my heart is full and happy. my little girl turns one today. it seems in no way possible that an entire year has past she since made her debut. my mind is flooded with memories of what we were doing on this day last year as we eagerly waited her arrival. at this time last year i was standing on the brink of the unknown. i was moments away from becoming a mama. moments away from seeing the sweet little faces that would change my life for an eternity. moments away from welcoming my campbell hope into my arms and from kissing goodbye to my parker grace.
this past year is filled with so many wonderful memories. even the colicky memories are wonderful {now}. so many firsts: first car ride, first bath, first smile, first plane trip, first time to sit up.... it has been such a blessed year. i have been stretched farther than i ever thought possible. i have been apart of a story much bigger than myself. i've learned an entirely new depth of love. i've also learned an entirely new depth of loss. i still can't understand why i'm not celebrating two baby girls birthdays today - but i trust. i trust that our story is part of something bigger. it has to be.
despite an underlying twinge of loss... i am deep down happy. happy & blessed. blessed by this little life that i get to mother. blessed to have a healthy baby girl. blessed by the new lessons in this adventure of motherhood i get to learn (and relearn) everyday. happy because of her smiles & giggles. happy because of spirit & passion. happy because i know that even though parker isn't here today, she is. she always will be. she is a part of our family and her sister's life forever.
Campbell Hope- Happy first birthday baby girl. My wishes for you on your first birthday are endless. I wish for you love and life. I wish for you a spirit of adventure. I wish for you to know who you are, to appreciate those around you and what you have. I wish for you to be a giver....to make everyone's path you cross just a little sweeter. I wish for you confidence. I wish for you joy & laughter. I wish for you a lifetime full of friendships...friendships that last through the various journeys of life. I love you baby girl. Thank you for such a wonderful, joy-filled year.
Parker Grace- Happy birth day baby girl. I have no idea if they have birthdays in heaven, but I'm believing that today you are being treated to an incredible birthday party. Even though you couldn't join us in our celebration on Sunday... I know you were here. My wishes for you were endless, but have already been fulfilled. You are now in the fulness of heaven. You are perfect... you are healthy and you are complete. You can crawl and cruise and walk all over heaven with your buddies. I love you baby girl. And while I long to celebrate with you today, I'm believe that you are having the grandest of all birthday parties. I love you baby girl. Happy birth day.
Showing posts with label pregnancy loss. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pregnancy loss. Show all posts
6.14.2011
2.01.2011
one year
one year. a full circle. life. loss. celebration. grief.
today marks one year that we lost parker grace. if i were in control, today would be sunny and i could go on a long run by myself and cleanse my thoughts, sadness and have some serious talks with god. but it's a blizzard and running in a blizzard isn't too fun. and you know what? there is something incredibly peaceful about the snow right now. about knowing i'm going to be snowed in today with my two favorite people.
it's been a year for the books. we've loved and we've lost. we've felt the pinnacle of joy and the deepest pit of grief. and we are on the other side. our little family of three weathered the storm together and is stronger for it.
i remember it like it was yesterday. in so many ways i have been dreading this day. dreading facing the emotions that would inevitably come with it dreading the memories. sadness, the loss, the tears. but honestly, today feels totally peaceful. its so weird to think that i've carried this sadness, this loss for one whole year. i hope that today can be a celebration. a celebration of two lives...one way too short, and another vibrant and healthy...who likes to scoot backwards across the floor. :)
i need to go back to the day, to relive it in hopes that i can move on. i don't want to forget the details, but i need to release them. i want these memories to be in our family book. i want campbell someday (not any time soon) to know about these days. these days make up a large part of who she is. she is a fighter. i know in my heart she is a fighter because of those dark days last february.
if it makes you feel weird or uncomfortable, don't read it...it's totally fine. i'm writing this for me. and for our family.
