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 

Six months without you

My dearest son,

It's been six months. It's hard to even grasp that thought. 6 months since you were born, 6 months that I've been a mother, 6 months since you died. 

In a certain way, time has gone by so fast. I can remember the fear I felt the day you were born, the worry that I experienced. It was the first time that I really worried about you. It was the first time I thought of the possibility of losing you. My memories of that day are so clear. It's painful to remember certain parts of it. Like going into the hospital not knowing what was going on. Or giving you to the nurse and watching her take you away...to the morgue. 

In another way, it feels like a lifetime has gone by since you came into our lives. I feel like a completely different person. I've gone through so much, felt so much pain, felt so many new things in the past few months. I think I've grown older, wiser and perhaps a little more cynical. I've got more grey hair too. I blame you for that Leo, just like my mom blamed me for all her grey hairs. :)

What can I say to you right now? You changed my life. I want to say that you changed it for the better because your loss did lead to a few positive things that wouldn't have happened otherwise. But it's still hard for me to convince myself that this happened for the best. I am still wiping tears off my face and comforting your dad in the middle of the night...how can losing you be for the best? I am still searching for an answer.

In the meantime Leo, happy half birthday.  I love you and am already thinking of ways in which we'll celebrate your 1st birthday. 

Ta maman qui t'aime fort.

I wish I had the world's toughest job

This video has been going around social media.  Take a look.

It's really beautiful and of course, makes all of us think about our moms. But the first thought I had was how much I would like to have this job right now. If everything had gone as planned, Leo would have been born on Feb 13, 2014 and would be 2 months old now. All I can do is imagine how he would have been, what it would have been like to be a real mother to him.

The video is a reminder of mother's day and how important it is to show your mom how much you appreciate her. I'm getting a little anxious about it though. May 11, 2014 is going to be my first Mother's Day. I'm mentally preparing myself for seeing pictures of all my mommy friends get pampered and loved by their kids. What should I do? How do I celebrate this day? I did give birth, I do have a son, but he is not here. I love him so much, but I'm not really being a mother to him. In fact, he's gone because my body didn't work as it should have, he's gone because of me. Should I even celebrate this day? I couldn't even bring him to this world safely....I couldn't even do that right! Do I deserve to even be called a mother?

Children are Fleeting

My dearest son,

Every now and again I see, hear or think of something that makes me think "oh, I should write about that." Days go by and I end up forgetting. So sometimes I just come here and start writing and then see where that takes me. Today is one of those days. 

Your dad and I went to the tulip festival in Northern Washington last weekend. There were so many families, so many kids. We are rarely surrounded by so many. It was beautiful to see the young kids run through the rows of tulips, see them pose for pictures and marvel at all the colors they were witnessing. It was also sad when I realized that I'll never see you do any of that. 

I read a quote today that made me think of you. "Sunsets, like children, should be viewed with wonder, not just because they are beautiful, but because they are fleeting."  - author unknon 

Fleeting...I'm too familiar with what that means. I know that you are with me. I just wish I could also be with you. 

It Did Happen

Dear Leo,

Yesterday, as I was walking home from work I felt that losing a baby couldn't have happened to me. It sometimes does feel like it happened to someone else. It's just too awful for it to have happened to me. 

This feeling is pretty surreal. For a split second I forget that we went through this. It feels like a bad dream. The return to reality is always harsh: "our baby did die". Take in those words "our baby died". It sounds so horrible...It feels even worse.

This is the Happiest Story in the World with the Saddest Ending

My dearest baby, 

I almost didn't go to the support group tonight. I felt like I had enough of being sad and being surrounded by sad people and sad stories. Like someone once said, "something tragic happened to me, but I don't want my life to be a tragedy." Ironically, this was said during one of my support group meetings. 

But I did go. Everyone goes around telling their stories and sharing the hard moments they had since our last meeting. We sit in a circle. We start by saying "Hi, my name is _______and I lost my baby on such and such date". It's like an alcoholics anonymous meeting, except that we all understand that we will never recover from this.  While we were going around, each person sharing their own stories, I started to get nervous. "What am I going to say? I'm feeling pretty good these days, I have nothing to share."

