A flicker of hope

December 11, 2012....the hope of a baby returns with the flicker of a heartbeat on an ultrasound screen.  My baby.  My rainbow baby, lil' sprout, as we are affectionately calling this baby until we find out what he/she is.  Not that the hope wasn't there when we found out about this baby on November 21st (the day before Thanksgiving), but there is such a "realness" behind seeing the heartbeat, especially when the last ultrasound you had with a baby showed nothing at all.  Or nothing that you could visibly pick out...and the tech refused to show you anything.

A baby.  Yes, a baby.  A second chance at bringing a baby home with me for keeps.  A possible July baby (to be exact).  There is absolutely nothing I want more in this world.  So, please bring on the nausea (and so he/she has).  Bring on the anxiety (oh, yes, already there).  And please bring on the hopefulness that this baby could be one that stays.  I am so attached already.  I am dreaming.  I am planning.  Imagining.  Pinning.  Thinking.  And all of the above on constant repeat.  I find that I have difficulty thinking of much else these days, which is absolutely impossible given my job and life.  However, it is my focus.  My life (well, most of it).  This is what is most important.  And that is why it consumes my every thought.

Consuming of anything in large quantities doesn't really mean it's a good thing.  I must admit that.  But because I am consumed with the thought of this baby and everything that goes with it, along comes the anxiety, stress and constant reminders of what was.  Even though I willingly asked for the nausea (see above), it also brings me back to the times when I was nauseous before.  It takes me to the days I had sitting and sleeping on a couch wondering if I would ever stop vomiting (sorry to be graphic) and worrying about what was happening to my body and to the baby.  There were days then where I could barely do anything...and then the stress of the pregnancy added to the stress of my marriage.  I think about how the nausea ended around 16-17 weeks, but that my baby didn't live much longer after that time.  Will I worry about that when the nausea ends this time around?  Wondering if the little heartbeat inside me is still flickering?

Added to the nausea is the fear/anxiety.  The majority of those out there who still read my blog know what this is like.  I have read your blogs.  Your Facebook posts.  Emails.  The fear is always there.  And the blissfulness is gone.  Gone are the days where I might have said, "when" but "if" has replaced that.  A co-worker of mine told me that 2013 is going to be a wonderful year for me and my family.  I looked at her, and replied with "I hope."  Yes, I dream.  And yes, I do plan.  But some of that scares me.  It scares me to be so attached.  It scares me to imagine what "could" happen.  I know I can do this.  It's why I tried again.  Because I know I can handle whatever comes my way, and seeing all those rainbows out there has renewed my hope that good things can happen.  But, I also know that bad things can happen again.  I have seen that too.

So, as I share this post and this news with all of you.  I ask for your prayers.  I ask for your comments or messages of hope.  I ask for you to share this journey with me and with lil' sprout.  I also ask for you to keep this to yourself and the babyloss world.  Please no Facebook wall posts.  I love all of you and your support, but I am not ready for that part of my world to know yet.  Many close friends and family of mine (not BLMs) have been told, and I often find it frustrating the way they celebrate it.  The advice comes.  The desire to see me celebrate and smile all the time comes.  Believe me....I (we) are so, so happy.  Blessed beyond belief.  But I have done this pregnancy thing.  22 weeks to be exact.  I know that right now there are people I need more than anyone else.  And that includes so many of you.  You are here because you know my story.  You love Kennedy.  And you "get it."  Not only is lil' spout my flicker of hope, but you are also....you and your babies.  Each and every one of them.  I can't do this without you.   I really truly believe that.

A visit from Patch

This blog post is way, way, way overdue....so in an open apology to the amazing, Ter, I must say that what she does and provides to many bereaved families around the world is so sweet.  Please find the story about Patch (Patches little brother) here.  I was blessed to have Ter find a little brother for the missing Patches right around the time of Kennedy's heaven date.  When he arrived, I was just thrilled that he had finally arrived (safely) and I would now have some time to make memories with him.  Little did I realize that time would fly by....and over a month later, I would finally have time to write about his visit.  Patch came at a busy time for me, but I was honored to have him first and also receive the sweet understanding of Ter in how long it took me to send him on his way and write about his journey.

In my house, Patch found his way to many special places where Kennedy's presence is felt and recognized.   Here are a couple of shots of him at those specific spots.

