Christmas is harder, since you left.
I found out that I was pregnant with you on December 24th, 2007. I spent all of Christmas Day just smiling. It was still just a secret between you and I.
Last Christmas was so difficult. It was so hard to be excited about the birth of a Son, when all that I wanted was to be able to be sharing a first Christmas with our second son. I cried most of December. I don't remember much of last Christmas Day except that we went out to your grave. The marker was covered with snow, and we had to sweep it off. It was cold.
We were going to a Christmas party last weekend, and your brother was talking about you. He said "I wish Christopher could come to the Christmas party. I miss Christopher more at Christmas time."
I sometimes wonder whose heart is more broken because of your death - mine or your brother's.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Monday, November 02, 2009
All Souls Day
Today, it was All Souls Day. Last year, I went out to your grave and put flowers on the grave. Today, I wanted to, but I had a feeling that I wouldn't make it out to the grave and I didn't. I'm sorry.
But we did talk about you. We were talking about relatives that had died. Your daddy told some stories about his grandparents, and I told stories about mine, and your brother, your sweet brother who SO wishes you were here, said "I have some memories about someone who died. I remember Christopher. I remember that he was in your tummy. I remember that he died and his body went to the cemetery. I remember that we celebrated his birthday. I remember that he is my brother."
He remembers you. He may have never met you. And while your daddy and I saw you, we never really got a chance to meet you either. But we remember. Your sisters remember. We all remember. Even if I don't get out to your grave, please don't think that it isn't because we forgot. We remember.
But we did talk about you. We were talking about relatives that had died. Your daddy told some stories about his grandparents, and I told stories about mine, and your brother, your sweet brother who SO wishes you were here, said "I have some memories about someone who died. I remember Christopher. I remember that he was in your tummy. I remember that he died and his body went to the cemetery. I remember that we celebrated his birthday. I remember that he is my brother."
He remembers you. He may have never met you. And while your daddy and I saw you, we never really got a chance to meet you either. But we remember. Your sisters remember. We all remember. Even if I don't get out to your grave, please don't think that it isn't because we forgot. We remember.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
I'm finding a place lately
where I think that I'm finally accepting your death, and finally accepting that I will have no babies.
For a long time, I just missed you. I didn't want to have another baby, I just wanted you to be alive, and for me to be able to give birth to you, and for me to be able to raise you. I still want that. But I am getting to that place, it's starting to be long enough ago, that I can accept that it can't/won't happen.
And then of course, there have been more babies. Many of my friends, and even my sister, has had a baby since you left. That was hard. Sometimes, it really, really, really hurt. It seemed so unfair. And after you had been gone a year, there was a bit of a change, where I found myself missing you, but also just wanting to have a baby. There was such a hole in my heart from where you left, and it was just so hard and sad to end my childbearing days with your loss. I didn't want it to end that way. I really wanted to have another child. I had always wanted to have four children. And so many people had at least four children. Why couldn't it be me?? But every time I thought about it, I also thought how it couldn't happen. I was almost 42 when you left. I'm 43 now. Things are not the same in many, many things in my life, and there are reasons that I just cannot have another child. And there are reasons that I can't adopt. I knew in my head that I would not have another child, but it was still a struggle every day. And now, I'm finally beginning to accept that it can't/won't happen.
And I'm not completely over it. I probably never will be. But eighteen months later, I'm coming to a place. One where I'm still sad about it, still think about you every day, but to a place where I can go to the store without tearing up when I see a large family. A place where I don't think about when a baby would be due if I got pregnant this week. A place where I am able to spend a little more time appreciating my children on earth. A time where it feels o.k. to remember you without being overcome and unable to function. A time when I can get you a pumpkin for Halloween and make you an ornament for Christmas, but that I don't feel SO sad about that you aren't here to share the holiday that I am unable to really enjoy the holiday.
But I will always remember you. Don't worry that one day that I'll come to a place where I have forgotten you. I will never reach that place.
For a long time, I just missed you. I didn't want to have another baby, I just wanted you to be alive, and for me to be able to give birth to you, and for me to be able to raise you. I still want that. But I am getting to that place, it's starting to be long enough ago, that I can accept that it can't/won't happen.
