to a new preemie parent, or even help a non baby loss person better understand the needs of a bereaved loved one, it would make such a difference for me.

I guess sometimes I worry that Avery has made no impact. That her memory has dulled for the few that knew her here. It's been almost three years since she came and went. With each passing day, her image even in my mind fades a bit more. Without her photos to refresh me, she may be nearly lost by now, no matter how many times I memorized her face in that delivery room. These truths are heart shattering to a mother. For your child to leave no legacy is another loss in itself. But to be able to use that loss to better something or someone. To give purpose to something so devastating. To bring beauty out of such a wretched tragedy. To make beautiful things out of the dust... I've always wanted to do something meaningful. I desire for someone to need me the way I needed someone who knew how this felt when the days were raw with the newness of it all. To cling to a baby loss veteran who could be proof that I would, in fact, smile again.

Does this blog help anyone? Has it made a difference? I would like to think so, even if it was just one person for a fraction of a second. Just one resounding phrase that touched their heart. I love to write. I love to express my heart. I need to. This has been therapy for me these past nearly three years. Blogging was how I met so many amazing women that I never would have found otherwise. I'd be roaming the treacherous streets of this journey all alone.

I have ideas for this blog. I'm adding a 'resources' and 'how to help' page in my navigation section. The resources will point baby loss parents to different websites and organizations that can aid them on their path toward healing. The help page is the one that makes me nervous. I've been working on it, writing more as it comes to me. It's the inevitable 'what to say/what not to say' bit. The what does and doesn't help that I and so many I've met have agreed are true. Something I know I would appreciate if I was struggling to know how to be there for someone who'd lost a child, if it was something I couldn't relate to myself. I'm sure I'll be working on it for a little while, to be sure there's nothing that can rub someone the wrong way. Because as I've already established, I just can't handle that.

With all of the uselessness expressed, I'm glad I blog no matter what. I like that I can come on here and see a running log of our life and how Jude is growing and changing. I love editing and sharing my cherished photos. I enjoy pretending like my life is exciting and important to the world. I like keeping my little girl's memory alive by telling her story and sharing her life. I like having the potential to help people. Anything is possible.

Merry Christmas, Darling

We've been spending a great deal of time lately 'decking the halls' and shopping for gifts. Christmas has always been my favorite time of year but for the last two years, it's been both happy and sad. Both joyous and lacking. I savor all of the warmth the season brings into our home and the excitement that hangs in the air, but another emotion lingers over us always during these festive days.

Avery isn't here.

Her stocking hangs between mine and her brother's. She has several ornaments gracing our tree. But she will never share in this special holiday with us. The closest thing to having her here was when I was pregnant with her for Christmas of 2009. I kept saying excitedly how it was our last Christmas without our baby when actually, it was our only Christmas with her.

As I watch Jude marvel over these new and amazing sights, I wonder how Avery would love it all. What would be her favorite parts of our traditions? What would be on her Christmas wish list? Surely, she would have helped us decorate the tree last night. Even if she dropped and broke a few ornaments, I'd be glad to let her help. To see the twinkling lights illuminate her little face. To watch her smile in awe as she watched the tree come to life with color and beauty. I know she would've enjoyed it. The Christmas cookies we'd bake. The Christmas movies we'd watch. The Christmas dresses she'd wear. I'm sure she would have looked beautiful on our Christmas card, nestled right in between us, next to her brother. And she'd probably help Daddy plug in the Christmas lights outside each evening and light up as the lights did.

Christmas, although beautiful and magical, will always be missing something. I'll always wonder about that empty space in our family and my imagination will always fill it as I drift off into the 'if only's. I especially wish that Jude could share the excitement of Christmas with his sister, just the way I always did with my brothers. It makes me sad for him, though he'll never know differently and won't realize what he's missing. But I will. It'll always be there in the back of my mind. His singularity, his technical only child-ness.

I try not to focus on the negative aspects. I want to enjoy our blessings more than grieve our losses. It's not as raw as it used to be. The first Christmas without Avery was agonizing. It was ugly and anything but joyful. The season's beauty practically mocked our pain. I'm so grateful that our hearts have come a long way since then, but our love has not faded. The way we miss our little girl has not changed. We'll always wish she was here. I guess in a way she is, living on in the spirit of her little brother, who is here because of her.

I often think about where Avery is spending Christmas instead. And I think about what Christmas is all about in the first place... Celebrating the birth of Christ. Avery gets to celebrate the birth of Jesus with Him. She is there with Jesus Himself, among the songs of the angels, sharing in His birthday celebration. What an amazing joyous sight that must be.

Merry Christmas darling, we're apart that's true
But I can dream and in my dreams, I'm Christmas-ing with you...

