Today, right now

Right now I am here. I am breathing. This is me with my son today by our home. I am living a life with so many beautiful people who inspire me every day. Lucy would have turned 18 months on the 2nd. Her life and death has turned my world around. I feel I'm a completely different me. I've learned to stay away from those who bring me pain and say "no" more when my gut tells me too. I've learned that in this life I need to smile and be present more for my children and for myself. Today I've been down. I'm just so sad when we do things together as a family and she isn't there smiling with us or running or playing along side us. Life without her physically is so hard. I want to be able to squeeze her, kiss her and nurse her in bed. I want to buy her cute tights for this beautiful fall weather and take her to the pumpkin field. I wish her sweet brother was able to hold her hand while crossing the street and read her night time stories.. I know that none of this is reality now, I am learning to be gentle with myself and our journey of life and grief. Living and being joyful alongside pain and grief can be so strange and hard. There are things that bring me comfort and make me feel her light.When I see the sun shinning through the trees I think of her warmth beside me. When her song comes on the radio at any time, I smile and cry as I remember her. When I draw or write I always am thinking of her. Whenever I feel like it, I sing her name and dream and talk of her. Sweet brother has also come to me with stories that are helping him with his grief, one that he told me today was that he and Lucy were together on a different planet, called "the planet of light" that he and Lucy are the King and Queen over it. Just living within the glow of both my sweet children has me smiling. I love my precious ones.

My third post for Carlymarie's 'Capture your grief project' http://carlymarieprojectheal.com/2014/09/capture-your-grief-2014.html

My Heart

There is a sweet little girl named Lucy who resides in my heart. She is in me, with me and part of me. Her life, her touch has opened my heart to a world of whispers. A world of life inside dreams and galaxies. She blessed our family with her presence, her glow. She touched our hearts with her soul. Her name is Lucy, our beautiful light. She lives in my heart and in our daily life. She is in the breeze, she is in the gallant sunflowers. She's in the majestic sunsets, the light through the trees. She's the drive inside my soul, the passion in my being. Her radiant heart is the moon, her eyes are the sun. This quiet little soul of hers flew into our lives and resides in our hearts forever. How can we not treasure a heart that is so pure and powerful. So knowing and wise. There is so much to learn from our sweet child who is so full of light.

 How many hearts can you find? (Lucy's big brother's heart drawing) 

My second post for Carlymarie's 'Capture your grief project' http://carlymarieprojectheal.com/2014/09/capture-your-grief-2014.html

Sunrise

My son and I left the house a bit early this morning so we could watch the sun rise in a special place. As we step from our car the weather was beautiful, light crisp air that was a bit chilly. We walked down to the waters edge, the sun was just rising and the water was extremely still, calm and clear. The majestic beauty was insurmountable. I took photos and reality hit me. The way the sun and the clouds formed made me feel as if my sweet little Lucy was pointing me in the direction that I need to go. Following her light will take me where I need to be. She is my sun and every time I follow her glow, I feel. I feel her strength, her love and her light. As we were leaving the water, and had walked up to the parking lot, I heard splashing. I turned around and the water had turned from this crystal lake into wild waves. I ran back and watched as the waves take me in and out and the feeling I felt made me just think of her and feel her near. On the way to drop my son off at school I asked him how he felt while we were watching the sunset and he said "Me and Lucy were together, that's how I felt." and he drew a sweet photo of them playing underneath a heart shaped sunflower.

My first post for Carlymarie's 'Capture your grief project' http://carlymarieprojectheal.com/2014/09/capture-your-grief-2014.html

Lucy

On a hot August morning as our family was traveling around the US we discovered the most amazing news. We were pregnant again. How excited we were, we dreamed throughout that trip. Our 4 year old son was longing for a sibling for a while now and we were so happy to carrying his brother or sister. We talked of names, of birth, of life with this new little being. So entirely thrilled. Our pregnancy was no walk in the park. Full of extreme morning sickness and blood pressure problems. The thing that got me through these times was knowing that I was growing a little sweet being inside of me. As the days past by I started feeling better and was able to enjoy the sweet movements and precious kicks inside of me. We did fun things, apple picking and belly rubbing. Life was going well. Excited about meeting our dear one. 

