August 23.

We were up at 6:30 this morning.  A buzz of excitement ran through the house like electricity.  Amelia got up easier than she ever has, as she is my girl who loves to sleep.  She was dressed and in my room to do her hair before I even had to ask.

They both looked so good...dressed in their favorite duds, ready for a new year for Seth and a first year for Amelia of school.

As we braved the traffic, the hoards of students (and parents) and made our way to the school, I couldn't help wondering how different my life could have, should have, would have been.

Today I should have been taking my 3 big kids to school.  I should have had to get up just a little bit earlier because I'd have 2 girls who needed their hair done. I should have had to stop at the stairs in the school to kiss Emma goodbye and wish her a great first day of 3rd grade.  Then I should have kissed Seth and Amelia and told them to watch for their big sister after school.

Instead, I kissed Seth goodbye, watched Amelia's Kindergarten parade, kissed her goodbye and wiped tears from Libby's eyes as she realized Amelia wasn't coming home with us.

Instead of waiting to hear about the first day of school from my 3 big kids, I will only hear about it from 2.

Instead of having an 8 year 8 month 8day old who is in 3rd grade, I have this.

I have a baby who stopped growing.  I have a daughter who I remember with all my heart and soul, but whose voice I have forgotten.

I have a piece of my soul that left me 8 years ago today.  I have a hole in my heart that will never be filled.  I have an ache in my arms that can not be cured.  My body feels a thirst for her that can not be quenched.

Emma has 4 siblings who don't get to play with her.  She has 2 brothers and 2 sisters who don't know what it is like to have an older sister here on this Earth.  She has 2 sisters who want nothing more than to play dolls, barbies, family and dressups with her.  She has a brother who wants to play Legos, Ninjas and Pirates with her.  She has a baby brother who wants her to hold him, make him giggle, and play with him.

She has a Mama and a Daddy who lost a part of themselves the day she died.  She has 2 Parents who would give the world to have her back in their arms again.

Today should have been much different than it was.  My picture files of her shouldn't have stopped on August 22, 2003.  My world should have kept going on August 23, 2003.  I should know what it's like to have her here.

I should know what she would look like.  I should know how dark and long her hair would be.  Would it be unruly like mine and Amelia's?  Would it be curly like her Aunt's?  Would she look as much like Jeremy's sister now as she did then?  Would she want to do dance or karate or swim?  Would she tan easily in the summer like her siblings?  Would she have Bieber Fever?  Would I be okay with it?  What kind of music would she like?  What would her taste in fashion be?  Who would be her best friend?  What kinds of secrets would they tell?  What games would she like?

I have these and a million other questions.  I think of these questions and then push them back down into the dark recesses of my heart.  It hurts too much to think about it.  It hurts too much to remember what is gone.  It hurts too much.  It hurts too much.  It hurts too much.

My daughter should have started 3rd grade today.  Instead, I am remembering the 8th anniversary of her death.

And I hate every moment of it.

Torn

It is amazing to me how so much of my heart can be stuck in one place

August 22, 2003...our last picture

And still be so present in another.

 

 

 Oh my heart. I love these people so much and they make tomorrow just a little bit easier.

My Angel

Today, the girls and I had to run some errands.  When we got in the van, I plugged in my iPod, and turned on Billy Joel.  I hit shuffle, and the first song to come on was Lullaby.  If you don't know, this is my song for Emma.  It is the song I listened to non-stop for a month after she died.  It is my Emma song.

I haven't heard it in a while and today while driving, it played twice.

I miss her.  I miss having her here.  I miss being able to take care of her grave.  I miss visiting her.

But, today I feel her so close.  I know that she is here when my babies are born.  I know that she is close and helps to usher in her brothers and sisters as they come to the world.  I know that she is my special angel who lifts me up and gives me the strength I need when I am in labor.

I love feeling her Spirit so near, but I miss her so much it just hurts.  It is bittersweet for certain.

I wish when I told people that I have an 8 year old daughter that it was true. I wish that when people looked at my family they knew that this was my 5th baby, not my 4th as it seems to the outside world.  I wish I didn't have to add the disclaimer to people who will see us a lot, that this is my 5th baby, but my 4th living.

I am just missing my girl so much.

Sweet Angel ~ be with me while I labor.  Be with your baby brother while he works hard to come into this world. Give him a kiss and tell him it's time to come to Earth.  I promise I will love him just as I love you and your brother and sisters. I promise to teach him all about his big sister who loves him so much.  I promise to raise your brothers and sisters to know you, to know Jesus and to know of the miracle of Easter that lets us be a forever family.
I promise these things.  Just don't leave me. Stay close while I work to bring your baby brother into the world. Stay close, let me feel you, and know that I love you more than I have words to express.

Love, Mama

Angels

Days after Emma's death, I received this Willow Tree Angel.

This is called Angel's Embrace.  My nephew, who was almost 3, looked at it and gingerly touching the head of the baby said, Baby Emma.

I cried.

I cried a lot in those days.

******

I have a curio cabinet in my bedroom and it has sat empty since we moved into our new home.  I unpacked her hand and foot molds, her sweet hats and a few other trinkets that reminded me of Emma. But, other than that, it has sat empty.

Today, I opened it up and dusted off the shelves and opened my box of Willow Tree Angels.  I unpacked each of my angels and placed them on the shelf.  I have done this before.  We have moved several times in the last 7 years, so this is not something new.

However, when I got to this angel today, I started to cry.  I no longer thought of this being Emma when she died being held by an Angel, but instead, Emma holding her baby brother who is getting ready to come to Earth.

I thought of my sweet girl who is there to see off each of her siblings and cousins as they are coming into the world.  I thought of my sweet angel who is there to meet her Great-Grandparents and one day Grandparents as they leave this world.

