Too Close to Home

I haven't written much lately. It's been hard to find the time and my head hasn't been in the right space for writing lately. I felt like I was healing, that maybe I was getting better. 

And then July happened. 

July begins and ends with the anniversaries of the deaths of two friends. Two inspiring men of God, both gone too soon. But this July two more anniversaries were added, as friends lost their wife and mum and other friends lost their dad. Both deaths were unexpected and both left me reeling. Neither death seemed fair; they still don't. Two funerals within a week. I hope not to need to do that again. Ever. 

August hasn't been the best either, although for slightly more removed reasons. A friend messaged to say that a lady she knows lost twins recently. No one should lose a baby and no one should lose two. It's not fair and my heart breaks for her. 

An Australian actress revealed that her son was stillborn yesterday. As I read that news, so many emotions flooded my mind. I felt so sorry for her. The grief of stillbirth is unfathomable and she has to go through it in the public eye. I do hope she and her family get the privacy they have asked for. 

But since reading her heartbreaking news, I can't stop thinking about Ariella's stillbirth. I can't adequately describe the shock, heartbreak and devastation of those first days and what it feels like to walk out of the hospital without you baby in your arms. I have photos of my last moments with Ariella in the hospital, but I can't bring myself to look at them. The memory is hard enough, but as time has gone on it's as though the pain in that memory has dulled. When I look at those photos, I can't pretend the pain wasn't as bad as it actually was. I'm glad I have those photos, but I can't look at the photos of the worst moment of my life. It just hurts too much. 

I've been incredibly angry at God lately. I'm not exactly proud of that, but I have to be honest. There have been too many deaths too close to home, and in the words of a friend, Heaven seems too populated with those we love. It's like I've been pounding my fists on his chest and screaming WHY? But all of my pounding and screaming hasn't pushed God away. He's bigger than that. And instead of holding me at arms length as I scream, He's wrapped his arms around me when I collapse from exhaustion and whispered gently to me that Ariella's life has been fruitful and that it's ok to be mad. 

I have to believe that.

I just have to.

Because if I don't...I don't know what's left. Believing that gives me a sure hope that I will see my baby girl again. I'll see Geoff, Steve, Heather and Don again too. I don't normally write things like this, as I don't like seeming pushy, but all these sudden deaths lately has really reminded me that nothing in life is certain. Except Jesus. I am certain that because of Him I will go to Heaven and see my loved ones again. If you don't have that certainty, will you think about it? If you've ever thought I am strong, this is why. I'm not strong, but my God is. And He can be your God too. 

Eighteen Long Months

My dear Ariella,

It's been eighteen long months since you came and went. Or is it went and came? After all, you were gone before we met you. Sometimes I still can't quite believe that. How is it that your anniversary is before your birthday? It shouldn't be that way my sweet girl.

Eighteen long months since I first saw your beautiful face. It really was love at first sight - I couldn't believe that you had dark hair. Your daddy and I were blondies so I expected that for you too. But no, you decided to surprise us with dark brown hair. And no matter how many months pass, I don't think I will ever forget just how dainty your fingers were. They were so beautiful. I miss them.

Sweet girl, you have a baby brother now. He looked so much like you when he was born! Same dark hair (although that didn't surprise us) and the same little nose. Even now, I still look at him and think he looks so much like you. I wonder what you would look like now. Would you have stayed long and dainty, or would you have developed the same glorious chub that your brother has?

I don't know how Heaven works...I don't think you'll be able to read this, but I wonder if you can see me? Would you be proud of your mama? I hope so. It's been so hard without you but I'm doing my best. Your brother loves looking at your photos, although at this point he's probably just enjoying the way the light reflects on them! But one day he will know who you are and how special you are.

Precious Ariella, eighteen months ago today was one of the best days of my life. I got to meet you. And that is a moment I will always treasure.

