Super broken

I was talking with my husband tonight about stuff. You know the stuff that I can't just bring up on a good day. Actually today was a good day, odd- but still a good day. More on the odd later...

I told him I hide how I really feel most of the time and I'm getting really good at it. I'd say I'm a pro {though it's very possible I'm fooling myself}. I say I'm fantastic but inside I feel broken. Super broken. Shattered. And I miss my first dream like nobody knows.

I told him I get angry at people's stupid comments and would rather just not talk about her than have someone brush off my pain with an insensitive comment like "Well at least she's in a better place." 

Is this true? Yes. 

Does it help? Not a bit these days.

It's the 'moving forward' and 'embracing life' that people want to see, especially after they've witnessed your first smile and had your first normal conversation after her death. Most days I am embracing life {still trying to figure out the whole 'moving on' thing}. But even on those days I'll be caught away in a moment of sublime guilt or intense sadness. 

I missed out on a world. She was my world. She is my world. And when that spills out you realize who can handle your grief and who can't. 

Somedays I can't grasp the reality of Heaven because all I can see is the world she left behind. There are moments when I just can't understand why some babies are born healthy and others have to fight for their every breath. I guess I've lost perspective. I'm lost in this gray area between healing and anger. Aren't I already supposed to be past the "worst" part of this grief? From reading many many {many} other BLM blogs, I realize the "worst" just pops up whenever it feels like it. Uninvited but here nonetheless.

babyland

We went to see her yesterday and like always they were setting up for more funerals. That's just sad. Only this time there were THREE. Boy.

I was meeting hubby up there so in the mean time I drove past baby land. Jenna is not buried in baby land. Sometimes I wish she was, but the baby land at her cemetery is awful. Seriously. It's got a tall fence between the plots and a small power plant. I don't know what the crap they were thinking when they planned to put baby land in that spot.

I got out and walked around baby land. There were several new plots. All of them with tons of balloons, flowers, toys. It just broke my heart and I thought about how each of these represented a world that had fallen to pieces.

Two of the first plots I saw in baby land yesterday had my birthday on them. One of the baby girls had been born, and another had died on that day. Different years. I thought about my life in 2005 and 2006. I had no idea that as I was celebrating my 20th and 21st birthdays someone was saying goodbye to their baby. And the other was welcoming their baby who would only live for less than a year.

I thought about how I've never wanted anything more in my life. I wanted that miracle. I believed I would get it too. I miss her with my whole heart and it hurts with a different ache this time of year.

Reminded

You know things just happen. They come up. And suddenly a whirlwind of possibility sweeps over you and you realize what could have been. All over again. And then I get to asking myself - Haven't I already been here, like a thousand times!? The life that so quickly slipped clean out of your hands. Or maybe it's just me. I like to think I'm not alone.

It happened. I slipped and the whirlwind swept over me like a lead balloon. It makes me crazy how quickly she came and then left. And her visit, as I like to think of it, has made all the difference. It's then that I am reminded not only of what I lost, but to what I am called.

You hear so many things that are meant to comfort a bereaved parent, like "God needed an angel" or "God knows best" or even "she was too precious for this earth". But at the end of the day none of these things fill the gaping hole in your heart.

I do believe God knows best but I don't think he needed her to die. It just happened. Plain and simple. And of all people I got to carry her. She is part of my story and one of the biggest reasons my life is what it is today. I got reminded today of how much a one pound baby changed my world. I owe her everything.

Wordless Wednesday

Hardly

It doesn't get easier. My heart will always be filled with wonder.

I don't feel liberty to talk about it like I used to. And that's okay. But I have been suffocating with exhaustion. And suddenly I am so thankful for this blog.

A place of release.

I miss her like crazy. This week has just been hard for some reason. I am not a blubbering mess, more like a shaken bottle ready to burst. The reminders keep building, the what-ifs always a thought away.

I feel incomplete.

I have accepted that she isn't in this world. I don't look for her anymore. She isn't here. If you've never lost a child you probably think I'm crazy but I used to look for her. It seemed insane that the child I carried for 29 weeks just wasn't a part of my life anymore.

Something new happened this week. I suddenly don't miss the NICU. I am suddenly very happy to have that part of our life behind us. I would give anything to be with her, even if it meant the NICU, but I guess I have accepted that as part of our past too. Forever in the past.

:::

Not too long ago I saw a little girl about 18 months old. She was so excited to see our little boy. She had a doll hanging from her clumsy little hands and waddled over to Joseph just repeating "Baby! Baby!" Pointing to him, her parents sort of embarrassed. I loved it of course. She was the sweetest thing. I asked how old she was.

18 months.

I smiled and we laughed about how big our little guy was. Comical.

Then it hit me. I should have a little girl almost 18 months too. I should know what 18 month olds say. What 18 month olds do. What 18 month olds look like. Jenna would already be into dolls and dresses, excited about real babies. I walked away keenly unaware of the life that slipped right out of my hands a year and a half ago.

Sometimes forever seems like just yesterday. I miss my Jenna.

It hardly gets easier.

photo credit

The Walk

It was beyond beautiful and more than I ever expected. 

