Birthday Girl

My dearest Lily,

Happy 1st Birthday baby girl!! We had such a great time celebrating you and your life on your birthday! Mommy misses you terribly, but I tried really hard to stay focused on making today a celebration of you rather than a time to mourn your absence. We spent the evening with your grandparents, aunt, uncle, and cousins. They all came together just for you, to celebrate you. We each wrote you a message on a pink balloon to send to you in heaven. I hope you received each one of them. You know, your brother was adamant about sending you a green balloon from him since that is his favorite color. He had such fun drawing pictures and writing messages to you on his very special balloon. He knew that it would reach you in heaven, and he was intent on watching it soar until he couldn't see it anymore . It brought tears to my eyes to hear him acknowledge that it was on it's way to heaven to be with you. I am so proud of him for understanding where you are and knowing that you are with Jesus, who loves you and protects you. After all, this is what brings us peace everyday.

I look forward to every occassion that we can celebrate you Lily! Your life has meant so much to me, and I treasure every single memory that I have of my time with you. I've expressed so many times what you have done for me. Your short time here with me gave my entire life meaning. You brought me closer to the things that are most important in this world. You have taught me more than I could ever imagine that I would have taught you. You have been such an inspiration and source of strength for me.

I look forward to the day that I will see you again, but in the meantime, I remain grateful for your life and your influence on me. You know that Daddy, Owen and I are preparing to meet your baby sister really soon. I am really looking forward to seeing her and holding her because I believe that she will remind me of you. I imagine that the two of you would have had so much in common, and that you may even look a lot alike. I'm sure I will think of you often as I watch her grow and develop. She will be a very special reminder to me of you in so many ways. You have both brought such precious and significant meaning to each other's lives in my eyes. Although it is still sad for me to think that you had to join Jesus before she could come into our lives, the two of you will always be my very special little girls.

I pray that you felt the love of your family on your birthday as much as we all felt your presence with us. The same God who loves you and holds you close has been watching over us to offer us comfort and strength when we feel weak. He is our common bond, and it is through Him that I feel most connected to you. You consumed my mind and heart all day long, just as you have so many other days throughout this past year. You are always loved, and will never be forgotten.

Remember Psalm 23: 4 Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. Your Uncle Steve introduced this verse to me through music. He used to sing it in church, and it has always had special meaning to me. It is a song that I now think of you when I hear. Lily, God never lets go. He is always there, and I will be too. I love you to pieces.

Happy Birthday sweet baby girl!

Love always,
Mommy

Memorial Day weekend

As an American, I am humbled, honored, and full of pride for my country when I think about Memorial Day, and all that it means. With that said, I will forever have memories about what this holiday weekend has meant to me personally over the last year.

On Wednesday of last week, I remembered my 18 week sonogram appointment that I had when I was pregnant with Lily. It was the Wednesday before Memorial Day weekend that this appointment took place. Last week, I thought about the conflicting thoughts and emotions that I had when I left that appointment. I wanted so badly to feel hopeful and to cast out fear, but I had such a sinking feeling that, unfortunately, turned out to be my reality.

I remembered the phone call that I had with the doctor later that same afternoon. She began the conversation by saying "I'm very concerned". She proceeded to list the many abnormalities that showed up on the sonogram earlier that day. She rattled off information about dilated ureters, a thickened nucal fold, and brain structures that were not clearly visualized. I listened intently and took notes as she spoke. I very clearly remember her saying that this was definitely not an isolated birth defect, and that due to the multiple abnormalities, our baby likely had some kind of "chromosome abnormality or syndrome". She went on to suggest a higher level sonogram, and she suggested that we get it done as soon as possible. Her urgency hit me like a ton of bricks. I hung up the phone and sobbed.

