day three: before

This is the "before" picture I would most like to talk about.

Just look at how happy she is.

This is my favorite pregnancy picture.  It's probably my favorite picture, ever, of me.  I was so ready to meet her.  She was so big!

This is one of those pictures that makes me wonder how there are women who just don't know they're pregnant.  Ohmygoodness I knew it.  And I honestly loved every minute of it, I had such a simple pregnancy.  I only got impatient at the end because I wanted her to come before John left.  That was foolish, I should never have been impatient.  But I did love every second with her.

Today, a man came into our office to fill out an application.  He was falling asleep while filling it out.  He said he was up all night with his 6 week old baby.  But he didn't say it in a cute, "I'm a new dad" way.  He said it in a complaining way.

So sorry man that you have to hear the sound of your child's voice when they need you.  So sorry you were up all night taking care of your baby, so sorry you have to hold them and be with them instead of sleeping.

Ridiculous.

Now, I imagine that having a newborn at home is very difficult and very stressful and you lose a lot of sleep.  But I promise you, there is not a thing I wouldn't give....THERE IS NOT A THING I WOULDN'T GIVE....to be up all night with my screaming child.

He asked me if I had kids, and I ignored him, because I don't say no to that and he is not the person I want to talk about it with.  I suppose he took that to mean yes because when he left he asked if it gets easier.  And there are a million things I wanted to say.  But I was at work.  So I told him yes, and he walked out.

Please be thankful for the good easy times and the hard times with your kids, because you don't know how much time you have.

On a brighter note: WE EXCEEDED OUR FUNDRAISING GOAL!  All thanks to the amazing women I work with and their collective donations.  We are still fundraising until the 18th, please feel free to help us raise more.

day two: heart

I captured a few almost hearts today.

And this heart is a particularly important one.  I have written to Virginia regularly since her death.  This heart is the first time I signed a letter to her like this. 

day one: sunrise

Today is the 1st day of October.

It is also day one of "capture your grief'" which you can find information about here.

I shared a picture on facebook and instagram, but there are more I took, and I'm going to share them here.

day one: sunrise

I love when there is pink in the sky.  I just know her little spirit is a beautiful magenta.  Sunrises and sunsets with pink are my absolute favorite time of day, especially sunsets.

May this October bring a little peace to everyone.  I don't expect it to be an easy month, but I will live it one day at a time. 

oh october.

I am not ready for October.

October is the month she died.
October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month (which is actually amazing)
October holds Halloween, which would have been her first holiday.

I don't want it to come.

One year ago today I was super pregnant, and waiting for her.

I just, am not ready for October.

But, maybe/possibly/probably tomorrow will come.  And October will be here.  I just want to go back to one year ago today and try again.  I want to go to a different hospital.  I want to get it right the 2nd time and make sure she lives.  I want to be scared and excited my little girl is about to turn 1.  I want to say "I can't believe my baby is growing so fast!"  I want another chance.  Not with another child.  With Virginia.

I don't think it's possible I can go back, even if I would give everything to do it.

I'm going to share something Carly Marie wrote, because she's amazing and I should remember to be more gentle with myself and with life.  I really should, I am quite bitter.

Everyday for the next month is all about remembrance of every little girl and every little boy who died before they were born, or died shortly after.

My love to all those children, and all their parents.

Here is Carly's post: October 2014, Let us remember

I stand watching her until she fades on the horizon

"I am standing on the seashore. A ship spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the ocean. I stand watching her until she fades on the horizon, and someone at my side says, 'She is gone.' Gone where? The loss of sight is in me, not in her. Just at the moment when someone says, 'She is gone', there are others who are watching her coming. Other voices take up the glad shout, 'Here she comes!'  And that is dying." 
-Henry Scott Holland



I am stunned by how beautiful this is.
I just needed to share it.

for a first birthday.

This month, it is 11 months since her death.  And 11 months since her birth.

Next month, the 22nd will be her first birthday.

And it will not be the first birthday most parents plan.

So what will we do?  It cannot go unnoticed, it is too important a day.  Because yes, it is the day we were changed forever by her death.  But regardless it is her birthday, and a birthday is about celebrating life.

So, what will we do?

On that day, I really don't know.  Probably hike, as we did on Mother's Day.  Get out and remember the world is bigger than just us, and be distracted for a while.

We SHOULD be planning a party.  We should be choosing a theme and what decorations we need and who will bake the cake cause God knows I can't decorate one well enough.  We should be buying her more presents than she could ever play with.  We should be readying the camera to capture that beautiful face, one year old.

What would the theme be?  It's hard to even imagine.  I have no idea what color she would like.  What cartoon would be her favorite.  What she would want.  I should know, she should be here.  But I don't know.

So what is there to celebrate her life besides a party?

Before she died, I didn't think much about stillbirth.  I didn't think ever about stillbirth.  I knew nothing about it.  I knew nothing about statistics of infant mortality.  I knew nothing about how many children don't make it to their first birthday.

I do now.

Because of her life.  Because of her, I feel for every Mother and Father who face a birthday without their babies.

Before her, I never would have thought of those Mothers and Fathers, and all those children.  But I do now.  Everyday.  I read about them e.v.e.r.y.d.a.y.

And I wish there were no more to read about.  I wish there were no more children who don't reach a first birthday.

If I could start a nonprofit for ANYTHING, it would be stillbirth research.  We know how she died, we know what caused it, we know who caused it.  But in over half of stillbirth's, they don't.  So again, if I could start a nonprofit for ANYTHING, it would be stillbirth research.

I'm not exactly in a place where I can start a nonprofit, and I have no idea how I would get research done, but hopefully somehow some way I can start one.  But whether I do or don't in the future, I don't have one now.

And so, in thinking of all the things my daughter has taught me, and those things are many, I had to think of what the best way to celebrate her life would be.

Support Research.  That's the one.  Support research, so that one more child might live because of HER.

Here's the thing: it is very hard to find research being done.  Not to suggest there is none, because that isn't true, but there is very, very little.  I searched and searched and planned and thought about where to donate in her memory for her birthday.

Because I don't get to plan a party, but her life is still important.

I chose March of Dimes.  I chose it because they fund research, education, and help for babies born prematurely.  I chose them also because they have a walk as a way to fund raise, and I thought it would be something I could get out and do close to her birthday.