Patch with Kennedy Bear (a sweet gift from Molly Bears)

Patch on Kennedy's memory box full of her very special things

Patch in Kennedy's Korner with keepsakes made by amazing BLMs and friends

Patch then made his way to Kennedy's other sacred spot here in Madison. The place where she sleeps and plays with all of her other angel friends. This is the place where her soul is at peace. And a place where I find peace too.

As a final added bonus, Patch had one final place to take a picture at before he was sent on his way to another special family.  This picture really sums up another very important part of my life that has been gaining some closure and healing, especially without having my little girl here on Earth with me.  It also explains how busy I have been.... (not an excuse, just an explanation).  

Patch with the cake topper from my November 3rd, 2012 wedding.  

What an absolute privilege it was to have Patch come visit during this extra special time in my life.  It had been a long wait for him (including a missing bear search), but I loved his time with me and know he will help heal the hearts of many on his journey.  Thank you again, Ter, for creating such a beautiful idea that will touch many lives the way it touched mine.  ((hugs))

Another celebration of life....

Dearest little girl of mine,

You have entered the world of "three" today...which officially makes you a little girl (no longer a baby), although you will always be my baby.  I cannot believe that three years have come and gone.  Three years without your little heart beating here on Earth.  Three years without you with me.  How can it be that long?

I imagine you had a party in Heaven today.  Possibly your first party with all your little angel friends.  I am guessing that Grams was up there planning the whole thing.  That kind of makes me laugh imagining her planning a party since she wasn't the most social person.  Her idea of a party was ordering everything from Sentry....I wonder if that is what she did for you today.  :)  I hope you had a beautiful cake (if you even like cake, since your mommy doesn't but your daddy does).  Maybe you had an ice cream cake...more my style?!  Whatever you did, I cannot get the image of what you might look like out of my head.  A little girl....dressed in pink....a head full of light brown curls.  I picture you with blue eyes...but you could have been blessed with lucky "brown."  Your eyes are full of curiosity and wonder.  You have so much to think about....so many lives to watch over...so much love to give to all you surround yourself with and to all that think about you daily.

Kennedy, you are so, so loved.  You are so remembered and valued.  Your life made a difference then and continues to do so today.  Sometimes I am in amazement of the type of role you have not only played in my life but in the lives of others.  I hope you watch from above from time to time.....enough to know that you are being thought of and celebrated.  I realize you are busy up in Heaven...catching up with loved ones and learning to play with your friends.  But I do know you are watching.  I can feel it.  Your presence is always with me in everything I do.

A little over a week ago, your little life played a huge impact on the 2nd year of the "Forever in Our Hearts Remembrance Day" event which takes place in Madison (your hometown).  I plan and am a part of that event because of you.  The idea formed because of you.  I wanted to celebrate and remember your life with others who had experienced similar stories to yours and mine.  I wanted to bring awareness to others about the impact that one little life can have no matter how long they are here with you.  That is the gift you have given to me, Kennedy.  The gift of sharing.  Celebrating.  Remembering.  Caring.  Supporting.  Many people came to the event to honor their children.  Many of your mommy's friends came to honor you and to support me.  It was beautiful, KK.  Absolutely amazing.  I am heartbroken that there needs to be this kind of event at all, but I am so blessed to be a part of it and know that it was started because of the impact you had on me.

Sweet girl, my heart is so overwhelmed with love for you.  I truly know that there will always be a piece of me missing because you are not here with me, but that piece continues to heal and find ways to celebrate who you are.  As you know, your mommy's life is all kinds of crazy right now, but a very good crazy.  A happy crazy.  You will always play a role in that, my little chickadee.  I promise.  I smile more often when I think of you than I shed tears.  Imagining who you are makes me smile and know that you are happy and at peace.  You are being taken care of.  I know this.  

Happy heavenly 3rd birthday, Miss Kennedy Kate. Fly high and soar....make your dreams in Heaven come true.

Love to you always,
Mommy

You may say I'm a dreamer...?