Thursday of last week, I remembered the appointment that we had in Annapolis last year just 24 hours after we found out we were having the baby girl we always wanted. It was there that I had the very surreal experience of meeting with a genetic counselor who educated us on the many chromosome abnormalities, all while I wondered why she was going into so much detail about such horrific birth defects. Surely, this couldn't apply to us, I thought. I had myself convinced that our baby had Down's Syndrome, not a life threatening condition. I remembered her very sincere and patient approach. Although our local doctor had mentioned that the brain structures were not clearly visualized, I minimized this assuming that it was due to a faulty, low quality sonogram machine. I didn't realize that it was because the brain structures were not there. The reality was that our baby only had one "brain structure", not two. I remembered the way she looked at me, as I sat in disbelief listening to the facts and looking at her DNA charts. I remembered the way she hugged me after I used the last tissue from her box. I thought about the way the doctor delivered the worst case scenario news to us. We left the examination room to be greeted again by the genetic counselor who offered me another hug in the hallway. She knew that the doctor was only confirming her suspicions, and that we were now faced with a very harsh reality. I thought about the ride home, and the way that we delivered the news to our families. I thought about their reactions. Although this all occurred one year ago, these details will be forever burned in my memory.

Needless to say, the remainder of this weekend last year felt nothing like a holiday to me. We cancelled the plans that we had to go out of town. We had planned a fun-filled trip for our nearly 2 year old son to enjoy the remaining time that we would have with him as an only child. Little did we know that he would never meet his sibling, and that he would have much more one-on-one time with us in the months to come. Instead of watching him smile and laugh all weekend, he watched me cry and grieve.

This year, we spent this weekend together as a family. We planted a memorial garden for Lily at home. We've been talking about doing this ever since we moved here last year. My mom took me to a local nursery, and helped me select the perfect things to put in the garden. I love that Lily's grandmother could be a part of making her garden so special. We even included a couple of plants and flowers that were able to be moved from my parents' yard to her garden. Nearly everything we planted has some special meaning, whether it is one of my favorite flowers or its name simply brings me peace and makes me smile (Touch of Heaven and Lily of the Valley). Creating this garden has given me a special place at home that I can look and instantly think of Lily. Doing this also allowed me to give this weekend a different meaning, and to feel inspired and hopeful.

I have a different perspective now on what Memorial Day may be like for so many other American families. I've thought a lot this weekend about all of the parents who have lost their children. Although I never experienced life with Lily, she was still in my life and will always be huge part of my life. She is my baby, and losing her has been like losing a part of me. Although Lily didn't fight in a war, she was fighting the battle of her life before her life even began. Memorial Day, like so many other days, will never be the same for me.

11 Months

With my pregnancy hormones in full swing, this has proven to be a very difficult month for me as I find myself just one month away from the time we lost our Lily, as well as the time we will meet our second daughter. It seems strangely conincidental that the timing of the one year anniversary of Lily's death is so close to the pending birth of our baby girl, who is due to arrive just a week and a half after Lily's delivery date.
Over the course of this last month, the realization that June may be an overwhelming month for me is an understatement. Although this pregnancy has gone by fairly quickly for me, especially once we were reassured that our baby appeared healthy, the realness of another delivery is upon me and has hit me hard. Once I hit the 30 week milestone in my pregnancy, I was immediately overwhelmed by emotion. I found myself fearing the worst possible outcome, and thinking about it at the most random times. It could be that I would remember pieces of another mother's tragic story of loss or that I would hear lyrics in a song that made me think of Lily, and next thing I knew, I was wiping away tears as I drove myself to work or to pick Owen up from daycare. These moments almost always hit me when I am alone, which always seems to be when I'm in the car. I am 35 weeks pregnant now, and thankfully, some of this has eased up a little.
Over the next 5 weeks, I anticipate many more ups and downs, waves of irrational fear, and emotional meltdowns. It was during this time in my pregnancy with Owen that I began to fear the labor and delivery process. I wondered how bad it would be, how much it would hurt, and how strong I would be. After experiencing the physical pain of labor and the emotional pain of delivering my deceased child, I now know how strong I am. That is no longer in question.
In preparing for my third delivery, I fear how healthy my child will be and if anything will go wrong during delivery that could jeopardize her health or her life. I realize that the statistics are in my favor, and the chances of something going wrong are slim; however, I also know what the statistics were that Lily would have Trisomy 18,and I never would have guessed that my family would be a part of that very small number, so I know that anything is possible.
I spent the majority of Mother's Day alone with my son, yet surrounded by all three of my children. I thought for a moment about the fact that while Owen was here with me, Lily was here in spirit, and our newest miracle was in my womb. They each consumed me physically, mentally, and emotionally throughout the day, and I was full of gratitude. I kept myself busy, and tried not to focus too much on the fact that it was pretty quiet and peaceful with only one child to play with instead of two.
My husband recently pointed out that I have been pregnant now for 13 out of the last 16 months. I thought about this a lot on Mother's Day, and realized that the experience of growing and nurturing your child while patiently anticipating their arrival into your world is the best gift you could ever have on Mother's Day, and I have been blessed to experience this feeling three times. What an amazing gift.
As I remind myself of my pregnancy mantra...Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God... my fear disipates and I am full of HoPE.

