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 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 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."

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.

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 20 // Organization

Through my journey to build a family, a few special organizations and charities have become close to my heart.

Oddly enough, about two years before Avery was even born, I came across NILMDTS online and sat and cried at the computer as I looked at the gorgeous photos of these beautiful lost babies. I was amazed that such a thing existed and knew in my heart, as I pained for those parents, that that would be the very worst thing that could ever happen to me. I never dreamed it would actually happen to me. If my life was a movie or a book, I guess stumbling upon their website would have been foreshadowing. What was even more odd, I did not remember that NILMDTS existed when it came time to be the grieving mother. Unfortunately, my hospital did not offer it as an option. I'm not sure if they didn't know about it or if it was somehow up to me to ask for the arrangements. Every time I remember, I am saddened that I was not able to receive their kind services and have professional, beautiful photos of my little girl. It was up to us to capture her details, instead of just spending time with her. Daniel and I traded off with the camera the entire seven hours. We don't even have a family photo together. I regret that very much.

Because of Jude, I support March of Dimes. Preemies are so delicate and start out with so many obstacles to overcome. MOD helps get them there. I don't know if Jude was directly benefited from MOD. I can only assume that the NICU he stayed in receives help from them. Either way, it's a wonderful thing, to march for babies, to save the babies. :)




Molly Bears is a beautiful organization. They make weighted teddy bears for bereaved families. When I got my Avery Bear, it touched my heart so much to feel her weight in my hands once again. It was a special moment and I cherish my beautiful bear so much. I love the work they do, and the love they put into each bear. It's crazy how comforting these bears are!

Capture Your Grief : Day 15 // WAVE of LIGHT

Today is October 15th, Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day. Today we remember all of the babies lost... the ones who slipped away so quickly, the ones who were born still, the ones who never came home, the ones who only stayed for a short while. There are so many. Too many. We speak out today because in our society, miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant death are so taboo. They are kept silent. These children deserve to be remembered. They are loved and always will be. We have to live this life without our children, we deserve to speak freely.

Today is also the day for Wave of Light. Worldwide, candles are lit at 7pm for one hour in remembrance and honor of our babies in Heaven. Because of the different time zones, the candles are lit in a sort of wave moving around the world. So many people take part and it's such a beautiful way to remember all these precious little ones.

"I didn’t want to kiss you goodbye - that was the trouble - I wanted to kiss you goodnight - and there’s a lot of difference." - Ernest Hemingway

Avery was here

We never got a birth certificate or a death certificate when we lost Avery. I knew she didn't qualify for a birth certificate since she was not born alive, but a long while back, I did some research about death certificates. Surely, there had to be some documentation of a baby born still.

I found out that you can obtain a 'Birth resulting in stillbirth' certificate if you have a certified death certificate on file. Not all states follow this, unfortunately, but Florida does. I always hated that the only official proof Avery was here is her grave stone. So, a few months ago, I finally contacted the funeral home that took care of her to see what they could do for me.

I was very confused and dismayed to find that Avery doesn't qualify for a certified death certificate because she wasn't "old enough" when she died. She was past the point of viability if born early and she was also "old enough" to be considered a stillbirth instead of a miscarriage. She was delivered just like a living baby. Stupidly, and I guess as a defense mechanism, I didn't ask further questions. I gratefully accepted the favor of an uncertified death certificate for Avery. It came in the mail yesterday, two years and three months after we lost her. While it is horrifying to receive a death certificate with your child's name on it, it brings so much closure and peace somehow.

This probably doesn't help my case that Avery counts, but I don't need anyone to tell me she does. I carried life inside of me for 25 weeks. I gave birth to a very wanted, very loved baby girl with perfect hands and feet, a sweet little nose and precious lips, who looked just like her Daddy.

I don't care that this document isn't certified. It states that my daughter was born and that she died. It is in writing. Avery was here.