I thought of my darling daughter.  My first born.  The one that first made me a Mother.

I thought of her heart and how she must feel watching us here on Earth.  How she must feel watching her brother and sisters get hugs and kisses from Jeremy and me.  How she must feel not being here, but knowing hers is a bigger mission to fill.

I wonder if she misses us as much as we miss her.

Birthday Girl

Today Emma turns 8.  In our religion, this is a pretty big deal.  You see, when a child turns 8, they can be baptized.  We don't baptize as babies because we don't believe that babies can sin.  They are perfect and can't really be held accountable for their mistakes until they are 8.  Plus, at that point, they can understand a bit better what they are getting into.

This year I have watched many of my friends who I was pregnant with, have their kiddos turn 8.  I have seen the pictures on their blogs of these special days.  I have seen the pretty white dresses, the pictures of the kids with their Moms and Dads, and read the posts about what they did on that day.

Emma in her 1st white dress, on her blessing day.

With each one, I ached for my little girl.  My little girl who was so perfect, she didn't need to be tested and tried by this life.  My little girl who was so perfect, she didn't need baptism.  My little girl, who 8 years ago today, was born.

I wonder what she would be like now.  How long would her hair be?  Would she be taking dance classes like her sister?  Would she be like me and just now be losing her teeth, or would she have done it earlier?  Would she be loving 2nd grade?  Who would her best friend be?  What music would she like?  What would she look like?  What would her voice sound like?  What would her laugh sound like?

These are questions I have everyday, but especially today, on her birthday.

But today, we will celebrate her birth.  We will buy her gifts and donate them to Toys for Tots, the kids will pick a lunch store and we will go to a local fun park to play arcade games and just have fun.  We will celebrate with family, eat cake and remember our sweet girl. This year, we are going to remember her with laughter (and I am sure a few tears), but we are going to celebrate her life, no matter how short.

Today is my sweet Emma's day.  I am so glad she was born.  I am overjoyed that I am her Mom.  She has brought me more joy than I ever dreamed possible.

 

Happy Birthday baby girl.  You made me a Mama and I will forever love you.

Make photo slide shows at www.OneTrueMedia.com

14 Days

Today is December 1.  

In 14 days you would have been turning 8.

 

I love you baby girl.

Someone to Take Care of Her

We sat in a small room in the hospital trying desperately to digest the news that our baby was gone when the Social Worker came in, introduced herself and asked us "Where do you want to bury her?".

Huh? Bury her? What?

I had no clue.  I wanted to scream, "I don't want to bury her.  I want to take her home and have my life back!!"  But, even in that very illogical state, I knew it wasn't an option.

What about cremation?  No, I couldn't bear the thought of her little body being burned.  Her body that was so perfect, I couldn't think about it.

I looked at Jeremy, "Kaysville?" I said.  "Yes" he replied.

We were living in Shawnee Mission, Kansas.  Jeremy had just finished his undergraduate degree at The University of Kansas, and hadn't found a job yet.  We had no idea where in the country we would end up, but my folks, sister, and 2 brothers all lived in Utah.  That is where Jeremy's folks are from and we knew there would always be someone there to take care of her.

Two weeks after Emma died we returned home.  It felt so familiar yet so strange.  It was so quiet, yet she was everywhere and no where at the same time.  I told Jeremy that I couldn't do it.  I couldn't stay there without her.

Two weeks later we found ourselves driving a Penske Truck with all of our belongings in it.  My Mom and Brother caravaning with us, we made our way across the plains and into the mountains of Utah.  My first stop was to see my girl, my baby, my Emma.

Emma's first Halloween

Introducing Seth to his big sister

Since that day, I have visited her thousands of times.  I have changed her flowers, wiped clean her picture and headstone, brought my babies there to "meet" their sister, and taken care of her the only way I can.

Now I am facing the reality that I will not get to do this anymore.  We are moving 1400 miles away.  I can't drive up here for her Angel Day and her Birthday anymore.  I can't go wipe her picture clean after the mowers have been there.  I can't make sure that I take her flowers down at Spring Cleanup so they don't throw everything away.

After December 15th this year, I won't be able to do anything for her anymore.

I knew this was a possibility when she died.  I knew it was a possibility when Jeremy finished Graduate school and we were possibly moving to Indiana.  But when he got a job in Utah I was relieved.  I wouldn't have to leave her behind.

We received a 7 year grace period.  7 years to be near her, to have all of our children in 1 State.  7 years...

I woke up early this morning and realized that I had to leave her.  That this birthday is my last one with my baby.  Who would take care of her?  I thought of my sisters, they are all so busy, I am sure they would forget.  No one loves her as much as I do.  No one else will take the time to remember all the important dates.

In tears, I sent out a plea today to my sisters.  Who will take care of her?  Who will love her?  Who will make sure that she isn't forgotten?

Almost immediately after sending the email, my sister Cristin replied telling me that she and my niece would be happy to do it and I could stop worrying.

I am so grateful that I have people who not only love me, but love my baby and will take care of her while I am gone.

I am so grateful that God gave me a family full of people who love me and will help with whatever is needed.  I am so very blessed.

Tender mercies indeed.

 

* I just want to add that although my other 2 sisters didn't respond to the email as quickly as Cristin, I know that they too would have taken care of her.  I have an amazing family and I am sure they will all be pitching in.

Dear Emma

 

Your brother and sisters and I watched this video today. They were full of questions about you. They tell me they miss you, but they really have no idea.

They wanted to know if I took any videos of you when you died. Was that the day you died? Was that before you died? Did I know you were going to die?

No, yes, no. Those were my answers.

Amelia wanted to know what you ate. I told her you nursed a lot. "Where are the videos or pictures of that?", she asked. I don't have any.

