Our June angels have names!

Your Name

i put your name in the sand.
but the waves washed it away.
i put your name on my hand.
but i washed it away the next day.
i put your name on paper.
but i accidentally threw it away.
i put your name in my heart and forever it will stay
~Shelby Ann Arthur

I mentioned the other day that I had thought about naming our June Angels. It has been 11 and 2 years since we lost them, but it's never too late, right?

I never had a feeling about their genders. Both pregnancies were over so quickly after finding out about them. When I told Eric that I wanted to name them, we decided to come up with unisex names.

Our June 2000 angel is Tristan Avery. I've always loved the name Tristan and wanted to use it for Christian, but Eric thought it was too girly. I've seen little boys and girls named Tristan, so it seemed perfect for our first angel.

Our June 2009 angel is Riley Addison. We both like Riley and I think at some point we even tossed it around for one of the other kids, same with Addison.

All of our kids, except Kelsey, now have middle names that start with vowels. I'm a theme person. I went back and forth about Kelsey not fitting the "theme," but her middle name was picked long before her first name--Grace. Because she is proof of God's Grace for us. After losing Sydney, I knew if we had another girl, her middle name would be Grace.

It feels so good to finally have named our other two angels. This past weekend, we included their names on our October 15 activities. I'll post more about that tomorrow!

A little brown bear

As Long As I Live You Will Live

As Long As I Live You Will Be Remembered

As Long As I Live You Will Be Loved

~Author unknown

For the first year after Sydney died, I slept with a little brown bear that some sweet nurse put in her hands on the last day we held her. When I gave her to the nurse before I was discharged, I held onto the bear. They brought back her clothes and blankets, and still, I held onto the bear. Other moms left with their new babies bundled up against the cold February wind, and I wrapped this little bear in Sydney's pink blanket that she was wrapped in on the day she was born.

Over the first few months, I gathered more items to try to comfort me. After my first support group meeting, when I realized I wasn't crazy because the other moms understood how I felt, I stopped at Target and bought a bigger bear. This one was about 18" inches long. I took the bear home, asked Eric to bring me the outfit that was supposed to be Sydney's coming home outfit, and lovingly dressed that bear in Sydney's sleeper with the pink ladybugs and wrapped her in the matching blanket. I then held that bear, with my husband watching without a clue why I was dressing a bear in our daughter's clothes, and I cried. I'm sure Eric thought I had lost it at that point.

A couple of months later, a third bear joined my collection. A friend I met at that first support group showed me the bear she had that matched the bear her son was buried with. I knew that Sydney had been buried with that same bear, so I was on a mission to find one of those bears. I searched online, ebay, all over, and finally, I broke down and called the funeral home. I'm sure they thought I was a nut. I asked them if they could order this bear for me and the funeral director promised to look into it. He called me back only moments later and said, yes, we can order the bear, but you'll have to pay for it. He could've told me it would cost $10,000 for that bear, and I would've said yes. Fortunately, it was a much more affordable $13. A few days later, he called again to tell me my bear was there and as soon as I left work, I rushed to the funeral home to pick up my bear. When I arrived, someone in the office told me that the owner had told them to give me the bear, no payment required. I started bawling like a baby right in the middle of the funeral home office (which I guess isn't really the worst place for that to happen). I took that little bear home and he joined the tiny bear and the clothed bear.

As time went on, I began to wonder when or if I could give up my bears. I had gone on several trips for work in that first year and each time, tiny bear traveled with me. Each morning, I would tuck tiny bear's pink blanket into the safe where we keep Sydney's things because when I took it out each night, it smelled like her. But tiny bear went with me. I would put him in my pocket or in my purse. Needless to say, I was pretty dependent on my bears.

When Sydney's first birthday came, I felt like that was a good time to finally put away my bears. I felt so guilty, like I was trying to forget her or that I was replacing her (as I'd just found out a few weeks before that I was pregnant again). But it was my first step toward taking control over my grief. For that first year, the grief controlled me. I realized that I couldn't begin to heal unless I tried to control the grief. I know that Sydney knows she's never far from my thoughts. There have been so many things that have shown me that she's still with us, but I'll save that for another post.