10 months and a new perspective

Wow- 10 months. I'm not even sure where to begin this time. I've had lots of random thoughts recently that I will attempt to express in some organized fashion, but I can't promise that this entry will even make much sense.
First, I want to address the fundraising ideas that were discussed several months ago. Just to clarify, I am still very interested in coordinating an event to raise funds for the Trisomy 18 foundation. This interest and passion has not gone away; however, my originial intention to host something on or around Lily's birthday will not happen this year because our baby is due to arrive about a week later, and, even I realized that this is too much to handle this year. I do not want to let this dream go, though, so I will continue to brainstorm ways to make this happen in the future. I still appreciate every one of you who has offered ideas and suggestions, and volunteered to help. I haven't forgotten you, and I'm sure that I will re-enlist your help when the time comes. For this year, though, we are hoping acknowledge Lily's birthday and remember her in a smaller, more intimate way. Many of you know that we were never able to put together a memorial service for her, and that is something that we have regrets about. We were hoping that hosting a fundraiser in her honor would allow us to have a positive memorial for her, and because it won't happen this year, I already have mommy guilt about Lily's baby sister overshadowing her. I have made it a point to be clear on a number of occasions that another pregnancy and another child will not replace my experience with Lily. I have reminded myself repeatedly that this baby certainly will not ease the pain of Lily's death. I think that I've been so rigid about this way of thinking, though, that I have failed to see other perspectives.
I recently had a conversation with an aquaintance who didn't realize that I lost my Lily last summer. After seeing my pregnant belly, she asked "Oh, is this your 3rd?". Now, let me deviate momentarily to discuss my thoughts on the many variations of this question. I know for certain that the inevitable question of "How many children do you have?" is one of the most dreaded questions any parent who has lost a child can face. We all struggle at times with how best to answer this. Do I answer with the number of living children that I have, or do I go on to explain that I have one child in heaven. Sharing this information will no doubt alter the rest of the conversation and the way the other person responds to you, even the way they will look at you. I am always very mindful to not make others feel uncomfortable, however, by not acknowledging my daughter, it is as if she was not real or not important enough to talk about, and that is not acceptable to me. I'm not sure that others realize the impact that this seemingly simple question can have on people. The internal struggle, debate, and dialogue that happens in my mind before I let out an answer seems to go on for minutes, not the second that it probably takes for me to answer.
So, I responded to her question truthfully, and she offered me the most heart felt and genuine reaction I think I have ever experienced. She didn't look down or look away or apologize for asking. (A word of advice for anyone else in this situation- please don't apologize for asking the question. Most of us in this situation love the opportunity to talk about each of our children, living or not, but we just don't want to make you uncomfortable.) She immediately reached over and placed her hand on mine, and seemed interested in hearing about my daughter. She referred to her as my angel. The conversation moved back to my pregnancy and the feelings that I have had throughout the pregnancy, and when she learned that I am having another girl, she made the comment that Lily is coming back to me. It took me a second to process this idea. I smiled and nodded, but have since thought about this a lot. I've been so careful to see this baby as a completely separate individual, and I've honestly been somewhat struggling with the balance of processing my ongoing feelings about our experience with Lily and trying to not let fear have a negative impact on my pregnancy. I never once considered the idea that Lily is "coming back" to me. I've been so worried about leaving Lily behind and the fact that this baby's arrival is preventing me from celebrating Lily's life the way we intended to. I still don't really know how I feel about the idea that she is coming back to me, but it has brought me a new perspective that makes me feel a little more peace and joy.