The pictures end way too soon.  I look at these videos and pictures and barely recognize myself.   I wonder what kind of a Mama I would have been had you lived.  I wonder a lot about what my life would be like if you were still here.

You should be starting 2nd grade today with your brother.  You two should be walking to school together, being excited to see each other on the playground and in the lunch room.  You should be telling me what you want to eat in your lunch tomorrow and playing with your sisters right now.

There are so many shoulds.  You should be here.  You should be here.  You should be here.

I miss you.  I love you.

If I had known

That this was going to be our last picture, I would have made sure it was a lot better.

But still, I love it.  It is just so us.  She crawled up on my lap and wanted some of my water.  See the sopt on my shoulder?  That was from her.  The toys on the floor?  From her.  If I had known this was my last picture with her...well, I guess I wouldn't have changed a thing. 

August 22, 2003

Surviving

"How did you get through it?  How did you survive?"

This is something I hear very often, especially from people when they find out my baby died.  My response is always the same;

"I just do."

I say this in present tense because it wasn't something I did, something that happened and now I am done.  Coping with the death of my daughter, my oldest child, is something I deal with every day of my life.

Maybe it's because her Angel Day is on Monday, or maybe it's just because I can finally be introspective enough to answer the question...but I have been pondering this a lot lately.  How do I do it?

Emma died around 4pm on Saturday, August 23, 2003.  It was my in-law's 30th Anniversary, and we were at their house.

Jeremy's sister and her friend brought us back to our apartment that night.  I know if we had to drive ourselves, I wouldn't be writing this right now.

As we stumbled in the back door of our apartment, it was so quiet.  It had been like that many times before.  We would come home from being out and Emma would have fallen asleep.  Usually I would take her into our room and Jeremy would change her diaper while I nursed her so she wouldn't wake up.  That night we didn't have to worry about that.

Her toys and clothes were everywhere, her diapers needed to be washed, there was blood on my shirt and the stink of death on me.  Before we had done anything though, my darling took me by the shoulders and, looking me in the eye said, "Don't you dare leave me here alone.  Promise me.  Please don't leave me here by myself."

I promised him.  That is how I made it through the early days.

Most people have funeral arrangements to make, not me.  I couldn't do it.  My fabulous in-laws did everything.  They picked out her casket, bought her plane ticket, and made sure we ate.  My family got us out there, picked out her plot and dressed her for the graveside service.

In the early days I got through as best I could.  I had family around me and they lifted me up and helped me.

If I didn't mention my faith, I would be leaving out a huge part of my story.  I believe that I will not only see Emma again someday, but after the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, there will be a resurrection.  I believe that at that time, Emma will be resurrected as the baby she was and I will have the opportunity to raise her in a world free of temptation and sorrow, in a perfect world.  That promise, that belief,  has carried me through some very dark moments.

If I were to say that is all it has been, my faith, I would be lying. There have been times when my faith isn't enough and I just don't want to do this anymore.  I have always said that religion and beliefs are great, but they won't fill my empty arms or empty my overfull breasts.

One month after Emma died, I became pregnant with Seth.  I knew then that I was here for the long haul.  I knew then that I would do everything I could to make her proud of me and to be a good Mama to her siblings.

In the last 7 years, I have had several different coping mechanisms.  But the ones that stick, the ones that get me through the most difficult times are the ones that live in my house.

It's the late night nursings, kissing fat baby cheeks, tending to a scraped knee, brushing away crocodile tears.  It is the spontaneous hugs, the "I love you's", the late night stories and memories we make.  It's the first day of school, the first bike ride, the first steps and words.  It's my hands in their hair, singing a soft lullabye.  It's hearing, "Hello Mama!" at 3 am and just smiling because they're so happy to see me.

It's all the things I never got to do with Emma.  All those things that I try so hard not to take for granted.

It's the look in his eyes when he tells me he loves me.  It's walking through Time's Square eating cheesecake in the rain, it's snuggling up to my love and having him hold me when I cry.

So when you ask how I do it?  How I survive?  It's on love.  I survive on love.  The day Emma died a huge part of me died too.  I never thought I would love again that way, but I do.  The love I have for her brother, sisters and Dad help to heal my broken heart daily.

That is how I do it.

Trying

I have started 2 separate posts about NYC and Blogher.

I have started organizing my house and then stopped.

I have been thinking about my boy going to school all day starting on Monday.

I have been busy with my Church work, my Etsy shop and my babes.

I am overwhelmed and can't finish anything.

I have been trying to figure out why and then it dawned on me last night.

Seth starts school next Monday.  Monday is August 23.  Anyone catch the connection yet?  No?

How about now.  Yeah, it's Emma's Angel Day.  Suck of all sucks. I won't be able to grieve the way I want and need to.  I am trying to stay excited for my boy as he gets ready to start 1st grade at a new school.  But it is hard.

Amelia starts dance that day.  She is over the moon excited.  I am not.

I am trying to write about the great time I had at Blogher, but I can't.

I am trying to get my house and my life organized because my house and my life is chaos.  But I can't.  My life is more chaos right now than it usually is, and just ask my Mom, that is a lot.

I am trying to hold it all together and because I am trying so hard, I can't do any of it.

If you need me, I will be sitting in my pajama's, no bra on, teeth unbrushed, trying really hard not to break down in front of my littles.  All the while, I am thinking of this sweet girl and missing her like crazy.

And Sometimes They Live

Today I am talking to those of you who have lost a babe.  There is something so scary about having another one after you know what can happen.  Your heart races when you think about loving this new little person and giving so much of yourself again, just to have it possibly destroyed, again.

You might wake up in the night sweating and have to rush to check on your baby.  You may not feel your babe moving in your womb and immediately start calculating when the last time you felt them was and rush to get a glass of orange juice to wake them up.  You might think about their impending birth and have a full on panic attack.