i remember the details in surprising clarity. i remember working out with a friend that morning. i remember getting dressed for work in my new shoes from nine west that i had just bought on our trip to CO that weekend. i remember a friend at work telling me i looked "twinsy". i remember being 20 minutes early for my appointment at the perinatologist because i was so excited to see my girls. i remember watching dr. ridgeway looking at both girls, opting to examine campbell first... (did he know already?) everything looking good with C. then looking at parker. and not seeing a heartbeat. hearing "this doesn't look good". i remember her tiny, perfectly still body on the screen. i kept thinking her motionless heart would start moving. he must be wrong. he said it looked like twin to twin transfusion. i said it couldn't be - our OB had said they weren't at risk for that at all. they were in the lowest risk category. i remember him saying, "your OB was wrong". ouch. my heart was beating so hard, i couldn't talk or think. he told me we were at a risk of losing campbell now. i was 22 weeks pregnant and i needed to get to 25. i needed to be prepared to deliver at any time past that. and still there might be complications. it just kept snowballing. he gave me kleenex and i tried to repeat everything he told me three times so that i wouldn't get confused in the emotion of the moment. i had to be able to give all of the medical details to my doctor husband who was unable to get off work that day. i remember his nurse giving me pictures of both babies. i remember knowing i had to call mat. i had to get out of the office. the nurse showed me out the back door. (guess it doesn't make for good business to walk a sobbing pregnant lady out in front of other patients.) i sat in the parking lot and called mat. (how do you make that call?) how do you tell your husband that one of his daughters has died and one is at a risk of dying in the next weeks. we both cried. i drove myself home with the help of a friend on my phone. i couldn't bear the thought of sitting there waiting for mat to come get me. i had to get home. we got home at the same time and sat on the couch and wept. i knew i needed to call my parents but i couldn't. my mom was in the middle of teaching and i couldn't do that to her. i waited until she called on her way home from work. i couldn't call my friends so i texted them and told them the news, but that i didn't want to talk to anyone. i couldn't speak the words. speaking them meant that it was real.
the rest of the night was a blur. we spent a lot of time on our white couch, just crying and holding each other. we weren't hungry, but needed to eat. mat went to the grocery store to pick up dinner. we had planned on celebrating that night. instead he lost it in the soup aisle. he came home, we cried, we held each other and we waited. we didn't know what for, but we waited. i remember waking up at 3 the next morning. the pain of reality slowly sinking in. i just suddenly knew i needed to write a post about what had happened. i needed people to pray. pray for c, pray for us.
the next days are a blur of friends stopping by for visits & with meals, flowers from friends both near and far, family showing up...my parents driving up the next morning. my brother driving in from colorado after telling his fellow what had happened and his fellow telling him to head to KS; doctor's appointments, cards, text messages, emails, phone calls, lunch dates made just so i would have a reason to get out of bed. two of my best friends driving up at the last minute just to hug me and hold me. a complete blur.
and through all that pain comes unspeakable joy. the joy of carrying the rest of pregnancy past term. to delivering a healthy baby. the joy of forming friendships with other mamas who have gone through something similar. mama's like megan and cassie. friendships through unfortunate circumstances that have provided mountains of strength to me. the joy of watching campbell hope smile up at me...laugh at me. it is my hope that both of my girls have made me a better mama than i would have been. a mom who actually appreciates the loud, colicky cry of her baby in the middle of the night because it means that her baby is there. is alive and well. a mama who probably holds her baby a little too much, just because she can.
parker will forever be apart of our family. i don't know what it will look like, how we will share her with C, but she will always be one of our babies. Feb. 1 will be our day to celebrate her little life.
to all of you reading our blog who have followed our journey, thank you. whether you are close friends and family, coworkers, were given the link from a prayer list, or just a random blog stalker. thank you. thank you for your wishes, prayers, strength, hope & love. i seriously wish i could meet each one of you, give you a hug and tell you how much your prayers have meant to us. it touches my heart so deeply when i meet someone or get an email from someone i've never actually met who somehow heard about our situation and has prayed and hoped for us.
thank you.
campbell's life verse. literally. i prayed (and still pray) this verse over her.
today marks one year that we lost parker grace. if i were in control, today would be sunny and i could go on a long run by myself and cleanse my thoughts, sadness and have some serious talks with god. but it's a blizzard and running in a blizzard isn't too fun. and you know what? there is something incredibly peaceful about the snow right now. about knowing i'm going to be snowed in today with my two favorite people.
it's been a year for the books. we've loved and we've lost. we've felt the pinnacle of joy and the deepest pit of grief. and we are on the other side. our little family of three weathered the storm together and is stronger for it.