I can't buy her presents, and neither can you.  But would you, if she were alive?  If her first birthday party were coming up, would you be coming?

Here is something you should understand, if you know me at all.  Her life is just as important as it would have been if she was having a party.  I can't give her toys, but I can give her a legacy.

I am proud of the money raised for our fundraiser so far, I truly am.  I really thought I could do better, but some money raised is better than no money raised.  I just need to know I have tried to explain what it is for.  I don't expect that I can change the world, but I do believe I can change something.  I do believe that every person that loves her can add to the memory she leaves and the change she makes without even being here.

I hope, that even if you don't make a donation, you understand the point.  You understand it is for her.  Because I love her.

Maybe someday I will have a nonprofit, and something great will come of it.  But I am starting small.  Doing small things with great love.

For every person who has made a donation, thank you so so much.  It honestly means more to me than you know.  And it is not about the amount, it is about the fact that you thought of her.  Thank you, so much.

If you would like to donate, go here to support our team.

Whether you do or do not choose to make a donation, please think of her on October 22nd.  And remember that you never know what kind of battle those around you are fighting.  Spread a little kindness, if you can.

prayer

The past few days have been very, very hard.  The only explanation I have is that on Friday I had to speak with someone and go step by step through each part of while I was in labor with Virginia.  I had to think of a lot of things I haven't thought about in a while.  It affected me a lot more than I thought it would.

So the past few days have been really rough.  I miss her, and I have no idea why this happened.  Why her?

I wrote a few weeks ago about a photography course for healing I started to do.  I did start it, I did take the first pictures, and then I got too busy to continue.  I have been trying to make time for it, but I haven't had a chance to really focus on it.

I haven't been very focused on healing in a while, and that's probably why lately has been so tough.

However, a few days ago I found a quote that I love so so much.  It's from Mother Theresa.

"I used to pray that God would feel the hungry, or do this or that, but now I pray that he will guide me to do whatever I'm supposed to do, what I can do.  I used to pray for answers, but now I'm praying for strength.  I used to believe that prayer changes things, but now I know that prayer changes us and we change things."

I love this.

I don't believe by any means or in any way that praying for something to happen will make it happen.  I do not cannot will not believe that.  How can that be true?  How can you say there is a plan, but then your praying has an effect?  How can you say that to someone who has known tragedy?

When you pray for something to happen, and it happens, you praise God.  What about when it doesn't.  What if you are the mother of a child who was sick, and you watched them be sick and you prayed for their health, but they died?  What do you say to that mother?  Where is the praise for God when he takes a child?  Where is the praise when you don't get what you ask for?

Don't pray to change things you CANNOT control.  Pray to change what things you can.  Pray to change yourself.  That is the only thing prayers are going to do.  They are not going to change who lives and who dies, they are going to live or die no matter which way you want it, because you have no control over it.  Pray for strength, love, patience, compassion, guidance.  Those things you can get.  You don't get the power to change anything but yourself.

I should pray more.  If I wasn't so mad at God, or whatever runs the universe, I probably would.  But in the moments before I was put to sleep I begged God for the life of my child.  And when I woke up she was dead.

I do not cannot will not believe that you can change outside circumstances by praying more or less.  You can only change yourself.

Honestly more prayer and meditation would probably help my healing more than I can imagine.  But like I said I am angry.  I am very angry.  I will get there.  I will get to where I can pray.  I will get to a place of peace.  I have hope for that.

But I still hold to that advice.  You cannot control anything or anyone but you.  God is not going to help you control anything or anyone but you.  Pray to change internally, not externally.

day of hope.

August 19th is being recognized by many families around the world as the "Day of Hope".  A day to remember all babies who have died, and to talk about them.  To celebrate the love and the inspiration their lives have given us.  

You are supposed to create a prayer flag.  I am completely void of crafty-ness.  But I still have a little time, maybe I can get one made.  Either way, I will be lighting Virginia's candle in memory of her, and all of those other perfect children.  

As much as I wish I was kissing her instead of remembering her, I am glad movements like this exist.  I am glad there are people who want to talk about their children, even about their deaths, because that is their story.  I want to talk about Virginia all the time.  A lot of bereaved parents do.  There is no reason we shouldn't.

Much love to all remembering babies that day, and each day. 

Day of Hope Event

a letter as my first assignment.

I recently started an online course about photography through grieving.  Now I am getting started a little late, because I have just been way too busy.  But the first assignment so to speak is to write a letter to your child telling them how you got where you are.  And to take a few self portraits.  So here we go...

Dear Virginia,

I love you.

I think I start every letter I write to you that way, because it's true.  So how did I get here?

Well first off, I'll pinpoint "here".  It has been 39 weeks and 4 days since the day you were born, and the day you died.  I carried you for 39 weeks and 4 days.  So really "here" is a very fragile place, where I am on the brink of the day you will have been gone longer than you were here.

I have dreaded that day for a very long time.  I can't imagine what it will bring with it.  20 weeks since your death was a very hard day, as was 39 weeks this past Tuesday.  So I can't imagine what tomorrow will be like, but I know it won't be easy.

Let's go back to your beginning, the beginning of the only story I have worth telling...yours.

I graduated high school in 2008.  I was in love with acting...with theatre.  I lived it, breathed it, ate it, drank it, loved it with all my soul.  I wanted to act forever.  I knew I couldn't have a family or a normal life, because I would never have a steady job, and I did not care in the least.  I wanted to act.  After I graduated high school I went to a university to study acting.  I was there for one semester, and suddenly I knew it wasn't right.  I knew I couldn't act professionally, I couldn't give up a normal life and a normal family.  I felt like acting wasn't right anymore and I wasn't quite sure why at the time. But I knew there was something more I wanted.  I wanted you.  I wanted to be a mother.  I figured that out a little later, while I was still in school trying to figure out what to study.

I started planning everything around kids.  What I could do that would be best for them.  And I wasn't married, or planning for kids right away, but it inspired every decision I made...what would be best for my future children.

Becoming a mother became the only goal that mattered, I truly believed, and still do, that I could never achieve anything greater than my children.

In 2012 I married your father.  On February 19th 2013 we found out I was pregnant.  At about 10:20 in the morning.  When I told him, your Daddy couldn't wait to tell everyone.  He was kind of freaking out.  We were in love with you from that day forward.