This is all normal.  Seriously, it is.  You see, when you know what it is to lose something someone so perfect, precious, and YOURS, you are forever changed.  You will never look at the world the way you once did.  The naive part of you is gone.  You will assume the worst.  You may just assume your next child will not be born, will not live, will not live past the age that your sweet angel left you.

But I want to tell you something.  I want to give you hope.  It has been almost 7 years since Emma left us.  In that time she has gained 3 siblings.  And guess what?  Sometimes THEY LIVE.

Usually they live.  We are the exception, not the rule.  Enjoy those flutters, kicks, birthing pains, late nights, sore nipples, first teeth, first words, first steps and more.  Because they are going to continue. 

My baby boy, the one who came to heal our hearts and fill our arms just a month after Emma died, that boy who I was SURE wouldn't live past a year, that same boy just turned 6 and is starting 1st Grade this fall.

Sometimes they live.  Hang on my friends.  It won't always be as hard as it is right now.  Hang on to my promise and know that when you need reassurance, I am always here.

The Aftermath

It is 4 am and I am awake with the baby.  She is not a baby anymore, but she is my baby and she is wide awake.  I am frustrated with her, but then I think of her older sister.  I think of my oldest who I would give anything in the world to be up all night with.  My mind starts wandering back to that place, the place where it goes when things are quiet and the world is still.  My mind starts wandering back to that Summer day 6 years ago.

*******

Here I am, 26 years old and am sitting in a cold sterile hospital room holding my baby girl, wiping her face around the tubes that were put in to help her breathe.  Singing to her one last time, cutting a lock of her hair, smelling her, feeling her back where it is still warm, trying to believe she is still alive.  Then it is time.  I know it is time.  I have to leave.  As I choke back a sob, I leave my baby's lifeless body on the hospital bed, open the glass door and walk away. 

*******

Saturday morning started much like every other. I woke up with the sun and with my sweet Emma crawling up and whispering in my face.  Letting Jeremy sleep in, Emma and I got ready and walked to Weight Watchers.  She played with people's water bottles, got super dirty (seriously, those carpets never get cleaned!), and entertained the masses.

We went home and I got online.  I posted a bit in my due date forum, talked with my dear friends, read what others had written and then wrote something really important.  On that day, I wrote on the ICAN board, Today I am going to be happy.  This was really important because for the last 8 months I had really been struggling with the fact that I'd had a c-section.  I had really struggled with the fact that I was going to have to fight to have a vaginal birth when I had another baby.  I was tired of struggling though, I was tired of feeling like a failure.  She was born, that was all that mattered.  So, that day, I decided to be happy.

******

“It's your Mom and Dad's Anniversary, we should go over there.  Plus your sister wants to see us and Emma before she takes off to the football game”.

We got our things ready and headed over to see Jeremy's folks.  30 years they'd been married, we needed to celebrate with them.  Emma had dirt under her nails and dirty knees from our excursion that morning, I wiped off her knees and decided to clip her nails after her bath that night.  I grabbed a few diapers and wipes and we were off.

We arrived at Grandma and Grandpa's house and Emma immediately started crawling around.  She ate Cheerios, the decision to buy outlet guards was made and she did a huge poop.  About an hour or so later, she was exhausted and ready to nurse.  She nursed for an hour.  I remember that hour so well.  I played with her hair, was disgusted at her nails, and just loved on my baby.

When it came time to lay her down, I tried putting her in the playpen, but she just wouldn't have it.  She had always slept on our bed with us, so I put her on the bed upstairs.

******

“Honey, we're going to get some Winter clothes for Em, Children's Orchard just put out their good Winter stuff today.  She's upstairs sleeping, call on your Mom's cell if she wakes up and I'll come right home”.

An hour later I returned with bags of cute clothing that would never be worn.

“Is Emma still asleep?  I need to go check on her” I said.
“I just did 10 minutes ago, she was fine.  But if you want to you can”. My father-in-law replied. 

I didn't want him to think I didn't trust him, so despite the feeling in my heart and the voice in my head that said, “If anything happens to her I'll never forgive myself”, I didn't.  I showed him the clothes we bought and sat down enjoying the silence that comes before my baby woke up.

3 minutes later...

“Kim, there's something wrong with Emma, I found her like this”.

I will never forget what my Mother-in-law said that day.  I screamed for Jeremy when I saw my baby, who didn't look like my baby anymore.  When I looked at her and knew her Spirit was gone.

The Paramedics were called, they worked so hard, we sped to the hospital, “faster, faster, faster” I prayed. 

******

In a room at the hospital, the doctor comes in and tells me she's gone.  I hit him.  I cry.  I make phone calls to tell my family.  The Social Worker asks where we want to bury her.  I don't know.  I don't know. I don't know.  I just want to see her.  I just want to hold my baby.  I just want to wake up from this nightmare.

******

What do I do now?  We went home with Jeremy's sister and her friend.  I asked her to post to my due date forum about Emma.  They needed to know.  They were my family.

When we got home, I walked in the door and just didn't know what to do.  Her smell was everywhere, permeating every bit of where we lived.  Her highchair ready for her to sit in, diapers in the pail waiting to be washed, the books and toys she's played with that morning, her clothes, our bed...everywhere I looked I saw Emma.  But it was so silent.  My breasts were full with milk and had no one to feed.  The silence overwhelmed me.  Where was she?

Jeremy's best friends parents came over.  They had a baby die also.  I asked her, what do I do now?  I am so lost.  I just don't know what to do now.

A friend called, one who was in my due date forum with me.  She had a baby die in utero at 19 weeks.  I sobbed to her, what do I do now?