Recently, I had a pretty eye-opening conversation with my significant other (yes, I haven't officially posted about him...but there is one.  And there has been one for awhile now.  Awhile? Yes, at this point and at this stage in my life, I don't really keep track of months.  The girl who remembers just about every date doesn't remember how long it has been?  Nope.  And it's okay.  Because the point is, he makes me happy.  He accepts my life before.  Acknowledges my daughter.  And makes me want to be a better person.  I can see a future with him.  Sorry to be brief.  But it is an update, after all.  There will be more about him throughout this post, so stay tuned.)  But anyways, back to this conversation.  (Side note again: we have known each other for awhile before the "dating" was official, so he knows about this whole "grief" thing.)  We were on our way home from the Brewers game.  It has been absolutely sweltering in Wisconsin, so I think we both might have been a little on edge during this conversation; but nevertheless, the conversation took place.  We have been talking a lot about the future (again...time moves faster the older you are...and maybe the more you have lived).  Marriage.  Kids.  Money.  House.  Careers.  Etc.  This conversation kind of encompassed them all.  However, the kids part took precedence.  Mainly, because we both know it is our number one priority at this point (or at some point) in our lives.  I want a rainbow baby.  He wants to be a dad.  So, in talking about the future, he brings up buying a new car or house.  I am a little taken aback by this because I don't see the reasoning right now to do that, especially given our current working locations and financial situations.  He says, "I am just thinking about it...and wanting to talk it through."  I then go on to explain that if we really are planning to be together (which I know we are), then I don't know if buying a car is in our best interest at this point.  Although, I do mention that if a car is really needed (since I know so little about cars), then he does need to go ahead and start looking.  However before I can really stop my mind from starting to race the conversation evolves into the "What ifs?" then.  And they all came straight from my mouth.  What if we need money to take care of fertility issues?  What if I lose another baby?  What if we need money to adopt?  What if the baby is sick or needs extra care?  What if.....  What if.

And so it goes.  The big "What ifs?"  Seriously.  When did I become such a pessimist?  Or is that a realist?  I don't know.  Anyways, after all of those thoughts went through my mind and out my mouth, I could tell that his mind was now racing too.  But not in the way I thought it would.  He didn't look scared.  He didn't look angry.  He looked agitated.  Frustrated.  And then he looked at me and said, "When did you stop being a dreamer?"  WHAT?!!! I am a dreamer.  Right?!!  I dream about world peace.  I dream about the end to cancer.  I dream for all people to have food on their tables and a place to sleep. I dream about every kid getting a good, high quality education and live in a world where they feel safe.  I dream about people coming together, holding hands and singing, "Kum Ba Yah" or "We Shall Overcome."  And that's all people coming together.  So, see.... I am a dreamer.  Right?!!  And I do dream about me.  About what my life could look like.  But my significant other was right....in some ways.  The dreams about my life are skewed.  They are tainted with darkness and the "What ifs."  To realize this that day in the car stung a little bit.  Maybe it stung because I realized he was right.  Maybe it stung because I thought my significant other already knew this about me.  Or maybe it stung because my life has been made up of so much unhappiness (lately) that to imagine happiness is a little bit scarier than I ever thought it would be.  It was probably a little bit of all of those feelings combined.

We then went out to talk a little bit about what he saw when I talked about a future.  He said he hears me talk about children.  Even getting pregnant.  But then there is always the "if" or "but."  I then tried to explain to him how my naivety has been taken from me, especially when it comes to pregnancy and bringing home a take-home baby.  My odds right now are 0/1.   0%.  That is a terrible percentage to have.  I told him how I am scared, but excited.  Hopeful, yet cautious.  I really don't see it being any other way given what I have been through.  I have those feelings about everything.  Not only pregnancy.  Life.  Scared, but excited about what is yet to come.  Hopeful, yet cautious about what could happen next.  I express that as "realism".  But maybe it is pessimism.  Even if it is, so be it.  This is the way I am.  I cannot help it.  I am better than I was before.  I know this.  But I cannot go back to the way I once was.  And until you truly experience the loss of a child, I don't think you can ever really understand how scary it is, and how hurt and jaded you become because of the situation.