And then of course, there have been more babies. Many of my friends, and even my sister, has had a baby since you left. That was hard. Sometimes, it really, really, really hurt. It seemed so unfair. And after you had been gone a year, there was a bit of a change, where I found myself missing you, but also just wanting to have a baby. There was such a hole in my heart from where you left, and it was just so hard and sad to end my childbearing days with your loss. I didn't want it to end that way. I really wanted to have another child. I had always wanted to have four children. And so many people had at least four children. Why couldn't it be me?? But every time I thought about it, I also thought how it couldn't happen. I was almost 42 when you left. I'm 43 now. Things are not the same in many, many things in my life, and there are reasons that I just cannot have another child. And there are reasons that I can't adopt. I knew in my head that I would not have another child, but it was still a struggle every day. And now, I'm finally beginning to accept that it can't/won't happen.
And I'm not completely over it. I probably never will be. But eighteen months later, I'm coming to a place. One where I'm still sad about it, still think about you every day, but to a place where I can go to the store without tearing up when I see a large family. A place where I don't think about when a baby would be due if I got pregnant this week. A place where I am able to spend a little more time appreciating my children on earth. A time where it feels o.k. to remember you without being overcome and unable to function. A time when I can get you a pumpkin for Halloween and make you an ornament for Christmas, but that I don't feel SO sad about that you aren't here to share the holiday that I am unable to really enjoy the holiday.
But I will always remember you. Don't worry that one day that I'll come to a place where I have forgotten you. I will never reach that place.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
It was the 2nd Walk I've gone to since you left . . .
October 15th is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Rememberance Day. Well, I remember you every day, of course, but ever since you died, I've tried to go to the Walk to Remember sponsored by the Pregnancy and Infant Grief Support Group offered through my local hospital. I've attended the group a few times over the years - a few times after my loss in 2006, and for a year after you died. But I knew that I would be there for the Walk, and it was held today.
For the Walk to Remember, parents, children, grandparents, friends, all put signs on their back that have the name of the child that they are remembering and each of us carry a balloon. I went, and I took your brother and sisters. We walked for about a half a mile - mostly on a trail that goes all the way through town. We stopped at a clearing and the leaders read the names of the children that we were remembering. And then we released the balloons. It always make me cry, and today it was no exception.
Then we walked back to the hospital garden, just off the chapel. We listened to a lovely song called "Remember Me", and then people read poems and thoughts. Your sister, the one who would have been 6 1/2 years older than you wanted to say a poem but she was too scared, so she whispered it in my ear and then I said it. I cried through most of it. It is simple, but sweet.
Christopher, oh, Christopher.
How I wish I could see you.
Christopher.
I know you are in heaven.
I'll always love you.
We all love you. And miss you. And remember you.
Every day.
For the Walk to Remember, parents, children, grandparents, friends, all put signs on their back that have the name of the child that they are remembering and each of us carry a balloon. I went, and I took your brother and sisters. We walked for about a half a mile - mostly on a trail that goes all the way through town. We stopped at a clearing and the leaders read the names of the children that we were remembering. And then we released the balloons. It always make me cry, and today it was no exception.
Then we walked back to the hospital garden, just off the chapel. We listened to a lovely song called "Remember Me", and then people read poems and thoughts. Your sister, the one who would have been 6 1/2 years older than you wanted to say a poem but she was too scared, so she whispered it in my ear and then I said it. I cried through most of it. It is simple, but sweet.
Christopher, oh, Christopher.
How I wish I could see you.
Christopher.
I know you are in heaven.
I'll always love you.
We all love you. And miss you. And remember you.
Every day.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Thinking of You Today . . .
Well, I think of you everyday, but today, it was even more.
Your brother is heartbroken that you are gone. Today he kept crying because he misses you. He wishes that he could see you. He wishes that you were alive. He wishes that he could be a big brother to his baby brother.
I wish that he could too. I just kept telling him that I miss you too. I wish that we could see you. I wish that you hadn't had to go. And I wish that I could have seen my two sons playing, hugging, sleeping.
If you had lived, and if you would have been been born around your due date, we would have been celebrating your first birthday a few weeks ago. I'm sure that your brother would have tried to talk you into having a fire fighter party, just like him.
He loves you.
We love you.