I talked to the organ and tissue donation people.  So surreal.  I couldn't believe this was my life now.  I couldn't believe that just 5 hours ago my life was normal and now it was changed forever.

We couldn't sleep, we couldn't eat.  We just held each other and cried.  We talked, we cried.  Finally we both fell into a fitful sleep only to wake up and realize our nightmare was real.


******

“Your Mom and Stephanie will be there today.  They are renting a car and will come right over”.

The immediate aftermath is frenzied.  Making arrangements, where to bury her, buying a plot, designing a headstone, flying to Utah, what to bury her in, who to call, what to do, what to do, what to do.

Jeremy's Parents dealt with the funeral home for me.  My Mom, Jeremy's Mom, my Sister-in-law and someone else (but I don't remember who) dressed her.  A friend of my Mom's came and did hand and foot molds of her for us.  I just existed.  As much as I didn't want to, I kept going.

I remember so vividly the pain.  First there was the physical.  The obvious pain.  My breasts were so swollen and rock hard.  They were hot and huge and hurt at all times, especially when someone would hug me...which happened a lot. 

Then there was the pain that was not so obvious.  The searing pain of loss.  The feeling of being completely empty inside and filled with darkness.  The knowing in my head that she was gone, but waking every morning frantically looking for her. 

I can see myself sitting on the floor of the living room, the warm sunshine streaming in through the window.   My sister Stephanie is trying to get me to eat and suddenly the tears come.  They start silently going down my face.  I am thinking of trying to feed Emma solids and know that it will never happen again.  Then my body starts to shake with sobs.  I cry, I scream, I beg, I plead, I bargain with God, just anything to get her back.  It doesn't help, she is gone.  I scream so hard to try to erase the emptiness I feel inside.  I wander around my small apartment searching for her.  Expecting her to be in another room, sleeping or hiding or just waiting for me.  She is not though.  The reality is too much to bear.  The reality that she is at the mortuary, cold and lifeless, I just can't take it.  I scream again and again and again.

Slowly the tears stop and I can breathe again.  I imagine this is what contractions feel like.  They come, build up slowly, peak and you think you can't do it anymore, and then subside.  I am finally laboring, laboring my grief.


******

It has been 6 years 8 months since Emma died.  I would be lying if I said that I didn't miss her anymore or that it is easier.  It is not easier, it is just different.  I have learned to live with a hole in my heart.  I have learned to laugh without feeling guilty, I have learned to love without fear of my children dying.  I have learned to treasure moments and to not take my babies for granted.  But it still hurts.  I still cry, I still long, I still miss her.

In the days, weeks, months and years that have followed Emma's death, I have played the worst time in my life over and over in my mind.  That truly was the worst time of my life.  The most painful, the most trying, the absolute hardest thing I have ever had to endure.

And what I find is that I am not done enduring it.  I will be enduring this for as long as I live.  This is part of me, part of my life, part of who I am.

I have a 75% Success Rate in Childhood Survival (and other inappropriate things parents of dead children say (oops, there's another one))

A few years after Emma died, I remember a friend commenting that I was so nonchalant about her death.  At the time I didn't see how she would think that.  I mean, true Emma was dead, and true I talked about her, but I didn't understand why she would say that I was nonchalant about her death.

Then, I heard what those who didn't know this life, this life of loss, pain and grief, heard.  I heard what I was saying and realized why they thought I was so matter-of-fact, morbid even, about her death.

A few examples of what I, and other bereaved parents, have said:
Yeah, I was doing pretty good until my kid kicked it.
All of my kids are still alive and well.  Well, all but one.
You might not want to take my advice seeing as I only have a 75% success rate in keeping my babies alive.
(When asked how many kids I have) 4, 3 are here and 1 got sick of me and up and died.
When given plants and flowers after the death of her baby, my friend said:
I don't know why people gave me plants I'm supposed to keep. I can't keep anything alive. Look at why we're all here today.

Parents who have lost children don't typically blink an eye at this kind of thing when I say it.  Sometimes (if enough time has passed) they even laugh.

You see, after you face something as big and ugly and hurtful as losing your child, you have to find a way to cope.  For some of us it is being very somber, for others it is being very gracious, and for a select few it is being completely and totally inappropriate about the death of our children.   I know that I have made more than one person uncomfortable with my candor about Emma.  But I have to laugh, I have to lighten the mood, I can't live with the constant soul crushing pain all the time.  I just can't.  I don't think anyone can.

So, if you come across someone who is completely and totally inappropriate about the death of their child, just follow their lead.  If they are laughing, you can too.  You can't walk around somber and sad all the time and honestly sometimes laughing is a heck of a lot easier than crying.

Trust me.

My Path to Homebirth :: Part 2

I am branded.  Branded for birth.  This is something that I come to realize more and more everyday.  I am learning so much about what I want for the next time I have a baby. I am also learning how easily I could be back on that operating table if I don't have the right circumstances.  I never want that again. I need to change this, I need to do this differently.

*****

These were the thoughts I had after Emma was born.  I dove head first into all the information about birth that I could find.  She and I grew together.  She grew physically and I grew emotionally and mentally.  I was active in the ICAN (International Cesarean Network) Yahoo Group and was learning more and more about how I could avoid a repeat c-section.  As I listened to the stories of these amazing women, I came to realize how many of these c-sections were completely avoidable.  How many of these births happened the way they did because the Mom's either didn't have the knowledge on how to avoid the c-section, or didn't have anyone there to advocate for them.

I read everything I could get my hands on; Ina May's Guide to Childbirth by Ina May Gaskin, The VBAC Companion by Diana Korte, The Thinking Woman's Guide to a Better Birth by Henci Goer,& Spiritual Midwifery by Ina May Gaskin just to name a few.