As we had this conversation that day in the car, I knew this was everything he knew already.  But I also started to see a different side to his argument or conversation point.  The part where he wishes things could have been different.  That the pain wasn't there.  That "if" there ever is a chance for us to have a take-home baby from a healthy pregnancy, it is going to be a lot of work.  This isn't something that he is scared of.  I know that.  But it's something that makes the prospect of having a child a little bit jaded for him too.  Unfortunately.  He's walked the road of loss with me, as a friend and now as my partner.  I just think he wishes that there were more dreams occurring in my mind than pessimistic thoughts.  That the idea of moving forward in my life wasn't marred by continued obstacles and the past.  I wish that too....but it was it is.  That's that whole acceptance piece that I have been experiencing lately.  I cannot change what has already happened, but I can move forward taking with me the lessons and moments learned from those past situations. Those lessons and moments brought me to this moment in time.   A moment when I can finally dream about a future.  A future with someone.  A future that may bring me a take-home baby.  A future that I have been waiting for.  Aching for.  Wishing for.  Somehow.  Some way.  Sure, it's got the obstacles...and there will be the many road bumps, maybe even more heartchaches.  But man...what a beautiful story it will be if everything really does come true.  I cannot even begin to imagine...but yet, I want to.  I want to dream.

You Are My Narrative

Dearest Kennedy Kate,

Just recently I attended a conference on Infant Mental Health for four days.  On a side note, sweet girl, your mama finally found something she is truly interested in to pursue post undergrad and it really makes me happy.  Plus, I have the support of many wonderful people (other than family) who are cheering me on and helping me out through it.  Okay...back to the conference.  So, it is Tuesday of the conference.  Day 3.  I have been overwhelmed by the stories, case studies, history of what mental health at the infant/early childhood level is like.  It shook me to my very core on Monday....almost to the point where I wasn't sure I could go back and do another day.  But nevertheless, Tuesday comes.  And off I go back to Milwaukee for the conference.

Tuesday morning starts off somewhat rocky again with the rollercoaster of emotions taking over until one part of the day.  The part of the day where someone asked about my pin.  The pin I wear in honor of you.  My pink rainbow ribbon pin that a very special friend of your mama's made for me and others like me who live their lives without their babies in their arms.  So, one of new friends asks about my pin and if it has significance.  I explain that it is a remembrance pin for babies who have died through pregnancy, stillbirth or in early infancy.  I then told them about you.  My little girl.  The little girl I lost at 22 weeks.  All three women were a little caught off guard about my story and then quickly apologized and showed empathy.  One of them even said that if things ever became too difficult during this program (specifically when we talk about pregnancy), she wanted to let me know that she was here to support me.  I appreciated the comfort talking about you gave me and how I was able to share your story so early on in my relationship with these new people.

As the day moved on, I thought about how quickly I had shared my story of you, especially with people I had only known for about 2 days.  Yet, it came so easily, Kennedy.  It just felt like another story of my life.  Like I was talking about a trip I had taken.  Typically, I hate thinking how rote it becomes for me to tell the story of your life.  Because it shouldn't be easy.  But it is.  It's easy because it's my life.  You are my life.  Which leads me into the next part of this blog post.

The nationally recognized speaker (who had rocked me to my very core) was leading a break-out session later on in the day.  My program required all of us "newbies" to sit in on his session.  During his presentation, he shared a story about a man who was from Poland who had been taken in by another family during the Holocaust.  The man (then a boy) lived in a wardrobe type closet for 18 months with only the man, woman and children bringing him food.  Everything was done in this closet.  The boy was never allowed to go out.  After those 18 months, the war must have ended and the little boy was given the opportunity to go off on his own and find other members of his immediate family.  According to the man, this family that he had lived with had saved his life.  Only his life had been quite terrible living in this wardrobe all day/all night for a year.  Can you only imagine?  This boy could have been scarred by the situation.  Actually, he probably was scarred.  And scared.  This was a traumatic event which probably gave him symptoms of PTSD.  Yet, the boy/man was able to move on past the event.  He lived through it and was given the chance to live again.  And he truly lived.  He lived to love and marry.  He lived to have a family of his own.  However, as he indicated in his video interview, this event was his story.  It was his narrative that made him who he was today.  He wished it didn't have to happen the way it did.  But because it did, he lived to tell about it, and eventually live out his life and be happy.