Right Where I Am: 2 years, 3 months, 27 days

It has been 2 years, 3 months, and 27 days since February 10, 2009. Such a short time, yet such a very, very long time.

When I think about where I am in my grief, this quote stands out to me:
"Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle
Everything I do is stitched with its color."
~W.S. Merwin

Today, I am still missing Sydney. I will always miss her. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of her every moment. She is a part of my life every moment of everyday. She has taught me to be a better mother and wife, to be more compassionate, and to appreciate the little things more.

There are so many times when it still hits me like a ton of bricks. She's gone. Dead. Forever. I won't see her sweet little face, kiss her cheeks, or smell her skin this side of Heaven. I never got to see her open her eyes. The weight of my grief can still bring me to my knees. The physical pain of Sydney's absence isn't as strong anymore, since her sister is here and fills my arms. There are still moments that I crave her and would give anything just to see her.

She would be 2 years, 3 months, and 27 days old. I'm a mother to older children, so I know what she would be doing right now. Toddling around and getting into everything. I wish I knew what she looked like right now. A few days ago, I was going through her pictures and noticed that Kelsey resembles Sydney a lot. I wish I knew what color her eyes would've been and if her hair would've been straight or curly. I saw a picture in a book that made me think of her. I think it is similar to what she would've looked like as a young child.

My sweet Kelsey has eased my grief in many ways. She's an amazing baby. She can never replace Sydney--nor would I want her to--but her birth gave me hope and a certain healing that I couldn't have achieved otherwise. I've said it before, I truly believe that my girls' lives are completely intertwined. I know that Sydney comes to play with Kelsey. When Kelsey was in the NICU, I felt Sydney's presence so strongly when I was at the hospital.

Two years, three months, and 27 days ago, I didn't think I could live through the pain of losing Sydney. It was debilitating. Every moment of the day, my heart cried out for her. I don't think it gets better. I think you just learn to cope with it. You learn how to live with a broken heart. And for me, I've made it a large part of my life to honor her life. I want people to remember that she LIVED. She made an impact on this world. Her life was so much greater than the 2 hours her heart beat on Earth. I can look back now and see the blessings that we were given with Sydney. I am so lucky that I had 2 amazing precious hours with Sydney. She knew only love for her entire life. At 20 weeks, they told us she most likely wouldn't live through labor and delivery. And if she did, we'd only have a few minutes before she passed away. We got TWO HOURS. I wish it had been so many more, but if she had to die, I have no regrets about how she did. She knew she was loved. She knew our touch, our voices, and the warmth of my chest. After having a preemie before, I knew the importance of skin to skin contact and that's where she stayed--on my bare chest, hearing my heartbeat just as she had for the 20 weeks she was inside of me.

I can talk about Sydney now without crying. Not all the time, but most of the time. I want to help others. I want her life to continue to have meaning and impact others. I want her to continue to live on--through her brother and sisters, through her daddy, and through me.

One year ago...

I was 15 weeks pregnant. At 13 weeks, a cervical ultrasound showed that my cervix was a little shorter than my OB, Dr. S, liked and with my history, he finally agreed to my desire for a cerclage. I'd hoped to have it placed by 14 weeks, but by the time I got on the schedule, I was 15 weeks and 2 days pregnant.

I had the surgery at the same hospital where I delivered Sydney. I hate that place. It ended up being the hospital where I delivered Kelsey and she spent 9 weeks in the NICU. I'd been feeling okay up to that point, none of the pressure or weird pain that I'd had with Sydney closer to when she was born. I was nervous though. The cerclage isn't without risk to the baby.

The surgery took maybe 20 minutes. I was given the lightest general anesthesia possible so I wasn't awake during the procedure. I was so grateful for that. I remember coming out of anesthesia as soon as they wheeled me out of the operating room. It wasn't like the other surgeries I had where it felt like I woke up as soon as I went to sleep. I could tell some time had passed so I don't know if I started to wake up or if it was just because the anesthesia was so light. When I woke up, Dr. S was gone and nobody told me anything about how it went.

