The Muck and the Sadness

I love pictures. Anyone who knows me has probably had their pic snapped by me on numerous occasions. Unfortunately, like most modernists, I keep all of these shots in some digital universe, forever suspended and susceptible to loss (which has happened on numerous occasions). This year it is my goal to make actual physical copies (along with multiple backups).

The first step toward my goal was to arrange an album of Ripley's first year. I knew this would be an uphill climb. I took thousands of pictures that year. I had to pick favorites, arrange, edit, rearrange and edit some more. What didn't occur to me, was that I would be dredging up the bottom of the sadness pool. Once again revisiting pregnancy, hope, loss, pain, and the most supreme joy. What a fun rollercoaster to hop back on (all sarcasm intended).

Album decisions. Do I start with pregnancy? Birth? Do I include ultrasound pictures? How about belly pictures that say "twins". If yes, then do I add dead baby pics. A Mia page? What about excerpts from the mommy blog? A choice on whether to tell an honest account, or glaze over the reality, so whoever looks at the album doesn't have to start with the sadness. Hard decisions.

I decided to go with truth. Not simple or pleasant, but a part of us.

First page: all the internal pictures. Baby A, Baby B, growing together. Second page: preggo pictures, happiness and expectation. Third page: Mia. Full on dead baby page. And I feel like I need to add words, which I can't do yet, so I have skipped ahead for now.

Whew. After that was decided the pages filled themselves. So many cute and adorable pictures of the first months. Then smiles and milestones. Visits from family, visits to home. Somewhere in the middle I started to think of my childhood albums. One of my favorite parts of old paste albums is being able to lift up the pic and read the caption. So I went back through and started to annotate certain pics. Then I thought, maybe I should add memories from my thoughts at the time. Then I delved back into this blog and it stirred the sludge into a whirlpool of muck.

Le sigh. I am a happy mother. I am a grateful mother. I am so totally in love every day. But even with that I still get stuck. Sometimes I need to remind myself that even though sadness can weigh me down, my head is above water and I can feel the sun.

mia mia

I blame myself for your death.

Before I was married, I was on state care. They called for an ekg for your heart. Between that visit and the appointment I got married - for the insurance. The new doctors thought the EKG was unnecessary.

You almost always failed your tests. Too small, to weak of a heartbeat. But always just in the margins. Just barely.

And I called you my sweet one. The small girl that would eventually like to cuddle. Your sister was kicking and bucking, but you were small and still. Just happy in the space bellow my ribs.

“They” say to be positive, I was.

When they sent me in cause your beat was weak I went. But they found it, and I left.

Then they sent me again, an I laid there. So pregnant, but confidant.

I should have been you champion, wondering why your heart kept sending up red flags.

I should have had less of a smile and more of a concern.

I sincerely believe if I did, you would be here. After some amazing surgery.

 It is my fault your sister will not know you.

Forever my fault.

One of those days

I talk about Mia a lot. Too much? I dunno. No one has given me a template on how to grieve for a dead daughter.

She is a part of me. It feels natural to bring her up and include her as part of my life. I am fully aware that this is not comfortable for some people. I don't know what my reaction would be if someone brought up their dead in conversations. It may not be polite, but her existence is too important to me.

Mia is my phantom limb. Everyday I feel her, as if she's there, and then I remember that I have to function without her. I am fully capable of living without her, but there is always that feeling of something that's missing. Something integral.
If I was missing an arm or leg people could see that I wasn't whole. They would know that extra effort was made everyday to continue on. Dead children aren't that obvious.

It's her time of year. Day of the Dead is almost here, and then December, her death day. Sometimes I feel like such a failure that I couldn't even give her a birth day. She was already dead when she left me. The regret and helplessness is overwhelming at times. Sad on top of sadness covered in melancholy dressing.

Then I have Leeloo who is loving and demanding and awesome. She fills me with this bursting kinda happiness. Everyday she is also her dead sister's echo. A reminder of where Mia would be, of how she would have grown. Such a burden that I can't shake off of her.

I have a lot. I am grateful. I am 95% happy most of the time. I am done with trying to wait for this sadness to fade. It is me. I have two daughters that teach me everyday. I have two daughters.

I will love will my whole being. I will live with every cell. I will move despite the ache that fills me, I will move because of it.

