After Hannah, Ryan and Abby were born and died, I discovered the world of "on-line" and *met* so many women whom I've connected with. I've shared some of the most personal thoughts and feelings I've ever had with these women and together, we navigated through the tangles of our grief.
In the beginning of my grief and recovery journey, these women were my life-line. As I already mentioned, I shared thoughts and feelings with them that were so intimate, so painful and so raw that only another woman who was experiencing them would understand. Our grief was so new and in a way, we clung to each other with the hope that we could help each other find our way in a world which seemed like it had no way. And although it brought great sadness to know that they also felt such heart-wrenching grief, there was a comfort in knowing that my feelings were "normal" and that I wasn't alone. I came to know these women in ways that I have never known anyone before, or since.
Through the years, most of these relationships have since faded. Sometimes I wonder what happened to the women who were so important to me at such a difficult time in my life. Are they happy? (I like to believe that they are). Have they come to a place of quiet peace with their loss? (I hope that the have). I also wonder if they ever think of me, of Hannah, Ryan and Abby, the way that I think of them and their babies. Because there are still times that I do think them. I cannot look back on the last 5 years without thinking about them~people whom I've never met, but who have touched my life deeply.
I am sad for all these babies and children who never had a chance to experience all the joys, heartaches and wonders of life. But I am also eternally grateful for them. Their brief existence in our world helped bring their mothers and me together. And so tonight I honor all the babies whose lives have touched mine, through the strength and love so freely given to me by their mothers. And I thank these special women for allowing me to grieve openly and shamelessly when I needed too. Your support has helped me to heal.
~~
To: Julia, Scott and Jeremiah; Trevor and Shane; Molly and Joseph; Edward, Olivia and Liliana; West, Rebeca and Keating; Mallory; Liam; and Georgia. Thank you. Although we have never met, in my own special way, I love you.
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love. Show all posts
Friday, February 27, 2009
Monday, October 27, 2008
~Remembering Ryan~
Today is Ryan's birthday. He was born around 5:30 a.m. in a very quiet room that only had R and me in it at the time of his birth.
This morning, at 5:30 a.m. I was holding a different boy. For some reason, Joey woke up crying so I went to him. Instead of sitting on the edge of his bed, I crawled into it with him. I stroked his hair and whispered soft words to comfort him and he quickly fell back asleep. I continued to stroke his hair and closed my eyes, but I did not find sleep.
Instead I thought about my other son, Ryan. I thought about his entrance into this world. I thought about how, even in death, I was unable to lightly stroke his hair and whisper soft words to comfort him. He was the second child born to an interval birth. While there is never enough time with any child who is dying, with my son, I had to let go of him before he died. Shortly after his birth, just as in Hannah's birth, I was given a heavy dose of Magnesium Sulfate to stop contractions with the hope of saving my third child. Once the Mag hit me, I was physically sick, excruciatingly hot, and incapable of caring for my only son, even though the only care he required at the time was to be held and loved. I am so grateful that R was there and that he was able to do the things that I was not.
At some point this morning, I left Joey and went to Ryan. I sat and looked at his photo for a long time. I wonder who he would look like now? At birth, he resembled my family so much more than Hannah or Abby did. Would he have been my only child to look like me? Would he have been big, like my brother? Would he be blond with blue eyes like Joey and Laura or would he have had my brown eyes and auburn hair? It's impossible to know how he would look today because babies change so much as they develop and grow. I guess it doesn't matter. What I do know is that in his birth, he was an absolutely beautiful baby boy.
Today I am sad.
Today I miss my other son.
I love you Ryan.
This morning, at 5:30 a.m. I was holding a different boy. For some reason, Joey woke up crying so I went to him. Instead of sitting on the edge of his bed, I crawled into it with him. I stroked his hair and whispered soft words to comfort him and he quickly fell back asleep. I continued to stroke his hair and closed my eyes, but I did not find sleep.