I was honored to share this day with my mother, beautiful friend Amy, and a few others who were able to be there.

We hung a beautiful ornament on a tree when they called Jenna's name. 

Isn't it beautiful? It is now dangling from our living room fan chain. Not sure if it'll stay there but I like looking at it.

My poor husband wanted to come even after having a wisdom tooth pulled a few hours prior. 

He is my hero.

 

Us getting ready for the balloon release...

So we totally write on her balloons at the cemetery. It was nice to be able to do this at the ceremony too when they started handing out sharpies. And we always like to draw our favorite cat on her balloons too. His name was Bootes (named after the constellation). He was a legend. 

I'll leave it at that. 

I don't have too many pictures of her, but this little girl standing next to me on the right is also another of my heroes... heroines actually. She is five years old and fighting Leukemia. She just passed her one year mark. Anyway, she never met our Jenna but I just love how she can talk with me about her. And her mother is pretty awesome too! (Love you Amy!)

 And well.. here is baby brother. I know this isn't his blog. And truth be told I'm a terrible blogger anyway. I haven't updated his blog in ages. Not sure which direction I will be going. I have way too many blogs. I hope you don't mind if I share a little of him here too from time to time.

It was just the cherry on top to be able to meet in person (for the first time might I add) a few beautiful bloggy friends. First... Mary from The Great Elephant Symposium. It was neat because I met her through Carly Marie's IBMD project. I would have otherwise never had the chance to meet another BLM in real life. It was beautiful. Sad but beautiful all the same.

And... Ashley from Missing Mackenzie :) 

It's neat meeting bloggy friends in person because it doesn't feel like your meeting for the first time. And I guess in a way you're not? :)

I look forward to attending the Walk next year :)

Fuchsia petals & bloggy award

This morning the cool October breeze could be felt. It feels like fall. At least in the mornings. It was marvelous. I only wish I had more time to blog, read blogs... but I didn't want to forget this so I wanted to share it here.

In Jenna's garden (mind you, there are weeds all over it) I spotted three fuchsia roses. :]

I don't think there's ever been a sweeter rose in her garden. She knew I needed this today. I pulled out her scrapbook to share at the Walk later today. Pictures still make me cry. Certain pictures.

Thank you Jenna for sending me this beautiful rose. It's perfect- just like you.

I also wanted to thank Wyatt's Mommy and Michelle for the Blog Award. I would like to pass this onto everyone that commented on my last post about Jenna's cloud heart :]

Rules are made to be broken, right?

;)

Tiffany
Jaime
butterflymom
Tina
Caroline
Jill
Dana
Heather
Michelle
Tami
Lisette
Jennifer
Wyatt's Mommy 
Debby
ButterflyChik
Heather

I hope everyone has a beautiful weekend.

XO

I Love You Too Jenna

She drew me a heart in the sky on our way back home this evening.

I needed that.

Miss you baby girl.

With Love Care Packages

Tonight began the start of something new. I am very hopeful and feeling rather optimistic about this project. It's a lot. It really is, but I have wonderful support and I cannot wait to start putting these care packages together.

We are calling the care package program With Love. It is named With Love because these packages are made with love from other babylost mothers. Every last thing inside them is given/made or donated by a babylost mother and/or supporter.

For starters, we are kicking off with the Pregnancy/ Infant Loss Memorial Flourishes. All proceeds made from these will go toward buying the boxes themselves and offsetting the cost of the care packages down the road. 

And let me just say THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to everyone that has already made such generous donations. Every last dollar helps.

In a few months With Love will hopefully be expanding it's efforts into local NICUs to help parents with babies in the NICU and also reaching out to the staff in the NICUs to show appreciation. For those of you who have had children in the NICU, I know that this place holds a special place in your heart. Even if it's just a card a couple times a year, or a fruit basket... I would love to get something going to just say thank you to Jenna's nurses and other special hearts like them.

Also, I thought I would add something from the last post about the care packages. First of all I decided to not replace the old memory box site, but just start a new blog altogether for this program. I realize there are a few who may just want to purchase a memory from their child's hope collage, so I will keep those available.

:::

Well a little about the flourishes... each flourish is fastened to a pink and teal satin ribbon (teal is just so much prettier than light blue in my opinion! ;) which has a broach pin on the back. You can also request multiple rosettes on one for multiple losses.

For more information on the flourishes, the care packages and anything else, please check out the With Love Care Packages site. I would also love and very much appreciate your feedback. 

Without you none of this is possible. Your support and love means the world to me. I would also like to send out a special thank you to all the babylost mothers taking part in these care packages for your generosity and support - Carly, Tina, Michelle, Rachel, and Kristin.

If you would like to help, please spread the word about With Love through a blog post, sharing our site through facebook, email, whatever's easiest for you. You can also grab our button too. Just click on "ways to help" and the button's on that page.

You can find us on our very own facebook page here. Here you'll get all the updates of what's going on.

I've been here before

Something tells me I've been here before.

With the changing of seasons and the hint of fall in the air the familiarity of this drift haunts me.

