Jacob and Axelle

This journey has had so many ups and downs. One milestone was Becky getting pregnant so soon after we had lost Evangeline. It was an exercise in despair, jealousy, growth and patience for us. I have come now to see the myriads blessings that God had in the works that I could not have fathomed in the depths of my pain. This was punctuated by the events of May 27th, 2011.

Becky had been sick that week with the stomach flu, so I was upset. I was sad that she would not be able to visit me in the hospital for a few days, I was worried for her being sick and for the baby, as she was only 35 weeks pregnant. She had been having what I kept warning her were contractions for a few weeks already, but what she said were just cramps. From my hospital bed, we had discussed so many times the possibility that we'd be placed in the same room, should I still be there when she went into labour, but always thought it'd be fun even to visit each other's rooms. Once Becky was feeling better, on Friday the 27th, at about 4pm,she came to visit me and thought she'd stop at the L&D nurses' station to ask some questions about some loss of fluid she thought she might have had during her flu. They hooked her up to a monitor. My dad came to visit me and as he entered the room my mom called inquiring as to Becky's whereabouts as she had left a while earlier to visit me. I mentioned to my dad that he might want to check L&D as Becky might be there. He came back about 15mins later and said that Becky was indeed in labour. (!!!) Patrick managed to track Marc down (they were both working) and Becky was stable by progressing very slowly. They decided they would keep her overnight to monitor her. She asked (for the millionth time, she said) if she could be placed in my room that night, as the bed next to me had just (one hour earlier!!) become available. They agreed!!! (My nurses said they wouldn't have it any other way, and would have done it without our asking, even :) Then things started to go wonky for Becky and Jacob. She was having a placental abruption and Jacob's heart rate was reflecting that fact, so off to the OR they ran (TV style, running down the hallway!) and Jacob was delivered at around 9pm with the whole family in my room waiting for news. (The perks of being a longtime patient, no one ever asked our guests to leave past visiting hours). At about 1am Becky was wheeled into our room. Jacob had to stay int he nursery for a few days, but I was still the first person in our family to hold him. We spent the best 5 days of my pregnancy together, with the curtains open in our room, making it feel palatial compared to what I was used to, with friends and family and most importantly my sister and our husbands there, almost 24/7. Needless to say, the following week, once Becky left, was the longest and hardest of my stay. With Becky (dealing with postpartum hormones) and I calling each other and crying daily. Her visits with Jacob would become the highlight of my stay in the 6 weeks I had left there, and in my month at home while still immobile.

Poor Maudy, had a much tougher delivery. Compared to my 7 or so hours and Becky's 5 hours (from visit to birth). She had failure to progress and then so much pain before the epidural. The whole family, both sides, waited patiently in the waiting room for Axelle to arrive , which she did to great fanfare around 6pm. She is such a happy little girl, and the apple of her Daddy's eye!

Oh my....

That same weekend, Mother's Day, I was admitted to the hospital. I stayed there for 9 whole weeks (2 months less a day!) without access to my computer or the internet and let this project sliiiiiiide. When I got back, at 32 weeks according to the hospital (31 weeks according to my doctor) I was confined to bed until 36 weeks and then was given permission to wiggle around some over the weekend of August 13-14 as I was to have my stitches out at 7am August 15th. I went into labour on August 14th and had the stitches removed that night.
Our sweet little Benjamin was born at 2:34am on August 15th. Just 12hrs (or so) short of Dr.'s projection from the week before. After such a dramatic pregnancy, the labour was mostly quick and uneventful- aside from an epidural that didn't fully take. I dilated from 1cm (where I had been for the entire pregnancy- Thank God for my cerclage!) to 4cm the second the stitch was cut. A couple hours later I was ready to push. It took 12 minutes apparently. Little Ben had the cord wrapped so tightly around his neck it had to be cut off. He wasn't breathing, and then he did! Never a sweeter sound. He was so tiny, albs, 14ozs, but considering he was almost 4 weeks early, and that I had only gained 6lbs, it was good.

He was curious from the beginning. Looking around and making eye contact. He slept well and wanted to nurse constantly. I had trouble with my supply and he was losing weight. We discovered at the end of the week, after bottle feeding him for the week, in addition to nursing and pumping, that he was tongue tied!! It was snipped and he started gaining weight quickly.

