The Pain-Happiness Combo

This has been a week of reflection for me. I've been struggling with little things that often seem not so little. And then I think back...so many things have gone wrong this year. How much more can I take?

It's sometimes when we are down that we come up with uplifting lessons for ourselves, isn't it?  I realized that this is my life. Of course, had I been given the choice, I wouldn't have chosen it exactly the way it's been given to me. I would have kept many things the same, but I would have deleted the part where my son died. But for reasons that are beyond me, these are the cards I've been dealt. This is MY life. It's not perfect and I'm sure, many look at me and feel relieved that this is not their lives.  I have to work with what I have, I have to somehow, overcome all this. Overcome losing my son, overcome any job problems, overcome the sadness and the pain and any other crap that might come at me.

I'm in no way a hero or a strong person. Going through something this horrible doesn't make you stronger. In fact, it breaks you in a million pieces and you patiently need to piece yourself back toghether.  And you don't always put all the pieces in the right places. Sometimes, you lose a few of them in the process.

This has been the toughest year of my life. Toughest than anything I've ever faced before and I hope to God that I will not face anything harder than this. And I'm not going to lie: there has been times where things got so horribly tough that the tought of ending it all seemed like the only possible way out for me. But despite all that horror, despite all that pain, I am happy. Yes, I am. I'm not sure how to explain this, it makes little sense, I know, but there are great things happening in my life. The thing is, bad things don't happen in isolation, they are often accompanied with a few good things. We just don't see them sometimes because in our minds this equation is always true: BAD > GOOD.

One of the things I am eternally grateful for is the fact that this tough year has brought my husband and I even closer together. We have a new appreciation for each other and our shared loss somehow solidified our love for each other. It's almost like we needed to fill the whole in our hearts with something positive, something sweet...and that's what our love for each other has done. In a book written by Anne Dauphine, a woman who lost her daughter at the age of 2 to a fatal genetic disease, wrote "when you cannot add days to your life, you should add life to your days." Inadvertently, this is what we have been doing.

Parents have grand dreams for their children, but mostly, we all hope our kid has a normal life. We all wish to see our kids take their first steps, go to school, graduate, get married, have kids, land a good job, lead happy lives. Those are universal wants. Those are simple wants. And yes, some parents will see their sons and daughters become president or Nobel Prize Winners...wouldn't we all love that for our children? But mostly, all we want is for them to have a normal and happy life. And it's this simple desire that makes the loss of a child so increadibly hard. Bereaved parents like me had those exact same dreams for our babies,  but we never got to see any of them come true.

As I sit here, pondering about life and death, I ask myself, 'what's the point'? When most adults die, we can say "he or she had a full life", "he or she accomplished so much". I can't say that about Leo. All I can say about him is that he was born a perfect little boy, that he smiled and that he died in my arms. What did he accomplish? What can we remember him by,  especially when none of our friends and family got to meet Leo?

Leo obviously changed our lives. And while his death is something I would eliminate, if I could, I am grateful for his short life. A lot of pain came with his death, but a lot of joy came with his birth. Those feelings were often mixed. I gave birth to him knowing that he would die. But I was also in awe of this little being, in my arms. This human being that we created.

I still don't know why this happened (will I ever?).  I do know that Leonardo has changed our lives, that knowing him has made me better person. I also understand now that the pain will never go away, but that it is something that I have started learning to live with. I can be happy and hurting at the same time. It's possible. In fact, that's my everyday now.

Got my pictures

Dear Leo,

Well, it's officially been more than 10 months that you were born. It's hard to believe that a whole 10 months have gone by. I think your dad and I are doing fine, but often, things creep up and surprise us and suddenly, we're back to where we were the day we lost you. Back to the same pain and suffering. It's always unexpected though and sometimes, I am surprised at how little things affect me.

Today, we went to a church event. The members of my church have been very supportive and caring. We are known as the couple who lost a baby. People often come to us and tell us their loss stories. Tonight, an older man told us he lost his 23-year old grand-daughter and soon later, he lost his son. The losses are a little different, but they're just as painful. The one thing about the church, is that people do mention you, which I like.

A few weeks ago I wrote about a great organization called Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep.  I finally got some pictures back from the photographer. I received them on a day where I was really struggling with work, and then, all of a sudden, I saw pictures of your sweet face and it reminded me that work doesn't matter. Work is just work and it means nothing compare to what you mean to me. You always help me put things into perspective.