All of this reading and talking and thinking really got me, well, thinking.  Maybe I could not only change my next birth, but maybe I could help other women to change their births.

I decided I wanted to become a doula and a childbirth educator.  I wanted to help other women.  I wanted to empower and educate women about their bodies and how amazing they are.  I wanted to help women make the decisions that were going to best for their families.

An idea was forming, a new life, a calling, a passion.  Then it happened.  The day that my world stopped, the day Emma died.

****
I am often asked if we were trying to get pregnant with Seth after Emma died.  No, we weren't.  We had decided that we wanted to try to get pregnant that Winter.  I hadn't had a period yet, so I didn't even know if I was fertile.  When she died though, we knew we wanted more children, we knew we couldn't have empty arms and a silent house for long.  We weren't trying, but we weren't preventing.  We were just surviving.

My milk dried up and a couple of weeks later, I became pregnant.

****
We moved to Utah to be closer to Emma and for Jeremy to go to Graduate School.  Because I'd had a C-Section I was finding it was very difficult to find anyone to assist me in delivering this baby.  The Birth Center, which was my first choice, couldn't take me because I was a VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Cesarean).  I thought about hospitals, but I just couldn't take the risk that I would end up with another c-section.

Jeremy researched and I talked to the baby.  We decided on homebirth.  We decided that it would be the best option for us and our baby.

I interviewed Midwives and found one that was perfect for us.  She understood my fears.  She too had lost children.  Yes, you read that right, children, many of them.  She understood the pain I was in and held my  hand every step of the way.

At this time, homebirth was illegal in the state of Utah.  Any Midwives attending a homebirth were breaking the law.  In March, my Midwife called to tell me that she couldn't attend me anymore.  She couldn't, with a clear conscience, break the law anymore.  I understood.  I was disappointed, but I understood.  Her partner was another fantastic Midwife and the switch went seamlessly.

****
In April, we started taking Hypnobirthing classes. I had a lot of junk in my mind.  A lot of issues that I needed to deal with if I was going to have a successful homebirth.  I was terrified of having another breech baby and did a lot of visualizations of this baby head down.  I talked to the baby multiple times a day.  We talked about birth and how we would have to work together.  I told him that I didn't know what I was going to do, I didn't know what to expect, but I promised that I would make it as easy for him as possible.  I promised this everyday.  I was scared that I would have this baby, love this baby, and again lose this baby.  I had so much fear, but learned to deal with it and not let it overtake me.

****
June 8, 2004.  I was 38 weeks 2 days pregnant, more pregnant than I had been with Emma.  I swam all day long.  I lifted up my swimsuit top to let the sun shine on my belly as I was floating in the pool at our Apartment Complex.  I was huge.  At this point I was measuring about 45 cm. from my pubic bone to the top of my uterus.  This was huge.

I talked to the baby more.  I knew that the time was coming soon.  That afternoon I started to have bloody show and some contractions.  My sister and sister-in-law both knew I was in labor, but I didn't want to believe it.  Jeremy and I did a Hypnobirthing script that night and as I kissed him goodnight, I told him to get some sleep because he was going to work the next day.

Midnight. My water breaks in bed.  We called the Midwife and she and her apprentice came within an hour.  My sister-in-law, who was also my doula, was there within 45 minutes.

I labored peacefully in the beginning.  I continued to talk to my baby.  I vocalized, I pictured my baby coming down with each surge, I worked with my body.

At one point, when I was in the birth tub, I was trying so desperately to get comfortable and just couldn't.  I really was struggling.  I said that I wanted to go to the hospital and get a c-section.  This hurt too much and I was tired and I didn't want to do it anymore.  My Midwives apprentice, a woman who has since become a very good friend and was my Midwife when I had Amelia, looked me in the eye and said, "Kim, you are trying to go over this or around this.  You have to go through it.  You can do this."  When she said that, I knew she was right.  I also knew that if I was ready to give up, that meant I was in transition and I was almost done. How little I knew, but it kept me going.

****
Seth's personality is very much one of wanting to do things his own way and in his own time.  This doesn't surprise me at all because that is how he was at birth.

I had heard about this "overwhelming urge to push" but never understood it.  Then, I understood it. I pushed and he fought.  He fought me every push and I paid for it.  But, 55 minutes after that first urge to push, my baby was here.  My arms were filled.  I'd done it.  I had my VBAC.  I had my homebirth.  I was strong, I was empowered, I was a Mother, again.

To be continued...

My Path to Homebirth :: Part 1

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Some people describe me as a "hippie" Mom.  I cloth diaper, I let my kids self-wean from breastfeeding, I co-sleep, I wear my babies, I do delayed vaccinations, I homebirth.

I am often asked why I would choose to have my baby at home.  What reason could I have for being so crazy?  I totally understand those questions.

When I was in college, my sister had a homebirth.  I could not believe she would be so irresponsible.  I couldn't believe that she would put her baby's life at risk just because she didn't like the hospital.  I couldn't believe she would want to do it without drugs.  I was often heard saying, "God gave man the smarts to invent drugs, stick that needle in my back thank you very much".  In fact, just 7 months before my sister had her homebirth, I had witnessed the birth of my best friend's baby.  She had her baby in the hospital and had an epidural.  It was great, no complications, everything went swimmingly.  Why wouldn't I want that?

Jeremy and I had been married 6 months when I found I was pregnant with Emma.  I was 26 and was a bit wiser at this point.  I was learning I had options.  My sister had had 2 homebirths, my sister-in-law had a baby at the Birth Center and those births were great.

I was starting to believe that I wasn't a wuss and that my body could do this.  I started reading about the Bradley Method of childbirth.  Jeremy and I read and researched and decided on having our baby with a Certified Nurse Midwife in the Hospital.  This way I could have my natural birth with a midwife, but still have the comforts of the hospital.