On a early February morning, my husband and I went in for an ultrasound that has changed our lives forever. We walked out in a fog that still looms over us today. Our child was growing inside me for 36 weeks, we were on top of the world and hearing the word "anenchephaly" brought our happiness crashing down. A diagnosis that would forever haunt us. Our child was going to die. The tears swelled so strongly, so powerfully, I could not contain them. I cried in front of everyone at that office and everyone just stared at me. Why was that lady crying?. A bunch of eyes staring at me, and my eyes were puffy and swollen and sobbing. My husband rubbing my back, Everything a haze after I heard the words: "You're child will die." How can you tell a young healthy pregnant mama that she is going to lose the love of her life? How did I not explode that day? My body felt like it was exploding. My head did not comprehend what I as hearing. How did I go on living? How am I living now? 

In April my beautiful child was born into my arms. I caught my little love, her bottom slipped slowly out into my hands and then her body. I held her and stared at her. Her beauty was unbelievable. I'm still in awe of this moment. She was born alive and I wanted to believe she would stay forever. Her breath was beautiful and her warm body lay against mine. She smelled of sweetness and her skin was velvety soft. I can still feel her little head hair against my lips. I can feel her finger wrapped around mine. Her eyes never opened but her face said it all. Her mouth would smile when I was near her face, when I stroked her cheek and when I whispered sweet things. The glow she left in me is forever ignited. On the days I wish I was dead, in the moments my body is longing for hers, I hold on to her light. I hold on to her glow. When she slowly died in my arms, I carried her, I held her, I bathed her, I kissed her so many times. She is my first daughter, my precious child. I love my baby always.  

Lucy's Daddy

My husband. The father of my precious children. The man who spent hours massaging, comforting, loving, caring for me during labor. The love of my life who bent over backwards to do what was in the best interest of his daughter, every step of the way. I see him, I see her, together, all I can see is the love, the passion between the two. Such a dedicated man, a loving father. He would do anything to keep her happy and healthy. He would have done anything for his precious daughter. I couldn't express milk, Lucy couldn't latch on, I struggled, I fought with my body. I didn't want to go to formula, but in the moment my dear husband knew that she needed something to eat, I knew it but all I could do was try my hardest to express. My husband, his heart breaking for us, for his daughter. As she grasped to eat, as her sweet tender mouth sucked with so much strength, so vigorously, but she just couldn't latch. My husband jumped in the car, sped to the store and picked up some formula, to me dreaded stuff. He came home, mixed it up and took a syringe, he started to feed her, she ate so happily. She was so excited to be eating. As my heart sank, as I cursed my body for not giving her what she needed, or what I thought she needed. But in the end, she needed her father to feed her, to love her fully. And when I look back, back at it all, as much as I hate the fact that my body wouldn't produce enough, I see the bond and amazing love that two of the most amazing people in my life shared together and a bond that will last forever. Oh her happy contentment. So happy to be in the arms of her father. So happy.

Remembering this moment, which took place exactly 10 months ago on a beautiful, breezy April day as we held our precious love in our arms.

Aching Heart

How do you release your child? How is it possible? It doesn't make sense? Every ounce of my body it felt so wrong. I am suppose to die before my child, my head says. So what the hell is happening? How did she die before me? My heart yearns to care for her. To hold her, my arms feel so heavy and they ache so badly.. I wanted to hold her longer, to raise her. I wanted to see her grow into a girl, a woman. I wanted to mother her.

But it wasn't meant to be. She was meant to come into my life and change me in ways I never thought possible. So on this day, the day of her funeral, I had to release her body into the ground. I had to kiss her lips for the last time. I had to smooth her hair, and feel her soft cheeks against mine for the last time. I had to hold her close and tell her how much I loved her. Gaze upon her radiant face for the last time. My heart exploding with pain. My tears streaming down my cheeks. How can I go on? How is this possible to live without a piece of your heart?