Yet again.

The heat is still pretty intense in south Texas but slowly letting up. I'm itching to pull out my boots and scarves and maybe even go shopping for some new winter apparel.

As I watch the season slowly drift to our cool weather friend, it haunts me as does every big change that I am nothing without faith. Without faith I am no closer to her today than I was the day she died.

But I am closer to her today. I know it.

It's just not always easy to see it that way when everything around me convinces me that time is taking me further and further away.

And as I do so often these days I can only wonder...

Care Packages for October 15

My heart just falls out of my chest when I hear the word NICU or hear about another micro-preemie. It's a tender spot in my heart, and it's something I welcome because it's something Jenna left behind for me to feel. I want so badly to reach families in the NICU enduring neonatal loss.

So... I am changing the way I do my memory boxes.

They are going more of a care package for newly bereaved parents. There are some special things going inside, which is in the works right now, but I can't figure out how to make them available to these newly bereaved parents without asking for your help.

For starters, I will be calling local hospitals even if Jenna's hospital won't accept them there are so many others that need to provide some type of care package to newly bereaved parents. Truth be told, Jenna's hospital supplied us with a beautiful care package anyway. It was a giant pink square box with pamphlets on grieving and support group contact info inside... I can't remember most of it, as it was mostly papers... but they also included a clay mold of her feet and hand in another purple box wrapped inside a receiving blanket (the other hand had the awful IV in it so only one had got to be molded) :(

Anyway... there's so much that needs to change when parents leave the hospital empty-handed. There were so many women that told me they left with little or nothing besides a broken heart. Many large hospitals have made strides in this area and supply these parents with beautiful mementoes and all sorts of unexpected things. I remember the nurse telling me I could take anything from Jenna's isolette I wanted. I remember we took a her name tag taped on the front of her isolette, probably a few other things and a diaper :) It was TINY. It was still huge on my little girl though, but I love that I got to keep something like that. We actually took several and gave one to my grandmother and the other to Pete's grandmother. They adore that small keepsake to this day. It's seriously one of the cutest little things you've ever seen.

So hopefully by October 15 in honor of all our babies, this new site (I hope hope hope) will go public, it will actually be replacing the current memory box site. There will be many types of care packages specific for things like:

*neonatal/infant loss
*fatal diagnosis
*miscarriage

*stillbirth

*baby's first birthday anniversary

I don't want to leave any type of loss out, so please let me know if something needs to be added. The care packages will range in sizes, and gifts inside to fit all budgets. The outside of the memory boxes will look similar to the Memory Box Collection- different quotes/ themes around the box.

Kristin Cook has graciously allowed me to use her resources page info to put inside the boxes for these newly bereaved parents. There are a few other special women around the babylost community working with me on this project too. Along with the small mementoes and gifts inside the box I will also be including a list of support places online and special ways to remember your baby.

I am seriously so excited about this. It's already tragic enough to leave the hospital without your baby... a feeling of drowning emptiness. I just remember feeling so useless and powerless. Like the battle had ended. The war was over. What was the point of going on? I know that no care package can replace or even come close to mending such an empty feeling but if I can ease the pain just a tad and show these families that there is support, and that there is a world of mothers just like them who get it, then I want to do it.

I hope you'll help me spread the word, and follow this new cause. I will probably be creating a page or something on Facebook to get the word out. Any idea that you might have are welcome too!

A side note: This blog has been my lifeline since Jenna died. And I can't say thank you enough to all of you who come and read, even if you don't comment. It means the world that you care enough to come and read about me, my daughter and our life after losing her.

Going Backwards

Or so it seems. There are just things that happen... things that come up... things that I remember. Some people call them triggers, but I have learned that they are life. A big part of life.

The other day after Bubby fell asleep I went through one of Jenna's fuchsia bins, the ones that hold some of her things. This one had a stack of cards we received from people along with some other mementos. And then I saw it.

The Jenna Journal. How could I forget? But I did. It had been such a long time since I had opened those bins and a really long time since I'd seen or read anything in the Jenna Journal.

I don't think I've ever shared the Jenna Journal with anyone on my blog before.

This journal was kept by Jenna's side in the NICU. We asked everyone who visited her and us there to sign it. My intention was to document a miracle and twenty years from now let her read the journal that loving family and friends had written in to her as a preemie baby.

Well I never imagined that the journal wouldn't be filled up but about twenty pages. And that in itself is a miracle. The NICU at Texas Children's Hospital said they'd never seen a NICU baby get so many visits like they saw with Jenna.

Good times. Hard times. I miss those times.

it's okay

That I can't see you everyday and who you'd be today.
It's okay that we weren't meant to be together in this life.
It's okay that I miss you everyday.
It's okay that it hasn't gotten easier to learn that someone else is having a girl.
It's okay that I visit you in a cemetery.
It's okay that I don't write on your blog like I used to.
It's okay that your brother won't ever know you in person, but only through pictures and stories.
It's okay that your life was short.
It's okay that my heart breaks when I remember our time with you.
It's okay that I don't know if I could handle having another baby girl.
It's okay that I smile and mean it.
It's okay that I don't cry when I talk about you every time.
It's okay that sometimes I can't talk about you.
It's okay that some of the memories are still too painful.
It's okay that I get mad at God sometimes still.
It's okay that I ask why almost everyday, even if it's under my breath or in a sigh.
It's okay that you won't be here for this Christmas either.
It's okay that you're in Heaven.
It's okay that most people are 'over' it.
It's okay that I miss you alone most days.
It's okay that this is my life.