After some delay and confusion, I was finally moved from recovery to my room. Dr. S had decided to keep me overnight and I was put in a room on the antenatal floor. The next day, I would have an ultrasound to check the cerclage placement and my cervical length. When I got to my room, Eric was there waiting for me.

When I was settled in, he told me what happened during the procedure. Immediately after, Dr. S came out to talk to him. Eric said the doctor looked really shaken and when they talked, Eric realized Dr. S was shaken. Dr. S told him that my cervix was very soft and had shortened significantly. He got the stitch placed as high as he could. He was very glad that he did the procedure because if he hadn't, we most likely would've lost the baby. Now we had to hope that my cervix would react favorable to the stitch and hopefully length and become stronger with the reinforcement.

Obviously, we know how the story ended. Our baby girl is here safe and sound. My cervix lengthened quickly. The day after surgery, it was about 3.0 cm. Two weeks later, it was about 4.0 cm and it continued to grow longer. The last check at 28 weeks showed that it was 4.5 cm. Typically, the cervix is around 4.0 cm during pregnancy.

I look back to that day and I thank God I listened to my gut. Once I did the research and realized Sydney's delivery was an exact description of incompetent cervix, I was determined to have a cerclage with my next pregnancy. The doctors weren't so sure I truly had an incompetent cervix because I'd delivered two babies in the third trimester and there was an infection found in the placenta. I know my body well and I was determined to have this done. I was prepared to find another doctor to do the surgery if necessary.

One little stitch, a lot of prayer, and God's grace saved my Kelsey's life. I cannot imagine my life without her and I wish that we'd known all of this so we could've saved her sister too.

Going back

Before I got pregnant with Kelsey, I was regularly attending support groups at the hospital where I delivered Sydney and the National Share Office. When I got pregnant, I chose to stop attending because I didn't want to upset anybody. Since Kelsey's birth, it has been a busy time and I haven't been back. But I've decided, this month, I'm going to attend one of the groups.

I know I don't have to tell my fellow BLMs that rainbows don't fix things. I never thought Kelsey would fix things or lessen my grief. Sometimes I think having Kelsey makes me miss Sydney even more. I should have two little girls 18 months apart. Christian and Hailey are 18 months apart, but with a boy and a girl, it's different. When I shop for Kelsey, I imagine dressing my little girls identically. I think of all the things I didn't get to do with Sydney.

Don't get me wrong--I adore Kelsey. She has soothed my soul in a way that nobody else could. I truly believe that my girls have a deep connection and so many things I see in Kelsey and feel around Kelsey only confirm that for me. Their lives are connected and I think Sydney paved the way for Kelsey to be here.

But I miss her. With every fiber of my being, I miss Sydney. I want to know what two year old Sydney would look like, what she would like, who she would become. That is the cloud that continues to hang over me. I ache for the child that isn't here. She's as much a piece of me as the three that are here. I'm not one of those people who can say things like, I'm so happy my child is in Heaven. Maybe my faith isn't strong enough. Maybe I'm just selfish. But if I could choose between Sydney being in Heaven or with me, I would choose for her to be with me, no doubt.

I live in fear everyday. Every fucking day. I'm terrified of something happening to Kelsey. We just got her a crib and I'm scared to put her in it. I worry about my big kids all the time. If I call or text Eric during the day and he doesn't answer, my mind jumps straight to the worst.

So, I'm going back. I need the support. I know they can't fix or even help with everything I'm feeling, but I feel very alone right now. I felt better when I was surrounded by others who understood.

Confession

Today I saw a friend's post on Facebook, saying that her baby will be here in a few days and I realized, I don't think those posts will ever stop bothering me. Even though I have my beautiful Kelsey and I truly never want to be pregnant again, I don't know that I will ever not be jealous of those who get pregnant so easily or who still have that innocence of "get pregnant, have baby."