I was convinced you were a boy.  I just knew it.  In May, we found out I was wrong.  It was you, the most beautiful little girl that has ever graced this earth with her presence...you.  We knew Virginia was the perfect name, after his grandmother.  Jane and John have the same meaning, so Jane it was.  Virginia Jane.  Perfect.

It really has turned out to be just what you should have been named.  Jane, "God's gracious gift."  You are the best gift I could have ever asked for.  The best part of my life, my whole world.  And Virginia, well I see that name all the time, and for that I am so thankful.  I see a "Virginia" license plate just when I miss you the most.  I drive past "Virginia St", I see "V"s in the sky.  It could not have been more perfect for you.

I was blessed with carrying you for those 39 weeks and 4 days.  Blessed with your life, with watching you grow, with becoming your mother.

Gorgeous child I will never understand why you couldn't stay with us.  You would have wanted for nothing, not things, not love, not attention.  You are my greatest accomplishment, and the only thing that could ever be as great may be the brothers and sisters that might come after you.

Your journey on earth ended in October, but your journey still continues.  You live OH how you live on in all of our hearts, you have changed every part of me, every molecule of my body is different because of you.  You will never be forgotten.  You will never be pushed aside.  You will be spoken of and loved always always always.

You teach me, you inspire me.  I love you.  I miss you, every second of every day.  This is not where your story ends sweet, perfect Virginia Jane.  I love you.

So how did I get where I am right now?  I got here because of you.  Because you lived, and because you died.  Because I love you.  I am here because I wanted you more than anything, because I still do.  Because I grieve for you as deeply as I love you.  That is why I am here now, that is how I got here.

Love always,
Mommy





I will be posting the self portraits at the end of the week, after I have taken some and can choose a few to post.  If you have read this, or any part of this blog, thank you.  It is so so helpful to healing.

9 months, 39 weeks.

9 months.
39 weeks.
Today.

I have been dreading 39 weeks.  Very much.  I carried her for 39 weeks and 4 days.  At 39 weeks and 5 days my gorgeous daughter will have been gone longer than she was here.

I cannot handle that thought.  It overwhelms me, but it is here and there's nothing I can do about it but get through it.

At 39 weeks of pregnancy, it was a Friday.  I was getting a membrane sweep at the doctors.  She was close, so so close.  The doctor told me that it can help get labor started, hopefully within 48 hours.  She told me to walk a lot.  I did.  I walked around the neighborhood over and over.  I was so so ready to meet her.  And so was John.  At 39 weeks.

I miss her always, but these days are harder somehow.

I should be writing more.  Healing is a choice.  Writing for me is very healing.  But I'm so busy these days, and I have to make time for it.  I'm not really sure that I'm ready to choose healing.  It's hard to explain, but if it didn't hurt so much, it feels like it would mean I don't care.  I think it's something everyone who grieves goes through, when to really choose to heal.

Either way, I've got to find more time to write, because I really need it.  Especially on days like today.

how I feel now.

I have just been working on some things for the bake sale we are having for the fundraiser.  I am really excited to be doing it. 

I started thinking about how little time I have had to write, and then I thought about why I started writing in the first place.  It was because I found so much comfort in reading things written by other bereaved parents.  Just knowing that I was not the only one feeling such things in this situation.

So how do I feel eight months in?

Really, not much different.

A lot has changed in how I handle everything.  I get up and go everyday unlike at first when I couldn’t move.  I am able to bear the weight of the pain better now, I am able to have conversations and work and do many of the normal things I just could not do at first.

But it does not, in any way, hurt any less that I still wake up every day without her.  That pain is no less.  100 lbs doesn’t get lighter cause you train to lift it, you just lift it better.

I feel the need to say this though, I will never not want to talk about Virginia.  It is never easy to say to someone that she has died, but I would never want to hide her or shy away from her because it is difficult.  I don’t just blurt out my child is dead to everyone who walks by, but if someone asks me who Virginia is I will gladly tell anyone who is willing to listen anything and everything about her.   I will never not want to talk about my daughter.  She is my child, alive or dead.

But, how I feel at eight months in…

I’m still really angry much of the time.  Not so much now at everyone with a living child or everyone who is pregnant, just pretty much at life and the world in general.  I’m still really really angry, because it will never make sense to me that a child born into so much love didn’t get to live out her life with us.  It will never make any sense, and I will always be angry about it.  Angry that I don’t get to watch her grow up.  Angry about a million other things.  I am still angry.

And sad of course, although I would say I am a little healthier, I can at least eat on a regular basis.

I still can’t sleep though, not without some kind of guided meditation to put me to sleep or medicine on the really bad nights.

Grief is still just very heavy and exhausting.  It clouds everything.  I still just want to lay in bed all day.  I still know I can't.  I suppose some could say it's time to lighten up a little and learn to love to live.  I don't really care if some think that.  I feel what I feel, I'm still sad, I'll make no apologies. 

I am determined to leave a legacy of love for my beautiful daughter though.  I know she can make a difference in this world.  I know that she can. 

legacy

I still write to her. Everyday.  I still write about how beautiful she is, how much I miss her.  I love her so very much.

It's amazing how you can think you know what love is, and then when you really have it you realize you knew nothing.  I knew nothing of love before her.  Absolutely nothing.  Now it's just a matter of turning it into action.  Taking love and making it compassion and patience and all sorts of other things.  Using love to heal pain, and fear, and everything.  I am just now learning what love really is, what pure boundless love from your soul truly is.

I'm still so angry so much of the time.  Or down and sad about what we've been through.  About why her, why us, what would have changed everything and why can't we go back and do it differently.  If I can find a way I most certainly will.  I will fix it when the day comes.

But until then it seems it is only darkness.  So I gotta learn how to let love come in. And sprout out in all sorts of ways.

I need more time to really sit and write.  I just have been so busy.  I'm going to have to make time to just be alone, write to Virginia, write here, write anything.

OOHhhh this pain does not end.  It gets easier to carry, easier to face and deal with.  But it never hurts any less.  All I can do for her is give her a legacy of love.

Just like donations.  Like the donation of my hair.  Hopefully it was used and is now a wig for a child who needed it.  But who gave that gift?  Because it came from my body, but it was inspired by my perfect child.  Virginia is the one who got that hair to those children.  Virginia did that.  Things like that are her legacy.  What we can be inspired to do for her, that is her legacy.  I want it to be a legacy of pure love.  Because she gave me the strongest love in the world: the bond of a child and her parent.