I've gone through many dark, dark places since this day. I've cried for hours, so many hours, so long and hard while my head exploded with pain. My heart shaking with extreme longing. My life feeling so worthless. So many times I've had to release my pain, my tears, my anger. I've had to come to place where I could feel her next to me, even though she isn't. Those are the days, the moments I live for. I live for her life, her life holds so much meaning. She has given me meaning. Luke has given my life meaning. My child, even though I had to give her back to the earth, I will never give away all the memories of her. All the love I hold for her. She is my strength and my guide from another world.

My post inspired by Carlymarie's 'Capture your grief project' 2013

Emotion

As a grieving parent. Triggers come in all forms. For me, a trigger that brings out my pain and sadness is remembering the day that we received Lucy's diagnosis. And I wasn't sure if I should write about this or not, I wasn't sure if I was ready to write it all down and share it with you all. But I must. I need to talk about it.

We were planning a homebirth from the beginning. We decided that an ultrasound was not necessary unless we had pregnancy complications. And we did. Beginning at 20 weeks I started developing high blood pressure that kept on rising and rising. We tried everything we could think of to lower it. From diet change, to chiropractor, to bed rest, to anything and everything you can think of. Nothing helped. and at 36 weeks I was measuring very low, about 5 weeks behind. I knew from my own motherly instincts that something was wrong. I'd known this for a my whole pregnancy in fact, but I always blew it off, like I was being worried for nothing. I knew it was time to make sure our baby was developing properly and that she was not at risk because having high BP can really mess things up in pregnancy. My husband and I were worried that possibly I had pre-eclampsia and that our dreams of a homebirth would go out the window. This was our worry at the time. We go into the dimly lit room where the ultrasound tech was getting things ready. I lied down. I pulled up my shirt where my full round belly was peaking out. She starts the scan. I can't really tell what I'm seeing because by know Lucy had grown so big that it was hard to get a clear picture. I could tell by the way the tech fumbled and glanced nervously around the room that something was wrong. She picked up her phone and said that she needed a nurse to come in and take a second look. My ears shot up and I got really scared. I asked "Is there something wrong with our baby?". And the tech said, "I think the doctor needs to explain things to you." At this point I can't hold in my worry and scared emotions. I start panicing. The doctor comes in and sits down in his chair, with tears in his eyes. I look at him and start bawling as he says the words. "I'm so sorry, your baby has a neural tube defect called anencephaly and she is not compatible with life, I'm so sorry to have to tell you this." From this moment on, everything this doctor was saying to me was mute in my head. I was in a daze, my tears couldn't stop, I could not breathe, I felt like my life was ending, everything was in slow motion, a blur. "how could this be?, but how is she living now inside of me? When she is born will she live, at all? how can you say she is incompatible with life when she is living inside of me right now? she won't have the top of her head, how is that even possible?" I must have asked these questions over and over, just not believing what I was hearing. And I know he answered them. I know he wanted to induce me that very day. I had brains enough to say that we needed to go home and talk about it. We went home in a daze, I told my close friend that I was pregnant with at the time and she cried with me. We told our son, we couldn't keep it from him. We told him that our baby was very sick and would not live for very long after birth, that is if she did live at all. It was the hardest thing to say, to tell your dear child, the child who wanted this baby so badly that she was going to be ripped from his arms. This is my emotional trigger, this is what I can't talk about or discuss without crying my eyes out. That day feels like the day the world ended for me and for our family. Life has changed so much, I love our Lucy and am so grateful that she lived and is part of our lives. But now that she is gone I am also so full of a magnatude of pain, grief and sadness.

This picture was taken 8 days after finding out Lucys diagnosis. Luke painted my belly with a galent sunflower, because we had by now chosen Lucy's beautiful name. And he took the photo of me as well.

My post  inspired by Carlymarie's 'Capture your grief project' 2013