Life has just whizzed by. Benjamin will be 8 months old next week. He is extremely social, loves smiling, giggling and his whole family. He gaggles away and loves eating, although we can tell he's eager to eat our food, not just baby food. He's funny already and loves when he gets us to laugh. He is the joy of our hearts. Everyone (right?) says that being a parent is the most rewarding thing they've done. I feel like Ben is a miracle that was sent just for us by God and through the intercession of Evangeline. He is a blessing to our whole family. He is our ever happy, smiling angel. I am so excited for the adventures we will continue to have, although I wish I could slow it all down. I am blessed to know him, and Patrick and I are beyond favoured to have been chosen as his parents.

I'll write a separate post about the joy that is being an aunt! :)

Ugh...

Just realized that while this weekend is 23 weeks, the exact point we lost Eva, it also happens to fall on Mother's Day.

On the other hand, we're almost past this hurdle, just a few more days....

Ups and downs....

Well, we know for sure that this little bunny wiggling around constantly is a boy, a healthy little boy. We're so happy everything is okay and that he's doing well, despite my lack of weight gain thus far. We're happy to have passed 21 weeks. Next goal is 24 weeks, just 2 1/2 weeks away. Sounds so soon, feels so far.

Up until recently Bunny has been kicking me mostly around my belly button, but the last couple days he started added some kicks really low. Nothing that hurt, but low enough to freak me out. I keep reading that  with or without the cerclage the baby's kicks can't cause dilation. I am praying hard that this is true. Last night the kicks started migrating back towards my belly button, but it still terrifies me. Patrick too. He keeps asking if I'm okay. I feel okay, just anxious. And so I write....

It is very frustrating to have to mix family and friends' events. I feel jealous of sister and sister in law who are continuing with work and their daily lives, while I live on the couch or in my bed. But I will gladly do all this to have a healthy, strong (as close to full term as possible) baby. I know it's not a walk in the park for Becky either, who's in a lot of pain, but I feel I would be better able to handle the physical pain than the constant worry. I've read that if you can get to 26 weeks, the chance for losing the baby due to IC go WAY down. It's not so far away, but there are so many minutes in between.

I pray all the time, to God to literally hold my cervix closed and lately for Bunny to start hanging out higher in my belly again. I pray for strength and patience and peace of mind....

I feel defective....

I woke up crying this morning. I feel broken. There are certain things women are mostly able to do, and I can't. Something as natural as childbirth is a struggle for me. It's not fair. I've just passed the 19 week mark and some people seem to imply that it should get easier. Yes, it should. For most people. Unfortunately for me it'll get harder/scarier before it gets easier. I'm almost at my next milestone, at least. I had said once I have the surgery (which was the first milestone)...I have a list of goals.
-Get to week 20, because there will definitely be more time behind me than ahead of me.
-Get to week 24, because it's the cusp of viability for micro-preemies.
-Get to week 26, because chances of survival go way up.
-Get to week 28, because chances of complications due to prematurity go down.
-Get to week 30, because Pat was born at 30 weeks, and he turned out pretty good :) As well as less risky!
-Get to week 34, because my bed rest will be pretty much ending.
-Get cerclage out....
-Bring home healthy baby.

When I look at it this way, it doesn't look too bad.

Every night, right before I fall asleep, I ask God to wrap His hand tightly around my cervix and keep it there until the baby is big and strong enough to thrive outside of me. I feel like He is so far. I just have to get through the next little while, just around the bend....

The battle is mostly mental these days....

It really is.

People keep asking how I'm doing, how I'm recovering from surgery. Physically, I guess I'm fine. I feel mostly okay, aside from some light cramps, pressure, etc. from the stitches. I won't really know until my ultrasound in 4 weeks. And that, is the hardest to bear. The slightest little cramp, sends my mind reeling. I've read that it's all normal, but I don't know. I have to actually refrain myself from running to the ER everyday. The spotting seems to have stopped, thank the Lord. I sometimes wish there was a little window, through which I could see baby bean and my cervix.
I've also lost weight since the surgery, about 5lbs. I hope I can gain it back simply. It scares me. I haven't had much appetite, but I'm trying to eat three meals a day....but they're mostly small meals. I just want this baby to be okay and thrive and be born at a healthy weight. If s/he is going to come early on top of it, I need to make sure s/he has at least the advantage of weight.
These last few days, in addition to praying for a healthy, as close to full term as possible baby, I'm also praying for my own peace of mind. My heart starts racing so quickly, with any little thing, and my mind is tired. Even my dreams are filled with fears. Please, God....help this baby and help me....