Her's will be a legacy of love.  She will spread her little light.  Because she will.  Because I will never stop fighting for her.  Because she will not be forgotten.  She will be as big a part of this family as everyone here right now.  She will do amazing things through us, all of us.  Through all of the people she teaches.  She will spread her little magenta light everywhere.

I love her more than words.  Just more than I can say.

when nothing works out like it should.

It seems just when you think you've got life figured out and everything might be almost okay and you've been brave enough to actually come up with a new plan, life throws a curve ball and your plan goes to shit.

I don't plan like I used to, but I guess I still plan a little.  I'll just never learn to stop that completely because it is 100%  pointless.

In a book I love about Taoism it says that you should have no wants or desires or plans.  You should just live.  Just go with it and chill out.

I wish.

I am trying to live on a smaller scale though, one day at a time.  What do I feel like I should do today?  What can I do today?  In this one day?  Because this day is really all you've got.  You could be dead five minutes from now.  And then all that worrying is for nothing.

It's a hard concept...to just live a day at a time and not plan, or worry.  But it's just the way you have to live if you ever want to make it through tragedy.  You just have to focus on this moment and what you can do with it.  Making plans means disappointment when they don't work out.  Thinking of the whole future is just too overwhelming.  Just focus on one day at a time.  This day is all there is.

Father's Day

Father's Day is this weekend.  I really thought it was next weekend.  But it's coming up fast.

Just as bereaved mothers shouldn't be forgotten on Mother's Day, bereaved fathers shouldn't be forgotten on Father's Day.

They are sometimes forgotten in general, because everyone focuses on how the mother is doing.  But those Daddy's lost the same thing the Mommy's lost, and it is just as hard for them to face days like this without their children.

I wanted to do whatever would bring me the most peace on Mother's Day, and I hope that's what the father's missing their children will decide to do this Sunday.

Virginia's father and I can't be together this Father's Day, but my whole heart is with him.  He's a grieving dad, but mostly importantly he is a dad, her dad, and he deserves to be celebrated this weekend for loving her and missing her the way only a Daddy can.

(in case the video doesn't work in this post, it's here)

never, ever alone.

I saw this postcard tonight on postsecret.

It just breaks my heart.  There are so many Mama's and Daddy's out there missing their babies.  Just know you aren't alone.  I wish none of us were bereaved, but just know, you are never alone.

one day at a time.

I have been much too overwhelmed the past few days.  Everything has seemed much worse all of a sudden.

I think I have been focusing too much on the big picture.  On the fact that she died, that I'll never hold her again, that I have to keep living each day without her.  A grieving parent can't live like that, thinking about the big picture.  It has to be day to day.  One day at a time.

I have to start really focusing on that again.  On making it through one day.  And nothing else.  Just one day.

And my expectations of others is much too high.  To think anyone will ever care about her as much as I do is just never going to happen.  Besides John of course, because he misses her just as much as I do, but besides John no one knew her the way I did.  No one else was her parent.  No one else is her mother.  So to think that people will care as much as me is setting an impossible goal.  And a huge one, and I can't set those.  I can only set goals I can accomplish in a day.  One single day.  I can do one day.

So I am abolishing my expectations.  I hope that everyone that has heard about Virginia loves her.  I hope they all want her to have a legacy of love.  I certainly do.  Maybe I will have some help with that.  Maybe I won't.  But I can't expect everyone to be as passionate as me.  No one else is her mother.

I know part of the reason too I have been overwhelmed is that I cannot sleep.  For a while I had started to again, but now the sleepless nights are back.  I just can't sleep.  Everything always feels worse when I have barely slept in days.  So tonight, I will give in to taking a sleeping aid.  And I'll start tomorrow with a plan for the day--just that day.


"And you don't realize how good you have it
There are things worse than sleepless nights
with cranky infants

There are sleepless nights alone"

Stephanie Paige Cole
(to linger on hot coals)

my daughter is amazing, and so are her pictures.

A couple of days ago, I had someone tell me that pictures of my beautiful daughter "bothered" them.

That is not only incredibly offensive to me, it is disrespectful to my daughter.  And that with me is crossing a line you can't cross back over.

This, thankfully, is the only occasion anyone has said anything like that to me.  Everyone else who has seen her has talked only about how beautiful she is.

But I feel the need to write a little about it, because this is the way I see this situation.

There are two ways to look at the pictures of sweet, perfect Virginia.  There is the way this person obviously does: to see her death.  They look at her, and see only that she has died and absolutely nothing else.  And yes, that can be painful because her death is incredibly tragic.  But her life is not.

Which is what brings me to my view, the view I feel most have had when looking at her.  When I look at her pictures I see her, not death, not just a baby who no longer lives, I see my daughter.  And dear Lord she was so gorgeous. I see that.  I see how absolutely perfect she is, and that John and I created something that incredible.  I see how much I love her.  I see how much she inspires me to be more compassionate and to be better, how much she's taught me, how amazing she is.  I see how unbelievably grateful I am that I had her, that I am her mother, and that she is a part of my life.  I see how thankful I am to have pictures, because I carried her long enough to be able to hold her and have those pictures, and they are absolutely the most precious possession I have.  I see her, just her, and her life.

So you can focus on her life and how wonderful she is.  Or you can focus on her death, which just seems like a messed up way to think about her.  I hate that there are people who could think she should be hidden and shouldn't be seen or that she is just a negative or unfortunate thing that happened.  Her death is.  She is not.  She is the best damn thing that has ever happened to me, and I keep pictures of her e.v.e.r.y.w.h.e.r.e. and always, always will.

seven months.

I miss writing a lot, I haven't been doing it as much lately.  But I should try to keep up with it.


It is so surreal to have moved out of that house.  I spent so much time there, planning out our life with Virginia, and then the early weeks and months of grieving her death.  I cannot believe I won't be going back there.  I miss it. 


It has been a good thing to be closer to family.  And here so far I have been much busier.  But I miss having time to really grieve.  It's like the past week it has just built up and is now releasing.  It still hurts so much.


I don't even have as much time lately to read things from other bereaved parents.  I cannot explain how much it has helped to read those things the last few months.  It is 7 months now.  Seven months in just a few minutes.  As soon as it hits the 22nd.  I can't believe it has been that long since she was born.  I really can't. 


