Thursday, March 24, 2011


Yesterday, on my drive home from work, I was hit by a memory from my pregnancy.  You see, this time last year, I had just found out I was pregnant.  From our calculations, I was about 6 weeks along, so it was very early.  And luckily, I didn't have severe morning sickness.  Just slight nausea in the mornings, but not enough to worry about.  Even though, Tim was so sweet about it and put Saltines next to my side of the bed so I'd have them every morning if I needed them.

As I was driving home yesterday, the memory of the crackers hit me.  It made me smile, remembering the sweetness of that action by my loving husband...even that early on in my pregnancy, and he was doing his best to take care of me and the little being that would be our baby.  He was stepping into his role as a loving father.  And after the smile, I then cried.  Because that's how it goes these minute, a smile by a wonderful memory and then the sadness because memories are all I have left of my baby.

I have a feeling that the rest of this spring and summer are going to be this way.  The season has changed and now the little things are bringing back memories of last year, when I was pregnant, happy and naive.  And as much as I welcome the memories, they also bring back the pain of loss.  It's just another facet of this never ending grief.  During the fall and winter, the grief was very hard and mostly pain and bitterness.  It was all about the loss of the dreams and plans...Brianna should have been here for Thanksgiving and Christmas and she wasn't.  But, she also wasn't in existance the Thanksgiving or Christmas before.  Now, though, the grief has changed into bittersweet, because of the memories.  Last spring, Brianna existed, if only as a tiny embryo inside of me.  But she was real.  That is the sweet part...the memories of her.  But, the bitter is still there too...the loss of her, the pain it brings, the longing for her.  As always, the changing nature of this grief leaves me breathless.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Sick Day

For the last 10 days or so, I've been battling a nasty head cold.  Over the last couple of days, I developed a cough that has messed with my vocal chords, giving me a much deeper and huskier voice.  The coughing got so bad that I decided to take today off of work and actually go to the doctor.  Turns out that I have the beginning of a sinus infection, so I am now on strong antibiotics for the next 10 days.  Tim also hasn't been feeling well, so he took a sick day today too.  We've spent most of the day together, watching movies and cuddling with the cats.

And even though I'm sick and all, today has actually been a good day.  I still miss Brianna tremendously and the thought of her can still bring me to tears.  But, I'm learning to take the good with the bad.  I'm learning that it's ok to have good days, to laugh again, to enjoy myself.  Being sad won't bring Brianna back and being happy won't make me forget about her either.  Slowly, I'm learning how to navigate through my "new" normal and balance all the emotions.  Don't get me wrong, I'll surely have many setbacks on this journey.  But, at least I'm finally to a point where I realize that I have to move forward in order to keep living.  I owe that much to not only myself, but to Tim and Brianna too.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

7 Months

Dear Brianna,

Seven months ago, your were born and then you died.  Or really, you died and then you were born. Or maybe it was both at the same time.  I'll never know the exact order of it.  We don't know if your heart stopped beating before the c-section or during it.  But, we do know that it stopped.  And part of me wishes the doctors had been able to start it again, to give you a chance to fight, to feel me holding you, to have you hear your Daddy's voice.  But another part of me is glad that they couldn't revive you because I wouldn't have wanted you to feel any pain, having to be hooked up to machines for months on end without knowing if you would live or die.

Baby girl, there are only a few things that I know for certain right now at this point in my life.  Two of them are that I love you forever and miss you always.  I really hope that wherever you are, you can feel my love for you.  And I hope that when I do finally get to see you someday, you'll know who I am right away.

Happy Birthday, Brianna.

Love always,


Saturday, March 5, 2011

Ceil's Reading

At a forum on a babyloss website that I frequent (I think I've mentioned it before...Glow in the Woods), I came across another DBM (dead baby mom) who goes by the name Ceil.  She shared a link to a video of her reading an essay at a writing contest.  Her essay was about her son Kai and how his death impacted her life.  I wanted to share that video because her words capture the way I feel and she does a better job than me in explaining just what the loss of a baby means to us DBMs.  As a warning, the video is a bit long (about 10 minutes) and can make you cry.  So, here's the link.

One part that really stuck with me since I saw the video is when she talks about how us DBMs can go back to the way life was before we got pregnant (sleeping in late, spending time without the responsibility of children, etc) but how it's not what we want.  We had prepared ourselves for life as we knew it to change and had embraced that change.  And then, in the loss of a precious heartbeat, the routine of life didn't change.  Because there is no infant to keep us up at night, no infant that is reliant on us for his/her every need.  There is no baby to snuggle, to marvel over, to delight in.  We don't get to join that club of motherhood.  Instead, we had the membership of "Club Babylost" thrust upon us.  And even though our routine wasn't altered, our lives were shaken at the core.  Life itself did change.  And in ways that none of us ever wanted.  Ways that I am still trying to understand.  This is not the change that I signed up for when I got pregnant, but it is the change that has happened.  And all I can do now is hold on to this new type of life and muddle my way through, hoping that at some point it gets easier or less painful.