Cerclage-An extra line of defense

I had my cerclage this week.

There were little miracles happening that I didn't notice at the time. Some, I still can't see, but I hope my eyes will be opened to them eventually. The biggest one...After waiting two hours for a bed, they cancelled my surgery. At the time I did not know that they had cancelled all inpatient surgeries. There were no beds. On the way home, Patrick said we need to call the Dr.'s office and ask them what to do. I was annoyed, I said our Dr. is at the hospital, the secretaries can't help us. I still listened to him and called. The secretary seemed livid that the hospital would cancel such a time sensitive surgery. She then told me she'd handle it. 5 minutes later, the hospital called me and told me to come back, they'd do the surgery after all.

So, at around 1pm I was in the OR. (We had initially arrived at the hospital at 6am, as per their instructions). By 2:30pm, I was back in my room. The surgery was painless but very uncomfortable, quick, the epidural was strong. I had already started dilating, so this confirmed for our Dr. that she was doing the best thing for our baby, that I truly have an incompetent cervix.  There were some complications about 8hrs later that our genius nurses figured out and fixed. I was kept in for 48hrs. I was sent home yesterday on full bed rest with slight bouts of modified bed rest allowed. I'm still spotting. I'm pretty much a bleeder, however, so the slight spotting isn't alarming to the doctor, or even to me. I've read it's quite common after a cerclage. I will feel much better after it stops.

Last night Becky called me to tell me she'd heard on the news and read in the paper about all the surgery cancellations at our hospital. It was a big deal. There were no beds, so much overcrowding. 13 surgeries were cancelled, including a man who wrote in and was supposed to have prostate surgery on his late stage cancer. Mine was the only one that was put back on the roster. With me having started to dilate, and no one knowing (not us, or our doctor, recent ultrasounds showed a normal cervix), this procedure, done when it was, just gave our little peanut a fighting chance. A miracle.

Now, I need to get to 20 weeks, and I'll have more time behind me than ahead of me. I've broken down my goal into smaller little goals. We can do this.

Still holding on :)

Hello again,
We had a marvellous appointment on Friday morning and got to hear our little SeaMonkey's heartbeat. I went in there fully expecting the worst news and so was thanking God out loud when the doctor quickly found our little bean with the Doppler. Nice, strong heartbeat. Of course, now my fears are not totally gone, but they're better for now. I know that so far, I'm carrying a viable baby. This coming Saturday we have our prenatal screening and ultrasound, so we will be able to see the baby again and learn how the development is progressing and whether there are any risk factors. (*Please, God, no....*) Two weeks after that we have yet another ultrasound to measure my cervical length, because in the week after, I'll be getting the cerclage done, and then the scary part begins. I don't need to necessarily make it to 40 weeks, but just further than last time. At least 30 weeks is what I keep saying. Ideally, 35 would be lovely. If I ever get the courage to start sharing this website with anyone else, I will ask for your prayers. My heart has little bubbles of hope welling up, like when you blow bubbles in your milk with a straw....

Cautiously optimistic...

Seems we're still hanging in there. We've had two ultrasounds after the spotting started and all was okay. Cervix was long and closed, there was no sign of trouble and most importantly, there was a heartbeat. And so, I'm praying and hanging on. My doctor's appointment is next Friday and by then I'll be 11 weeks and we should be able to hear a heartbeat with the Doppler in the office. If that goes well, the month following is filled with back to back appointments, ultrasounds and then my cerclage on March 16th....plenty of opportunities to be reassured. I feel I need it constantly these days.

I'm trying to surrender all to God. To realize that I have no control over anything. I know that I am blessed. That all things considered, I have much to be grateful for, and I am. And still, my heart aches. It aches for having lost Evangeline. It aches for my body's failure. It aches with the fear of trying again. It aches with the hope that this time is different. I am trying to surrender it all to God. I am trying....