It's funny how I can even fool myself into thinking that I am doing ok. I told my group about how I am surprised at things that will trigger my emotions and make me cry. I shared with them the story of my friend whose baby registry contains some of the same clothes I bought for you. As I was sharing that story, I began to cry and had a hard time finishing what I was saying. I know it makes zero sense. People who have never lost a child must think I'm crazy. And yes, I know that everyone shops for baby clothes at Amazon.com and Carter and that I would eventually have seen a baby wearing the same clothes you were supposed to wear. I don't know what it is about this that upsets me so much. They are just clothes. When I bought them, I thought you'd look so adorable in them - but you never got to wear them. 

One of the loss books I read recently had a line that said "this is the happiest story in the world, with the saddest ending." That's your story Leo. Announcing your arrival brought so much happiness to so many people around us. But this is a sad ending. The story has ended, but the pain is still here. 

I love you.

Why did this happen to me?

I have been trying to keep a positive outlook, to focus on the good things that are happening to me and around me. I think I have done a decent job at that. But though I try to be strong, though I try to be positive, I am human. I fall, I cry, and I fail at time; I fail many times. 

This weekend I started to wonder why this happened to me. Why did I have to go through the loss of a child? If God didn't mean for me to become a mother, why did he allow me to get pregnant and give birth, only to have my baby die in my arms? Why, why, WHY? What did I do to deserve this? Is there anything more painful that He could have put me through? I don't think so. 

Yes, everything happens for a reason...but what is the reason? When will I finally find out what the reason is for losing  my child? How long do I need to wait before I start to understand this? 

People look at me and tell me I'm strong. But I have no choice but to be, or should I say, to 'act' strong when I'm in public. No one wants to see a grown women crying, no one wants to talk about a dead baby. If I didn't act strong, I would make others very uncomfortable. So I reserve my moments of weakness, my moments of pain for when I'm alone. I am not strong - I'm just someone who learned how to be in public if you don't want others to start avoiding you. I do lead a double life - the one other see is of a strong and happy woman. The one I see if of a wounded and lost girl who is not too sure what to do or how to carry on.

Ephemeral as Cherry Blossoms

Dear Leo,

Cherry blossoms are blooming here now. They're so beautiful. There are two trees by our apartment and we always see people taking pictures of the flowers. Everyone wants to capture them while they are here. Cherry blossom flowers bloom for a few weeks and then, they disappear. The tree goes from a soothing pink to the typical green. Your dad said the other day that cherry blossoms reminds him of you: they're so beautiful, so precious, but are only here for a short while. And while they're here, everyone enjoys them, everyone marvels over them. And then, they're gone. Just like you.

I'm always surprised by the things that remind us of you and even more surprised by the things that make us burst into tears. One of my friends is having a baby shower soon. I'm genuinely excited for her and am taking a big part in organizing the event. Last week, I went onto her baby registry to purchase her little baby boy some gifts and was taken aback. I saw some of the same clothes that I had purchased for you and that are now sitting in your drawer. Cute little outfits that you never wore..he will be wearing them. For a second I thought of giving him your clothes, but I quickly rejected that thought; I can't bring myself to do that. They are YOUR clothes. I didn't even want to purchase him any clothes. It makes no sense, I know, but the thought of buying clothes for another baby boy is just so difficult for me. So I bought him wipes and diapers.

I was at the dentist earlier this week and as he was looking at my chart he said "I see you have a history of miscarriage." It took all that I had to not cry as I told him "it was not a miscarriage...it was premature birth." I was so upset. I HAD to correct him and let him know that you were born, that you came into this world and then left. And people talk about miscarriage as if it was such a light topic. That too is painful and hard to deal with. It's not 'just a miscarriage'. As soon as I got out of the dentist's office, I broke down in tears. I can't even explain why, because I don't really know. I didn't expect the dentist to mention you, I didn't like that he said that in passing, as if it was nothing. I didn't like that he got it wrong and referred to your death as a miscarriage.