Fear and healing

I never dreamed fear could have a positive outcome. It has plagued me through so many seasons of my life in the past nearly three years. My fear has kept me from so much joy. It's caused anxiety, paranoia, and even hypochondria. But this time, my fear actually set me free.

How could that be? Fear is not from God. Perfect love drives out fear. (1 John 4:18) But in this case, I believe God used my greatest flaw -- my uncontrollable, sometimes paralyzing tendency to worry and fear -- to heal a very broken piece of my being.

This terrible, unnecessary fear set deep within me four days after Jude's seizure. He had a follow up appointment with his pediatrician two days after that horrific ordeal. Everything looked great, his ear infection had even cleared up already. Jude's doctor looked through the charts from the hospital and was not pleased with the practically inconclusive blood test results from the ER. They hadn't been able to get a good sample of Jude's blood so it clumped up a lot, throwing off some of the results. He wanted us to take Jude to get another complete blood count (CBC) just to be thorough. We did just that and I didn't think much of it because Jude seemed fine and it was just a precaution.

Two days after the test, Jude's doctor called me and told me that his levels were a bit off, some varying drastically since his ER lab results just two days prior. His platelets were low and so were his white blood cells. As soon as he mentioned white blood cells, my mind immediately shot to cancer. I felt so sick with worry. The doctor explained that he believed they were both low due to viral suppression from the high fever, seizure, and ear infection. He spoke to a hematologist, who happened to specialize in oncology, just to verify and she completely agreed with him but she wanted Jude to get retested in two weeks to make sure his levels returned to normal. Cue the longest, most fearful two weeks of my life (well... Since the 31 weeks I was pregnant with Jude).

Before hanging up with Jude's doctor that afternoon, he assured me it wasn't time to worry. He expressed his belief that it couldn't be due to any cancer (because you know I asked him about it!) but he confessed his concern. When I hung up, I was close to tears and felt no peace at all. There was no way I could refrain from worrying.

All day, I had a knot in my stomach and that night, after Jude went to bed, I couldn't stop crying. I couldn't help but imagine his next results being no better or even worse. What would it mean? What if something was horribly wrong inside his little body? What if the seizure was a gift from God, so we could find out something was wrong with him before it was too late? All of these morbid fears forced their way into my thoughts. My imagination reeled with sickening visions of losing my baby. I suddenly felt like I was no longer guaranteed a life with my son. I felt like all my mothering duties may be temporary. It was a sick and awful feeling and I tried so hard to push it all away. But over the two weeks, it kept rearing its ugly head.

During that time, Jude started cutting two molars and one incisor all at once. Before we realized this, Jude's appetite changed and he wasn't eating well. Of course, my fear caused me to think something was wrong with him, that he was getting sick from whatever horrific thing was brewing inside him. Noticing the swollen gums, I felt some relief but nearly everyday, Daniel had to convince me that Jude was okay for one reason or another.

For those two long weeks, I felt like I was holding my breath. I was dreading the day we'd have to take Jude back for more blood work. I was dreading the phone call that would proceed. I imagined how my stomach would drop when my phone would ring and I'd see Jude's doctor on my caller ID. I pictured our conversation going so many ways, but naturally, against my will, what I pictured always left me feeling sick to my stomach. But then there was another side of me that couldn't wait to get it all over with. I wanted to be able to really enjoy the Christmas season and I couldn't manage to really do that with all of the fearful unknown looming over my head.

Finally, the day came and went. I prayed so much everyday leading up to it that Jude was healthy and strong. And he is. I burst into tears of relief on the phone with Jude's doctor. He knows me well enough by now and was not surprised by my reaction.

I believed in my heart that Jude was fine but my fear kept telling me I was wrong. It kept whispering ugly lies and planting that seed of worry. It really ate a hole. It festered and tormented. It was so unbearable at times. I felt so weak. I was disappointed in myself for folding so easily. Like it didn't take much for me to fall apart. That I couldn't face the situation with faith and trust, boldly and gracefully holding my head high like a dignified woman of God. But after weighing all of the things I've suffered through concerning my children, I decided to give myself a break. It's okay to be scarred by what's happened to me. I need to be patient with myself. It will take time to live confidently and to shake that paranoia.

So how did all of this fear and obsessive worry actually benefit me? During all of the stress, I kept thinking to myself how hard it was to worry so much about one person. To have so much of my heart, life, and love invested in one person. If I had to worry so much about the well-being of just one person, how could I manage that much more worry for the well-being of even more? The way I started to see it, the more children you have, the higher the chance of something awful happening to one of them. And half of my children are already dead so the odds don't look so hot. Morbid "humor" aside, I think I've endured too much for my heart to handle worrying for so many lives. I carry enough concern for Jude.