Instead I thought about my other son, Ryan. I thought about his entrance into this world. I thought about how, even in death, I was unable to lightly stroke his hair and whisper soft words to comfort him. He was the second child born to an interval birth. While there is never enough time with any child who is dying, with my son, I had to let go of him before he died. Shortly after his birth, just as in Hannah's birth, I was given a heavy dose of Magnesium Sulfate to stop contractions with the hope of saving my third child. Once the Mag hit me, I was physically sick, excruciatingly hot, and incapable of caring for my only son, even though the only care he required at the time was to be held and loved. I am so grateful that R was there and that he was able to do the things that I was not.
At some point this morning, I left Joey and went to Ryan. I sat and looked at his photo for a long time. I wonder who he would look like now? At birth, he resembled my family so much more than Hannah or Abby did. Would he have been my only child to look like me? Would he have been big, like my brother? Would he be blond with blue eyes like Joey and Laura or would he have had my brown eyes and auburn hair? It's impossible to know how he would look today because babies change so much as they develop and grow. I guess it doesn't matter. What I do know is that in his birth, he was an absolutely beautiful baby boy.
Today I am sad.
Today I miss my other son.
I love you Ryan.
Friday, October 24, 2008
~Honoring Hannah~
Today is Hannah's birthday. She would have been 5 years old.
Yesterday I was sad as I thought about my sweet babies and all the lost opportunities we have missed out on. Before falling asleep, I cried lightly while R held me, but then I fell into a deep slumber and slept soundly through the night.
This morning, I woke up to the sound of R and Laura laughing together. It made me smile and feel good inside. And then they were in our room. R put her on the bed and she was climbing all over me, laughing and giving me her big, sloppy, open mouth kisses. I felt Hannah near, in my heart, but I was up and starting another busy day.
It's only now that Laura is sleeping and Joey is having "quiet time" that I have the time to think about this day and about Hannah. If I wanted to, I know I could sit on the floor of my room, think sad thoughts and dredge up the darkness that engulfed my life 5 years ago. I could put myself back into the depths of grief and relive that horrible week. It would be easy to do, if I wanted too.
But this year, I don't have that awful feeling of despair that I have had in past years, and I don't want to force a sadness that I don't feel just to keep Hannah, Ryan or Abby "alive". For me, the way to keep them "alive" is not through grief, but through love.
And so, when I'm done with this post, I will sit quietly and go through Hannah's memory box. I will look at her pictures and gently unfold the soft, thin blanket that she was wrapped in for her short life and I will run my fingers over her footprints. I will cherish the tangible reminders I have from my firstborn child. I may cry, and that's perfectly fine. I may not cry and that's perfectly fine too.
I will try not to reflect on what I have lost, but rather, to see all that I have gained. Today, I will try to honor Hannah by seeing the many gifts that her life has brought me.
Yesterday I was sad as I thought about my sweet babies and all the lost opportunities we have missed out on. Before falling asleep, I cried lightly while R held me, but then I fell into a deep slumber and slept soundly through the night.
This morning, I woke up to the sound of R and Laura laughing together. It made me smile and feel good inside. And then they were in our room. R put her on the bed and she was climbing all over me, laughing and giving me her big, sloppy, open mouth kisses. I felt Hannah near, in my heart, but I was up and starting another busy day.
It's only now that Laura is sleeping and Joey is having "quiet time" that I have the time to think about this day and about Hannah. If I wanted to, I know I could sit on the floor of my room, think sad thoughts and dredge up the darkness that engulfed my life 5 years ago. I could put myself back into the depths of grief and relive that horrible week. It would be easy to do, if I wanted too.
But this year, I don't have that awful feeling of despair that I have had in past years, and I don't want to force a sadness that I don't feel just to keep Hannah, Ryan or Abby "alive". For me, the way to keep them "alive" is not through grief, but through love.
And so, when I'm done with this post, I will sit quietly and go through Hannah's memory box. I will look at her pictures and gently unfold the soft, thin blanket that she was wrapped in for her short life and I will run my fingers over her footprints. I will cherish the tangible reminders I have from my firstborn child. I may cry, and that's perfectly fine. I may not cry and that's perfectly fine too.