After watching this video and hearing this man's story, the speaker asked us to think about our narrative.  Our story.  A story that has changed us.  Or something that has made us who we are today.  Kennedy, I didn't even have to stop and think about it like others did.  You are my story.  You are the one person in my life who has completely changed it.  What happened to me, I would never wish on anyone else, yet it happened.  I have come to accept it.  And because of you, I am who I am today.  And I am accepting that too.  There are people who have come into my life who I would not have without you, yet I cannot imagine them not in my life now.  And there are people who have disappeared from my life because of you that I don't truly believe belonged in my life at this point anyways.  They played their role in my life, and maybe it's their time to bow out and make room for others.  That's another acceptance.  The other part of my life that I have learned to finally accept is the marriage to your daddy.  Kennedy, for as long as I live, I will never say that the ending of our marriage was due to the loss of you.  However, due to the loss of you, we became different people.  People who grew apart, and, unfortunately, were never able to find ourselves back to each other.  However, as I indicated before, special people have come into my life since then that have shown me how to be happy again.  And maybe even love again.

The story of you and your role in my life has impacted me more in the past three years than anything else in the last 30.  I cannot imagine my life without you in it.  You may not be here, but everything I do, I have you in my heart and mind.  You are never far away.  I truly believe I am a better, more thoughtful, stronger person because of you.  I think I am starting to find my place in the world again....or maybe just for the first time.  As I have posted before, there are parts/events of my life before your impact that are blurry.  I am forgetting that life.  And I am "ok" with that.  I cannot go back to that life, so why bother worrying about what it was like, who I was with, etc.  If those people and events are part of my life now, then that is the way it is meant to be.  If not, so be it.  I cannot change who I am.  I cannot change what has happened.  You are my narrative.  You are the story I want to share.  Kennedy, you will always be the missing piece to my puzzle, yet you are also the piece that I always want to miss because I don't want the complete puzzle without you being a part of it.

One of the quotes, the speaker at my conference brought up was similar to the one I am posting below.  "It is your REACTION to ADVERSITY, not the adversity itself, that DETERMINES how your LIFE'S STORY will develop, " quoted by Dieter F. Uchtdorf.  He brought this up when telling the story of the man from Poland and after we talked about our narratives.  It really is about how you react.  And in various circumstances, we react differently depending on who we are.  The loss of you, sweet girl, was my most traumatic adversity.  And, at times, my reactions were all over the place, which, in turn has caused other events to occur.  But, I believe my reaction to it now, is leading me down a path that I am comfortable with.  Maybe that is the path of acceptance.  It might also be the path of happiness.
 

Thank you, Kennedy, for being my narrative....a vital part of my story.  You brought me to the place in my life where I am now.  The clouds have parted.  I am breathing easier.  I see bluer skies.  Sunshine.  Sure, the tough days are there brought on by triggers that are completely out of my control.  But those are also a part of my life now too.  Those triggers are there because of that missing puzzle piece.  You.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.  My daughther, you are the most precious gift I have ever been given.  That is why you are my narrative.  The gift of your life will always have an effect on my life, and for that, I am truly blessed.

Love you always, baby of mine.
XOXO,
Mommy

Am I really "ok?"

What is the point of "being ok?"  It's not happy.  It's not sad.   It's not even angry or frustrated.  What really is "ok"?  According to the definition, "Ok" is: Satisfactory but not exceptionally or especially good.  ie. "the flight was OK".  


What?! Satisfactory?  Really.... is that where I am?  Today is not the best day for me to think about being satisfactory, maybe.  Satisfactory....let's look that up next.  Satisfactory is: Fulfilling expectations or needs; acceptable, though not outstanding or perfect.  


Yep, I really didn't think so.  Fulfilling of needs...yep, probably.  Fulfilling of expectations.  Not even close.  Closer than I was.  Yes.  But close.  Close is tomorrow.  Close is an hour from now.  That is what close is.  I am not close.  Therefore, my expectations are not being met.  And, I am not "ok."  I am nothing.  I have no words.  I don't know how to teach my emotion.  I just "am." How I ever thought I was "ok" is kind of a joke, but I must have had at some point. I didn't know the definition then.  Because if I was there before I don't know how I am here now.  Although, life has happened again.  Maybe that is it...


Yesterday, I experienced the birth of yet another baby of my friends being born.  I am starting to think I have too many friends. Or wait...too many friends that are having babies. That has to be it.  Too many friends having babies.  (sorry to all of my blms having babies).  Healthy babies.  Happy babies.  Happy families.  Happy friends.  Happy parties.  And then...there is me.  Happy is not a word I use often.  Maybe in..."happy birthday".  But that is about it.    I hate to be a downer.  I hate to sound pathetic.  Sad.  Lonely.  Seflish.  Pitiful.  Jealous.  But I am.  I want my friends to have healthy babies.  Happy babies.  Happy family.  Etc. Etc.  I really do.  Because I love my friends.  Most of them.  But I'd be lying if I said it doesn't hurt.  IT HURTS EVERY SINGLE TIME.  EVERY SINGLE DAY.  