I love her so much though.  Once everything settles here hopefully I can focus on the fundraiser.  And writing more. 


The pain just does not ever lesson or go away.  You just get better at facing it.

after the flight.

I haven't written anything in a while, I have been so busy lately.  I moved back across the country, hopefully for good or at least for a while.  I've been busy visiting everyone and getting settled.

Being back around family has been pretty great.  For the most part no one shies away from talking about Virginia, and that is amazing to me.  The past few days I have felt more love than pain.  I just love her so much it's ridiculous.  She is so so beautiful, and absolutely the best thing that has ever happened to me.

I haven't been able to really get started fundraising like I wanted to though, some of our plans just haven't really happened, but we still have quite a bit of time before her birthday, so I think we'll get a lot raised before the walk.

I have been feeling okay the past few days, and that feeling never lasts, but I'm living in it as long as I can.

new normal, and starting something great.

I feel like I have put a lot of energy into trying to make everyone understand how I feel.  And that is an impossible task.  No one is going to understand, unless they have also lost a child, and even then each person and each loss is different.

So it is not possible that anyone is going to understand what losing Virginia has felt like for me.  

A lot of people in the bereavement community refer to having to find a "new normal."  There is nothing about me or my life that is the same now as it was before she died.  Not a single thing.  I don't think, speak, act, live, love, walk, react, feel, anything, I don't do anything the same way.  I am different, I am changed, completely.  My entire life is brand new.  I am finding a new normal.  

So I have to stop believing I can just slowly assimilate back into the culture of the non-bereaved.  I am never going back to non-bereaved.  I have lost her, and I can't go back.  So I have to go on, finding my own way to keep living without her, and doing things that other people may not understand, but I have to do what I have to do.

I tried to erase my facebook timeline today, just to get rid of it.  But I'd have to go one by one through years of posts to hide them all, and I don't have the patience for that.  So I deleted some pictures, hid a few things, made some adjustments.  But I believe I'll be using this and the facebook page for her more than my personal one.

I am going to share the link to the fundraiser today though.  I'll put it in this post too.  And I am really looking forward to starting it.  I don't know where it will go, which of our ideas will happen, how much we'll raise, and none of that really matters I guess.  What matters is that we are doing something to celebrate her life, to show that she can still have an impact, even if she isn't here.

The way I see it, if she were here, and we were planning her first birthday party (and I wish more than anything that is what we were doing) but if we were her entire family and all our friends would want to be there.  Well, we don't get to throw her a first birthday party, that is not our journey.  This is how I have chosen to celebrate for her.  Because that beautiful child is no less important because she isn't here.  She deserves no less love, and no less recognition just because she left us so soon.  She deserves the biggest damn celebration we can give her.  And I'll do as much as I can to make it happen.  It won't be a party, but we will help other babies, other families, other people, and we will do it for her, because of her, because we are inspired by her and because she is amazing.

If you would like to contribute to our team, here is the link:

the March of Dimes fundraiser for Team Virginia Jane

my lovely new shirt.

"be the change you hope to see in the world."

I bought a shirt from a fundraiser for 'now I lay me down to sleep'.  They are amazing because they take pictures of stillborn babies for their families.  I got the shirt in the mail yesterday, and that's what it says on it.  "be the change you hope to see in the world"

I want the way people see stillbirth to change.  I want it to stop being taboo.  I want people to start giving a shit that 26,000 babies in the US die that way a year, and literally millions more around the world every year.  I want there to be more research done, I want women to be more educated about it during pregnancy, and I certainly want doctor's to stop this from happening.

We are finding out more and more about what the doctors and nurses did wrong, and why Virginia died.  Realizing it could definitely have been prevented breaks my heart.  And makes me so so angry.  They should have known better.

So, I want research done.  I want that change.  I will advocate for that until the day I die.  I will educate every one I can.  I will be the change.

international bereaved mothers day.

Today is International Bereaved Mother's Day.

It's a movement created by Carly Marie, who lives in Australia and does a lot of work to help baby loss families and honor their babies.  On the website (here), she says that it is a temporary movement, in hopes that people might start to recognize bereaved mothers on Mother's Day.  Instead of recognizing any mothers on Mother's Day it's really just become about buying stuff.  But I guess every holiday has these days, even Thanksgiving since Black Friday has taken over.

Anyway, it is International Bereaved Mother's Day, and I believe this is the second year this day has been recognized as that, it is the Sunday before Mother's Day each year.  And while I'm not really celebrating it, I felt like writing about it a little.

I am really scared of Mother's Day.  It is awful to think that no one will recognize that John and I still have a daughter.  Yes Mother's Day and Father's Day are days that for us are not for being with her and being happy, but days of missing her, just like every other day.  But all mothers and fathers should be recognized on those days, all of them.  So I see the beauty of declaring an International Bereaved Mother's Day and Father's Day, so that people can see that even if a child is missing they still have moms and dads.  I still have a daughter and she still has a mother.

I have become even more grateful the past few days that I carried her as long as I did.  I got to feel her move, watch her grow, learn about her.  I got to birth her, hold her, have pictures of her.  Thank God I did.  What if I hadn't, what if I wasn't her mother?  I have been through a lot of pain because of her death, but that pain comes from love and I would NEVER wish to take away that love, or that she is a part of my life now.  Thank God I had her for as long as I did, I am so grateful for the time I was given.  I am so thankful for her, for having my beautiful Daughter, for getting the honor of being her Mother.

when someone you know has a loss

Today I want to write about my opinion of what you should say or do when someone you know experiences a loss similar to the one I have gone through.

- Tell them that you will be there.  That you will listen when they need to talk about it. You might not understand what they’re going through, that doesn’t matter, because you don’t need to say anything.  You just need to listen.  Let them talk about it.

-Encourage them in fact, to talk about it with someone.  If they don’t want to talk about it with you, don’t pressure them to.  But there are many ways to connect with other bereaved parents.  There are online forums and places to read things written by others who know exactly what they are going through.  Tell them to find those things, talk to those people, or to someone.  It can be so easy to feel so alone.  My personal favorites are the MISS Foundation and Still Standing Magazine, where they can find support for infertility, miscarriage, stillbirth, and child loss.