Like a cherry blossom, your existence was real, but ephemeral. I'm grateful that I got to cherish  you while you were with us.

Let him under your skin, then you begin to make it better

I spent the last 4 days in Las Vegas with 2 of my childhood friends. It was an attempt to run away, to have fun, to reconnect.

My flight there was mostly uneventful. It was a small plane with no in-flight entertainment. It was just me, my book and my thoughts, which of course, is never a good thing. As expected, I started thinking of all that I gained and lost in the last few months and then just burst into tears. 

The trip itself was good. The sun, the heat, the friendship, were all things that made me feel a little better, a little lighter.

Last night, we went to see a Cirque du Soleil show called "Love". It was centered around The Beattles music. It was so beautiful, so breathtaking. I loved every bit of it. But then came the song "Hey Jude" and, though it's a love song, it spoke to me. So there I was, in tears in the most unlikely of places. But it reminded me that all I need to do, is let Leo under my skin so that I can start to feel better. 

Hey Jude

Hey Jude, don't make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her into your heart
Then you can start to make it better

Hey Jude, don't be afraid
You were made to go out and get her
The minute you let her under your skin
Then you begin to make it better

And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah

Hey Jude, don't let me down
You have found her, now go and get her
Remember to let her into your heart
Then you can start to make it better

So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin
You're waiting for someone to perform with
And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do
The movement you need is on your shoulder
Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah yeah

Hey Jude, don't make it bad
Take a sad song and make it better
Remember to let her under your skin
Then you'll begin to make it
Better better better better better better, oh

Hard to Conceive

Dearest Leo,

I have said many times that saying "you can have another baby" to someone whose baby died is a major faux pas. I read somewhere a post that said "My baby is not like a cookie, I can't just have another one". I think people say that to me because they believe I'm sad about not being a mother, that I'm sad about not having a baby...and to some extent, that is true. But more importantly, I'm sad that I lost you. I'm not sad that I lost a baby...I'm sad that I lost you Leo.

And I understand that another child would bring me happiness. So much happiness in fact, that I would hardly have time to think of how sad I am about not having you with me. But not thinking about being sad doesn't take away the pain that I feel about losing you. Not thinking of being sad is just a way to ignore or dismiss a fact that only a few understand: I will always be sad about losing my first child, my son, my baby. This is part of me now, it's part of my life.

But I can't pretend that I do not want another child. I do! I want a baby so bad. The kind of baby that I can take home  with me from the hospital. I want a child that I can cuddle with, kiss, hug and play with for the rest of my life and not for just 1 hour.

The making of this new child has become my whole world now and has been far from easy. My weeks are consumed by looking at the calendar, tracking my cycle, calculating my most fertile days, getting all anxious about my ovulation, and putting a lot of pressure on my husband and I to make it count. And then, impatiently waiting for the time to pee on the stick. Crossing my fingers and toes, hoping for the double pink lines. And then, not seeing the lines. And testing again and again until my period comes in...as if the result would be different with a new pregnancy test.  Next comes disappointment, anger, frustration, despair. A few days later, I'm back to wishing that days would go by faster so that I can finally be at my most fertile days again. My husband and I text each other about ovulation kits and pregnancy tests. It's so different from the texts that we used to send each other just a few months ago.

I've had 2 months of this trying to conceive cycle. I know, it's not much. Some people try for months, some even for years, before getting pregnant. But I can't wait that long. How can I be patient? I was pregnant and I didn't get to keep my baby. It's unfair that I'm back at square 1, which really feels like square -100 because I lost so much.

Now I'm waiting for a few days to go by before spending $40 on a series of pregnancy tests. I don't like this game of trying and trying and not seeing anything come out of it. I don't like this waiting game. I don't like getting a negative result on the same week that someone else announces their pregnancy...or their healthy newborn baby.

I don't like any of this.