I never ever thought that my crazy party friend.  The one guy that I thought may have a very difficult time getting married because he just enjoyed partying, dating, hanging out too much, etc. would be the same guy who got married less than 2 years ago and now has a beautiful baby girl that was delivered by his amazing wife on his birthday.  What an amazing gift!  How do people get so lucky? Honestly.  I want to know.  I want to know what I did.  How did my life get to this point?  


Again, I will emphasize my unhappiness with a major "ick."  I hate this feeling.  I have been here before.  And I realize part of it is just to due to the timing.  Babies being born.  School ending.  Stress level high.  Hormone levels all over the place (I will write about that a different time).  But it all adds up to this moment.  A moment I wish wasn't here at all.  To feel like this is not "ok."  It's still not really "ok" after all this time.  I have positives, and I recognize those and will write about those at a different time too.  It's just the moment.  A moment where I needed to vent.  Write.  Share.  Wallow in my sadness.  This is where I am right now.  In this moment.  And this is not an "ok" time.  I am neither satisfactory nor especially good.  I hate this moment.  I want it to be different.  I wish I could change it.  But I can't.  It's the hand I was dealt.  The pain is there.  It will always be there.  It lessens every once and awhile...but it's always there.  There is no cure.  Or if there is...I haven't found it yet.  Maybe someday?  Maybe sometime?  And if I do...will I be "ok" then?  Really, truly "ok?"  

If it happened again

A couple of months ago, I decided to see my naturopathic doctor again to discuss the possibility of looking at my hormone levels due to the consistent and extremely painful discomfort that occurs right around ovulation or my "most fertile days". Although the test is quite expensive, I knew that it was the route that I wanted to take to at least see what could possibly be going on with me. I just recently sent the results of a month long saliva (gross...I know) test and am now awaiting an appointment to discuss the results with my doctor. I really don't know why I am filled with worry...or fear. I want answers. I want something to go on...so that I can look and figure out what will help. Up until now, several doctors have been drawing at straws...throwing meds my way, offering diet changes, etc. Nothing has helped. And I need help. I am sick of this pain. The pain that, coincidentally, started about 2 months after I lost my daughter. The pain that I have now been dealing with for over 2 years. It needs to end because it is a constant reminder. A bad reminder. I don't need anymore bad reminders. I have enough of those. But because of this pain, it always takes me back to what would or could I have done differently. Which also leads to me the thought of "if it happened again..."

If it happened again, I would do so many things differently. I would deliver...regardless of how far along I was. The natural progression of pregnancy is to deliver. My body was preparing to do that with Kennedy. When she died, that progression was hindered, but not completely stopped until I had the d&e. It is unnatural for a baby to be taken from your body the way mine was. It didn't make sense. I think my body knew that, which may be the cause of all my pain now. No, I do not know that for sure, and I may never know but it is the thought process I have. After delivering, I would want to see my baby. Hold my baby (if possible). Make as many memories as I can regardless of what she/he would look like. I regret that every single day because I was afraid. I didn't know any better. And I didn't have a lot of support. No one argued with me. No one said, "You should want to see her." So, I didn't, but I would if it ever happened again.

I would know all the "right" things to do in a very horrible situation. I would hold a memorial. I would put together an obituary. I would make sure others knew about him/her to focus on the "realness" of the situation and the human being that had been lost. But, as I begin to think about everything that I would do differently if it happened again, do realize how hard it would be to do all the "right" things for one but not the other. Where is the equality in that? How would that be fair to Kennedy? My first born. How could a mother choose to do things differently and not equally? What an absolutely terrible thing to ponder. Equality for two dead babies. But, I guess in this world nothing is off limits...including equality for dead babies. It makes me sick just thinking about it. But I know it happens. I am sorry to all of you who have to go through this....not only once, but more than once. How you survived...I will never know. Or...I hope to never know. At this point, I am still in the mindset that if I had the chance, I would do it all over again. Try to have a baby. Be "Joyfully" pregnant. Make memories as soon as possible. But if... If. I have absolutely no idea.

There are days....