i remember it like it was yesterday. in so many ways i have been dreading this day. dreading facing the emotions that would inevitably come with it dreading the memories. sadness, the loss, the tears. but honestly, today feels totally peaceful. its so weird to think that i've carried this sadness, this loss for one whole year. i hope that today can be a celebration. a celebration of two lives...one way too short, and another vibrant and healthy...who likes to scoot backwards across the floor. :)
i need to go back to the day, to relive it in hopes that i can move on. i don't want to forget the details, but i need to release them. i want these memories to be in our family book. i want campbell someday (not any time soon) to know about these days. these days make up a large part of who she is. she is a fighter. i know in my heart she is a fighter because of those dark days last february.
if it makes you feel weird or uncomfortable, don't read it...it's totally fine. i'm writing this for me. and for our family.
i remember the details in surprising clarity. i remember working out with a friend that morning. i remember getting dressed for work in my new shoes from nine west that i had just bought on our trip to CO that weekend. i remember a friend at work telling me i looked "twinsy". i remember being 20 minutes early for my appointment at the perinatologist because i was so excited to see my girls. i remember watching dr. ridgeway looking at both girls, opting to examine campbell first... (did he know already?) everything looking good with C. then looking at parker. and not seeing a heartbeat. hearing "this doesn't look good". i remember her tiny, perfectly still body on the screen. i kept thinking her motionless heart would start moving. he must be wrong. he said it looked like twin to twin transfusion. i said it couldn't be - our OB had said they weren't at risk for that at all. they were in the lowest risk category. i remember him saying, "your OB was wrong". ouch. my heart was beating so hard, i couldn't talk or think. he told me we were at a risk of losing campbell now. i was 22 weeks pregnant and i needed to get to 25. i needed to be prepared to deliver at any time past that. and still there might be complications. it just kept snowballing. he gave me kleenex and i tried to repeat everything he told me three times so that i wouldn't get confused in the emotion of the moment. i had to be able to give all of the medical details to my doctor husband who was unable to get off work that day. i remember his nurse giving me pictures of both babies. i remember knowing i had to call mat. i had to get out of the office. the nurse showed me out the back door. (guess it doesn't make for good business to walk a sobbing pregnant lady out in front of other patients.) i sat in the parking lot and called mat. (how do you make that call?) how do you tell your husband that one of his daughters has died and one is at a risk of dying in the next weeks. we both cried. i drove myself home with the help of a friend on my phone. i couldn't bear the thought of sitting there waiting for mat to come get me. i had to get home. we got home at the same time and sat on the couch and wept. i knew i needed to call my parents but i couldn't. my mom was in the middle of teaching and i couldn't do that to her. i waited until she called on her way home from work. i couldn't call my friends so i texted them and told them the news, but that i didn't want to talk to anyone. i couldn't speak the words. speaking them meant that it was real.
the rest of the night was a blur. we spent a lot of time on our white couch, just crying and holding each other. we weren't hungry, but needed to eat. mat went to the grocery store to pick up dinner. we had planned on celebrating that night. instead he lost it in the soup aisle. he came home, we cried, we held each other and we waited. we didn't know what for, but we waited. i remember waking up at 3 the next morning. the pain of reality slowly sinking in. i just suddenly knew i needed to write a post about what had happened. i needed people to pray. pray for c, pray for us.
the next days are a blur of friends stopping by for visits & with meals, flowers from friends both near and far, family showing up...my parents driving up the next morning. my brother driving in from colorado after telling his fellow what had happened and his fellow telling him to head to KS; doctor's appointments, cards, text messages, emails, phone calls, lunch dates made just so i would have a reason to get out of bed. two of my best friends driving up at the last minute just to hug me and hold me. a complete blur.
and through all that pain comes unspeakable joy. the joy of carrying the rest of pregnancy past term. to delivering a healthy baby. the joy of forming friendships with other mamas who have gone through something similar. mama's like megan and cassie. friendships through unfortunate circumstances that have provided mountains of strength to me. the joy of watching campbell hope smile up at me...laugh at me. it is my hope that both of my girls have made me a better mama than i would have been. a mom who actually appreciates the loud, colicky cry of her baby in the middle of the night because it means that her baby is there. is alive and well. a mama who probably holds her baby a little too much, just because she can.
parker will forever be apart of our family. i don't know what it will look like, how we will share her with C, but she will always be one of our babies. Feb. 1 will be our day to celebrate her little life.
to all of you reading our blog who have followed our journey, thank you. whether you are close friends and family, coworkers, were given the link from a prayer list, or just a random blog stalker. thank you. thank you for your wishes, prayers, strength, hope & love. i seriously wish i could meet each one of you, give you a hug and tell you how much your prayers have meant to us. it touches my heart so deeply when i meet someone or get an email from someone i've never actually met who somehow heard about our situation and has prayed and hoped for us.
thank you.
campbell's life verse. literally. i prayed (and still pray) this verse over her.