I'm not the most infertile person ever. I have PCOS, one child who took two years to conceive, one child who took a few months to conceive, and two surprises. I haven't struggled to get pregnant as much as some people have. But the choice to have more children isn't one I was able to make for myself. I know our family is complete, but it would've been nice to be able to say, I'm finished, rather than have a doctor say, If you have another child, it might kill you. I have been blessed, that goes without saying. But I still have jealousy towards those who can make their own choices, have as many babies as they want, and never have to deal with the heartache of loss.

When I read things like, "In a week, I will be holding my baby," I want to scream, HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT?! Don't these women know what could happen? Don't they know all the things that can go wrong? I don't wish it on them, but I wish I could've had that careless joy while I was pregnant.

And then it creeps in. That jealousy--why didn't MY baby live? Why do others get to have 4, 5, 8, 10 children?!?!?! And they are all here, healthy and happy? Why couldn't I have mine? I was supposed to have two big kids and two babies! Why didn't I get that?! I don't understand it, at all. I never will. It's all so unfair and there is no reason or purpose for any of it.

Competition

It has been a while since I've blogged. I have so many thoughts in my head, I really need to get back to it.

As you can tell from this page, I am a mom. I am a mom of living children, 3 beautiful healthy living children. I am also a mom of one perfect beautiful little baby girl who left me far too soon. If you ask me, I will tell you that I have 4 children, 1 boy and 3 girls. If I'm out with three, most people will sort of understand, but occasionally someone will ask where the other child is. She's waiting for us in Heaven. Or, if I'm in a mood, I'll tell them frankly, she's dead.

Unfortunately, as much as it hurts, that's a fact. Sydney is dead. She can't come back to me. Sometimes just thinking those three words is enough to drive me into a rage of anger or a depression so deep I don't know if I can ever find myself again. I'm powerless against this fact of my life. What choice do I have but to accept this? Still, I fight acceptance daily. Twenty-two months later, and I still grieve as deeply as I did immediately after her death. I like to think I know how to manage it better.

My sweet little rainbow girl is here and she has not healed me, as some had hoped would be the case. It's like putting a bandaid on a surgical incision. It simply won't heal that way. If you put a big enough bandaid on there, it might hold it, but it really won't heal. I love and adore this amazing miracle I've been given and I thank God for her daily. But I still miss her big sister more than words can describe. I didn't have her to replace Sydney or to make myself feel better. I had her because I wanted to raise another child. One doesn't replace the next. Nor do my older living children make up for their missing sibling.

It seems that there is this competition in the babylost world. The competition between parents with living children and parents with only dead children. Somehow the grief is worse for the parents without living children. In some ways, I can see that. There were days that the only reason I got out of bed was for my children. My rainbow has given me hope for the future, that our family will have a future that isn't one of complete grief and loss. But, on the other hand, as a mother of living children, I have had to watch--and help--my children grieve. I've had to hold myself together when all I really want to do is fall apart because they need me. Do you know how hard it is to have your children ask you, "Why did Sydney die?" How do you answer those questions when you are asking them yourself? I have had to guide my children (ages 7 and 6 at the time of Sydney's birth/death and 9 and 7 now) through their grief during the darkest moments of my life. I had to watch them cry and mourn knowing I could do nothing to ease their pain--and many days feeling like I was the cause of it.

There is another competition too, between those with one loss and those with multiple losses. A loss is a loss. Period. I miss my one child as much as someone else misses their two or three children. Yet, I can't imagine losing another child and how that would devastate me. I can see both sides of this again.

There are many times when I don't feel comfortable in this babylost world. I have living children, I've only had one loss (I've also had two other very early m/c, but for me I don't consider those the same as losing Sydney), and I have a rainbow. Where do I fit in? I still grieve for my lost baby. I still need support. But sometimes I feel guilty for looking or asking for that support. I know I've been blessed. I know how incredibly lucky I am to have my arms full. But someone is missing and my arms and heart still ache for her. I could have ten more children and still feel that emptiness.