I just miss you, Jenna. More than I could ever ever put into words. 16 months and a day ago you made me a mommy.

Mommy Shoes

Triggers can come from the most unlikely sources.

I glanced in my closet the other day. The shelf that used to hold all my high fashion stilettos is now filled up with mommy shoes. I worked at an optical store where it made sense to dress up everyday and I loved it. My husband thought it best to not chance an accident while I was pregnant with Jenna (I am as clumsy as they come), so my journey in mommy shoes began almost two years ago. I think about a few of the stilettos I have left collecting dust. It captures a moment in time. The shoes I used to wear. The girl I used to be.

They don't even fit right anymore.

I thought last night how different life might would be with a 15 month old running around. Lately another thought has been tormenting me that I may never have another little girl. I've been making these and I have no idea if it will ever be for my little girl.

I thought about 15 months and how much life has changed. I breath without taking deep breaths every five minutes and I didn't know how I would keep breathing. I laugh and I never thought I would be able to thoroughly enjoy life again. I smile and I never thought it sincerely possible after burying her. I love and I never thought I'd be able to love fully again.

But somehow the grief that used to be unbearable becomes bearable. And the sadness that used to be too heavy to tote around everywhere becomes a part of who you are. The tears that fall when it's not socially acceptable become a silent ache that no one can see but you and God. The memories that you used to spill out every chance you got now seem too sacred to share with just anybody.

I've always wanted to wear mommy shoes I just never thought it would be this pair.

15 months

today since we said goodbye.

It was her

When the stars fill the midnight sky we are only a dream away from being together...

Bubby usually sleeps through the night and has been for the past two weeks.

But not a few nights ago. In the middle of his diaper change at the ungodly hour of 3am it suddenly hit me that it happened again. It was her. In my dreams.

I don't remember the details and oh, how I've tried to retrace the dream over and over grasping for anything I might remember to no avail. But I knew she was there.

And like our enemy of time she was fading. The dream faded, though I knew it happened. Saturday night.

Until next time I can't wait to hold her in my dreams again.

something to say

I wish I had something to say today. Maybe that's why I feel like I always I need something to do. As long as I am doing, doing something as a direct result of Jenna - her life and death - I don't feel like I have to think of anything to say. Sometimes I feel though that I don't talk about her enough. It hurts sometimes to talk about her and other times I am afraid that others are just tired of hearing it. I mean it's been over a year and to the rest of the world that usually translates as "oh, she's doing so much better now, especially since she has a healthy baby now..."

Well here's some truth.

I hurt everyday. I miss her everyday. And with every milestone our healthy baby passes my heart aches a little more because now I know what I am missing.

I should be a pro at being a mommy. And by pro I don't mean a mommy that has all the answers and never has bad kids or those embarrassing moments in the grocery store. I mean pro - like I should at least have an idea what a three month old is supposed to be doing instead of looking it up on Babycenter. Pro - like I should have some kind of clue what sort of activities are good for my baby's development. Pro - like I should already know when my baby will be teething.... will be able to eat baby food... will be sitting up by himself...

Enough truth for today. I just miss her.

Heart Songs

Sometimes there are no words for the things my heart has to say.

Sometimes it's expressed in an idea or a sigh. Sometimes it's expressed in the way I can or cannot sing. Sometimes it's expressed in my lack of ability to slow down. Sometimes it's expressed in a silent prayer.

Sometimes it's expressed in my need to live life fully, feel every rose petal, soak in the heat, stare out the window and absorb every detail.. because you just never know.

Life, as I have learned is not something I own. It is a gift that I hope to wear out completely. I don't want to look back one day and wonder. I wonder all the time about Jenna and it's already too much.

Lately my heart just pains to hold her. And so often I feel guilty for needing a sign that she is really in Heaven. I don't doubt that she lives there, but sometimes it just seems so...far...away.

The longer I go without saying her name I feel like I am choking. I have a NEED to talk about her, although it's not always that easy.

Since the hospital declined the Hope Collages to be a part of their care packages for parents, I literally felt like she died all over again. It was silly I guess, but I feel like a piece of her is still there. It's where I met my baby girl. It's where we said goodbye. It was the last place I saw her. I have found other ways to reach bereaved parents at the hospital, which is encouraging.

I have found that little Joseph loves to stare at our pictures on our walls. Many in our living room are pictures of us and Jenna. I hope that he knows there's someone extra special in those. I'll bet he knows more than I realize.

When I read about babyloss mamas grieving over their babies who have been gone more than a year, it a relief because I don't feel rushed. I can feel parts of this wound that have been healed, but the soarness lingers. The pain is still there and the scar is embedded into who I will forever be. It's this new life I've been given to walk.

