Broken

Webster's Online Dictionary defines "broken" as: violently shattered into parts, damaged or altered by breaking, made weak or infirm, subdued completely (syn- crushed, sorrowful), not complete or full.  

When I asked Chris how he was doing the other night, his response was simply, "I feel broken."

Those of you who know him at all know him as a man of few words.  When we are with others, he really doesn't speak much unless he has something important to say.  Fortunately the same rule doesn't seem to apply when it's just the two of us and we really have a lot of wonderful conversations.  So for him to sum up everything so perfectly in one word really shouldn't have shocked me. 

It's a remarkably apt description of the way we've been feeling.  We both still get up each day, we go to work, we take care of our girls, we manage the house, we talk to friends and family.  But even while we do all of that, we're acutely aware of the fact that we are not quite whole right now.  We've got a lot of pieces and parts that haven't settled back into place yet and we've each most certainly been damaged in this process.

Thankfully we have one another.  We've also got the support of our families and friends. We've been blessed with the prayers of those who know us and many more from people we've never met. We know that in time, we'll get to be a little less broken. We also know that like anything that has to be put back together, we won't be quite the same the second time around.  I think there is even the possibility that we'll actually be a little stronger and a lot wiser when we're finally whole again.  

 

A Powerful Ripple

We have been so positively blessed with overwhelming support from our families and friends in the last few weeks.  It has meant so much to us to know that so many are praying for us, thinking about us and reading my words here.  We are truly grateful to those who have reached out to us and for us.

But today, I ask for a different kind of support and maybe a different prayer.  I ask that you will think of the other family members affected by the life and death of the angel that I am carrying. I ask that you say a prayer for each of them.

You see, Chris and I aren't the only ones hurting. I've been so wrapped up in my own grief and in trying to survive these last few weeks that I haven't really thought as much about everyone else as maybe I should have.  There are grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins who are hurting right now.  They, too, are mourning the loss of this child and struggling to watch their loved ones in so much pain.  They are also grappling with a profound feeling of helplessness because there just is so little that can be done right now.

I ask this especially for the sake of the grandparents.  It has occurred to me in the last few days, through reading some pretty powerful blogs and through some soul-searching of my own, that this is very likely as hard on each of the grandparents as it is for us as the parents.  On top of the grief that naturally comes along with a death that takes a loved one much too soon, they have to watch their own children struggle with one of the most unimaginable pains a human being can suffer.

I think of how excited Mom was, before the diagnosis, to be telling people that this would be her eighth grandchild.  I think of the amused look on Dad's face when Tori unwittingly told him about "the baby in Mommy's tummy" far sooner than we intended to share.  I think of Mike's excitement when he found out he would be getting yet another grandbaby so soon after the arrival of granddaughter number three in November. 

Then I think about the pain and devastation that was so obvious from all three when we had to tell them about the diagnosis.  I think about the tears that I heard in each voice and the strength that each one has struggled to summon forth when they knew that their children needed it more than ever.  I think about how hard it must have been for my Dad to have to call my siblings because I knew I couldn't do it that day - although I am eternally grateful that he was able to do that for us. 

I have been selfish the last few weeks and wanted them to be there to support us, but I realize now that they need support just the same that we do.  This isn't easy for anyone and it isn't fair to ask anyone in these circumstances to "be strong" for the sake of anyone else.  We all need supported sometimes and sometimes we need to be there to support others.  Even the strongest tree will fall if it isn't permitted to bend a little when the wind blows.   

A Brief Shining Moment

"Continuing the pregnancy is not about passively waiting for death. It is about actively embracing the brief, shining moment of this little life."  http://www.perinatalhospice.org/FAQs.html

What a beautiful way to think about this little life - a brief, shining moment. 

Some days, and these are the bad days I've mentioned, it does feel like we are just sitting around waiting for death.  Other days, I realize what precious little time we have with this child and strive to enjoy every single second.

When I look back on this time, I don't want to remember all of the grief, the tears, the pain, the anger, and the sadness.  I want to remember feeling him/her kicking.  I want to remember watching my belly grow as our child grew.  I want to remember talking to this baby just like I did with each of the girls when I was carrying them.  I want to remember each little hiccup. I want to remember the time that we'll spend at the hospital holding him or her.  I want to remember showing this baby all of the love that it is possible to give.  I want to remember seeing the girls meet their sibling.

And I'll want to remember all of the things that other mothers complain about and take for granted - I want to remember having to go pee every twenty minutes.  I want to remember all the stretched ligaments and pinched nerves.  I want  to remember my backaches.  I want to remember my fingers and feet swelling.  I want toremember the discomfort of each contraction. Why would I want to remember these things too?  Because they are all a part of what few memories I will get to have with my third child.  In the past, I've been just as guilty as other mommas about complaining during those last few weeks or months, but not this time - how could I possibly complain when those things are really just such small irritations when you're looking at the big picture?