Your brother is heartbroken that you are gone. Today he kept crying because he misses you. He wishes that he could see you. He wishes that you were alive. He wishes that he could be a big brother to his baby brother.
I wish that he could too. I just kept telling him that I miss you too. I wish that we could see you. I wish that you hadn't had to go. And I wish that I could have seen my two sons playing, hugging, sleeping.
If you had lived, and if you would have been been born around your due date, we would have been celebrating your first birthday a few weeks ago. I'm sure that your brother would have tried to talk you into having a fire fighter party, just like him.
He loves you.
We love you.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Sometimes I check on this blog just hoping
that things have changed. That Christopher really didn't die.
I know it will never happen. But Oh, How I Wish It Would.
I found out some information a few weeks ago that helped explain why he probably died. It has helped a little to have a reason.
The blood work that I had done at 12 weeks showed that there was a 1 in 10 chance that Christopher had Trisomy 18. One of the things that the blood work shows is the PAPP-A level, which stands for Pregnancy Associated Plasma Protein A, which is produced by placental trophoblasts. A low level, like I had, can indicate Trisomy 13 or 18, but women with a low PAPP-A are also significantly more likely to experience fetal loss at less than or equal to 24 weeks, low birth weight, preeclampsia, gestational hypertension, preterm birth, stillbirth, preterm premature rupture of membranes, and placental abruption.
The amnio that I had at 16 weeks determined that he did not have Trisomy 18, but sadly, he was stillborn at almost 18 weeks, most likely due to the low PAPP-A level. During his pregnancy, I also had gestational hypertension, and placental previa, which was also likely caused by the low PAPP-A level.
I had placental issues with every pregnancy that went past 5 weeks after K's pregnancy. So I had 4 pregnancies with placental issues. With all of them, I had a subchorionic hemorrhage, but with Christopher, I also had a low PAPP-A level and placenta previa.
Subchorionic Hemorrhage or SCH is a gathering of blood between the membranes of the placenta and the uterus. There is no formal treatment for this blood clot but each doctor is different. Some suggest that you can continue with your everyday activities while others may suggest taking it easy. Some physicians even suggest bed rest. Surgery is not an option. Some doctors prefer a ‘wait and see’ approach while others choose to use medications. Blood thinners such as: aspirin, Lovenox (inj), Coumadin and Heparin (inj) are used in attempts to ‘bleed’ the clot out. Estrogen and Progesterone therapy is also sometimes used to aid in the development of the pregnancy. The current statistics for pregnancy loss with a SCH is 1-3%. This low percentage is related to large clots. Most pregnancies progress with no further complications. Most clots resolve on their own by 20 weeks of pregnancy. The clot either bleeds itself out or the body absorbs it. T
The SCH resolved itself with E and S's pregnancies. It is possible that my loss in 2006 was caused by the SCH. With Christopher, the SCH probably didn't cause the loss, but with all the other issues from the low PAPP-A level, it didn't help.
But I still wish I could go back. I wish I could be pregnant again and give birth to a healthy, live baby. I don't think I'll ever stop wishing that things had turned out differently.
I know it will never happen. But Oh, How I Wish It Would.
I found out some information a few weeks ago that helped explain why he probably died. It has helped a little to have a reason.
The blood work that I had done at 12 weeks showed that there was a 1 in 10 chance that Christopher had Trisomy 18. One of the things that the blood work shows is the PAPP-A level, which stands for Pregnancy Associated Plasma Protein A, which is produced by placental trophoblasts. A low level, like I had, can indicate Trisomy 13 or 18, but women with a low PAPP-A are also significantly more likely to experience fetal loss at less than or equal to 24 weeks, low birth weight, preeclampsia, gestational hypertension, preterm birth, stillbirth, preterm premature rupture of membranes, and placental abruption.
The amnio that I had at 16 weeks determined that he did not have Trisomy 18, but sadly, he was stillborn at almost 18 weeks, most likely due to the low PAPP-A level. During his pregnancy, I also had gestational hypertension, and placental previa, which was also likely caused by the low PAPP-A level.
I had placental issues with every pregnancy that went past 5 weeks after K's pregnancy. So I had 4 pregnancies with placental issues. With all of them, I had a subchorionic hemorrhage, but with Christopher, I also had a low PAPP-A level and placenta previa.