I am, but now I think I might be miscarrying. I'm so hurt and almost insulted right now. I am a good person, and I felt that after losing Evangeline and keeping my faith and leaning on God, He would have more mercy and not allow us to conceive another little angel we couldn't keep. That was even my deal with Him before we got pregnant. I said the same prayer over and over. "God please give me a healthy baby. I will wait as long as I need to, to get pregnant, as long as I can keep the baby. Please don't let me conceive another baby we can't keep." Ugh.

Oh my...

I think I'm pregnant....

These days...

It's been a few weeks since I blogged. I've been feeling a little better, but this morning, for some reason, I woke up with a lot of anger and feeling so painfully jealous of people who are pregnant or who have gotten to keep their babies. Even the ones who also lost a baby. At least they have one, had another one, type of feeling. At least they're pregnant, type of feeling. It really really hurts today.
There's something I haven't mentioned yet. My sister is pregnant. My younger sister. She thought it would be fun for us to do this together. It would have. But she found out about 10 days after we lost Evangeline. So, she conceived right before we lost her. We knew it was a possibility that this would happen, but bless her soul, she told me that if she hadn't conceived she would wait for us to start trying again. That's how much she loves me. Unfortunately, life takes strange and unfair turns that we can't yet understand. So, my belly and arms are empty. While she's nervous, she has the hope and the naivety of joy. Yes, I know she has lost some of that innocence, watching our pain, but God willing, she will never know what I know. That the very heart of your soul can be almost literally ripped out and you will have to find a way to go on. She's 10 weeks today. I would be almost 32 weeks.

Today is a hard day. Today is a hard day, but I have to keep in mind that there have been many better days in between. Most days are almost okay. I got a tattoo of her name, on my wrist. It makes me feel better. However, it did not dawn on me until after that there will forever be questions from strangers or acquaintances as to what it means. I will need to find an answer. A simple sentence to explain without making people feel horrible. Because I want people to ask about her. I want people to know. She is my daughter and I will talk about her every opportunity I get.

I ordered a book called "Born to Fly-An Infant's Journey to God" by Cindy Claussen. It's a short little book, a conversation between a baby in his mother's womb, and God. It goes through this infant discovering his parents and their love for him which he reciprocates, to his journeying to God and asking God to protect his beloved parents until they can all be together. It brought so many tears, but this time they felt warm, and healing. Not like the hot tears of pure grief or the cold tears of anger. I recommend it to anyone who needs another step on their path to resolution. I found it at http://www.borntoflyonline.com

The doctor has already given us the green light, whenever we're ready. How can we ever decide that? It's in His hands, because I'm terrified.

Our memorial mass

     Once again, we are surrounded by love and support from all sides. We know how blessed we are to have these people in our lives. We arrived at the church yesterday to see that there were already many people there, aside from my dad, aunt and uncle who were practicing the songs, many people from Patrick's church in the West Island had come all that way to help us celebrate Evangeline's short life and to mourn with us. My family was there, and so many friends. For such a tiny little baby, there were so many people who loved her already.
    The priest we had asked to lead the service, was the same priest who married us. I found so much of what he had to say, so very insightful. He said that Evangeline came to prepare the way. He also talked about how her name means "a little good news", and she was. In the short time we had her with us, she was the best news for us. Even on a bad day, all I had to do was think of her, and know she was coming, for everything to suddenly be okay. And now she's come and gone, and here I am, changed. I am a mother. My daughter is an angel. I had a baby. I have a baby. We are orphaned parents for now, but parents still. Yesterday was a difficult day, but I know the worst is behind me. I know that the future isn't what it used to be. But we still have a future. And hope.
     I guess I'm sad today. I didn't expect that. I thought I would feel more closure, but I feel like I've put her in the past, and she doesn't belong there. She belongs in the present and in our future. I need to find a way to keep her there. I miss her terribly....with every ounce of my being.