Honestly

I mentioned in my last post that I've been having a run of bad days - unfortunately, that still seems to be the case. Don't get me wrong, it isn't that every moment of each day has been miserable...it's just that at the end of each day, I feel the sorrow more profoundly than I'd like.

On the plus side, this has led me to have an interesting conversation with myself about figuring out who I want to be in the next few months.  It has also made me think about what kinds of things I want to share in my journal/blog.  Primarily, this is a way for me to put my thoughts into solid words and to share the journey of our newest little one.  The secondary purpose is for me to share with family and friends, but also with other mothers who might be experiencing similar loss. 

I've read quite a few other blogs from parents who have been down this road before and I am astounded by how positive and at peace these people seem to be - and I am truly happy for them that they feel that comfort. Unfortunately, that leaves me thinking sometimes...what's wrong with me? Why am I not handling it nearly as well as they are? Why can't my inner thoughts be all rainbows and unicorns in the face of this tragedy?  (I know that's a bit of a simplification and that they, too, are in pain.)

That leads me to two possibilities - 1) maybe they really are just that balanced and that together that they feel pretty positive most of the time or 2) maybe they just aren't sharing all the negative thoughts, feelings and emotions that have been my near-constant companions for the last few weeks.

In the last few days, when things have been especially rough, I've found myself asking "Do I really want to publish this entry?" or "Do you really want to share those thoughts with anyone besides Chris?"  As a result, I have several entries just sitting in draft form right now.  I've decided that I'm going to go ahead and share them all, in due time.  Why?  Because they reflect how I feel.  Because they are honest.  Because I think that it is important for someone else who might be going through this to see someone else handling the good times and the bad. Maybe not always handling them with the grace that I would like, but muddling through just the same.

I have every intention of enjoying my pregancy as much I can and I have every intention of doing my very best to focus on the positives.  But the simple fact is, every day can not possibly be a good one and it isn't fair to myself or to anyone else to only post about the good days. 

"Supposed To"

I think I've had a run of bad days recently.  Fortunately, they aren't the kind of bad days where I can't function, but I do find myself in more of a funk.  I've started about four different blog posts with just a snippet of things that I've been thinking about so that I can come back to them whenever I get a chance to explore each one a little more. It turns out that none of them have been particularly uplifting.  When I'm done writing something, I'd like to sit back and see that I've been able to come around to at least a little something positive but I'm having a hard time doing that right now.

For instance, most of the time I can keep it together pretty well, but when I really start thinking about what's coming in just a few short months I start to panic. Honestly, the last two weeks have been the hardest of our lives but I have the feeling that they don't even compare to what we'll be feeling in February or March.  Then it's going to be time for this baby to leave the safety and comfort of my body and our time with him or her will come to an end, all too soon. 

I think about what it's going to be like to drive to the hospital for the induction.  I think about going through labor and delivery.  I think about holding this child for whatever little time we have.  I think about letting family meet him or her.  I think about trying to explain to Tori and Abby why this little baby doesn't look like any others they have ever seen.  I think about what it's going to be like when my milk comes in and there is no baby to feed (I plan to donate whatever I can pump for as long as I can, but still, it won't be for my child).  I think about packing our things and leaving the hospital with no car seat and no new baby.  I think about telling my children that they aren't getting a baby brother or sister at home, even though they just saw him or her at the hospital. I think about having to deal with a funeral or memorial or burial or cremation or whatever we decide on top of recovering from childbirth.  I think about having to step outside of our grief to celebrate Abby's birthday just a few weeks after this baby is born.  I think about having to face the decision on whether or not we will ever try to have another child.   I think about the fact that we will always have the birthday of a third child to celebrate, but there will be no party, no cake, no presents, and no happy little kid to celebrate with.  I think about a hundred other milestones that we don't get to see with our third baby.

Of course I'm grieving the physical loss of our child, but it doesn't feel like what I expected.  It's hard to figure out how you are supposed to grieve the life and loss of a baby that we haven't entirely lost yet, a baby that is still very much kicking inside of me each day. (I have to share that I have been struggling with understanding why I haven't been more outwardly upset about this aspect of our diagnosis, and it really didn't occur to me until I was typing this that this is most likely the reason why...I can't figure out a way to mourn a life that hasn't left us yet.)

What I am having a much harder time with and what does often bring me to tears is grieving for all of the things that we're going to miss out on with this baby.  I'm grieving harder right now for the life that we were supposed to have with this child, because that is more obvious.  I understand fully the diagnosis we were given and it leaves no doubt as to what the prognosis is for this baby.  So, maybe in a way, all of those "supposed to's" did die the day we had our ultrasound.  Maybe that is why this part of my grief is so much more painful and so much easier to identify. 