I will try not to reflect on what I have lost, but rather, to see all that I have gained. Today, I will try to honor Hannah by seeing the many gifts that her life has brought me.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
I'm A Big Boy Now!
Joey turned 3 last week. How much he understands the concept that this day was his actual birth-day is unclear but he certainly understands that he is no longer 2 and that he is now 3.
"Three means I'm a big boy now, Mom" he continues to tell me. He even declared "Now that I'm three, I can go on the potty." This has been his first expression of interest in potty training, and although he has only wanted to sit on the potty once since then, it's a start.
He also gave me a "list" of things he can do now that he is three and a big boy: he can walk down the stairs by himself (a skill he has had since he was under 2 but Laura's arrival brought back a strong desire in him to be carried), cut his own food with a (plastic) knife, and help me with all kinds of projects, especially those that involved flat or phillips head screw-drivers and scissors, pour his own cereal, crack an egg and push the buttons on the microwave to cook his food.
He is growing up. The thought of him being a "big boy" sometimes brings a huge smile to my face but it also sometimes brings me a little fear and sadness. Fear because I want to keep him safe and close and protected from the harsh realities of life, even though I know that's impossible. Sadness because the older he becomes, the more independent he will become. I try to foster independence because I know it's a good thing, but it's also difficult to let go. I'm sure as the years go by, this will be more and more important yet more and more difficult to do.
The night of his birthday, I read him some new stories and tucked him in. R was working late, so I sat down and started reading my book. A little while later, Joey started crying so I went into his room and stroked his hair and asked him what was the matter.
In a small, scared voice he said, "I had a bad dream, Mom."
I asked him if he wanted me to sit down, hold his hand and sing him a song and he immediately said yes, put his tiny hand in mine and closed his eyes again.
As I was gently singing to him, my eyes filled with tears. Yes, he is becoming a big boy now, but he is also still so young and in the most tender way, he is still very much a baby.
"Three means I'm a big boy now, Mom" he continues to tell me. He even declared "Now that I'm three, I can go on the potty." This has been his first expression of interest in potty training, and although he has only wanted to sit on the potty once since then, it's a start.
He also gave me a "list" of things he can do now that he is three and a big boy: he can walk down the stairs by himself (a skill he has had since he was under 2 but Laura's arrival brought back a strong desire in him to be carried), cut his own food with a (plastic) knife, and help me with all kinds of projects, especially those that involved flat or phillips head screw-drivers and scissors, pour his own cereal, crack an egg and push the buttons on the microwave to cook his food.
He is growing up. The thought of him being a "big boy" sometimes brings a huge smile to my face but it also sometimes brings me a little fear and sadness. Fear because I want to keep him safe and close and protected from the harsh realities of life, even though I know that's impossible. Sadness because the older he becomes, the more independent he will become. I try to foster independence because I know it's a good thing, but it's also difficult to let go. I'm sure as the years go by, this will be more and more important yet more and more difficult to do.
The night of his birthday, I read him some new stories and tucked him in. R was working late, so I sat down and started reading my book. A little while later, Joey started crying so I went into his room and stroked his hair and asked him what was the matter.
In a small, scared voice he said, "I had a bad dream, Mom."
I asked him if he wanted me to sit down, hold his hand and sing him a song and he immediately said yes, put his tiny hand in mine and closed his eyes again.
As I was gently singing to him, my eyes filled with tears. Yes, he is becoming a big boy now, but he is also still so young and in the most tender way, he is still very much a baby.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
Who Do You Miss The Most?
I received one of those "get to know you" emails today-the kind that asks you a bunch of questions so your friends can "get to know you" better. Usually I delete them without responding, but this one was from my 12 year old niece, so I decided to answer the questions and send it back to her. The 4th question down asked: "Who do you miss the most?"
I typed Hannah, Ryan and Abby's names and went on to #5. But later, I began to really think about this question and my answer. Do I miss Hannah, Ryan and Abby? Can I miss them if I never really had the chance to know them?