During my pregnancy we took Bradley Method classes.  I completely ignored the part where we learned about C-Sections because there was no way I was going to have one.  I wasn't going to cave and get an epidural, so the snowball effect of epidural=relaxing of uterus=contractions slowing down=increased interventions=possibility baby goes into distress=C-Section.  That wasn't going to happen to me.

When I was 34 weeks pregnant I went to see my midwife.  I was measuring about 3 1/2 weeks ahead, so she sent me back for an ultrasound.  We found out that Emma was footling breech.  I cried.  She assured me that there was plenty of time for her to turn, but in my heart I didn't believe her.  I went home and began researching how to turn a breech baby.  I swam everyday and did handstands in the water, I put ice on her head and heat down low (along with lights and music...trying to make it really inviting for her head down there!), I lay inverted on an ironing board and then on my reclining chair.  I saw a Chiropractor and had the Webster Technique done 3 times a week.  I burned Moxibustion by my little toe (on Thanksgiving in my in-laws garage.  Good times).  I did everything I could think of.  I wasn't a candidate for an external version because my blood pressure shot up and I was swelling up like a balloon.

At my 37 week appointment I had a Non Stress Test done.  When it was done, the midwife came in and asked if I had scheduled my C-Section yet.  I was floored.  I told her that no I hadn't and didn't plan on scheduling it.  I wanted her to turn and was still trying to get her to turn.  She told me that a c-section wasn't that bad and that I would be okay.  I informed her that a few years prior I had my gallbladder out, major abdominal surgery, and this would be similar.  There was no way I wanted to go through that recovery again with a newborn to take care of.

I left the office in tears.  I called my sister-in-law, who gave me the confidence I needed to fire my midwife.  I called the practice and requested a different midwife for my next appointment and to make her my primary midwife.

It didn't matter.  Sunday night my water broke.  It was 8pm and I was sitting down to watch Alias.  I heard a POP and felt a gush and knew that my baby was coming.

We called the midwife on call (someone I didn't know) and were told to go to the hospital to get ready for my c-section.  An hour later we arrived at the hospital and had a really horrific experience.  I was admitted to a room and told to put on this gown.  I did and then I had to pee.  So, I went to the bathroom.  A nurse came in and yelled at me because I was getting amniotic fluid all over the floor.  She made me walk on towels back to the bed.

I was hooked up to monitors and was being asked a million and one questions.  When I would ask for a minute because I was having a contraction they would look at the monitor and tell me that I wasn't.  Yeah, it was great.

Soon enough Jeremy and I were taken to the Operating Room.  A cold, sterile room.  I couldn't believe my baby would be born here.  This was not at all what I had wanted or anticipated.  As she was being born, I got sick and was throwing up.  I remember hearing her cry and they lifted her up over the drape to show her to me.  I went to touch her and immediately they whisked her away.  I had to hear all about her from the anesthesiologist.  It broke my heart.

My first real looks of Emma were from a bed where I was watching her be bathed by a Nurse that I didn't like.  Everyone else got to hold her, touch her, smell her before I did.  She didn't get to be with me until she was about an hour old.  Nothing about this felt right.

I couldn't sit up for 12 hours after she was born.  Because I was flat on my back, it was difficult to nurse and I couldn't get a good look at her.  When I could sit up, the nurses would come in and ask me constantly if she'd pooped, peed, eaten, wanting to check my vitals, her vitals, etc. etc. etc.

After 3 days I was so happy to be released from the prison of the hospital. When we got home, I started digesting her birth.  So many things I wished I could have changed.  So many things I felt so cheated on.  Emma's birth was a catalyst for change in my life.  I knew that I would never give birth like that again.  I knew I would never let someone else tell me what I could and couldn't do with my body and my baby.  It was the beginning of my journey.

To be continued...

Therapy

I had my first therapy session last Thursday.  It went really well.  I even cried.  Something I swore I would not do on the first day of therapy.  But, I guess when you have an amazing therapist, you can feel comfortable enough to really let it all out.

I feel really lucky to have found someone right off the bat who has worked with trauma a lot.  I never really thought of my life as being overly traumatic, but I guess when you break it down the last eight years have been a rollercoaster at best.

I am starting to realize just how much the death of Emma is impacting all of us in my home.  As I was talking with my therapist, I started to wonder if maybe, sub-consciously, her death is the reason that Seth is so angry.  Maybe he feels that he is living in her shadow.  It was something I never wanted to happen.  I never wanted my children to feel that they were less than their older sister.  I just wanted them to know about her.

However....she fills a very large space in our family.  I swore when she died I would never have a shrine to her.  When you walk into my house though, there is a curio cabinet filled with Emma and pictures on the wall of her.  I have always justified having more pictures of her up than the other kids because the other kids are here.  But I wonder now what that is doing to them even if they don't realize it?

One of my homework assignments for therapy this week is to think about how to change the space that Emma takes in our family.  To make room for the other five of us.  To make it equal.  In the first few years there was no way I could have done this.  But now, now that it's been 6 1/2 years, I think I can.  I am starting to be able to let go of physical things that were hers.  Or, to let the girls wear her bracelets and when they ask whose they are NOT say Emma's.  I just tell them that they are theirs.

Creating this new space, this new way of our family's thinking is not going to be easy, and may be painful.  But it needs to be done.  She is a part of our family now and always.  But she is not the most important member of our family, we are all equally important.  She is not the only person whose memory is important, the people who are here right now have just as much right to have their memories preserved as she does.

I love Emma so much.  But I also love Seth, Amelia, and Libby.  She is not my only child.  I know that she wouldn't want me to put her up on a pedestal or glorify her.  She was a baby and therefore she was so sweet and innocent.  Had she had the chance to grow up, I am sure she would have been a stinker, gotten in trouble, caused me tears and grief (not that she hasn't already), and given me the same struggles that the other kids have given me.

