New Blog (CherLeo.com/)

Hello readers,
Please note that I've migrated this blog to a new address. It's the same content, but with an updated look. I'll be writing on http://www.cherleo.com/ from now on.

Thanks!

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. 

Your Name on the Big Screen

Dearest Leo,

Return to Zero movie poster

A few months ago, I contributed some funds for the making of a movie titled "Return to Zero". It's a movie about a couple that have a stillborn son. It's a movie that is meant to break the silence, to help parents who have lost a baby and to help others understand what we all went through. The movie played on Lifetime TV a few times, but I was not able to watch it. Two weeks ago I received the DVD in the mail. I was so excited. I had been waiting a long time for it and it felt surreal to finally have it with me. There it was. I held it for a long time, wondering when I would have the courage to finally watch it. I had seen many previews, I knew this was a story that I would identify myself with...unfortunately. But I also knew that the message was powerful and that I had to watch it.

Well, I finally did. Today was the day. I sat in front of my screen, with a box of tissues by my side, ready to cry. Don't get my wrong, crying is not a bad thing. Sometimes, I need something to help me cry, something that will encourage me to let those feelings out...the feelings of pain, of suffering, of anger. And the movie did that, but it also made me laugh and it made me think. But mostly, it made me feel grateful. When I lost you Leo, I looked online for videos, movies, music that could help me. I looked for ways that could validate my feelings and comfort me...and found very little out there. I'm grateful that this movie came out, that it will help many bereaved parents and their families.

Obviously, I knew how the movie was going to end. I knew their baby would die. It's a little bit like watching the Titanic. You know there will be a catastrophe, and you're watching mostly to see how the events unfold, what happens after, how people get through the tragedy. While my story is different from that of Aaron and Maggie in the movie, our endings are the same: dead baby, suffering, confusion, anger.

It might be strange for me to say this but I loved the movie. I am thankful for the director and actors for having the courage to produce such a beautiful and raw film. But I have to say, that to me, the most beautiful part was at the end...when the credits rolled. There it was, in white on a completely black screen: your name! Because I helped fund the movie, I was blessed to have the opportunity to put your name in the credits. It is so rare to hear your name, and even more rare to see it in writing. I was reading all the names of dead babies on the screen - gosh there were so many and that is so horrible! But I imagine that those babies' parents feel like I feel: really moved, grateful and happy to see our baby's name very clearly written in black and white on the big screen. It's a wonderful feeling.

This movie is for you Leo. 

Return to Zero credits. In memory of...

Getting to know grief

My sweet darling Leo,

I have been reading so many articles written by and for the baby loss community, trying to understand and validate my own feelings and somewhat crazy thoughts. And thank God, I know that most of what is going through my head and heart is normal. 

But there's something new that I'm learning now, something that I haven't read about yet. I'm slowly getting to know grief, but most importantly, I'm getting reacquainted with the bereaved me, the me with grief. You know how 2 people in a relationship tend to change? Either through influence or through an active effort to become better or to please one another? Well, Grief is now my daily companion and she is changing me. 

Last night I went to a party where someone said "I've heard what happened. I'm sorry. You'll have another one soon." A few months ago, that comment would have upsetted me, but I've grown past that. I've always understood that people don't really know what to say because they can't comprehend the suffering that comes with losing a child, even if the child was in this world for a brief moment. But even though I understood that, it would hurt me deeply to hear others say that I could make everything better by replacing you Leo, with another baby.  It would sting and aggregate me. Yesterday though, it didn't affect me at all. I genuinely smiled, grateful that someone had said something to me about you that night. I know it came from a good place and that it must have been hard for her to approach me and say those words. 

 

One of my friends brought her 2-month old baby to the party. I couldn't wait to hold him. While I was playing and taking to that sweet baby, I also realized that I didn't feel any sadness. I didn't wish he was you. I was fully in the moment, enjoying that little boy. No negative feelings or thoughts came to me. It might seem trivial, but this is a huge step for me. 

I have had 30+ years to mature, but with grief in my life, I need to go through that process of growth and maturity again. I am making baby steps, but at least, those steps are going forward. I feel somewhat pround of myself for this growth.

Feeling happiness for others

Dear Leo,

I'm a little ashamed to say this because I'm your mother and mothers should be mature and strong...but here goes: I have a hard time feeling happy for all my friends who are announcing pregnancies or who are bringing perfect little babies into this world. It's horrible, I know. It's such a happy moment for them. I should know...I was happy too not too long ago. 

It's a weird feeling. In a way, I'm relieved that things are going well and that they don't have to experience the gut- wrenching pain of losing a child. But at the same time, I wonder why it's so easy for others. Why wasn't it this simple for me? Why? I'm still struggling with this one.

I got a call this week from a friend announcing a pregnancy. I said all the right things and asked the usual questions: "congratulations! How far along are you? When is the due date? How are you feeling? Do you know the sex? Will you find out? Etc. etc." I think I was able to hide the fact that deep down my heart was aching and my entire being was screaming "why!?!". 

This grief is complex to say the least. It brings out the worst in me, but occasionally brings out the best in me. Last week at my monthly parent support group meeting, one of the ladies who suffered a series of baby losses told me she was pregnant. I was genuinely happy for her! After all that she went through she deserves this and I hope that this time, things go right. I'm praying for her, her husband, and this new baby.  But why is it that I have no problem being happy for her but struggle to be happy for others? For those who haven't suffered what I suffered? Most of them are deserving of a child too. (Most of them). 

If I'm being honest with myself, I think I'm a little jealous. Jealousy is such and ugly and useless feeling. It doesn't amount to anything. But here I am, jealous of all the little perfect families out there. Jealous of those who get to take their babies home, jealous of those complaining about sleepless nights and the terrible twos. 

I'm not proud of it. I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to get over this ugly feeling. 

Something Else Could be Wrong

At this point, a late period is usually a good sign. I'm 6 days late, but the pregnancy tests are all negative. I tested many times. They all display the same words "not pregnant." 

Every time I take the test, I tell myself "this will be it...". Everyday that goes by without my period arriving gives me a little hope. But now, my doctor says that something could be wrong. It could be thyroid...it could be early menopause...it could be something else. Seriously?

What is frustrating is that child bearing is something that millions of women all around the world have done. Some without any care or without any planning. It should be as natural as losing your baby teeth or learning how to walk. But somehow, I'm learning how to walk in a land mine. I carefully try to find my way and BOOM! There's another mine. 

I try so hard to be positive. I am telling myself that I can't possibly have thyroid or early menopause (did I mention I'm 33 years old?). I eat healthy (always organic, always home cooked meals), I exercise, I take care of myself. What else can I do? I don't understand. I'm losing so much control of my body and I hate that. I feel at a loss...and the sad part is that I know things could get worst...I'm almost expecting them to get worst at this point because I'm so used to bad news these days. 

I do pray to God that nothing is wrong and that somehow I get the strength to get through this, on top of everything else.