Subchorionic Hemorrhage or SCH is a gathering of blood between the membranes of the placenta and the uterus. There is no formal treatment for this blood clot but each doctor is different. Some suggest that you can continue with your everyday activities while others may suggest taking it easy. Some physicians even suggest bed rest. Surgery is not an option. Some doctors prefer a ‘wait and see’ approach while others choose to use medications. Blood thinners such as: aspirin, Lovenox (inj), Coumadin and Heparin (inj) are used in attempts to ‘bleed’ the clot out. Estrogen and Progesterone therapy is also sometimes used to aid in the development of the pregnancy. The current statistics for pregnancy loss with a SCH is 1-3%. This low percentage is related to large clots. Most pregnancies progress with no further complications. Most clots resolve on their own by 20 weeks of pregnancy. The clot either bleeds itself out or the body absorbs it. T
The SCH resolved itself with E and S's pregnancies. It is possible that my loss in 2006 was caused by the SCH. With Christopher, the SCH probably didn't cause the loss, but with all the other issues from the low PAPP-A level, it didn't help.
But I still wish I could go back. I wish I could be pregnant again and give birth to a healthy, live baby. I don't think I'll ever stop wishing that things had turned out differently.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Happy Birthday Christopher
Christopher is buried in the same cemetery that Dorothy Louise Gage was buried. Dorothy Gage was the niece of L. Frank Baum, the author of The Wizard of Oz. Dorothy was five months old at the time. The Baums were deeply affected by her death. L. Frank Baum was in the process of writing The Wizard of Oz at the time of her death, and he changed the name of the heroine in the book to Dorothy. In 1998, the cemetery dedicated an area of the cemetery for infants and called it the Dorothy Gage Memorial Garden.
When I found out about the history of the garden, it suddenly put a whole new meaning to the song "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." So everytime I hear the song, I think of Christopher. I hope that I'll be able to see you someday over the rainbow, my dear son.
Happy Birthday.
Friday, March 27, 2009
364 days ago
we met and said good-bye to Christopher. Today, we went to his grave to wish him a happy birthday. We put flowers on the grave - five red and one white and let balloons go - five blue and one happy birthday.
Tomorrow, on his actual birthday, we will light a candle given to me from a special friend, and we will sing "Happy Birthday" and we will eat cake.
We decided it would be better to have his actual birthday be more of a celebration, and the day before the day we went to the cemetery.
I don't have anything really philosophical to say to wrap up. I'm doing better and I'm starting to accept what has happened. But I'm still sad that he is gone. I still wish that we would have been celebrating him turning 7 months old (his due date was August 28th) with a trip to the park instead of putting flowers on his grave. 2008 was a very difficult year - with having to deal with the surprise of his pregnancy, the complications, his death, and dealing with all the things that happened as we tried to grieve.
Happy Birthday Christopher. We love you and miss you.
Tomorrow, on his actual birthday, we will light a candle given to me from a special friend, and we will sing "Happy Birthday" and we will eat cake.
We decided it would be better to have his actual birthday be more of a celebration, and the day before the day we went to the cemetery.
I don't have anything really philosophical to say to wrap up. I'm doing better and I'm starting to accept what has happened. But I'm still sad that he is gone. I still wish that we would have been celebrating him turning 7 months old (his due date was August 28th) with a trip to the park instead of putting flowers on his grave. 2008 was a very difficult year - with having to deal with the surprise of his pregnancy, the complications, his death, and dealing with all the things that happened as we tried to grieve.
Happy Birthday Christopher. We love you and miss you.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
I've been dreading this month all year
It is March. In only a few more weeks, it will be a year since I gave birth to my second son, Christopher. It will be a year since I had to say good-bye.
I was listening to an Elton John song a few days ago called "The Greatest Discovery."
Here are the lyrics.
Tread neat so small those little feet
Large hands lift him through the air
His puzzled head tipped to one side
I was listening to an Elton John song a few days ago called "The Greatest Discovery."
Here are the lyrics.
