Saturday, August 6, 2011

One month and it's not getting easier...

We love you, Andrew.  We miss you so much.  You were only with us a short while, but you mean the world to us...always.

One month ago today I was induced and gave birth to my special little boy.  It was so strange and difficult to sit in the hospital room feeling "normal," waiting for my body to kick into labor mode since even though my son was dead, my body wasn't accepting the pregnancy continued.  After being there almost 12 hours, the pills finally worked and my Andrew was born.  There was no cry.  No hustle and bustle of nurses tending to him, weighing him, and cleaning him up.  Just Doug and I.  We waited for the nurse to come in before I moved because we didn't know what to do and were both scared to look.  He was too small to hold without the help of a little knitted pocket that was lovingly made by a nurse at the hospital for other unfortunate people in my situation.  The nurse, Cheryl, that took care of Doug and I helped put him in it because we were too scared to touch hurt him.  He was so little and so hard to look at at first, but at the same time, I couldn't take my eyes off of him.  He looked so much like his big brother, Trevor.  There is one picture where the resemblance is obvious, and I have it on my desk next to his urn, which is empty, as we are still waiting on all the legalities to have his ashes home.  It's amazing how hard and long we have to fight just to prove he is "ours."

He was already going to be a big boy, 7 inches at 14 weeks, with big feet.  He was going to fit right in.  He looked so perfect, just small and lifeless.  I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by imagining what he would have become in just a few more months. What I wouldn't give for him to be able to thrive with his brothers and sister.  To laugh about their big feet and crazy toes, as I'm sure he would have had the "monkey pincer" toes, too.  What I wouldn't give to watch him grow up and compare him to his siblings and to how much he looked like his brother, how much he acted like his sister, or how he had selective hearing, like his father AND his siblings.  I know Trevor would have loved to hear how much Andrew looked like him or did certain things like him.  What I wouldn't give to have Andrew smile at me and love ME the way that Trevor does, with that look that let's me know he thinks that I'M the bee's knees.  Have him laugh at how crazy and goofy his sister is and the lengths she will go to to get that very laugh.  To see him start crawling, sitting up, walking, taking his first bite, his butterfly kisses.  The hurt is still so strong.  I still have no answers as to why and I'm still not any closer to accepting it.  My grief and my pain is so intense, the stress from it all is still weighing heavily on my mind and my body.  I can't think anymore.  I feel run down.  When does it get better?

We did go to the lake today - Hayley, Trevor, Doug, and I - and sent some balloons off.  We had each written our letters to Andrew, Lily, and our other nameless angels, and tied them to the balloons.  It was amazing how quickly they took off and disappeared into the Heavens and up to our angels.  I know it helped Hayley feel better and she asked if the balloons would really make it all the way to Heaven.  I assured her that even if the balloons couldn't go that high, the angels would fly down and grab them and take them back to the clouds for our babies.  She accepted that.  I hope it's true.

Now, if I can just get some answers.  My appointment is in 2 weeks to go back to my RE doctor, whom I love to pieces, so maybe she can help answer some of my questions.  At the same time, I dread going because that is where I watched my babies grow, weekly, from 5 weeks on up to 11 weeks, on the ultrasound.  It was hard after losing, Lily.  Now, it is going to be even harder since I had graduated from her office to my regular OB/GYN.  I wasn't supposed to go back to her until the baby was show him off.  Instead, I'll be going back to view an empty womb.  It makes me cry just typing it.  It's so sad to see that empty void knowing your baby should be thriving in there.  I am glad that at least at her office, most women are trying to get pregnant, although I wish fertility issues / struggles on no one.  I won't have to sit in a room full of pregnant women and new mothers, like I did a few days after my loss when I had to go back to my doctor...where everyone was expecting, but me.

I was reading the blog of a friend and fellow angel mommy and wanted to share an excerpt from her blog that really hits home and explains it (thank you, Nikki) - "I never thought I’d join the “baby loss mom” club.  I sure never thought I’d join the “recurrent baby loss mom” club.  What a cruel joke.  I have had three people in the past week tell me they are expecting.  I try to bite my tongue.  I was expecting too.  So many of us were.  You don’t always get what you expect.  Sometimes, instead of a baby, you get a pile of ashes.  Instead of a birth certificate, a death certificate.  And instead of joy and happiness, heart break and devastation."  

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