-Don’t say stupid things.  Don’t say they can "just have more kids".  Don’t say "everything happens for a reason".  For the love of God do not say “it just wasn’t the right time”.  Those things hurt.  They hurt.  They do not help.  THEY HURT.  Just say you will be there when they want to talk.  No generic expressions will help.  No “at least” sentences will help (at least it was an early loss, at least it was just the baby and not you too, none of that, don’t say that).  They only hurt.

-If you feel they are blaming themselves, assure them they didn’t do anything wrong.  Chances are they won’t listen, I still believe I am 100% responsible for what happened to Virginia.  Logically I know it was not my fault and I had no control…logically.  But it is still important to say it if they are blaming themselves.  If they have experienced such an awful loss they will feel like it is their fault…IT IS NOT.  Assure them they didn’t do anything wrong, that it was beyond their control and not their fault.  Personally I wouldn’t talk about putting blame on anyone, even doctors.  Because if someone says to me “the doctor should have done this differently” all I think is that it’s my fault because I should have gone to a different doctor.  All the "what ifs" are going to go through their head anyway, you don't need to put more there.  Some things we just cannot control, even though it is so hard to think about that.  

-Do not put a time limit on grieving.  There is no time limit.  Let them feel how they feel.

-Do not compare their loss to anything other than child loss.  Don't say it's like when your dog died.  I love my dogs like family, but someone losing a baby is not the same as losing anyone or anything else in any way.  It is child loss.  

-Remember their child.  This is most important to me.  Remember her, she is my beautiful daughter no matter how long she was on this earth.

I am not an expert on grieving in any way, I have only been on this journey for 6 months.  This is based solely on my personal experiences.  The most basic advice I have is just that if you don’t know what to say, just listen.  

fundraising soon!

Very soon, I am starting a fundraiser in honor of Virginia's birthday.

I decided pretty quickly that I had to do something for her birthday every year that would really celebrate her life.  I discovered I wanted to do a fundraiser every year.  So I kept my eyes open, and decided on fundraising for March of Dimes, and marching in the March for Babies in October.  I was going to wait to start taking donations until closer to her birthday, but I think I want to start it sooner.

I love the idea of fundraising for March of Dimes, because they fund research to prevent prematurity and stillbirth, and they help babies born prematurely to live.  They work in preventing death of babies, and that is incredibly important to me.  I feel like my particular calling has been to find a way for more research to be done.  It is most important to me that we find ways to prevent it from happening, better ways than what exist right now.

There are more and more moments these days that it dawns on me that all of this is real, she's really gone.  I'm starting to believe it.  I will never understand why, but she is.  And she deserves to be celebrated.  So, we are going to show just how much good she can do, and how much of a difference she can make.

6 months, 26 weeks, 182 days

I imagined six months after Virginia's birth would be very different than what it is.  Six months is a big time, a lot changes..solid food, lots of stuff.  Or at least that's what I planned.

I have done very well to not fall apart today, so far so good.  I worked all morning on creating pictures that illustrate things beautiful little Virginia has taught me.  I love her so much.  That project has kept me busy.  I love sharing her light.

So far, today has been okay.  Another day on this journey.

Virginia Jane, I love you.  I'll send you a thousand extra kisses today.


life lessons from virginia jane

a whole bunch of different thoughts

Part of my soul has been ripped from my body, and the whole world is just dim.

For most, it is a story.  It is a blog, a facebook page.  It is pictures of a beautiful child. 

But for me, it is my story.  It is my life.

Most of the time I don’t feel the gravity of what has happened.  The reality is too heavy.  Life must be lived moment to moment.  Because the reality that she is gone is too much.  It hurts in a way that is indescribable.

There are moments when it hits me though.  When I think, “Good God she isn’t coming back.”  When the thought comes that “My child is dead.”

Dead.

I have kissed her for the last time.

And OH my GOD she was perfect.  Soft, new, gorgeous, perfect.  And mine. 

I don’t know what color her eyes were.  That bothers me probably more than it should.  What matters is her incredible spirit.  But what color were her eyes?

I walk around, never focusing, and rarely believing anything is real.  It cannot be.  A child, born into a family who loved her more than anything, who would have given her everything, who never would have let anyone harm a hair on that wonderful head, that child cannot be taken from her parents, from her mother who is put to sleep to get her out and save her life, and her father who stood outside that room waiting for her.  She cannot be taken from them. 

I will wake up someday. 

I worked puzzles.  For weeks after the day she was born.  I couldn’t just sit around sobbing all the time.  So I worked puzzles.  And I read about other parents who lost their babies.  And I watched Parks and Rec, because somehow in those days it managed to make me laugh.  I watched them over and over.  It was the only thing that didn’t make it worse.

Now I am back at work.  And I see babies all the time.  And I hear people talk about them--about their babies, about other babies.  About what would look good on their daughter and if what’s her face had her baby yet.  It is everywhere.  Babies, and people talking about children.  And you don’t notice it until your child has been ripped away from you.

And why was she again?  Why?

What a gorgeous six month old she would be.  I don’t put pictures of her up because I am terrified someone will steal them.  Maybe that’s crazy, but I don’t care.  I know people do it, people who have never lost a child, but join support groups for God knows what reason, searching for love or attention I guess.  But if I ever found my child’s picture somewhere with someone else claiming to be her mother I would lose my shit.  She was absolutely stunning, and she would just be the prettiest six month old princess. 

Do people think someone “gets over” such a loss?  Does anyone think I feel better now?  I cry less.  I move more.  I still feel awful.  I still miss her every second. 

I will wake up someday.  Even if I don’t, even if this life is real or blah blah blah, I will be with her again.  That much I know. 

People always say the love for your child is amazing, that it is unbelievable how much you can love them.  And fuck is it true.  I cannot believe how much I love her.  I cannot believe that much love can exist in the world, let alone inside one person.  She is the love of my life. 

I don’t want to be bereaved mother anymore.  I just want to be mother.  I just want my daughter.  Here. 

I wonder sometimes what people see from the outside.  I’m such a mess on the inside.  I feel anger and sadness and so much love all at the same time constantly.  I can’t remember anything.  Half the time when I’m talking I’m not sure what the hell I’m saying.  The other day I just started talking in French and didn’t even know it.  John was like, “Did you just speak French?”  And I honestly didn’t realize it.  I just, am a mess.

But I am going to wake up.  And she’s just going to be here.  It has to happen that way.

Period.

"Today, you are really gone.

I miss you so much and my heart breaks.

It is not beautiful today.

It is not sweet sadness.