I've been reading Angie Smith's book "I Will Carry You". I think the biggest impact this book has had on me was her emphasis on prayer. She talks a lot about her prayer life before, during and after her loss. Ironically I believe this is what God has been dealing with me about. Trusting Him enough to take this broken heart every single day. Every single hour. Again and again and again.

Somedays I feel completely humbled that God would choose me to mother such a special little girl. After all, most people will never experience the love and hope we knew those 13 days. What a tremendous gift. And I'd like that to be my heart song for tonight. And hopefully this week. One day at a time.

She was such a gift.

your handprints

I thought of you today. Something about a beautiful sunset reminds me of you. I took this a little over a week ago.

I'll keep your sail in the wind if it's all I ever do.

Dear Jenna

I haven't had much to say here lately but I have missed you incredibly. A year doesn't heal much, but it does get me closer to the day when we'll be together again. I went to your hospital today with Amy for her daughter's treatments. Thank God she's doing well :)

Being there was hard, but it wasn't the first time I've been back. I made myself go to the fourth floor, where you were. It was my second time back to that floor since you died, but this time was a little easier. I strolled your little brother around a little, people were probably wondering why a mama with a chubby little baby is on that floor. I just had to take a peek down memory lane. It's all still there, exactly as it was over a year ago. I'd go back in a heartbeat to be with you, but I don't miss the feeling of suspense. I don't miss the alarms, the smell of the medicines, the dark gloom that overshadows the NICU, that hallway... I don't miss any of those things one bit. But they were all a part of your memory and you've opened my eyes to a part of the world I would have otherwise known nothing about. My heart breaks in a completely different way now for NICU families and bereaved parents.

I asked Daddy last night what I prayed wrong. Did I pray the wrong thing when you were sick? The wrong words? What are the right words? I wish I knew. But deep down inside I know there weren't any right or wrong words. That's just another one of the devil's attacks on my mind to steal my peace. Not this time. Maybe it helped to verbally say what had been raging within me.

I am reading Angie Smith's book about her loss and it talks a lot about prayer too. I think God was trying to tell me something...

Anyway, you will be remembered. Missed everyday. Today I wondered what you would have named your children? I had a crazy thought that you might name your little girl Aurora... your mommy has a wild imagination... and then not even two minutes later down the road I see this truck with huge letters that spell "Aurora"... haha... I had to smile. It's like God's sense of humor or something. I miss you baby girl.

i need starbucks & prayer request

Driving home today after church I just had one of those moments. I was riding alone with my Bubby. I didn't want to stop driving, but keep driving. Get lost in the words of the music and forget...

Escape.

Face the wind. The sky was impeccable. One of those sunsets that reminds me that God probably lets Jenna watercolor up there.

I missed her real bad this weekend. Could it be the holidays? The pretty red, white and blue hair bows?

God knows the holidays just add salt to an open wound.

For the first time ever I realized I finally believed in the decisions we had to make for her. I had never been 100% sure of the decision we made that day. I knew we had to, but deep down I believed there was still a chance. I've never admitted that until now. We made decisions that day that no parent should ever have to dream about.

It crossed my mind, as so many things have this past week and it occurred to me that I finally realized she never would have made it. Has it really taken me a year to begin thinking rationally? What else have I been disillusioned about?

Today I just wanted to escape. Not from my family and friends, but from me. The person I've become. In short I'm tired of hurting. Just tired.

As you can probably tell I didn't just keep driving and I didn't escape anything. I came right home, parked my little black car and thought to myself, Starbucks would have made this so much better... I should have stopped there on the way home...


I see that gaping hole she left behind everyday. Somedays it hurts. Somedays I'm numb. But somedays it stings. S T I N G S.

Somedays I just want to break or hit something.

I began to think about my Christianity and how I shouldn't be self-consumed. I'm tired of crying about me. Because really, when I cry it is about me. It'd be silly to cry over Jenna, although I still sometimes do I know she is just fine today. Me on the other hand.. I'm a work in progress.

:::

On another note, please pray for Bennett. He was born a couple of days ago (July 3) at 26 weeks, weighing 1 pound, 4 ounces. You can read/ follow his story here.

unnatural

I miss telling people how she's doing. Nobody asks how Jenna's doing. Well, of course not. She's gone. It's silly, I know.

But I miss being able to share the latest news about her. I miss having something NEW to share about her.

Nobody asks me how she's doing because truth is I don't even know. I don't know if she's sleeping or smiling or playing or eating or crying (well I have to believe this is impossible in Heaven)...

It's so backwards. Unnatural.

I don't think I'll ever get used to this.

behind the smile

Behind the smile

I miss her everyday

and thoughts go through my head I'd never dream of sharing

Behind the smile

I grieve her short life

and often wonder why

Behind the smile

I question

if a greater faith would have been formed if I had witnessed her healing?