There are days...
I hurt more than others.
I hurt still after all this time.
I hurt because I am overwhelmed by the world.
I hurt because I can only handle so much.
I hurt because I miss you.

There are days...
I worry about what the future holds.
I worry about the past.
I worry about what I did today.
I worry about my family, friends, and loved ones.
I worry about you.

There are days...
I dream about what could have been.
I dream about change.
I dream about a better life.
I dream about finding happiness and starting over.
I dream about you and what you are doing.

There are days...
I imagine my life being different.
I imagine what you are doing.
I imagine what you look like.
I imagine how much you would bring to my life if you were here.
I imagine you.

There are days....
I want to touch you, hold you, be your mama here on Earth.
I want to show you off on Facebook.
I want to talk about you with everyone.
I want you to be healthy and strong.
I just want you.

There are days....
Yes, there are days.

Love and miss you, baby girl.  <3

Adjusting my sails...

*This post was started in February...and completed in April.  So it feels a little discombobulated when reading the top half to the bottom half.  Bear with me.  And bear with this post.  I loved the quote too much to give up on the half-written attempt, so I stuck with it.  But I definitely am in a different place than where I was in February.

"She stood in the storm, 

and when the wind did not blow her away,

she adjusted her sails."

~Elizabeth Edwards

I have been standing in the storm for quite awhile now.  Maybe even too long, but who is counting.  We have all been through a lot, so please let me retract that last statement.  I have been standing in my storm for awhile. There are puddles at the bottom of my feet...maybe in the case of a Wisconsin girl, there are even piles of snow.  And it feels like a very long time. But it takes a long time to adjust sails that have been in place for days, months, years.  It's hard to adjust.  It's taking a lot of time.  And energy.  

Energy to change.  Energy to adjust.  That has to come from within.  There has to be a huge desire to make something different than it already is.  And for someone who often feels like she has been hit by a "mack truck" of sadness and loss, I have found that sometimes I don't have the energy to do much more.  

Right now, I feel like I am in a crazy place.  Stuck.  Stuck between this "old" Alissa and the "new" Alissa.  The "new" Alissa was more prevalent about six months after the loss of Kennedy.  And I figured the "old" Alissa was never to be seen or heard from again, but she has started to resurface.  Especially in the last four or five months.  I feel more like "her" than I have in over two years.  Which is really weird because I almost feel so much like "her" that it's like I forget all that has happened.  Of course, I am quickly entered into the painful past when I see where I live, Kennedy's Korner, or just feel that ache of past experiences.  But it's still an interesting "stage" to say the least.  Does this seem possible?  Could I really be going back to that life?  But is it the life before my daughter?  The life without my husband?  

It has taken a lot of energy and time to get to this point in my grief.  It's a very weird place, though.  I can't seem to figure out where my "place" really is.  I am doing what I can to continue to honor and remember my daughter, but I don't feel the need to see a grief counselor or attend support groups.  I haven't needed to see any kind of counselor since the divorce.  I find that I don't need to blog as much or talk to others about what I am feeling or experiencing related to the death of Kennedy.  I feel connected most to those who have also experienced loss still, but the conversations don't have to entirely circulate around the children that we don't have.


So, this is an adjustment of sorts in my life.  An adjustment that I really didn't think would ever happen.  I am adjusting to my life as a babyloss mother.  A divorcee.  Etc.  But this adjustment feels ok...good even.  Like I have just been to the chiropractor to get an adjustment for the pain in my neck.  And I stepped out of the office into the sunlight and actually felt stronger and healthier than I have in forever.  But I had to make that adjustment.  I had to take steps and energy to be healthier.  To be ok.  I had to adjust my sails rather than let the grief overcome me.  And it did overcome me at times...and those were the times when I wanted it to just take me away.  Those were some very dark days.  But I kept fighting...fighting and adjusting to the storm that kept raining/hailing/snowing. 


Which leads me to where I am today.  I am at the point where the storm is clearing.  The sun is just on the horizon.  A rainbow might even be visible by some depending on how hard you look.   There is debris on the ground...a sign of what the storm left behind.  There is a lighter feeling in the air.  People are ready to step outside.  Experience the world again.  Experience it on solid, safer ground.  I am ready for that and am experiencing that.  I have stepped outside.    It is beautiful out here.  Yes, I see the debris.  I will always see the debris. But I see the sunshine and rainbow too.