Surely I miss the opportunity to raise them, teach them and parent them. I miss the opportunity to know them, watch their personalities develop and help shape their values and morals. But does this mean I miss them, as people, or do I miss the opportunity of them?
I don't know.
When I was pregnant, I imagined who they would be, based on their movements. Abby was always kicking and jabbing me , hard and often. I dreamed I would be chasing her around the house because she was my wild one. Hannah was active but her kicks were more gentle-like bumps, so even though I felt her often, I pictured her to be quieter, more gentle and feminine. And Ryan, he wouldn't kick often, but when he did, it was constant and furious. He was my sweet little boy but he had a strong spirit and a stubborn side.
When I was pregnant with Joey, he kicked and moved all the time. Once, he kicked me so hard he knocked the wind out of me. I was sure he would be on-the-go nonstop. But when Joey was born, he was about as mellow as a baby could be. As a child, he can still sit and focus on something for a long period of time without getting bored and he's gentle and calm.
Laura almost never kicked me. Many times, I would panic because long stretches would pass without any movement and I would head to labor and delivery for an ultrasound-thankfully to learn that she was fine. Based on my pregnancy with her, one would expected her to be super laid-back. But Laura's nickname is "Spit-and-Beans" shortened from "a spit-fire who is full of beans". She is up at 5:45 every morning and is raring to go. There is nothing mellow about her.
When I think of the dreams I had for Hannah, Ryan and Abby while I was pregnant, I realize now that they were just that: dreams. There is no way to know who they would have become or how they would have grown because I didn't have the chance to learn that about them. And realizing how wrong I was about my living children, I realize too that the dreams I had about them probably aren't even close to the reality of who they would have been.
So, almost 5 years after they were born, when I think of a question like #4, "Who do you miss the most"? I feel confused. Is it possible to miss a person you never knew? Or is what I feel more of a longing for them? Is there a difference between missing and longing? I'm not sure. The only thing I am sure of is a love that I still carry deep within me and how much I miss sharing that love with them.
Maybe you don't need to know someone well to miss them, maybe you only need to love them.
I just don't know...
I typed Hannah, Ryan and Abby's names and went on to #5. But later, I began to really think about this question and my answer. Do I miss Hannah, Ryan and Abby? Can I miss them if I never really had the chance to know them?
Surely I miss the opportunity to raise them, teach them and parent them. I miss the opportunity to know them, watch their personalities develop and help shape their values and morals. But does this mean I miss them, as people, or do I miss the opportunity of them?
I don't know.
When I was pregnant, I imagined who they would be, based on their movements. Abby was always kicking and jabbing me , hard and often. I dreamed I would be chasing her around the house because she was my wild one. Hannah was active but her kicks were more gentle-like bumps, so even though I felt her often, I pictured her to be quieter, more gentle and feminine. And Ryan, he wouldn't kick often, but when he did, it was constant and furious. He was my sweet little boy but he had a strong spirit and a stubborn side.
When I was pregnant with Joey, he kicked and moved all the time. Once, he kicked me so hard he knocked the wind out of me. I was sure he would be on-the-go nonstop. But when Joey was born, he was about as mellow as a baby could be. As a child, he can still sit and focus on something for a long period of time without getting bored and he's gentle and calm.
Laura almost never kicked me. Many times, I would panic because long stretches would pass without any movement and I would head to labor and delivery for an ultrasound-thankfully to learn that she was fine. Based on my pregnancy with her, one would expected her to be super laid-back. But Laura's nickname is "Spit-and-Beans" shortened from "a spit-fire who is full of beans". She is up at 5:45 every morning and is raring to go. There is nothing mellow about her.
When I think of the dreams I had for Hannah, Ryan and Abby while I was pregnant, I realize now that they were just that: dreams. There is no way to know who they would have become or how they would have grown because I didn't have the chance to learn that about them. And realizing how wrong I was about my living children, I realize too that the dreams I had about them probably aren't even close to the reality of who they would have been.