The other way the fear helped was in how much I despised the way our normal life twisted into a huge fear fest. I desperately wanted to return to our normal days. I wanted our old life. I missed it. I missed my biggest problem being how I couldn't have all the kids I wanted to have. I decided I'd gladly take that problem over there being something wrong with Jude. I willingly surrender the dreams of my future children for Jude in all his perfection. I'd much rather have "just" him than the possibility of others.

For the first time since I found out I couldn't have any more children, I am content with it. I never thought I would say that. That is the healing the fear brought. It was the lesson it taught me. Jude is enough. He has always been enough but I always longed for more as well. Now, I'm okay. Of course I would have a few more children if things were different and I still wish that were so, but It's okay that I won't have Jonah or Uriah or Ezra (a new beautiful favorite). It feels amazing to accept that. I feel more whole than I have felt in a long time. If it was even possible to love Jude more than I already did, I do.

I feel like the wounds from the babies that were taken away (past and future) have finally stopped bleeding. I feel like I can live my life now. Like I can be happy. That I don't have to be defined by my grief or my suffering. Yes, I am a baby loss mom. Yes, I have two children. Yes, my daughter is in Heaven. But I cannot live in that devastation anymore. Life is beautiful. My family is beautiful. I have so much, despite what I've lost. I know the Glory of God and the love of a husband and son. With humbled and gracious tears in my eyes, I know full well that I am blessed.

 

 

 



Capture Your Grief : Day 18 // Family portrait

There will always be someone missing in our family portraits. Each time I look at the three of us together, I think how there should be a fourth. I can't help but remember how incomplete my family is. Do not be mistaken, I am so grateful for Jude. We are so blessed that he is here and not with Avery, but that doesn't change our grief over her or the grief over the children we thought we would have but can't. It's not easy to accept that -- to accept the demise of a lifelong dream. I spent my entire childhood, dreaming of a life I will never have. It takes time to get used to this reality.

We are aware of adoption. We are aware of surrogacy. That doesn't mean either are easy or possible. So this is our family. The three of us -- always 'minus one'. Together by the Grace of God. Blessed to be a family. Blessed to share this life together.

Sweet dreams

I always have crazy dreams when I'm pregnant. With Avery, I used to dream about male celebrities (like Michael Castro and Jason Segel haha!) as if I were some crazy teenager. It was really silly and innocent but I'd tell Daniel about them in the morning and we'd just laugh. With this baby, the dreams are different. Most are odd, but there are definitely many a night.

A few nights ago, however, I had a beautiful dream about this precious little one I carry. In my dream, I was in the hospital, having just given birth. There was no sadness. The baby didn't come early and wasn't born still. I remember thinking how surreal it felt that I was going to hold this baby and hear a cry, see sweet eyes looking at me, see movement, feel warmth. Daniel climbed into the bed next to me as they handed me the baby. It was a girl. I just cried as I looked at her and could not believe she made it here and she was mine. It felt so real in my dream, like I can imagine it happening this way in real life. It was so realistic that I remember my doctor sewing me up as I barely noticed her and stared at my precious baby. Then I called my mom and when she answered, all I said was, "She's here." Strange that my mom wasn't present for the birth, but that's what makes it fantasy! Haha...
I woke up at this point, wishing I didn't have to leave that perfect scene, but fortunately, when I fell back to sleep, the dream continued! Sort of...

I was back in the same hospital room. The baby wasn't with me at the moment, but all was still perfectly well. People were visiting me and there were so many gifts everywhere. This time, the baby was a boy. For some reason, his name was Hayden, as if it just happened that way and I was just going to let it be. While I was looking through some outfits someone dropped off, I realized I could pick the name and it didn't have to be Hayden. I really don't know where my mind got that name. It's not even on my list of favorites. I quickly decided, the baby would be Jude, just as it will be in real life if this little one is a boy.

Towards the end of the dream, I just remember feeling so happy and relieved. That this pregnancy was over and there were no more worries. It felt so amazing to have my child here on earth... with us. I loved it so much.

Of course, the next day and even now, it's left me feeling a bit anxious and impatient for this little love of ours. I do worry some days and that can be tiring. It will be nice when he/she is here and there is no more fear. I know things can happen to a living child here on earth, but at least most things are preventable and there's more control over it. I can't even see my baby to see how he/she is doing. It's scary. Plus, I ache so much to hold this baby, just like I still ache to hold Avery.

I have dreamed of being a mother since I was old enough to play with dolls. It has literally been my one and only dream in life. So much so that I never developed any career goals for myself. This is all I've ever wanted. I will be fully content with my life even if all I ever do with it is be a mother. <3