Accidents

I grew up an only child. So for me, it was natural to only want to have one child. Then I met someone who already had two children, and the idea of getting pregnant meant that we were automatically going to have three. Three is definitely enough. And then - I found out I was having twins. Twins! It was scary but the idea of two at once seemed kinda great. And four - four became the magic number, two boys, two girls.
And Mia died. And it was three. And three was not four. And one girl - not two. Everything all of a sudden was off balance. I've cried a lot about it since then. So the pregnancy debate began. Were we going to try again, should we try again? The cons seem to outweigh the pros.


Ripley fell today. Down a staircase. I was in another room when I heard her cry. I ran to the top of the stairs and there she was, at the bottom. Face down and crying. I raced down and grabbed her, trying to simultaneously comfort her and assess any damage. She was ok. She is ok. But I can't help going down the dead baby road. If I lose her, and I am no longer a mother, what am I? These girls have redefined me. Making me stronger and more fragile than I have ever been.

Once a friend told me that you need a big family to insure that you have backups if you ever lose one. After Mia I know that's not true. You can never replace. You can never forget. If I had another, I would love them, but this little hole in my heart would still have Mia in the center.

Two years without Mia

I see twins everywhere, everyday. It doesn't make me sad to see them, or jealous, but it makes me think that no matter how wonderful Ripley is, Ripley & Mia would have been amazing. My hubby gives me the whole "everything happens for a reason" line. I think the universe is more random. 

Mia is gone. Every year we will send her little presents. Good and happy thoughts into the atmosphere. She was a part of me and now is a part of everything. Oh Mia mine.

Fletcher's Cove 2013

Reflection

We didn't venture out at all yesterday. It was a quiet lazy day at home (well as quiet and lazy as they come with three kiddos). The day marked a year since my dad died. A whole year. A year and a half since I'd actually seen him. Leeloo was only three months old then. So very little and different from who she is now. I see a lot of him in her, she's smiley and clumsy, social and stubborn. I think he would have totally gotten a kick out of her little personality.

The memory of Mia has been wafting about as well. I think about her everyday, but people don't usually talk about her that much. Kinda a taboo I suppose, to acknowledge the dead child. The boys don't know that norm so they mention her often. It's sweet - they accept that she was a full part of the family and know that we are missing her.

It didn't occur to me that adding a large mirror to the chiquita's room would make me ache. Like most kids she's loves to flirt with herself. She talks to her reflection and kisses it and dances, it's all very fun. Except that I can see both of them there. My girls. Playing together.

I suppose the longing for what was will always be there. I choose to live in the what is instead.

My Mia Day

I expected to be curled into a little ball today. I thought that after a year, all the magical energy that has somehow been holding me up and keeping me together may diffuse and I'd be a big pile of sad mush. Last night I shed a few tears, today I might shed more, but all and all, there isn't any mush to be seen. I am still a fully functioning person - well maybe not "fully".

It's been one whole year since my Mia's heart stopped. I think of her, I miss her, and I will always ache for her, but we did not stop with her. In that year we have grown and loved and lived.

Bittersweet is the only description I can muster. I am so thankful that Mia had my heartbeat and her sister's warmth. I don't know if I believe in heaven, but I have experienced enough magic and miracle in this world to hold the faith that our spirits will meet again.

I have rethought the whole loss thing. It's not only that we lose someone when they die, it's that we may feel lost after they are gone - frightened and directionless. Love has been my compass this year.  A year ago my doctor loved me, my nurses loved me, my husband, my mother, family, friends and strangers. Maybe that's been the magic that's kept me on course. It's love that leads my way.

So, thank you family. Thank you friends. Thank you sunshine. Thank you world.

Thank you Mia.

Day of the Dead

This was a big in the death year for our family. Mia, Pops, Papi. It seemed just as some healing began we were scraped raw again. I wish there was a pause button, some kind of universal time out that we could have taken for ourselves, but life didn't work that way. The dishes needed to be done, homework, dinners, family, friends - nothing stopped. Our pain was acknowledged, and sympathized with, but nothing was put on hold. It turns out there is no room for death in life. Death happens everyday, but life never skips a beat.

When Mia died I was in shock, by the time Ripley was born I was exhausted. I got home and had a non-sleeping newborn, and when she did sleep I stayed awake longer just to make sure she was actually breathing. We also had the boys at home, they were expecting two girls and we only came home with one, there were so many questions. On top of that family and friends all wanted to come by, which was lovely, but it meant the chaos had to be mostly controlled. It was, and is, busy. A lot of my grieving and healing happened in between the lines. There were many middle of the night crying sessions and tears alongside the incredible happiness of having a growing baby. Life moves on and we try to keep up.