"May the God of Hope fill you with joy and peace as you trust in him, that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit." Romans 15:13
10.11.2010
Parker Grace Good
I need to go here. I need to write this. I don’t necessarily want to, but I need to. If it makes you sad or weirds you out – you don’t have to read it.
I’ve been incredibly silent about her the past four months. I’ve only spoken with Mat, my parents and a friend about her. While my words have been few, my heart has had a constant longing for her. I’ve been feeling like something’s missing. It’s like the feeling of waking up after a bad dream where it haunts you during the day. You know - at random times you’ll find yourself thinking about the dream and get shivers. Or tears in this case. Most of the time I’m really good at stuffing it deep down inside and not letting myself “go there”. Here lately, it’s like I just can’t escape it. My grief has been stuffed to the top and is starting to overflow. I've come in contact with some emotions that I'm not comfortable with.
I don’t feel like I have a connection with her beyond a few pictures, a tiny box of ashes and a handful of memories. I remember her little kicks inside of me before she died. I remember seeing her lifeless little body on the ultrasound when we found out we lost her. Seeing her heart still – not beating at all. I remember feeling her coming out of my body. I remember seeing her tiny body for the first time and even holding the little blanket she was wrapped in. I remember seeing what the extra weeks in my body had done to hers. I remember her tiny, delicate little foot. I remember not wanting them to take her from the hospital room, but knowing she couldn't stay there forever... knowing that our family of four was to be a family of three. And that’s it. That’s all I have left of a little person who will forever change me as a mother and as a person.
I feel like everywhere I go lately I am bombarded with twins. Double BOB strollers with cute little twins on walks. Two sets of twins in whole foods. I actually had a breakdown at WF right in front of the filet mignons (hopefully the deli guy just thought I was really excited about the rump roast that was on sale). Twins on Kathy Lee & Hoda. It’s like a constant reminder of what was taken away from me. It’s a like a little slap in the face each time I encounter them. I find myself not only mourning a baby I’ll never get to see grow up, but also mourning not getting to be a mom to twins.
I know almost exactly what she would look like right now. But I have no idea what her little personality would be like. Would she smile with her whole body like Campbell? Would she giggle when I sing her silly little songs? Would she give the super pouty lip like her sister? Would she like to curl up and cuddle with me first thing in the morning as she’s waking up? Would she fight going to bed at night?
I still don’t understand why this happened; why our lives have ventured down this path. While I pray that God allows me to do something good – something healthy with this pain, I’m angry. I know God didn’t “DO” this. He didn’t take her from us, nor did he WANT us to lose her. But He didn’t stop it either. And this is where I am – trying to figure out why He didn’t let us have her. While I trust Him & love Him – I just don’t get it. And I’m mad. Mad at the doctor. Mad at the situation. Just plain mad. I know we live in a broken world. I get it – but knowing that doesn’t give me peace right now.
And then I feel guilty. I think about mamas I’ve gotten to know who’ve lost the only baby they were carrying. Early or late in pregnancy, some full term, some born with a fatal diagnosis to mamas who chose to carry them anyways. And I feel guilty because I have a beautiful, healthy little lady - yet still want her sister to be here with us.
I feel a need to talk about her. To validate her. To connect with her. To remember her. It still feels wrong to not to mention her when someone asks if I have children. (But seriously – talk about weirding someone out to go down that road with a stranger.) And at the same time I realize that my story could be scary for other pregnant mamas. They don’t need to hear it. They don’t need me to be the crazy lady at Hobby Lobby who freaked me out last year.
I’ve written this post over and over in my mind. Usually when I’m up in the middle of the night nursing and don’t need to worry about letting my emotions spill over. I kept putting it off. Didn’t know how or if I should share these feelings, but knowing just the same that I needed to.
Maybe it took this rainy, fall day while we've had a 4 hour power outage. While the laundry had to wait. While my laptop was actually charged. While Campbell decided to take a long nap to sit down and write it.
5.25.2010
one big hill away...
If you are looking for a pick me up or a smiley happy post - you might want to skip reading this.