Here are some pictures we got. I'll share a few more a little later.

I love this picture of you. You've got the sweetest little lips and
you're so hairy! 

Me and you the day after you were born

Kid's Birthday Party

Dear Leo,

On Saturday, I went to my first kid's birthday party after your passing. I didn't think much of it. I was going because it was my friend's child, he was turning 3. I've known him all his life and I wanted to be there to celebrate his life and life in general.

Everyone there had kids. Babies (from 4 months to 9 months), a bunch of 3-year olds and a few older kids (5,6,7 yr old). I was the only one without children. Everyone was busy feeding their kids, watching over them, or talking about parenting. I felt alone, empty, out of place. And then, came in my friend whose baby was born just a few weeks after you. I kept hearing 'he's 9 months'. NINE MONTHS. That's how old you are or would have been. It has been 9 months. I watched that baby and kept imagining how you would be. Would you be crawling like him? Would you be just about to talk like he was? For a moment, I thought about leaving. I seriously considered it. I really didn't belong there. Though I too am a mother, all the parents present had kids that lived. That's the main difference between us.

The best part of the party, was meeting a doula. She was a guest at the party. I learned a lot from here and am strongly considering hiring a doula for my next pregnancy. I need someone to be there with us, to help us think clearly and to really worry about our well-being (it seems that doctors worry more about not being sued than about their patients well-being).  I also told the doula about you. It felt great taking about you. I'm not sure many people would be willing to listen, but she did. So I too got to talk about my baby during this party.

Towards the end of the party, I was having a decent time. I played with some of the kids. I held some of the babies. I felt like I was able to overcome a huge obstacle. It wasn't easy. I'm not sure if I'm ready for another party. But I'm glad I took this step.

Your Picture & Complete Silence

Dear Leo,

We had some guests over yesterday for breakfast. One of the couples brought their twin boys with them. They were also supposed to be born in February 2014, like you, but were born about a month prematurely. It's a little weird to be around kids who are about the same age you would be. It just reminds me of all the things you would be able to do by now: roll over, laugh, smile, crawl. It still pains me that I will never see you do all that. I missed all your 'firsts'.  I am, however, still grateful for the smile you gave us when I  held you in my arms, shortly before your last breath.

A framed picture of you is proudly displayed on our TV unit. There's a picture of your dad and I back in 2008 and one picture of you. On that TV stand, we're really close to each other, all together, the 3 of us. I always worry a little when we have people over. Will they go close to the picture frame and ask us who that is? Will they say that you're adorable? Or will they ignore it completely? Well, nothing was said by our guests. I'm not sure if they didn't see it (highly unlikely) or if they just didn't know what to say. It saddens me a little. I wish they had said something, I wish they had acknowledged you.

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

There is a wonderful non-profit organization called Now I lay Me Down to Sleep. Their mission is : 

To introduce remembrance photography to parents suffering the loss of a baby 

with a free gift of professional portraiture.

Basically, when parents lose their baby (or babies), they can call Now I Lay Me Down to Sleet (NILMDS) and they will send a professional photographer who will take beautiful pictures of the baby and family free of charge. To some, this might sound a little morbid, but to parents who will never again have a chance to take pictures of their child, this is a God-sent!  Unfortunately, I didn't know about NILMDS before and the hospital staff didn't talk to me about this wonderful service. 

Being part of a Parent Support Group, I've seen many beautiful pictures of my friends' babies that were taken by NILMDS. The pictures, are all we have of our deceased child, and it means so much. I'm grateful that my husband took so many pictures of Leo, but I wish we had someone taking professional pictures...with the right lighting and setting. The right  clothes. Someone who would have taken a picture of the 3 of us. 

Last weekend, when I was sharing with another lady from the baby-loss community, that I regret not having professional pictures of Leo, she told me that I could send the pictures we took of him to NILMDS and that they would retouch it.  So I contacted NILMDS and they will do it! I'm so happy. The photographer said it would take a few weeks. I can't wait to see what the pictures will look like. 

I know I don't have the final product in my hands yet, but I am so incredibly grateful for this organization. I can't wait to hang a picture of Leo in our apartment.