I made a conscience effort this year to make more time for death. Scheduled time when our only purpose was to feel and share those feelings. One of those occasions for me was Day of the Dead. In Tucson there is the All Souls Procession that culminates around the traditional holiday. It has grown by tens of thousands and it's something I look forward to every year. This year D agreed to bring the boys so we could process together. There is something to be said about being completely surrounded by people who are paying homage to the deceased. It's powerful and amazing. It was a great reminder that we are not alone in grief - everyone has their experience. I am so happy that the boys had this chance to stand for our family - I'm so glad we could do it together.

Our masks.

Not scared of skull mommy.

Life is fragile.

Ripley and I were out shopping yesterday and I got scared. In the middle of Target I got scared. I thought that at that moment anyone could harm us if thy chose to. Anyone could shoot us and hurt us. For a fleeting moment I was terrified.
These thoughts were not irrational, extreme, yes, but sane. In that moment I realized the goal of all terrorists: to make people afraid in their daily lives. 


Last year, Gabby Giffords, a Rep. for Arizona, was shot in the head in front of a grocery store I used to shop at. The gunman had her in his sights but killed and injured others as well. The night before last, 12 people were killed (and over 50 more injured), at a movie theatre in Colorado. Everyone there just went to see the new summer blockbuster, never thinking that something so horrific could occur. 


I think about death a lot since Mia died. I felt so safe and untouchable. Now death is the underlying current in my life, a reminding buzz in the background.
I am sad for the friends and families of the victims. When death comes so suddenly, it knocks the wind out of you and reminds you of how vulnerable we are.


Today the President said this (and it made me cry):
"...life is fragile. Our time here is limited and it is precious. And what matters in the end are not the small and trivial things which often consume our lives. It’s how we choose to treat one another, and love one another. It’s what we do on a daily basis to give our lives meaning and to give our lives purpose. That’s what matters. That’s why we’re here.”


xoxo

Mama's Day

Some days are sad, some days are happy, some days are both. My first Mother's Day was both.

If I would've given myself time to think about it I suppose I would have expected a bevy of emotion on my first mama's day. My experience with mamahood has been quite rocky after all. But, I didn't think of it. It had kinda slipped my mind that I was now included in this holiday (to which the lil' punk in me still gives a "consumerist propaganda!" shout in my head). This year my mom was visiting and that was great, because the day had always been about her, not me. But she reminded me that she was coming because it was my first mama's day (time to put that lil' punk away).

The first heart melt came when the boys made me presents in school. They were so sweet and proud. Z made me a kitty pin (which he was so excited for me to wear), and Boo decorated a box (for my money and stuff), and gave me my first ever "mom coupon" booklet. How does that cuteness not make you smile? My mom even helped the kids make me little mystery boxes of love to keep. Round that out with a spa gift certificate from D and my first mama's day was full of warm and fuzzies (even the lil' punk can see the good in that).

The nature of Mother's Day is to have family come together and be appreciative. That mama's Sunday we did get together as a family, but we were appreciative in another sort of way.

When D's dad passed away he donated his body to UCLA so the cancer he had could be studied. It was a noble and generous thing to do, and expected since he was a man of science. Pops also specified that he didn't want any type of formal memorial service after his death. Again, man of science, not faith. As a family we respected his wish to not have a funeral, but D and his siblings wanted to do a little something to say goodbye. So, as we had just a few months before with Mia, we gathered together and took balloons to release our thoughts and words unto the wind.

We hiked up Torrey Pines to the spot where Pops had been married years before. It was a beautiful day and so many people were about with their families. Bevy of emotion. This constant mix of happiness and sorrow is so strange. Outside I feel solid and ok, but inside I'm often reminded that I am shattered. Within a year we discovered that I was pregnant with twins, got married, felt the death of a daughter, seen cancer do its worst, and endured it all. Sometimes life comes at you all at once. We are like palms in a storm, holding strong until the calm comes once again.

The walk down.

We're not always sad.

Mama love.