Last night

...at Fabricville, I met another woman in my family tree of grief. (I stole that term from Elizabeth McCracken, an author who writes about her experience in her book An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination)

I was buying light pink ribbon, meters and meters of it (50, to be exact) to wrap around little votive candles with Eva's picture and birth/death date, to be given out at her memorial mass. I figured I'd buy extra (I needed about 42 meters, by our calculations), and Natalie (my sister in law) said I could keep the rest if I have another daughter. So I smiled a funny smile and said "Yeah...." The saleswoman who had been helping us look and measure and choose said "Oh, how old is the baby?" So, I stopped, turned around and said, "Actually, I was pregnant, and we lost her at 23 weeks" and she said the best thing she could say in that moment. "Oh, honey, I lost a baby at 7 1/2 months, I understand. There's nothing anyone can say and most people say the wrong thing but this is all you can do." She opened her arms to me and I leaned forward and hugged her back. She went from a stranger, to someone who knows me better than many people. She said when it happened to her, people would say things like "At least you didn't get to know him", and I said "People like to tell me at least I'm young and I can have more", so she replied, paralleling what my heart says each time I hear that phrase "But you won't have her..."
So, after that I left that area to pay and turned back to her and said "I'll be thinking of you," to which she replied "I'll be thinking of you." Strange how not alone I am, that even in the fabric store, I find someone who understands and also wants to share.

Over supper with my in-laws last night, my mother in law (love her!) also asked Patrick what he would have wanted his brother to be named. Louise is another mother who understands. She lost a baby too. Patrick's twin brother. The boys were born at 30 weeks, and his brother lived only a few hours, a result of anencephaly. He's always been known as Pat's brother, or more officially Baby B or Bébé Deux. And so last night they named him. Benjamin Joseph Denis Cormier. Patrick's brother finally has a name. Louise said last night that she had always wanted to name him, but wanted Patrick to help. She wanted him to like the name. Now that he understands the loss too, it was the right time. We really like the name Ben, and will keep it on our list if we ever have a boy.

Then I spent hours trying little pink bows on candles, attaching my babygirl's picture. Louise and Natalie helped too, but had to leave to drive back home and sleep. It was a labour of love. Pat eventually went to bed and I stayed up and finished. They're really pretty, and I think I have enough to give them to some people I know would appreciate them. It was a good night. Still, I'm looking forward to tomorrow afternoon, when the mass will be over, and we can look to the future.

"One day this will be a grace in your lives."

Today, Patrick and I met with the priest who will be presiding over the memorial mass we're having this weekend. He started by saying that there were many people praying for us and named some in particular. At this point, he went to the door, because there was someone outside. It was one of the women he had just referred to, Anna. She wanted to offer her condolences. Then she shared that she and her husband had also lost their first baby, a boy. She said that it had taken her close to 9 years and three more children, to get to a place where she felt resolved and at peace with losing Arthur. She spoke lovingly of her children and the special relationship they have with the older brother they've never met. She also mentioned that she considers herself to have four children, not just the three surviving ones. In her, I felt hope. I have said over the past month, that I know there is hope, that women have shared stories with me that inspire hope in me, but this was concrete. She said that her second baby, a girl, was turning 24 today. And then she said something that I have heard in different forms in the last little while, but have not believed until the words came from her mouth. "One day, this will be a grace in your lives." She said that she still loves and misses her first born, but that she loves him as she loves his siblings, and each magnifies the love for the other. I so look forward to being there, where she is now, 25 years later. She spoke of the joy she and her husband felt when the doctor placed her second baby on her, healthy and pink and real. And that she would love to meet our second baby. I felt such love coming from her, and for her, and don't think she could ever realize how much. I hope to one day, be that love and hope for someone else. That would be a grace.

I miss you my sweet babygirl....