So, almost 5 years after they were born, when I think of a question like #4, "Who do you miss the most"? I feel confused. Is it possible to miss a person you never knew? Or is what I feel more of a longing for them? Is there a difference between missing and longing? I'm not sure. The only thing I am sure of is a love that I still carry deep within me and how much I miss sharing that love with them.
Maybe you don't need to know someone well to miss them, maybe you only need to love them.
I just don't know...
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Remembering...
Today, I started to swap my winter for spring clothes in my closet. Hannah, Ryan and Abby's memory boxes sit on a corner shelf, high up in a safe location of my closet and as I went through my stuff, my eyes kept going back to their boxes.
Finally, I put my clothing project aside and did what I knew my heart wanted to do: I took down their boxes, sat on my bed and went through them. It's been a long time since I've done this. I carefully looked at each baby's photo, tracing the outline of their faces with my finger. I took out Abby's hat and turned it inside out to see the tiny spec of skin that remains in it-tangible evidence that she wore this hat. I inhaled deeply to try and draw the scent from Hannah's blanket. I know the scent has long since faded but as I inhaled, my mind could so clearly smell her. It made my eyes fill with tears...
At the bottom of each box, I keep all the letters I've written to them. The top letter of Ryan's box was one I wrote to the three of them, this past Christmas. I won't share all it, but I am going to share some~
Dear Hannah, Ryan and Abby,
Our tree is lit, a fire is burning and soft Christmas music is playing in the background. I have a rare moment to myself right now and I'm feeling so peaceful and happy. This morning was magical: Joey was in awe of the tree and of Santa's arrival and Laura was blissfully unaware of the spirit of Christmas that surrounded us.
However, now in this quiet moment, I think of you. As I feel the warmth of the fire, my heart aches for you. There has not been a single day that I haven't thought about you and I still miss you terribly. Time has worn the edges of my pain, softened them, but thankfully, it has not changed my love for you. It has been 4 years now and you are still very much a part of me and who I am.
As the years go by, I wonder if a time will come when I won't think about you every day. I can not and will not allow myself to hold onto grief and force myself to think about you daily just to keep your memory "alive". It's just not my way, and yet I still do think about you every day-it just sort of happens without any conscious effort. My thoughts are not always filled with the deep sorrow that I had in my early days of recovery~but they are always filled with love......
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There is always love but today there is also deep sorrow.
Finally, I put my clothing project aside and did what I knew my heart wanted to do: I took down their boxes, sat on my bed and went through them. It's been a long time since I've done this. I carefully looked at each baby's photo, tracing the outline of their faces with my finger. I took out Abby's hat and turned it inside out to see the tiny spec of skin that remains in it-tangible evidence that she wore this hat. I inhaled deeply to try and draw the scent from Hannah's blanket. I know the scent has long since faded but as I inhaled, my mind could so clearly smell her. It made my eyes fill with tears...
At the bottom of each box, I keep all the letters I've written to them. The top letter of Ryan's box was one I wrote to the three of them, this past Christmas. I won't share all it, but I am going to share some~
Dear Hannah, Ryan and Abby,
Our tree is lit, a fire is burning and soft Christmas music is playing in the background. I have a rare moment to myself right now and I'm feeling so peaceful and happy. This morning was magical: Joey was in awe of the tree and of Santa's arrival and Laura was blissfully unaware of the spirit of Christmas that surrounded us.
However, now in this quiet moment, I think of you. As I feel the warmth of the fire, my heart aches for you. There has not been a single day that I haven't thought about you and I still miss you terribly. Time has worn the edges of my pain, softened them, but thankfully, it has not changed my love for you. It has been 4 years now and you are still very much a part of me and who I am.
As the years go by, I wonder if a time will come when I won't think about you every day. I can not and will not allow myself to hold onto grief and force myself to think about you daily just to keep your memory "alive". It's just not my way, and yet I still do think about you every day-it just sort of happens without any conscious effort. My thoughts are not always filled with the deep sorrow that I had in my early days of recovery~but they are always filled with love......
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There is always love but today there is also deep sorrow.
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