Dead Baby Diary

A friend from high school just lost her baby. Its kinda absurd to say "lost". Our babies aren't a set of keys that we've happened to have misplaced. I know where Mia is. She's on the bookshelf in a little cardboard box that I haven't been able to open yet. She's not lost, she's dead. Her ashes deserve an urn or box or freedom on the wind, but because I am a coward, she sits there. I don't know if it's the finality of it, but it's a step that I haven't been able to take yet. A step that some people think I should have taken long ago, somehow I need to get over it and move on. I have moved on, my baby died, I mourned her, and I live life in joy, not huddled weeping in the corner. But I will never get over it. I knew her. For months I could feel her movements. I knew she was shy and liked to cuddle up into me. I did my best to keep her safe and imagined a life for her. I held her and loved her, and miss her.

People tell me that I should be grateful that there were two. Even though my child died I should be happy that I have a baby here with me. I adore Ripley, I love her with every cell and I am so grateful for her, but explain to me me how one person can replace another? Not to get all Sophie's Choice, but if you have kids, which one would you miss less? Would you get over the death of one child just because you have others?

Part of me thinks its harder because there were two. Mia died, but in her twin I know what she would look like now. Their personalities were always different, but they were such little mirrors of each other. I am so happy that Ripley is growing so well and fast for two reasons: 1- because it means that she's healthy and well, 2- I saw and felt what she would look like dead. The bigger she gets the less she looks like her dead sister. It's morbid, I know, but that's death for ya.

Mia's death illuminated how many people I know who have gone through this. From their empathy and solace I know that I have joined a large community of mourners. My heart goes out to every member of the Dead Baby Club, may our memories remain strong and vibrant.

Tucson: Day 1

Yay for smaller airports! After our first flight ever it was nice to know that we weren't landing into some giant monstrosity like Dallas. Tucson airport is easy peasy.

During our flight there was a poor little toddler wailing (almost as if the universe was giving me a glimpse of what it could've been like). So, on our way off the plane a couple people asked me how such a little baby could make so much noise. Um, not my baby! Poor mama, I felt her pain.

We were later than the crowd to get to the luggage carousel (last row takes a while to move) and our bags were swirling around the belt. My auntie and step-dad were gonna fetch us, but I couldn't see them anywhere. So, baby in one arm, I managed to pull off the bags and drag them over to the chairs. Super mama - woot! I called and they were just down the way waiting for us at a different gate. I suppose the airport isn't quite so tiny after all!

By that time chickadee was tired of the whole traveling game. I changed her diaper, and made her a bottle, but she was fed up. Total solidarity with the plane mama - here was my baby going from cranky to full wail force.

My auntie held her squirming body while we hoofed it to the car rental counter. Everything was in order, but they didn't have a car. I smiled and was patient while I could hear the super cry in the background. My poor step-dad, he's not a baby person at all and here was this little ball of loudness that was headed to his home. I think the counter lady finally felt pity on me because she upgraded us to a much nicer car at no charge.

My parents took the extra Mia car seat to Arizona since we didn't need two. It was wonderful to have something familiar to use, even if I had to adjust all the straps since it was fresh outta the box. Chica even calmed down in the car (which is rare) and I managed to drive us all the way back to my parents house. Day o' travel was complete!

Playing with her overjoyed abuelita.

Mia Mia Mia mine.

We went up to the cemetery last weekend. We know another baby buried there, she died when she was little too. If you two lived she would be your Aunt Beth. Perhaps you already know each other. Tiny spirits floating on the breeze.

We went to put flowers on her grave. We also left a picture of you and each one of us let a balloon drift into the sky. I tied mine to Ripley's, so they could find you together.

I miss you my darling girl. Your sister grows each day, she is wonderful and the sparkle in my eye. I see you in her sleepy smiles and I know that you will always be with us.

Gloomy

I've been fighting a cold. After blowing my nose all night and morning I need to just give in to the fact that I have a cold - there isn't a fight involved. Sleep was scarce last night. The little one slept a bunch - she's still asleep in her chair, making the occasional cute sound.

D is on his way to pick up Mia's ashes.

I kept dreaming that she was coming home alive. She is not even coming home whole. Ash of her former body. No more shape or form.

I was too tired in the hospital. So much had happened and her birth was the bookend of it all. I wish I had spent more time with her in my arms. I wish I had sent everyone away so D and I could hold her and her sister together. I wish I could have seen the two girls at the same time. I wish.

We are planning a memorial of sorts at the end of the month. We haven't decided on what yet, but something to help with closure.  Mostly I want a way to put her to rest without losing her memory. But I suppose that's what everyone who's lost someone wants.