This has been one of those days. A day when I all I want to do is cry. A day when I have laid on my bed and cried. A day when I have walked and cried (I wore sunglasses so they wouldn't call PVPD on the crazy prego). A day when I have been fixated on the upcoming birth and what it will be like. A day when I don't understand why this had to happen to us. I know it's partly hormones, but today it is deeper than hormones.
I want the birth to get here so badly. Obviously I want to meet my babies. More than that I want the unknown to be known. I want to get some of the sadness over with. Is that horrible? It's kind of like I've been on this really long run and I am exhausted and I know that there is a big steep hill coming up that I have to get up and over in order to finish my run. I know that once I reach the top I can take a little water break, maybe have a little gu and then I'll be home free. The hill means putting one foot in front of the other and not looking up at the top. Slow and steady wins the race. We will get there - and there will be relief when we do. Sometimes the fear of something is worse than the actual event.
I'm not naive. I know that this grieving process won't end with their birth. I know we will grieve her for the rest of our lives. But I need to get this moving - I need to get to the next step. I've been in denial the past 2 months and it's time to move forward. I need to get Campbell here safely and soundly and know that she is okay. I know - but it will be a huge relief to have her here ... in our arms... finally. I need to see Parker. I need to hold her, to memorize her.
I feel like I am preparing for the loss of one of my babies more than I am actually preparing for natural child birth. The thought of dealing with any physical pain pales in comparison to preparing to part with Parker. Natural childbirth truly doesn't scare me at this point. Separating myself from Parker does. I know she is "there" but she isn't.... I know she isn't viable...but part of me just doesn't want to let her go.
If you believe in prayer - please pray. Pray that the birth would be peaceful and positive. Pray for strength, both physical and emotional. That we would be able to make the memories that we will want to have down the road. That we will know how to balance the complexity of our emotions. That the staff we have surrounding us during this time would be sensitive to our needs. That we would have joy on this special day. I am not building it up into a special "moment" - I just have no idea what to expect and want to be able to make the most of it for both of my babies.
I'm okay. Really I am - it's just been one of those days. After every cloudy day, there is sunshine. That's what I'm looking forward to tomorrow - the sun's warm rays.
This has been one of those days. A day when I all I want to do is cry. A day when I have laid on my bed and cried. A day when I have walked and cried (I wore sunglasses so they wouldn't call PVPD on the crazy prego). A day when I have been fixated on the upcoming birth and what it will be like. A day when I don't understand why this had to happen to us. I know it's partly hormones, but today it is deeper than hormones.
I want the birth to get here so badly. Obviously I want to meet my babies. More than that I want the unknown to be known. I want to get some of the sadness over with. Is that horrible? It's kind of like I've been on this really long run and I am exhausted and I know that there is a big steep hill coming up that I have to get up and over in order to finish my run. I know that once I reach the top I can take a little water break, maybe have a little gu and then I'll be home free. The hill means putting one foot in front of the other and not looking up at the top. Slow and steady wins the race. We will get there - and there will be relief when we do. Sometimes the fear of something is worse than the actual event.
I'm not naive. I know that this grieving process won't end with their birth. I know we will grieve her for the rest of our lives. But I need to get this moving - I need to get to the next step. I've been in denial the past 2 months and it's time to move forward. I need to get Campbell here safely and soundly and know that she is okay. I know - but it will be a huge relief to have her here ... in our arms... finally. I need to see Parker. I need to hold her, to memorize her.
I feel like I am preparing for the loss of one of my babies more than I am actually preparing for natural child birth. The thought of dealing with any physical pain pales in comparison to preparing to part with Parker. Natural childbirth truly doesn't scare me at this point. Separating myself from Parker does. I know she is "there" but she isn't.... I know she isn't viable...but part of me just doesn't want to let her go.
If you believe in prayer - please pray. Pray that the birth would be peaceful and positive. Pray for strength, both physical and emotional. That we would be able to make the memories that we will want to have down the road. That we will know how to balance the complexity of our emotions. That the staff we have surrounding us during this time would be sensitive to our needs. That we would have joy on this special day. I am not building it up into a special "moment" - I just have no idea what to expect and want to be able to make the most of it for both of my babies.
I'm okay. Really I am - it's just been one of those days. After every cloudy day, there is sunshine. That's what I'm looking forward to tomorrow - the sun's warm rays.
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