The gift of music ♪

     The other day, I was in my neighbour's car on our way out for supper and we were talking about how certain things can stir up memories all of a sudden. Things like a smell, or a taste of something, or a song. It led me to think about music in general. There are songs, that when I hear them now, I can remember being in an entirely different place and still feel those same feelings. For example, when I hear "Please don't go Girl" by the New Kids on the Block, I'm back in my old bedroom, on the top bunk, with a friend from school on the bottom, and we're making long loopy chains of coloured jelly bracelets. Wow, right?
     This led me to think that it goes further than that. Sometimes, there's a song I've heard a bunch of times, and don't really have any feelings associated with it. Until something happens. The other day, I decided to bring my iPod with me on the treadmill instead of reading a magazine like I often do. I started playing songs on YouTube, looking up songs that I've heard and like, that might bring me comfort (I was feeling sad, and thinking about BabyGirl). So, I went to a song called Bring on the Rain by Jo Dee Messina. Nice song, kinda fit my down mood, but I knew I needed something more inspirational. So, in scrolling down the side I found a song I had heard before, called Bring the Rain by MercyMe. Yowza. I was inspired to type up the lyrics and post them on my FB page, just to have them there, and perhaps inspire others going through difficult times. The song is about accepting to have the bad times, with the good times, if it's all for God's greater glory. I needed to hear it just then. So I was on the treadmill, running, and listening to the music, and crying, and praying and running, and crying... And then I remembered another song that my aunt had shown me a few weeks ago, that I had forgotten about from years back. This was "The Anchor Holds" by Ray Roltz. Now, this song hit me even harder. The only reason I didn't post this song on FB was because it hit me too hard, perhaps. It was too personal. I felt, in that moment, as the crying had turned to heavy sobs (try running and sobbing one day...it's an experience) that the song was written for me. While day to day, I'm getting by, and even feeling happen, or at least myself about half the time, this is still the most unimaginable pain, and the biggest void I've ever felt. And yet...the Anchor holds. Here are the lyrics.


I have journeyed
through the long dark night
out on the open sea
by faith alone
sight unknown
and yet His eyes were watching me

CHORUS
The anchor holds
though the ship is battered
the anchor holds
though the sails are torn
I have fallen on my knees
as I faced the raging seas
the anchor holds
in spite of the storm

I've had visions
I've had dreams
I've even held them in my hand
but I never knew
they would slip right through
like they were only grains of sand

CHORUS

I have been young
but I am older now
and there has been beauty these eyes have seen
but it was in the night
through the storms of my life
ohh thats where God proved His love to me

CHORUS

CHORUS 




     The second verse about having dreams that you've held in your hand, only to have them vanish like sand....That's it, right there. I am back in the hospital, holding my sweet little girl in my hands. And then I'm at her burial, holding her tiny little urn, with the grains of sand that were left of her. And yet, the Anchor holds. 
     I have felt Him even in these moments, these days, these weeks. I know it is only because of Him that I am standing, and even smiling. He has put incredible people on this road with us, from our families, our friends, our neighbours, to the incredible women (friends and strangers) who have reached out to me to say that I'm not alone. That is Him, comforting me. Putting the right people in our path. That day, I needed something, and so He sent me these songs, to help me get through the moment and to the next....

Tomorrow...

Good morning! Today is finally Friday, which means we're closer to next week, when my husband once again falls on his week off, after this horribly long week of night shift! We're both looking forward to it. I was dreading this week, as he was doing this very shift when we lost our angel, (lost our baby? gained an angel?) and he hadn't had to do it since. It has gone by faster than I expected, which means 1) that I'm becoming more comfortable in my own company again (yippee!) and 2) that nothing is really as bad as I dread it will be.
Even the pain.
Of course, that first weekend, in the hospital, was worse. Worse than anyone can imagine. As were the first few days. Okay, maybe weeks. And everyday there are moments of profound loss, grief and horribleness. But, as the grief counsellor I talked to suggested, when I allow these feelings to naturally come, they also naturally go...
The hardest part, lately (because it changes often), is dealing with the idea of next year. Dealing with the due date, and all the events we were looking forward to celebrating as a family. I was due sometime between Jan. 31st and Feb 3rd, and they say most first pregnancies go past the due date, but we knew that Evangeline would be here by Valentine's Day, our own little cupid. (Indeed she is!) We looked forward to celebrating Easter as a family, our first mother's/father's day. Patrick's parents had wanted to rent a beach house on the coast of Delaware as his family did when he was younger. I envisioned laying out near the water, with our sweet little dark haired baby on a blanket, sleeping peacefully. And there'd be Thanksgiving, and we'd be thankful for her and all that she'd brought us in those first 9 months, and her first Halloween. She was going to be a ladybug. The costume was waiting for us at Véro's. And finally Christmas, she'd be almost a year old. Next year will be so difficult.
These are the things that hurt the most, not just losing her, but losing this chunk of what would have been, what should have been. Part of our own future is gone, with her. And it's not fair, but that's the way it is.
People like to say "you'll get over it", "you'll move on", "time heals all wounds", but it doesn't. Not this kind of wound. I don't want to move on, I want my baby. I don't want to forget about her, and put her in the past. She belongs in my future, not in the past. Moms like me, I imagine, are constantly struggling to keep their babies alive in their hearts now, not just in the past. One day, God willing, I will have more babies, more healthy, full term babies who will know my voice and call me "mommy". But this first baby, Evangeline, will be just as real to me as she is now, just as loved as the babies I hope to have. That's why it's so important when people tell me they'll remember her. It makes it easier for me, not to have to go around and remind everyone...