 

Behind the smile

I hide

It is far safer than expressing openly just how bad I might be doing

Behind the smile

I wonder

What her heart must be feeling

Behind the smile

I wish

that my little girl were here too

Behind the smile

I can feel her

And wonder if she can feel me too

Behind the smile

I live

Or try to like everyday is my last

Behind the smile

I know

Just how blessed I am to have had those 13 days with her

Behind the smile

I cry

for the little girl I never got to know

Behind the smile

my tears are flowing

and it's only then that I realize my heart's still in a million pieces

Behind the smile

I want to retreat

to my time-though short-spent in the NICU with her

Behind the smile

I am broken

Knowing that this side of heaven, this is as good as it gets.

change

I have been wanting to re-do this space for my Jenna for awhile. I just couldn't figure out what I wanted it to look like. When I told my husband I was redo-ing Jenna's blog he said "Again??" Ummm... yea...?  I guess to him a blog is a blog... but to me - Jenna's spot has to be perfect, and I was beginning to get really tired of the gray background. So this time around I thought of doing a scrapbook look... and God was so good. He let me stumble on *the* most perfect scrapbook kit... called May Morning (umm perfect name since that is HER month) and it has a little bird... perfection again... AND the bird was a-hem... FUCHSIA!

Perfection. Only God.

Thank you, God for letting me find Jenna's new perfect look! 

I have been feeling nothing short of guilt for my lack of blogging here lately since Bubby made his entrance into this world. This blog was started to journal my grief, and I intend to continue my journey on grief here, but the honest truth is my grief has changed... yet again. Grief in one word is unpredictable. I find myself totally 'okay' one minute and then I wake up one morning and realize I have a dead child. In the 21st century... how do you explain that to the world??? And then the cycle of why me... why this... why why why starts. But the grief and the pain are not raw these days. It is tolerable, bearable and very much a part of who I am now. I don't feel jarred in this world of grief anymore. It's life. Forever. There are moments where I still can't believe this happened. And those moments come so unexpectedly into my everyday strut but they usually pass as quickly as they come. 

I guess I can honestly say I have accepted my daughter's death. I am NOT okay that she died. I am NOT okay that I will always get to wonder about her and never really get to know her. And accepting is a tricky place to be. I find guilt here too. I have to keep telling myself that accepting this does NOT mean I don't miss her with every fiber of my being. Acceptance does NOT entail forgetting or leaving her behind. 

Acceptance is smiling because she lived instead of crying because she died. Acceptance is realizing I may not be ready to look at those pictures just yet, and that's okay. Acceptance is knowing that she lives on through me. Acceptance is being filled with gratitude that I experienced joy because of her instead of feeling sorry for myself. Acceptance is remembering that God was there those 13 days. Acceptance is believing God out of pure desperation. Acceptance is embracing my days here with open arms and an open heart, and knowing I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for Jenna. Acceptance is resting in that blessed hope that I will get to see her again.

20 Questions

I thought about you today
like I do everyday since you were born
do you know you've been on my heart?
Was that little bird today you?
When the sky is pink and purple is God letting you watercolor?
Do you feel the summer heat where you're at?
Do you know that it's been over a year since I've seen you?
Is heaven a fun place to be for you?
What is it like to be so young, and already in Heaven?
Do the angels read my blog to you?
Can you fly where you're at?
What sort of colors are in Heaven and do you have your own room?
Your own mansion?
Are you still wearing the gown we put on you? And the bow? Do you wear a bow?
Do you remember your days in the hospital? Part of me hopes you do and part of me hopes you don't.
What color are your eyes in Heaven? I dreamed they were blue... and I will always wonder.
Do you watch us as we live our life without you?
Do you know that while our lives have joy again that there's always you that's missing?
Do you know you took a piece of me with you when you died?
Do you know that it's only because it hurts so badly that I can't talk about you like I used to?
Maybe it's because I know what I'm missing now...
As you can see I'm the one with questions
You've taught me more than I could have ever taught you.
You've taught me what matters.

On My Heart

No one noticed how you were missing that day
but I could see the places where your footprints should have been
and the smiles you would have made.

And people don't see me as someone who had her world fall apart anymore
because these days it looks put back together
I've only mastered the art of looking okay
but not ever really being okay

And I guess that's all people really want to see
Is 'okayness' and that all looks  well.

But I'll never be okay
because my life is not put back together
and I know what life we're missing.

I thought about how much pain you endured
and how brave and strong you were
for such a little girl
I hope you know you're my hero

And when life's difficulties come by
and it feels like I can't go on
I think about the fight you made to stay with us, for us
And that is all the umph I need to make it one more step

Most days I'm convinced that you were not of this world
and really we need you more than you needed us
I hate to admit it.
And it seems as fate had her way you really are alright.
The brokenness was left behind in this imperfect world.


I don't know how much of this world you can see,
but I think about you everyday
and lately talking about you is harder than I'd like it to be
but you will live on through me, one way or another

My heart breaks a little more when I see little girls at your 'would-be' age
but somehow I cannot see you as a one year old child
You are still a tiny newborn to me
And I can't wait to hold you again, Jenna.

Someday soon, I hope.

my specs

You ever feel like God's trying to show you something and he uses little things here and there sending the same message? It's happened a lot lately and it been about my specs.