 

True Believers

True Believers - Darius Rucker  
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qFkMQsEnA4 

Church bells ringin’ on our wedding day
Climb in that limo and we rode away
Guess you’ll always hear some people say
They’re never gonna make it

We settled in and we settled down
In this quiet little seaside town
You were the rock I built my world around
And life won’t ever break it

We are one heartbeat in the darkness
We are one lasting answered prayer
We are one unbroken promise
We are two true believers

It wasn’t easy gettin’ here today
Sometimes you stumbled, or I lost my way
But every roadblock was a chance to say
Take my hand, I’m here beside you

We worked and made it through the toughest parts
Now every day is another chance to start
To look around and see that where we are
Is where we were trying to get to

We are one heartbeat in the darkness
We are one lasting answered prayer
We are one unbroken promise
We are two true believers

We are one before our God in Heaven
Oh, we are one road when the going gets rough, yeah
We are one now and forever
We are one name, one life, one flame

We are one heartbeat in the darkness
We are one lasting answered prayer
We are one unbroken promise
That we are two true believers
We are two true believers

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I heard this on the radio on my way to work one night recently, actually a night after Chris and I had been discussing our relationship and all that we've been going through.  The song fit so perfectly with what we had been feeling and what we had been talking about that it was almost too perfect for me to have found it by accident while scanning through the presets.

"Take my hand, I'm here beside you" is probably one of my favorite lines.  I can't imagine going through this experience with anyone other than Chris by my side; he is an incredible father and an amazing husband.  There have been a lot of times in the last two weeks where the only thing we can do is to hold one another's hands or share a quiet hug.  Even without saying a word, sometimes such a simple gesture is all that is really necessary.

I suppose I took it for granted that he would be by my side and that we would walk this path together.  But after reading the words of several other mothers who have faced the same or similar situations, I realize how wrong I was to make this assumption.  (Depending on what you read, the statistics for divorce after losing a child vary wildly but it doesn't take much more than common sense to realize that it's going to put a strain on any relationship.)  The fact that we have been able to come closer together instead of being pushed apart is no accident and it certainly isn't a given.  We've been honest from day one that we know how difficult this situation could be on a marriage; it was actually a part of our discussions in the hotel room the day we received the diagnosis.  We agreed that throughout the months and even years to come that our relationship needed to remain a part of the discussion and decided to be aware of how we were doing individually and as a couple.

I'm not crazy about giving advice and it isn't something I intend to do so explicitly here, but for whatever reason I feel compelled to do it with this subject.  ~ I suppose this rings true for any couple, but especially for those who are facing the loss or illness of a child:  Don't be afraid to be honest - you have to be there to support one another because at the end of the day, you are the only two people in the world who are inside of your situation.  You are the only two people who will ever be able to fully understand what the other is going through because you both share the life and loss of a single child.

Overprotective

As a mother (and I would think the same is true for fathers), it is a natural instinct for me to want to protect my children.  They mean the world to me and I would no doubt die trying to keep them safe.  In the last two weeks, I have been amazed at how much more intense that feeling has become. 

Our world was so badly shaken with that ultrasound - up until that day, I was worried about things like needing to have a c-section and whether or not I would be able to breastfeed this baby.  I thought about the whole circumcision issue and whether or not it would be too painful for our son, if we were having a boy.  I wondered if I would be able to labor and deliver again without the use of medications or interventions.  Those were the concerns that were foremost in my mind.  It never consciously occurred to me that our baby might have a birth defect, let alone a fatal birth defect.

For the last eleven days, it seems like we have been waiting for the rest of our world to implode - just waiting for something else to go wrong.  It has forced us to consider our own mortality and that of the two children we already have.  It has caused me to pause every time we get ready to leave the house and wonder if something bad is going to happen.  When we say goodnight, I hold each little hand just a little longer and hug each precious little body just a tad tighter. 

I know that this is a normal reaction to losing a child, but that doesn't make the feeling any less real or any less terrifying.  Despite that, we now find ourselves walking a fine line between carrying on with our normal daily activities and wanting to lock everyone in safe protective bubbles.  I want so badly to protect my children from pain and danger, but I've had to face the fact that all we can do is the best that we are able.

We will never be able to entirely rid our world of danger or pain, but I've certainly become more in tune with my reactions to it.  I can't say that I don't want to lock us all in the house and hide from everyone and everything, but I can say that combatting that instinct has taught me a few things.

*We can try to make something positive grow from each experience.
*We can mend fences, so that we work toward living a life with no regrets. 
*We can be more aware of how precious life is and how important it is to cherish the moments we are given. 
*No matter how hard we try, how much we pray, or how careful we are...we don't know what each day will bring us.  Why would you ever want to waste one second of that precious time?