Yes, I lost my first baby. Her name was Evangeline. She would be just over a month old today. I love her and miss her everyday.

One month. ❀

This morning I woke up to sunshine. It's not what I expected today. I expected dark cloudy skies, wind and rain and maybe snow, freezing all it touches. But instead, it's warm (for November) and sunny. I guess it parallels this past month in a way. I thought, on Oct. 3rd, that I would never recover from this pain, I thought that on Oct. 9th too, at the burial, and the following week. But then something started happening. I swear it's because I started praying hard than ever, just for God to give me peace, to heal my heart and my spirit. I complained to my dad that He wasn't working fast enough. So, my wise father asked if I had given my pain fully to God. Well, no. Then he reminded me of a little poem magnet we had stuck on the fridge growing up:

Like children bring their broken toys with tears for us to mend
I brought my broken dreams to God because he was my friend
And then instead of leaving Him in peace to work alone
I stuck around and tried to help in ways that were my own
At last I snatched them back and said "How could you be so slow?"
"My child," he said, "what could I do? You never did let go."

(Author unknown)

Indeed. It's a lot like that. I think part of my spirit is recovering slowly because I feel like maybe I can make a difference, like I can do something. That will come in pain. That's not to say that I'm feeling no pain and that I'm back to my old self. There is no old self, that's how deep this wound was felt. She is dead. I am in the process of rebuilding this new me. I was talking to a friend the other day and I kept saying, in conversation "Before...you know..." about things I had said and done and felt before we lost Evangeline and realized that I see life as very B.E and A.E. Before we lost Eva and after we lost Eva. I had one such life change when my parents split up, but that was over 10 years ago, and luckily, while that feeling of before/after divorce is still there when I think about those days, it's no longer a reference point in my daily life. It will remain to be seen whether this will be.
I miss her so. I miss everything about her, even the things I had dreamed for the future. Her death took away a chunk of my life, part of "what lies ahead" is gone and can never come back. There will always be scars. Perhaps, like an episiotomy, when the heart rips apart, the scar is stronger, heals better, than with careful little cuts. Maybe I'm just lucky that I know how to grieve.  It was hard to fall asleep, alone, last night (we are back to the night shift for Patrick) as I kept thinking, "one month ago, I was in a hospital bed and the world was crashing down around my heart"...

But today, I see the sun shining and feel like Eva is smiling and playing up there and that while all is not well, maybe all is at it should be.

♥

Not alone...

     Yesterday I heard the news about British pop singer Lily Allen and her boyfriend Sam Cooper. They were 6 months pregnant and lost their baby this past weekend. Just last week I was musing that while every now and then a celebrity will come out and say they've suffered a miscarriage in the past, it is rare (I guess as rare as it is in "normal" pregnancies) that they share stories of later pregnancy losses. Since yesterday, as I've scoured the internet for new about what happened to them, I've found a few others... But there's such a sense of shame around the whole thing.
     It's only now, living through this, that I notice how taboo this topic is. I've known people who've had miscarriages, and unless they've told me about it themselves, I'll avoid the topic. I've felt sympathetic to their pain, but couldn't imagine it. So, I would say nothing. I don't think it dawned on me to offer condolences for their loss. I know better now. I also know that the father needs love and support as well.
     This feels like a scattered, disjointed post, and I'm sorry for that. What I'm trying to say is that pregnancy loss shouldn't be this way! When a couple loses a child, we are allowed and expected to condole and grieve with the parents. This baby that I carried in my womb, the babies of all these women- these are our children. They're not foreign ideas or concept or tissue matter. They are, truly, tiny little perfect babies. Even in their imperfections, should that be the case, they are perfect to us. We should be allowed to share our stories as much as any other mother. It seems our society has a hard time with death in general. We don't know what to say, how to say it, what to do. I can tell you, for myself, even the words "I don't know what to say", bring a sense of comfort. A sense that my loss is larger than words can allow. And it is. A hug. A gentle "how are you holding up?" or "do you need anything?" Those all work very well. Ask me about our daughter! Ask me who she looked like, what her name is....
     I wonder if perhaps, my meaning in all this will be to help others. I feel already like it brings me a sense of comfort and peace to reach out to others who are hurting in this way. I was reading about the celebrations held all across North America on October 15th, to remember our babies. There is nothing in Quebec. Not one. In Ontario, I think I counted about 10 different public candle lightings. Not here. Although I have a few theories as to why this is, I don't fully understand. But, I think if I'm in a place next year where I can make that little difference, I'd like to do that.

