Monday, December 31, 2012

Goodbye 2012

Its New Year's Eve and Im sitting in front of our pink Christmas tree that I cant bring myself to take down.  I am reflecting over this past year and all of the highs and lows it has brought.  I would have expected to feel like this is the worst year of my life and in some ways it is.  Even though we lost our baby girl this year.....we also fell in love with her this year.  I spent 9 out of these past 12 months carrying the greatest light that has ever touched my life.  As devastating as her death was and still is, darkness will never overshadow the light. I am coming out of 2012 a better person because of my little Elliston Rae.  I embrace 2013 with HUGE open arms.  May this be a year of promise and more light for my family.

Thursday, December 20, 2012

When you lose a baby.....

You don’t know what to expect.

People surround you. For a couple of weeks. Making sure you are not going to kill yourself, refuse to get out of bed, or start rocking a baby doll like the crazy lady they heard about from a friend.

You get lots of sympathy cards, clearly written and designed to be sent to console a daughter losing her father. Not the other way around.

You get free baby formula in the mail. For months and months and months.

And free baby magazines. And free baby coupons.

You secretly envy every pregnant woman. But not without a tinge of guilt, because you know all too well that she might be one in four- expecting her rainbow child.

It seems like the whole world is expecting a baby.

You have baby stuff around your home. Because you never imagined you wouldn’t need it.

You feel jarred. In the grocery store. At a birthday party. At the dinner table. At Christmas. Driving.

The baby you never knew, but lost changes every part of your life. Every. single. part.


You see baby clothes and it brings tears to your eyes.

You get sick and tired of crying. You never knew it was possible to cry this much.

You find yourself angry at God. Angry at yourself. Just angry.

You swear you can feel them kick but they’re gone. They call them phantom kicks. I call them painful, all kinds of painful. But sweet too.

You know, or you have a strong feeling of knowing what your child would have looked like, and been like. You see a child in the store, or on the street. Their hair color, dimples, smile, their personality and suddenly you are reminded of your child. You miss your child even more, if that’s even possible.

Your Babies R’ Us Registry is still active. There is no delete button on their site. The babies r’ us people don’t make a dime on people like us. Why bother right? You have to call them, plead with them to remove your freaking’ registry, because there will be no baby shower. There is an awkward silence. There is sadness. There will be no baby.

You get hospital bills about 3-4 months after you buried your child. You have to pay for the baby you delivered but didn’t bring home.

You find that moment of happiness in life for the first time, but the guilt swallows it up almost immediately.

The feeling of raw pain, like your chest has literally been ripped open.

Somehow you convince yourself that you deserve happiness. Because you really do. But in the happiest, purest moment, there is still that hole that only they were meant to fill.

People compare your pain to their own pain. The loss of their grandmother, husband, their failed marriage, rebellious teenagers. Somehow this comparing leaves you stranded. If they can compare their pain of a situation to the loss of your BABY, they will likely never get it. Babies are not supposed to die. End of story.

You lost a dream. And it almost feels like you imagined their entire existence up. Their name becomes a distant memory on the lips of others.

There is awkwardness when you talk about your child in a crowd. No one knows whether to cry, walk away or pretend you never brought him or her up.

You lose friends. You find new ones.

You can’t believe that women have actually survived this and you never knew about it. Not really, anyway.

You would do anything for another minute with your child.

You cry when others bring up your child, not so much because it hurts but more so because it such a precious and rare gift.

You long for the rewind button, even after many many instances of acceptance.

You want to know what went wrong, and why

You find a new appreciation for moments in life that make you laugh… you laugh harder and love stronger.

You know that you can die bitter, or die thankful. There is no in between.

You never ever, EVER get over your child. The one you hoped for, prayed for, carried and loved for the weeks and months they were with you.

You learn to live with the pain.

You are better for having known them at all.

Written by Small Bird Studios
awkward silence

I get it.  What do you say to someone who has just lost their baby?  And not just their baby....their dreams of the future, their innocence to tragedy, and their heart. No words can ever take that away.  So I get the awkward silence.  Or the droopy eyes and pouty lips that probably intend to say Im sorry but rather just stare.  I cant say I wouldn't do the same.  But honestly, all we want to do is talk about her.  She is our daughter, not something we want to be shy of talking about. We dreamed our whole lives, and especially the last 9 months, of when our first born would enter the world. That moment you hear about when in an instant, you have never loved anything more.  Never seen anything so beautiful. You are holding in your arms a part of you. A bond that can never be broken. We had all of these things. And just because she never took a breathe on this earth, doesn't make me want to talk about her less. I don't want my perfect girl to be a taboo subject.  We still want to talk about her, especially with those closest to us.

And just to put it out there.....a 2 second text message asking "how you holding up?" Is going to get a 2 second text response. Most likely, "fine"....but if we're feeling really honest, it may say, "shitty". 

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

We went out of town for a weekend, just to get away from everything for a short time.  Its interesting how differently Colby and I are dealing with this.  It was a good distraction for Colby, even though he thought of her all the time.  For me, I felt like I left my baby at home.  I could not have gotten home fast enough.  I take time everyday to sit in her room.  Elliston was cremated, and we have her ashes in a cute pink box in her room.  So I still feel like she is with me.  We haven’t touched a thing in her room….I just don’t feel like its necessary.  Its way too cute.  I have moments where I still feel like she will be here any day.  When I was pregnant I used to sit in there and think about what she would look like and picture me feeding her in the rocking chair.  So much anticipation.  Sometimes now its easy to still think those things and forget that they are never going to happen.  There are moments when I am out where I panic and think, “Oh my God, I left the baby at home!”  I feel like I go back ten steps every time I realize again and again….Elliston will never be with us.  As much as I wish this to go away, it just never will.  At first I couldn’t even imagine what a “good day” felt like.  Then I had one.  Now I am having multiple good days in a row.  I still miss her every second of every day….but I am still waking up and still breathing.  Showering every day is a different story, but I start work on Monday so I need to get out of this habit.  

Tuesday, December 4, 2012