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. 

An ounce of hope...

I think that's all I have left...just an ounce of hope, and that keeps getting smaller and smaller. This past few days have been hard. It's been almost 8 months since Leo passed away. That means, that I would have been holding an 8-month baby in my arms right now. It's painful to think about all that would have been. My life would have been so different. It would have probably been chaotic and exhausting but I would have taken that any day...anything is better than this. 

To make things worst, I just got another negative pregnancy test. There goes another drop of hope down the drain. Why is this so hard? I've had so much hardship in the past few months, why doesn't God just grant me something good right now? I need it so bad. I need some good news, something positive, something that will bring me an insane amount of joy...something that will bring light into my now dark heart. 

I know I shouldn't compare myself to others, I shouldn't look at their lives and envy the little perfect families they have. I shouldn't be holding their baby and be thinking 'I should be holding my baby'. I shouldn't, but I do. But then again, I shouldn't have lost my son Leonardo, and I did. 

Nightmares

Dear Leo,

I haven't had any dreams about you yet. It saddens me a little. I wish I could see you in my dreams. I would take that as a sign that things are ok with you and I'm sure it would bring me comfort.

Last week, I dreamt that I was about 36-38 weeks pregnant. It wasn't you though...I was pregnant with your little sibling. I was excited that I had past the 23 week mark, which is when I lost you. But this dream wasn't a comforting one. The baby I was carrying stopped moving. I then had to deliver him or her and it turned out to be a still birth. Another dead baby!

I sure hope this is not a sign. I know that in my next pregancy, my only concern will be to get to the 37-40weeks mark...but even that doesn't guaranty a living baby. Most people, when they think about pregancy, they don't worry about giving birth to a baby that will live. But for me, that is all I want. I want to bring my baby home.

Another baby is born...

It’s strange how a day of joy for many can make my heart feel heavy.

One of my best friends had hear baby on Sunday. He was expected to be born 10 days ago. I was beginning to get worried for him, as I know, from my support group, that bad things can happen when the baby is overdue. I was worried that he would be stillborn – because of course, now, whenever a baby is due, I can only imagine the worst. So, I was happy that baby Ari was born healthy and perfect. I am happy that my friends have this beautiful baby in their arms and that they are discovering the joys of parenthood.

But I’m also sad. I know that it  is a horrible thing to say, but it is the truth. As soon as I got the text message, announcing Ari’s birth, I was excited but that feeling got quickly replaced by sadness. I don’t know if it’s jealousy or sorrow, or perhaps both. I asked myself then and there what makes others more worthy than us? Why can they have a healthy baby in their arms and we can’t? What have we done to deserve this? I’m at loss. I’m happy that they have their baby, but in a way, I’m sad that they did. Why is it so easy for everyone else?

My heart feels heavy and dark right now. I am also very conflicted. I’m happy, but I’m not.  These are my friends, I love them and I’m sure I’ll love their baby. But, I’ll also always remember that Ari was supposed to be Leo’s friend. They were supposed to play together, grow together. Instead, I get to watch Ari grow instead of watching my own son grow. 

Return to Zero will bring me back

Dear Leo,

I wish I could go back to being the happy go lucky person I was before I lost you. But in a strange way, I want to continue feeling the pain. I fear that stopping to feel it means that I'm over it or that I'm forgetting you. 

Most parents feel love, joy, pride, marvel, etc. towards their kids. They feel these things over and over again and everyday. As a loss mother, I only know two feelings: love and deep sadness. And I think the sadness is more intense than the love. Or maybe they go hand in hand? Or perhaps I just can't tell which is which anymore.

This pain is all I have left having and losing you. I read loss articles, knowing very well that it will make me cry. I read them anyway. I seek things that will help my tears flow, that will help me focus on my grief. 

On May 17, Return to Zero, a movie about a couple who have a stillborn son, is coming out on Lifetime (tv network in the US and UK). I know it will be hard to watch. I know it will take me back to a dark place, that it will take me back to those hard days following your death. I know all this but I need to go through it. I need to feel the pain. I need to relive it over and over again. As crazy as this might sound, I feel that the only way to deal with my grief is to be exposed to other stories like mine. This is what Return to Zero will do for me.

Six months, 21 days

Six months and 21 days or 29 weeks. This is how old you would have been. This is how long it has been since we lost  you.

Sometimes I think I'm doing so well, especially when I compare myself to other grieving moms. I don't have a hard time seeing babies or pregant women. I don't mind being around kids. 

But lately, it's been tougher. I wake up and remember that you're dead. I can't focus at work and that is hurting my performance. It's a struggle to go to work everyday. I count the days to the weekend. I get anxiety on Sunday evenings thinking about Monday. I just go through the motions: get ready, jump on the bus, read emails, write reports, leave work and stress out at the though of doing it all again the next day. So many times this past week I ran to the restroom to cry because the pain of losing you is still so real. I would love to just walk away from it all and spend my time focusing on myself. 

Plus, I'm so discouraged lately regarding getting pregnant again. I took a pregancy test yesterday. It's a little too early, I know...but it was negative, again. I was so convinced that I was pregnant. I was feeling some symptoms. I was so sure this time would be it. So sure. 

This is not how I imagined my first Mother's Day

Dearest Leo,

I didn't really feel like celebrating my birthday this year - it could be because I'm getting older, but mostly because it falls on Mother's Day...my first mother's day.