Timeline

Have you noticed the Lilypie timeline on the right side of the screen for my blog? It documents how long it's been since our baby went to heaven. I'm really starting to resent that timeline. I remember when I was putting this blog together, and I added this feature, the image of the baby was not even up to the number 1 yet, and I wondered what things would feel like as she progressively moved forward getting further and further away from the 1. I thought things would be easier. People say that times heals all wounds, and that grief gets easier with time. In some ways, I can see the rationale behind these statements, but this is not something I would ever choose to say to someone experiencing grief.

I've caught myself a couple of times recently checking out this visual symbol of my grief timeline, and I find myself feeling angry because I don't feel a sense of accomplishment that I am further away from the 1. I remember when this angel was in the midst of the image of the tree, and I thought that was the eye of the storm for me. She has since moved pretty far away from that tree, and there is nothing left, nowhere for her to go. What will happen when the tree is completely off of the screen? It's like the storm is that much further behind me, but I don't really want it to be that far behind. I actually wish I could reverse time. I would intentionally choose to re-experience all of my feelings of grief and sorrow to have those hours with my baby in the hospital again. I would go through all of the agony again: the harsh reality of an imperfect sonogram, the appointments with the doctors, the discussions with the specialists, the dreaded walk into the hospital, the labor and delivery, the surgery after the delivery, the drive to the funeral home to pick up my daughter's ashes by myself, and the subsequent drive home with her in my lap (which really could be a post all by itself) because all of that was so closely related to the time I spent looking at her face and feeling her weight in my hands.

It's kind of strange how something so insignificant can cause such a profound emotional reaction, but looking at that silly baby angel on my timeline really just reminds me how long ago it was that I saw her face, and that feeling sometimes overrides the "benefits" of nine months of grief time under my belt. Every once in a while, something like this hits me so out of the blue that I never saw it coming and others around me would probably not understand. Maybe this is a just fleeting bout of negativity as this image struck me wrong today, but I do feel better after venting about it. I'll keep the timeline up for now, and re-evaluate how I feel about it again sometime in the next few months.

9 months

For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. Psalm 139: 13-16.


I love this!! As much as I like to think about how these verses apply to our newest blessing still being formed in my womb, I like to think about this even more so with Lily. Given the circumstances, I could see how someone else in our situation might doubt these words, but I have no doubt that Lily was, quite literally, fearfully and wonderfully made. God had complete control over her body and her life. Her imperfections are what made her perfect. Her unformed, even deformed body, though difficult for others to see were easily seen by Him. To Him, and me, she was beautiful.

8 Months

Yesterday marked the eight month anniversary of Lily's death. It was Superbowl Sunday. One year ago, on Superbowl Sunday, we found out that I was expecting. I can vividly remember the rush of feelings that we experienced that day as we stared at the row of pregnancy tests on the bathroom counter. We were beyond excited, and there was something kind of powerful about the two of us being the only ones who knew that I was carrying a child. I'm sure most other mothers can also remember how they felt on the day they found out they were pregnant. I don't ever want to forget those feelings. It was magical. Lily was loved and cherished from the very beginning. So, on the eight month anniversary, I am choosing to think only about that and nothing else because that makes me smile.