In a movie I was watching, the woman is bitter with God for taking her husband from her, so unexpectedly and so young. She asked a man why God would let such unthinkable things happen to good people. I thought... yup...

The man she was talking with answered her this... If my daughter trips and falls while I am walking right beside her it doesn't mean I allowed it to happen, but I will cry when she cries and rejoice when she is well. I LOVED that picture of God's love.

And a message I heard a few weeks ago was about having faith to be able to see the goodness of God. I haven't owned this type of faith in a VERY long time.

Some days I cannot deal with the fact that I have a dead daughter - it is too much. And some days I cannot stop thinking about it and it is on the forefront of every thought.

I told my husband the other day I just wanted to be accept this life. Accept her fate. Accept it all, and seriously be okay.

The message was preached out of this verse:

I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living. Psalm 27:13

That word "believed" struck a chord with me. For over a year I haven't wanted to believe that God was good. Every time I heard someone say "God is good" or "God will work it out" or "God has a plan" my mind would default to my sick, tiny NICU baby. Well what about Jenna?!? I felt justified in questioning his 'goodness' since after all, he had let me down.

I really don't know how to move past the disappointment, but a part of my heart lately wants to believe he is still good.

My specs have been tainted with grief, bitterness and heartache but only I can clean the lenses. Only I can make that choice to believe that God is still good.

I walked out to Jenna's garden a few days ago and spotted a butterfly prancing among the flowers. I watched it steadily wondering if it would still be there if I dashed for camera in time... I watched it for a few short moments and decided I wanted to at least try to commit this bit of God's goodness to film. It's really hard to see in the pictures, so I apologize ahead of time, but if I didn't know any better, I'd say it was a baby butterfly... (it's near the bottom center)

it's been a while...

It's not that I don't have anything to say, but everything to say has already been said at least a hundred times.


I miss her dearly. I glance at her brother and get flashes of her silhouette, her essence, her being. I wonder if I will always see a little bit of her in him? hmmm....


I hope so.

It's a scorcher right now in south Texas and believe it or not, I am LOVING the heat. No not because I love hot weather, I just remember the last time it was this hot...


A year ago. Even the most bitter things in life (like hot Texas summers) can be sweet when they remind me of my Jenna.


A year ago we lived in this itty bitty rent house. I LOVED that house. It was the place we went home to from the hospital after she died.


The yard was a deceit size and it just felt like home. My hubs had moved us out of our apartment while I was in bed rest, so the first time I actually got to live there was after Jenna died. I remember Pete and I would spend long afternoons, and late evenings out in the yard fixing it up. We'd never been in a house before; it was nice to have so many projects to fill our empty time.


But I am having a hard time describing just how sweet that summer was. It's like heaven's fragrance lingered from that day it had opened it's gates and taken my daughter home. There was something sweet about those long days spent outside in our two-bedroom house. I literally could have lived there forever. I remember we would play the "Jenna tunes" over and over (lots of Allison Krauss)... and it was just sweet. There's no other word for life as it was at that time.


And don't misunderstand me, those summer days were filled with sorrow and lots and lots of pain, but the anger hadn't come yet nor the disappointment. I'm really not sure how I jumped on the bandwagon of disappointment and anger. Sometimes I just wish I could get a whiff of Heaven's fragrance again. Last summer I just felt her everywhere. I knew that I knew that I knew she was just fine. And that used to be enough.


I look back and remember fearing that I would forget her if I didn't _________(fill in the blank)... but I now know how ridiculous and impossible it would be to forget her. A few weeks after she died I felt like I needed to start doing something in her name... but I ended up spending the entire summer at that two-bedroom house. I eventually went back to work, although it was never the same. Things would complicate themselves by summer's end, and in July I would find this world of babyloss mothers, hearts knitted in grief and love.


A year from that sweet summer where Heaven just felt a step away, a breath away. A footprint away from my daughter's home. I hope to continue remembering last summer as the heat blazes these next few months.


I miss my girl.




ps - I am now taking requests for Hope Collages again

The Last "First"

I feel like today is the last nail in the coffin. That's the mental picture that comes to mind. Today is the last 'first', other than her funeral date.

It's incredible how quickly time passed and how much life has changed, and then equally incredible how much it hasn't. Last night I heard thunder and saw flashes of lightening through the blinds. It was almost as if nature was mourning with me. I was dreading today and now that it's here I just want to sleep through it.

A year ago I was woken up at about 4:30 in the morning by an urgent voice. The attending NICU nurse informed my very sleepy and exhausted brain that my daughter didn't have much time to live, and that we needed to get down there asap. Luckily we were staying in the Ronald McDonald House so we were only a few minutes away from the level 3 NICU. I remember telling my husband to get dressed and that we needed to go, although I think he already knew what a phone call at that hour meant.

I remember racing down that really long hallway where they displayed patients' artwork. And then passing the milk bank that I would never use in hopes of my daughter's release ever again.