It is frantic, and felt through gritted teeth.

In moments, I want to cry out the worst words.

But, I do it silently, mouth open, no sound.

You can't hear me say those things.

I pray (scream) you are watching me.

Knowing how much I miss you.

If I knew all along you would die, 

I would be pregnant with you again.

Just to have those moments of holding you."

Catherine Bayly

(to linger on hot coals)

stages

I have now been through almost six months of being a grieving mother.  And I can say, the pain doesn't lesson.  You just change, and adapt to living with it.  It doesn't go away, but you get stronger.

There are a lot of stages I have been through since Virginia's death.  I'm sure there are many more I will go through, but here are some of the things that I have experienced.

For the first few weeks after her death, I wore the same clothes everyday.  It was the first two months actually.  The same pink hoodie, and the same black sweatpants.  Everyday.  When I had to go out (and I didn't go anywhere unless I HAD to) I put on some jeans and then right back to those sweatpants.  John would leave for work in the morning and I would be sitting in a chair in our living room and he would come home from work to me sitting in the same chair.  I couldn't move.

When we made the trip to NC for her memorial, I refused to pack that hoodie or those sweatpants, so I could make myself at least get dressed everyday.  And it has gotten better since then.  Now I am working again, so I don't sit in that same chair all the time.  And even on days off I clean or something.  I frequently want to just stay in bed all day, and just never leave, but I get up, I get dressed, and I keep going.  I made it through my sweatpants stage.

The other big stage would have to be eating, or lack there of.  I have written about this in other blogs I believe, but I had a serious lack of appetite for a long long time.  I lost a lot of weight, and I lived off of forcing myself to drink protein shakes.  It started to get dangerous, and I was not healthy.  So I slowly worked up to eating twice a day.  And now, I eat almost normally.  I made it through my not eating stage.

I know I once wrote on here about not painting my nails or wearing earrings.  After I wrote that, I started to get brave about trying those things out.  I paint my nails colors that make me think of her.  I wear little angel earrings, and some days I just go for it and wear one of my old pairs.  Something about doing those things used to make me feel so bad, like doing them was admitting I was okay with her death by doing something I would normally do.  But I don't have that fear or anxiety as strongly about it now.  I made it through (some of) my irrational avoidance of anything normal stage.

For a while, I couldn't sleep in our bedroom.  Her crib was set up in there, and looking at it being empty was too much, and I wasn't ready at first to move it out of ours and into her room.  But it wasn't just the crib.  Something about being in our bed made me think more about being pregnant than being anywhere else.  I remembered feeling her move and kick, and lying in bed thinking of her and our life together.  When I laid down in that bed without her, I would just sob and sob until John just said "Let's just go sleep downstairs baby."  It happened a few times, we would try to move back up there.  It took a few weeks.  We had to move her crib, and eventually I could sleep up there.  And now I can even sleep up there alone if John isn't ready for bed when I am.  I made it through the not being able to even lay in our bed stage.

Then there is the strangest thing that has happened, and it isn't really something that is over, I'm not sure it ever will be.  My memory is all sorts of messed up, but for me that isn't too weird, because I have always had a bad memory, and I believe my memory is so bad now because I can't focus on anything completely.  But it has also changed in really odd ways.  Like I can't remember how to spell.  And I make grammatical mistakes I have never made in my life.  Numbers get all mixed up, and I'll say things sometimes and the words coming out just don't sound right, and I'm not sure that what I'm thinking is what is actually being said out loud.  It is weird.  It is really weird.  But I know memory is affected by grieving, so perhaps I am not the only one affected in such strange ways.

Nevertheless, continuing memory loss aside, I have made it through all of those things.  Through six months of bereavement.  And it is not the end, there is no end.  But I have been to some very dark places, and made it through.  I would have to say I have gotten stronger, because there is no way I could have gotten this far without getting stronger and learning to carry grief, but I absolutely cannot take the glory.  It all belongs to her, because if not for love between mother and child I would still be sitting in a chair eating nothing all day.  She is my strength, my light, my love, my everything.

tattoos!

On Sunday I got a memorial tattoo for beautiful Virginia.  It is amazing.

We decided to get the design from her urn, John wants to do it on his leg, but he can't just yet.  So we went to San Diego Sunday to get mine done on my arm.  I am sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo glad we did.

Now, I have this way to visibly carry her always on the outside, and not just the inside.  It says her name, so when someone sees it and asks who she is, I have the chance to talk about my beautiful daughter.  It is a lovely memorial to her, it's absolutely gorgeous.

It's also my first tattoo.  I've thought about it thoroughly for the past (almost) six months, and the artist we had do it has done some of my husband's work, one of his favorite pieces in fact, so we knew he would do a great job.  I would definitely suggest getting a memorial tattoo, but I would not suggest doing it without really thinking it through and knowing who is doing it.

That being said, I really love it, and I am so happy about having it.

journey

This blog, and my life, is not just about a journey through grief.  It is about the journey of a mother and a daughter.

It started Tuesday, February 19th 2013 at about 10:20 in the morning, when I took the first positive pregnancy test I have ever taken.

I fell in love.

In the following weeks I was convinced I was having a boy, I just knew it.  Around the end of May we found out I was wrong, it was our beautiful daughter in there.

She grew.  She moved.  There were things I could tell she loved and things she hated.  She hated being hot, and things being too tight.  She loved jazz music.

I did all I could to help her grow.  Read all the books.  Ate the good things.  Avoided the bad.  Carried her, read to her, sang to her, played with her.

Thirty-nine weeks and four days was as long as her journey on Earth could be.  And my journey on Earth since her death has been well, a nightmare.  I was devastated, I was destroyed by her death.

But no matter what, she is--on Earth, beyond it, no matter where that little soul went to when she left us in that hospital room--she is still my daughter.  And our journey as mother and daughter continues.  Death cannot take that from us.

I watched a video the other day that said "You were made from love, to be loved, to spread love."  And that she was.  She spreads love everyday.  She teaches me things everyday.  I write to her, talk to her, sing to her, blow her a thousand kisses e.v.e.r.y.d.a.y.

This is not the journey I planned for us, it's certainly not the one I wanted.  But it is where we are.  And if God came down from the heavens today and said, "I'll give you a living baby right now, one her age, one you can have on Earth, but it won't be her and she won't be your daughter anymore" I would tell him immediately to leave.  I wouldn't choose any child but her.  And if her life was meant to be short and my life was meant to be missing her, so be it.  I'll be on this journey, as long as it is with her.