It was not at all like I imagined it would be. In my mind, my first Mother's Day was going to be me, holding the little 3-month you and having your dad spoil both of us on that day. It would have been posting perfect pictures of you and I on Facebook, like all the other mother's out there. It would have been getting calls from friends and family, wishing me a happy first Mother's Day.

But no, that is not what was in store for me. I had planned on running a 5K race on my birthday. I wanted to start this new year with something a little intense, something that reflects my life right now...just running from the reality, running from the pain - running makes me feel light and free. It makes me forget. So, I woke up early and started getting ready. Then I walked to your picture that is placed in the living room beside a picture of your dad and I. I touched your face and broke into tears. This is not how I imagined I would spend Mother's Day - caressing your cheek through a framed picture. This is not what I wanted.

The race itself was fun. I ran with a few friends and had a great time. Then, I went for brunch with a few friends. A few friends didn't show up. Everyone at the restaurant was with their mothers or their kids. And there I was, sitting with a few friends 'celebrating' my birthday and secretly mourning.

We ended the day by going to an evening mass. Of course, the priest wished all the mothers or women with motherly roles. At the end, he asked all the mothers to stand up for a blessing. I didn't know what to do, but your dad asked me to stand. I started my day with tears and ended my day in tears.

A few people did wish me Happy Mother's day and offered me flowers. It felt good to have others acknowledge that I am a mother, even though you're not here with me. Even though I don't get to post pictures of our perfect first mother's day together.

I did post something on Facebook though. I did post that I celebrated mother's day. I posted pictures of flowers, a picture of you and one of my mom. People might think I'm going crazy or lingering in the past. But I don't care. You will forever be my baby and I will forever be your mother and, as hard as it might be, I will celebrate every single Mother's Day from now on.

Carrying you longer

Dear Leo,

When I hear stories of women who gave birth at 40 weeks but had a still born, I feel like that is worst than what I went through. They were ready to have a baby, they told their friends and family they were about to delivery, they had a baby shower, the nursery ready, the clothes and toys purchased. They were so close to becoming parents.

Then I think about our story. Giving birth to you at 23 weeks was unexpected. I still wasn't ready, hadn't had a baby shower yet, had not purchased all the thigs you need, had not assembled your crib. 

But lately, I am a little envious of those who got to carry their babies full term. They had 40 weeks with their baby, I had 23. I wish I got to carry you longer, I liked knowing that you were with me. Unlike those who went full-term, I didn't get to feel your kicks, your hick ups, your summersaults. I missed out on all of that. I had just started feeling some flutter. That is all I felt. 

I regret not talking to you while you were in my belly. I regret not singing or reading to you. Had I known our time together would have been so short, I would have taken more time to really be with you. 

These past 2 days I've begun feeling like I'm carrying a baby. I don't know if I'm going crazy, because I'm not pregnant. Maybe I'm feeling something else...whatever it is, I like the feeling. It reminds me of when you were in me, growing safely. It reminds me of my excitement and hope for our future. 

I really miss you Leo. 

Hospital bills

Dear Leo,

It's been over 6 months that you've been gone and I am still receiving hospital bills. It makes me so angry and upset when I receive these medical bills. When will they stop coming? They are a constant reminder that you died there - what exactly are they charging me for???

The latest one was $4,000 for nursery fees. You never even went to the nursery! You stayed in our room the whole time we were in the hospital. I hate that they are trying to cheat us and I hate having to call the insurance company to fight against these charges.

Last week I called my medical endurance and they told me they are charging me because the patient (you) is not listed as a dependent and is therefore not covered. I then had to explain to them that it didn't make any sense for me to add a dead baby to my insurance. 

I make those calls every 2 weeks. Explaining over and over again, to complete strangers, that you died. I hate doing that because they don't care about you. They don't care about me. They just care about getting their money.

I also find myself getting overly angry with the insurance customer reps just because I can. Just because it's easy to be angry with someone you don't know, someone who you don't see. It's not their fault, I know, but it's much easier to be angry with them than with myself.

I envy the old me

I lost count of how many times I've attended the parent support group. It's probably been at least 5 or 6 times. Every time is different but one thing remains the same: there are always new people in the group. 

Every month, more grieving parents join our "club". My heart always sinks to see that more people went through this. When I hear their stories, I cry for them. It reminds me of the sharp pain one feels the first few weeks after losing a child. I see myself in them, I know they will eventually feel a little lighter, but I can feel what they feel. I relive the experience. I feel their pain, their anger, their despair.

The first weeks and months after losing Leo, I didn't know if I was going to be able to make it through life. It hasn't been easy. Leo's birth marked a major milestone in my life - that day changed me. I envy the old me, the me that never lived through a tragedy, that never lost anyone that was close to me. But that seems like so long ago; though it's  only been 6 months.

 Tomorrow is National Bereaved Mother's Day and I'll be volunteering at the March for Babies - I am doing this for my baby but also for all the other little angels.

Mouths to feed

Dear Leo,

Yesterday, I went to a work happy hour and people were talking about trips. At one point someone said that I'm lucky that I don't have to worry about mouths to feed when in traveling, that I can sleep in and eat when I want. 

These people look back at the time they had no kids and remember their freedom. I, however, look back at the day I lost you and feel trapped. What I wouldn't give to have to feed you and be awoken by your crys!

Last weekend, your dad and I had a little weekend getaway in Vancouver, BC. It was lovely. I have many trips planned for us this summer and I think it's because I don't want to constantly be thinking of what the summer would have been like with you or I don't want to feel what it will be like without you. I just feel like running away from this reality I'm stuck in.

Photo taken on the train during our Vancouver trip