So, here I go.  I am trying to figure this out.  How to make this family of mine work.  How to heal and mend this broken family. 

This journey of grief is never ending it seems.  It just evolves and changes and hopefully I can evolve and change with it.

Moving On...

I have this outfit, perfect for the holidays.  Black pants with sparkles, a red sweater with a black fur trim...it's not mine.  I bought it on August 23, 2003.  My Mother-in-law and I went to Children's Orchard that day because they were bringing out all of their winter gear.  We bought a coat and several outfits.  I just finished showing my father-in-law those outfits when my nightmare began, when Jeremy's Mom came down the stairs  holding my lifeless baby in her arms.

I have given the coat away, just couldn't bear to keep it.  Some of the outfits have been worn.  But this one, this holiday one still has the tags on it.

It never fit Amelia during the holidays, and I was always a little relieved for that.  However, it is Liberty's size.  She would look so cute in it this week as we go out and play as a family.

I just don't know if I can do it.  If I can take this last bit of that day and put it out there for me to see, to hold, to touch.  I bought it for my baby girl, I bought it for her to wear on Christmas.  I never would have dreamed when I was shopping and she was dreaming at home she would be gone so quickly.  I thought it would be fun to dress her up, and then let her sisters wear it as they got older.

So many plans that never were.  So many wishes and hopes for her that I don't get to see...

Now though, I have these other girls. These wonderful, happy, loud, ALIVE girls.  I love them, I love them so much, so fiercely. 

I guess it's just another part of moving on, of moving past the pain that pain that never really ends, just grows different with each passing year.

I think I'll wash it and let her wear it.  I will let her wear it and imagine what Emma would have looked like in it.  I will wonder if she would have been walking at a year, what she would have eaten in it, what she would have played with while wearing it, maybe she had a blow-out diaper in it and made a big mess.  I will dress my Liberty in it and smile and hold her just a little bit tighter.

Seven

I'm trying to think of something original to tell you.  Something you haven't heard about Emma.  Something different than what I write every Angel Day and every Birthday.  But I can't think of anything you don't already know.  I only have 8 months, 8 days of memories, stories and pictures.  There is only so much I can say.  How many times can I say I miss her?  How many times can I say I wish she were here?  How often can I lament about what she should be doing right now?  How much can I express the ache and hole in my soul with her gone?  It just seems that I say the same thing every year and maybe I do.  But it doesn't make it any less true.  It doesn't make it any less real.  I only have so many memories, and sadly those are fading.  I remember things that happened when pictures were taken, I remember what was going on in the videos...but other memories...they are going.  I really don't like that at all.  It is so very hard.

Today however, is a celebration of my girl.  Beautiful big blue eyes, huge smile, happy disposition.  She is my Angel.  She really was the happiest baby ever.  I remember telling Jeremy, the week before she died, that I hoped she would always be this happy.  She was just such a joy to everyone who came in contact with her.  She only cried when she was hungry, tired or poopy.  Seriously, so very happy.  She loved to listen to Dancing Queen and Fugi Fugi Fugi (seriously, her favorite song and I tear up just listening to it. She loved it so much).  She always had a lot of thick dark hair and the day she died I was going to put it up in a "whale spout" -- much like the hairstyle Libby sports all the time now.  She loved to nurse, which after a rocky start, was a wonderful gift.

What an amazing baby, this beautiful little girl who made me a Mother.  Gave me my first worry, overwhelming joy, and crushing heartbreak.  She taught me about love, worry, trusting my Mother's instinct, sleeping whenever I can, balancing my time as a Mother, Wife and Woman, and oh so much more.

Emma is forever my baby.  I look forward to the day when I can hold her again and celebrate her birth with her in my arms.

Happy Birthday baby girl.  You are forever mine and I am forever yours.

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Ready or Not...

Here it comes...it's that time of year again.  It's December.  I love this month, but it is also so very hard.  Seven years ago this month I became a Mother.  I got the title I had always wanted.  I gave birth to a beautiful baby girl.  I held her in my arms, nursed her, loved her.  Seven years ago my dreams came true.  Never did I think that seven years later I would be without her, that she would never have a birthday.

It is so hard, I miss her so deep and so much.  I ache for her.  I look for her in my other children...I want to see a part of her.  I want to see some of her somewhere in my life.  I want something to fill this immense hole that has been left in me.  I want something besides pictures.  I want when Libby says, "M'ah!" for it to be to her sister, not her sister's picture.

I want to have more patience with my children that are here.  I want to be the Mother that they deserve.  I want to not have so much pain and grief inside of me that I just can not function at the level that they need.  I want to be able to give them everything of myself.  I want to have the energy to play, the ability to let go of my sorrow and just love them fully.  I do love them, don't get me wrong, it's just so hard to give so much and know how easily it can be taken away.  I want to be the Mother to them that I was to her.  I want to not have such a short fuse right now because I am trying so hard to hold it all together.  I want for Seth to stop yelling at me, he does it because he sees it and that kills me.  I want to be better.  But I miss her and it hurts and I just don't know how to do it.  I don't know how to put this hurt aside and be the Mom I always wanted to be, the one I want to be now.

I miss her so much.  I miss what could have should have been.  My heart is heavy right now.

My sweet girl would be in 1st grade, probably have a loose tooth or two, would be riding bikes, playing with her brother and sisters, learning to change diapers (if I was lucky), learning to knit and sew with me...so much, just so much I don't know about her.

So, if there is unusual silence around here for a bit, you'll understand why.  My heart is aching for my baby, my baby girl who would be seven in 8 days.