I remember hasting to her side, knowing I didn't have enough time left with her. One of the residents tried to approach me, probably to tell me what I already knew. I brushed her away as I was sobbing and could barely make out a sentence. I fell over her incubator and cried and cried and cried. My husband allowed the resident to explain things to him, but to me it just didn't matter anymore. I didn't want to spend the last few precious moments talking about why she wouldn't make it, or what they had tried to prevent this.

They really did all they could and for that we are so grateful. I remember seeing the looks of frustration on the young residents as they would try everything at their disposal to make our daughter all better. I remember them calling in the cardiologists, contacting different units in the hospital just to make sure they were doing everything possible to save this little girl's life.

I remember how glib they were about her small improvements that she would make, maybe trying to send silent signals to us not to get our hopes up too high.

:::

I have spent the entire past year disappointed in God. And most of the past year I have been angry at him. My endless questioning seems to not get any farther than the ceiling though. Why God would give me such a beautiful gift and take her away so soon? Why she made it past her birth and fought so hard, only to suffer and die anyway? My questions may have credence, but as you can see they wouldn't change my reality even if God did answer them.

I was hoping today I might turn a new leaf in this grief, and be suddenly past the anger, guilt and disappointment. But today's realization is that it's all still here.

From here until I die, I will be more than a year without her, starting at 5:06 in the evening. That makes me sad to know that tomorrow she will have died more than a year ago...


I wrestle with God with that question almost everyday in my heart... why'd you let her live only to let her die??? Why did she prove the doctor wrong and was born alive only to die 13 days later???


And then I remember, sometimes forcing myself... she had a purpose. She fought for her life for 13 days to stay with us, but what if the entire time I saw this tiny fighting NICU baby girl, God was singing to her and telling her how much her visit would change her parents one day? And what if she really didn't feel all that pain because she was that close to Heaven the entire time?

I see life as even more of a gift after watching her fight for every breath. Life comes so easy to those to whom it is given, but when you have to fight for it, or watch a loved one fight for life, it changes you to the core. I watch Joseph's chest rise and fall... rise and fall... rise and fall... I am keenly aware of how fragile life is. I don't take his ability to breath on his own for granted.

I wish I knew what Heaven's purpose for Jenna's short life was, but while I am here I will always be trying to make her life count. It won't ever make sense to me, and maybe it's not supposed to. And maybe that's the mystery of faith. To be able to trust the God who you don't quite understand.

He does know what's best, and he knew what was best for Jenna. When I can wrap my mind around how much God loves my daughter, I am humbled that he would choose me to carry such a precious little girl. She fought hard, she fought long, she fought well.

She is my constant motivator and inspiration to keep going. To keep loving, to keep believing.

Most people in this world will have children, and sadly will never fully know how blessed they are. But that's never the case when you've lost one of your own. I am blessed by both of my babies.

"...we were pressed out of measure, above strength, insomuch that we despaired even of life: But we had the sentence of death in ourselves, that we should not trust in ourselves, but in God which raiseth the dead:"
-2 Corinthians 1:8b,9

Learning

I started writing Jenna's updates on CarePages a year ago today.

:*(

I remember accidentally stumbling upon CarePages after I opened a blogger account. I was originally going to use a blog to update everyone, but blogger seemed so complicated and I didn't have the time or energy to figure it all out. CarePages was wonderful... it helped keep everyone updated and helped us to avoid answering all the same questions fifty million times. And it was easy to use!

I look back now and wish I could go travel back in time, if even for a moment. I want that faith back, and that hope that everything WILL be alright. I never entertained her actually dying while she was in the NICU. EVER. I just didn't let myself go there. Not until I saw her suffering...

I look back now and *wonder* how I couldn't see it... how I could still hope against all hope? Blindly, naively hope... and I hated when the doctors would call her 'sick' because we didn't even know WHAT the problem was, or what 'syndrome' she actually had - if any. That drove me crazy. I didn't want to see her as sick. She was perfect to me.

Sometimes I see her little brother's eyes trail off behind me, as if he is gazing at something. Someone. And I wonder if it's her?

Tell her that I love her, I'll whisper in his ear.

I think sometimes he can pick up on my broken heart, so I try to hide it, force it away and pretend that I am okay. A big part of my heart is okay, but there is that part that was given to Jenna. That part is aching. And the aching just plain hurts. I miss my baby girl.

:::

I have been at home for a week now, away from everything to help my body heal. I wonder when I return to the normal swing of things what expectations the world has for me now? A couple of weeks after Jenna died I was expected to be 'moving on'... a couple of months passed and the world expected me to be okay around other babies and pregnancy. Six months afterwards, I was expected to be past the guilt, crying and anger of Jenna's death... a year and a rainbow baby later I fear the expectations are higher than I could ever reach.

I have learned to live with my daughter's death. But then there are days like yesterday and the paperwork for Joseph's first pedi appointment rehashed a painful reality.

"Have any siblings died?" Ummm.... actually yes. I wish I could be that person next to me filling the form out and answering "Of course not! That doesn't happen anymore, DOES IT!?"

But this is my reality and I am learning... not only to accept my daughter's death but embrace life afterwards. {keyword: learning}