*****

I was wondering this morning, as I watched the usual parade of horrible memories in my mind, whether it will ever stop. I know, it's barely been a month (tomorrow in fact...), but will I ever have a quiet peaceful moment, not invaded by the memories of that weekend in the hospital? All the things leading up to our losing our little sweetheart play through my mind. Conversations between us and nurses, things the doctors said, pushing, hoping, the fear, those minutes when they told me and life changed in a instant....

<3

My husband ♥

     I was just thinking back, to all the little babies that have come into our life in the time since Patrick and I have been together. The first was my little brother, Zach. (He turned 5 this summer) I remember the first day that Patrick met him, he was probably 2-3 days old. He flat out refused to hold this little bundle, afraid that he would break him/hurt him/make him cry. But I, being the stubborn girlfriend, like any girl, wanted to see how my new-ish boyfriend looked with a baby in his arms. I got up, put the baby in his arms and backed away. There's a picture somewhere of Patrick looking terrified and mystified at the same time. I think he's still kinda annoyed about that. Since then, he has flat out refused to hold any infant who he considers still breakable. Oh, he's the guy all toddlers love as he blows raspberries on bellies and throws shrieking kids as high as parents allow, but babies scare him.
     When we were in labour, the nurse asked if we would want to see/hold our little angel after it was over and my immediate reaction was, of course! Patrick was much more hesitant. I'm not sure how much of it was his fear of the unknown, (would she even look okay??) and how much was his fear of babies. He agreed immediately, just by hearing my relief at the idea of once, just once, holding our little girl. When the time came to bring her back in after the labour process was finished and the nurses had done whatever needed to be done, our room was cleared as the nurses wheeled her in. One nurse handed her to me, ever so gently and I was stunned by how tiny and light she felt in my hands. Her father and I stared at her through our tears, and the nurse took a few pictures for us. Then they left us alone. I kissed her and told her how I loved her, that I was sorry, and that I would have done anything to keep her. Then I told Patrick he could hold her. I half expected him to say no, but there was no hesitancy. He took her gently from my arms and caressed her. He could have held her on one arm, but he held her with both as he cried and whispered words of love to his first born. He held her, that afternoon, even longer than I did. He told me he couldn't put her down, but I think he meant that he couldn't let her go. After our parents each held her and it was soon time to wheel her away forever, we all said a prayer while I held her one last time. Patrick softly started singing in my ear The Lights of the City, a song my family sings at funerals, and just when we're together and reminiscing. Finally he placed her in her little basket inside the incubator. How I would have loved to put her to sleep every night.... Patrick was able to, just that once. Before he may have wondered whether he could handle parenthood, and now, he can.

The Lights of the City:

John tells us of a city so high up above
Where we'll meet in a spirit of love
We'll meet over yonder in that heavenly place
There, we'll see each other face to face.

Refrain:
I can almost see the lights of the city
Shining down on my
I can almost see the lights of the city
Forevermore I shall be free.

John tells us of the time when time will be no more
In the days when the trumpets shall blow
We'll meet over yonder in that heavenly place
There we'll see each other face to face.

John tells us of the water which brings us to life
When we drink, we will not thirst for more
When we're born in that water, a heavenly place
We'll be brothers and sisters face to face.