Peering out of tiny eyes
The grubby hands that gripped the rail
Wiped the window clean of frost
As the morning air laid on the latch
A whistle awakened someone there
Next door to the nursery just down the hall
A strange new sound you never heard before
A strange new sound that makes boys explore
Tread neat so small those little feet
Amid the morning his small heart beats
So much excitement yesterday
That must be rewarded must be displayed
Large hands lift him through the air
Excited eyes contain him there
The eyes of those he loves and knows
But what's this extra bed just here
His puzzled head tipped to one side
Amazement swims in those bright green eyes
Glancing down upon this thing
That make strange sounds, strange sounds that sing
In those silent happy seconds
That surround the sound of this event
A parent smile is made in moments
They have made for you a friend
And all you ever learned from them
Until you grew much older
Did not compare with when they said
This is your brand new brother
This is your brand new brother
This is your brand new brother
This isn't the first time I've heard this song. I've heard it many times. I remember hearing it and crying when I thought that I wouldn't have any children. I remember hearing it and crying when I thought I wouldn't be able to have more than one. And I remember crying because my girls actually did have a brother (not that we wouldn't have been thrilled with a girl either, but I was thrilled to have a boy too!)
But the other day, I cried. And cried and cried. I cried because S will never be able to have a brother. I cried because I will never have any more children. And I cried because I missed my littlest little boy. And I cried because I wanted SO much to be able to bring Christopher into our home. But instead he lives in our hearts.
Friday, January 23, 2009
It's 2009
It has been over a year since my pregnancy with Christopher began. I've found myself thinking "Last year, I was doing . . . " or whatever.
I've healed in a lot of ways, but not much in others. I still think of Christopher every day. I'm still sad about it. I'm still angry about it. I still wish that he was here. I still wish that he was part of our family and he was our fourth child. It still doesn't make sense to me. I still cry every once in a while.
I found out a few weeks after we lost Christopher that a friend lost a son at a similar place in her pregnancy. I was so sad for her, and sad that someone else that I knew had to go through a similar experience. A few months went by, and she announced that she was pregnant again. I was amazed at her bravery. She found out a few days ago that the baby has no heartbeat - at sixteen weeks - almost the same place as her last loss. It is just SO unfair.
I've been by to see Christopher's grave marker a few times in the last year - most recently on Christmas Day. Christmas was a very hard time. Everyone was celebrating the birth of another son, and I should have been celebrating it with my own new son, not visiting him at a cemetery.
It will be the anniversary of his birth and death in just a little over two months. How can the year have gone by so fast? My other children, of course, show me how fast the year has gone too. S has gone from a just past toddler to a full fledged preschool kid, E is in first grade and losing teeth right and left, and K is showing me every day glimpses of what she will be like as a teenager.
And my niece, who was going to be just 10 weeks older than Christopher, is doing well. She is 7 months and smiles so brightly and often.
I'll never forget 2008, and the many painful things that happened in that year. But I am hoping that I'll never forget 2009, and the many good things that happened too.
I've healed in a lot of ways, but not much in others. I still think of Christopher every day. I'm still sad about it. I'm still angry about it. I still wish that he was here. I still wish that he was part of our family and he was our fourth child. It still doesn't make sense to me. I still cry every once in a while.
I found out a few weeks after we lost Christopher that a friend lost a son at a similar place in her pregnancy. I was so sad for her, and sad that someone else that I knew had to go through a similar experience. A few months went by, and she announced that she was pregnant again. I was amazed at her bravery. She found out a few days ago that the baby has no heartbeat - at sixteen weeks - almost the same place as her last loss. It is just SO unfair.
I've been by to see Christopher's grave marker a few times in the last year - most recently on Christmas Day. Christmas was a very hard time. Everyone was celebrating the birth of another son, and I should have been celebrating it with my own new son, not visiting him at a cemetery.
It will be the anniversary of his birth and death in just a little over two months. How can the year have gone by so fast? My other children, of course, show me how fast the year has gone too. S has gone from a just past toddler to a full fledged preschool kid, E is in first grade and losing teeth right and left, and K is showing me every day glimpses of what she will be like as a teenager.
And my niece, who was going to be just 10 weeks older than Christopher, is doing well. She is 7 months and smiles so brightly and often.
I'll never forget 2008, and the many painful things that happened in that year. But I am hoping that I'll never forget 2009, and the many good things that happened too.
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