With love,

Your mama

Love Matters

Today, in a Facebook conversation about breastfeeding and formula feeding, I read a comment that said something along the lines of "if your child still lives and is healthy, you did your job as a mother". Occasionally I see pictures implying that the one thing a mother needs to do to be successful is keep your children alive, like this one:

From someecards.com

And every time it's like a stab in the heart.

Because I couldn't keep my child alive.

But that does NOT make me a failure.

I believed for too long that it did, but I refuse to believe it now. There is not a single baby loss mother I know who has failed her baby...because every single one of them loves that baby with their whole being. For those who haven't lost a child, allow me to let you in on something...most baby loss mamas blame themselves in some way, at least initially. We feel like we have failed our babies, our partners, our family. We don't need comments implying that (intentional or otherwise).

But it's not just about keeping your child alive, success should not be defined by having a healthy child either. I cannot speak from experience, but I don't think my friends whose children are unwell or have a disability would be comforted by the idea that a healthy child is what defines a good mother. It's not.

Motherhood is about more than "keeping the kids alive" or having a healthy child. Motherhood is about love. If you do the best for your child, with the knowledge you have, and you do it out of love, THAT'S what matters. That's a mother doing her job.

From carlymarieprojectheal.com

Pregnancy After Loss: Reflections From the Other Side

It's been nineteen weeks since my baby boy safely arrived into this world. Considering how slow the weeks went past during pregnancy, I was amazed to realise that he has now spent one third of his life on the outside with us! 38 weeks in, 19 weeks out. Wow. Not bad for a baby that I honestly didn't believe would spend any time with us...

The past nineteen weeks have been such a blessing. My little boy loves to give smiles and giggles, and just last week he laughed and laughed when I tickled under his chin. Melted my heart I tell you! Every smile from him is a stitch that is slowly mending my broken heart. I know an Ariella-shaped scar will always be there, but I cannot deny the healing my son has brought.

And it is only as I heal that I realise just how broken I was. Last year, I thought I was doing ok. Friends would ask me how I was going, and my answer would be "I'm ok". I truly thought I was, certainly not "great" or even "good" - but I thought I was ok. Now I realise that I wasn't. I look back at photos and can't help but notice the glazed look on my face and bags under my eyes. I guess that's what happens when you wake up every hour (maybe more) overnight from anxiety. I was so on edge, all the time.

But not anymore.


Now that I'm on the other side, with a baby in my arms instead of my belly. And I thought I'd share some reflections with you.

Firstly, I wish I could have found more joy in being pregnant. I did my best - taking monthly bump photos just like I did with Ariella and trying to enjoy the kicks. But it was hard. And unless you've been through it, I really don't think you can understand. If there was a harder kick than normal, I immediately wondered if that was a good-bye kick. Because Ariella's last movement was harder than the rest. I would buy an outfit in a burst of confidence that he would live, and then have to put it away because I didn't want to see it. 

I want to say that I wish I had worried less, but I know that's ridiculous. I couldn't not worry! And it was so constant...there was no break from the worry because I could not know that Levi was safe all the time. I still worry about him at times, but at least now I can always check on him. And I do. All.the.time! He's going to roll his eyes at me when he's older, I just know it! But I don't care. He's my son and I'll worry all I want :P

My final thought is less of a reflection and more of an encouragement to those pregnant after loss: it's ok. However you feel, it's ok. It's ok to be frustrated at little feet that just will not get out of your rib cage. It's ok to be both hopeful and fearful. It's ok not to put the car seat in the car until the day your baby is born (just make sure you have one ready). But most of all, it's ok to fall in madly in love with your sweet baby growing inside of you. Let yourself dream. Let yourself hope. It's ok.

All photos from the incredibly lovely and oh so talented Karen Pfeiffer.

If I Could Go Back

If I could go back...

Would I say one more 'I love you'?

Would I give her one more kiss?

Would I give her an extra cuddle or maybe sing an extra song?

I couldn't sing an extra song, she is the song I sing. 

I couldn't give an extra cuddle, she's held within my heart.

There wouldn't be an extra kiss, I kissed her all I could. 

There would not be one more 'I love you' because I live that every day.