"You were chosen to be their mother.  Yes--chosen.  And no one could parent them better in life or death than you do."

from this, by Angela Miller

feelings are just visitors, let them come and go

An excerpt from this article by Loni H.E.:

"Losing my daughter was the most horrific, earth shattering loss of my life.  I wanted the world to stop.  I wanted everyone to know how much it hurt.  As time went on and people moved on I found myself enraged at times.  How could anyone pretend things were okay?  How could anyone be okay when my daughter was dead?

As I processed my grief I came to the realization that I was wasting energy trying to make others understand my pain.  I realized that it's a pain they could never comprehend.  Trying to make them understand was like trying to describe the color purple to someone who had never seen it.  Impossible."

If I need to cry I will.

If I need to be sad, I will.

If I need to be fucking angry, I will.

If I need to scream, I will.

If I need to laugh, I will.

If I am feeling hopeful, I will be full of hope for a while.

And sometimes full of love.

Whatever happens through this grief journey, if I need to face it or feel it I will.  The last five months have been harder than I could have ever thought possible to get through.  And I don't think I have even faced the worst of grief, or gotten to the lowest point.  The pain in unexplainable, and I don't have to try to explain it, or try to make anyone understand it.  It does not matter what anyone else thinks, it is a journey, and I have to get through every obstacle and every horrifying feeling.  I have to allow myself to go through it, and try not to be hard on myself, even if no one else understands.

reflections

We had to take the blinds down in our kitchen.  They were up in front of our sliding glass door that goes to our patio.  We had to take them down because our newest puppy kept chewing them up.  I got tired of it and just took them down.

Now when it's dark outside I walk into the kitchen and see my reflection in the glass door.  And there is no hiding from it.  My whole reflection, from head to toe.

For a long time I couldn't look at myself in the mirror.  It will be five months this Saturday that I have walked the earth without my beautiful daughter, and now it is getting a little easier to see my reflection.  But for most of the past few months I couldn't.  I would make a face in the mirror, like scrunching up my nose, to avoid seeing my actual face.  To avoid seeing that person who failed to bring my child crying into this world.  I failed, and I have not really been able to look at myself since.

I used to look at my face in the mirror when I was pregnant and wonder if I looked like a mom yet.  Wonder how I would look carrying her around and pushing her in her stroller with little pink flowers all over it.

I am still her mother.

But a grieving mother is never what I expected to see looking back at me.  It is just a completely different person from who I used to be.

My hair, still short after donating it in memory of her.  I always hated my hair short, it was the longer the better.  Now I couldn't care less.  I am about 10-15 pounds smaller than I was pre-pregnancy, and honestly I would rather weigh 500 pounds and have her.  But I weigh somewhere around 110 I guess.  And I'm still missing the 8 pounds and 1 ounce that was taken from me last October.

My face is the biggest change to me.  Not only because I have given up on makeup, but before she died I knew nothing of loss.  I really knew very little about sadness and certainly nothing about tragedy.  I had a very blessed life.  But my face doesn't reflect innocence and peace anymore.  It is not the same face.

And now the glass door in the kitchen is a reminder of how much has changed, as I stare at a person I really don't recognize looking back at me.  But I know I am still in the middle of this storm.  I know the pain isn't always so sharp, and maybe that reflection will continue to get easier to look at.  And she'll get stronger because of that perfect child.


"Once you have met it and lived through it you find that forever after you are freer than you ever were before.  If you can live through that you can live through anything.  You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face.  You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror.  I can take the next thing that comes along'."


from, You Learn by Living by the lovely Eleanor Roosevelt

discouraged

Here's the thing, my heart is still broken.  

I'm not sure if people expect that life can go back to normal.  But it can't.  There is no normal anymore, and I am just a very broken version that maybe somewhat resembles the person I used to be.

I hear things like I'm "handling things well" a lot.  I don't know why because it's not accurate, but I suppose it's good that it seems like I'm keeping it together.  In reality I'm a complete and total mess and I just want to scream all day and I honest to God don't care about a single thing that isn't my daughter.  Not. A. Single. Thing.

I also don't think about anything else.  Ever.  I miss her literally every second.  I replay the day she was born and died over and over and over and over again all day.  I think about what I should be doing right now.  I am back at work, which is completely bittersweet.  Because yes it is healthier that I'm there because being alone all day dwelling isn't healthy so being there all day (still dwelling, but being around people and having to at least focus a tiny bit on what I'm doing) I suppose is a lot healthier.  But the truth is that what I should be doing is spending all day with my gorgeous daughter being the stay at home mom I planned on being while John was deployed.  So being back at work is good, but is bad too because this is not the way it was supposed to happen.

And oh my God if one more person tells me I can just "have more kids" my brain will explode because I know people mean well but you can't replace a child like you can an ice cream cone.  I can have 27 more kids it won't change the fact that my daughter is dead.  And right now I don't want any other kid but her so even if we do have more it will be oh so many years from now before we are ready for that.  

I am incredibly discouraged.  I am still really in shock that the world keeps turning without her.  How can everything just keep going, how does life go on, how does the sun even rise without her precious soul on this earth?  I just can't believe I keep waking up everyday and it keeps being my reality that she is gone.  And living without her is truly horrible.  I mean honestly, really awful.

I am shocked that things keep moving on around me.  That while babies die people take pictures of their dinner and post them on facebook like that is just the most important thing anyone could talk about.  And it SHOULD be the most important thing anyone could talk about, that should be the way the world is.  Those pictures of simple things need to be posted because life should be that simple.  But it just isn't always and I can't bring myself to care about simple things.

I am discouraged that the world hasn't stopped yet, and I think I just need a serious break from the internet, from everything, until I can appreciate simple things again.  Until I can appreciate anything again.

So I will take a break.  And I will focus on healing.  Cause I can't do anything positive for her if I can never see the light.  And there will come a day when there will be something simple I'll care about.  And a day when I'll feel okay about being okay again.  

"I sit motionless, draw inside, 

duck my head

while the world goes hurtling past.

While all the objects of my universe orbit-

sickening circles-

while everything else keeps going.

I thought it was you who had stopped, but I have."

from "Still." by Anne Morris (found in to linger on hot coals)