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.

Once again with the death thing.

(August 13th)

My dad died today.
He went in to the VA Hospital for knee surgery and he died.
I'm totally over this whole death thing. Death, if you can hear this, please move along now. Quickly.

(August 14th)

This year is kicking my ass with sadness.  When dad reacted badly to the surgery I immediately thought of flying out.  He didn't want me to go because 1) hospitals are no place for babies, 2) the million degrees that is Arizona right now and 3) he's mostly a no-fuss sort-of guy.  After a couple of days passed and he was still struggling I booked a ticket. I had visitors coming and the monkeys were starting school, so I decided to wait a week before flying out. My dad died unexpectedly yesterday and my flight is today.
I am so sad. I want to start up with all the "what ifs", but Mia taught me that those are futile.


(August 31)

I've spent the week in a sort of bumbling haze. I went to Tucson and stayed with my Tia. Before dad died I had made all these plans to see people. The thought was, I'd visit him in therapy and then make the rounds with the girlie. Once we landed I didn't really know what to do. We went to my sister's house and sat and talked and ate. At my Tia's house we sat and talked and ate. My dad insisted on never having any type of memorial service, so there was nothing really to plan. All of us were just locked in this stunned holding pattern. We woke up every morning and spent the day being thankful for the family and love that we still have. Even if a large part of that family had just slipped away.

I knew three sides of my dad. The first was the tequila drinking, mischievous, short tempered Marine. My parents got divorced when I was around two, so my dad had me on the weekends. However, he never let that stop him from having a good time. I would go to bars and dance halls and backyard poker games, hunting, shooting and we always would dance, dance, dance at weddings. I've heard stories of his high school football jock years (getting away with so much even though my tata was the Chief of Police). He told me about the Marines, and Vietnam, and getting shot and blown up (I have the bullet that went through his leg). He gave me my first drink, and let me smoke cigarettes with him when I was fourteen (and pretending to be tough). He would take me to R-Rated movies and horrors at the Drive-In. He would let me steer the car and shoot his pistol and dust me off whenever I fell or hurt myself. When camping I would get dirty and pee outside and he never made being a girl seem any different from being a boy. He put me on horses bareback and helped me up again after they'd buck me off. I would watch him play pool with his own stick (and he'd win enough money for dinner). He would drink and laugh and eat and tell jokes and enjoy the life he was given.

Despite doing lots of things that made my mom cringe, my dad would spend lots of quiet time with me too. He would take me to church on Sundays, then we'd go home and watch golf. There were lots of visits to museums and galleries followed by picnics in the park. We'd go play golf and he'd have me carry my clubs. We would spend a lot of time with family, I had a handful of cousins my age that share the majority of my childhood memories. We would go to carnivals and fairs and he'd always try to win me a prize. We'd spend hot summer days inside malls, people watching and making up stories as they'd pass by. Dad and my Tia would take us all hiking on holidays, Easter was usually spent by a stream, or at the park. He'd buy me outfits on layaway, and never believed in credit cards. He'd make me over-easy eggs and taught me how not to break the yolk. We would go to car shows and fiestas in the park. He loved mexican music and 50's songs. We would drive for hours just to see where the road would take us. We would go to the Swap Meet and Gem shows and buy treasures. We would dance in the living room and I would stand on his feet. He taught me how to play chess and he never let me win. I don't ever remember him yelling at me or being too angry (even when I lost my tata's ring on a golf course and dad was crushed). I always felt that he loved me and he was proud, no matter what I did.

The summer before I left to college my dad had a serious stroke. He was in his early 40's and it turned him into an old man over night. Some years before that he remarried and I got a new family filled with brothers, sisters and nieces and nephews. I had the chance to see my dad as a husband, and a grandfather. After the stroke he retired, and he had to walk with a cane. His life slowed down, but he still liked to cook and eat and tell jokes. He was stubborn and would try to fix things by himself. He was off balance and always had some sort of cut or scrape (and the most amazing skin that would magically heal). He moved to Rio Rico into a house on three acres of desert. He would drink coffee and make salsa and watch boxing in his chair. He watched me get married, and divorced, and date all the wrong people. He watched me perform, even if it was late at night and crowded. He watched me jump into everything with my whole heart, and he would still brush me off if I fell. Our visits were quieter and calmer, but we would sit and talk and eat and hold hands. He would smile and tell me he loved me. He watched me move to California and become a stepmom. He walked me down the aisle for the second time and held me when Mia died. He loved Ripley and even learned how to Skype with her on his first computer. He got frustrated at his body and hated being slow and achey. He wanted knee surgery so he could move around better and keep up with his newest granddaughter. He wasn't a perfect man, and he wasn't always a good man, but he was a wonderful man. My Papi. I loved him and always felt loved back.

I miss you dad. Take care of Mia for us.

60 year span.

30 years old. 60 years old.

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.

In Memory Of...

I have seen a lot of death. Sometimes it's quick like a bunny, others it's slow and heavy molasses. Sometimes death is like a spider that weaves it's web when you're not looking, one moment there is nothing and when you look again there's an intricate shroud that covers everything. Pop's cancer was a spider.

 Just before our trip to Arizona, D's dad had a fall. He was on his daily walk and fell in front of a doctor's house in his neighborhood. Ambulance, hospital, fractured pelvis. More concerning, a mass in his chest that was discovered incidentally. Surgery. Mass, and the portion of lung it was attached to, were removed successfully. Pops was in good spirits and was eager to go home. Biopsy. The mass was a malignant tumor. Prognosis. Pops had a rare form of cancer which mainly occurs in children. The doctors were baffled and unsure of treatment. They predicted that he only had 3-6 months of life left. The cancer had spun its web when we weren't looking.

When Pops was first diagnosed I wondered if it would have been better if the cancer would have gone undetected. If he hadn't of fallen would ignorance have been better? In hindsight I think we were fortunate. Despite the incredible hardship it is to face death, knowing gave us the opportunity to face it together as a family. D's sister was able to come out from Sweden. D and his brother spent much more time by his side. Pops got to see his family and know he was loved.

Last Sunday we took the chiquita over for a visit. Since the diagnosis Sunday visits have become routine. Pops lost his bearings occasionally but he would snap back into coherence with gentle reminders. He even got excited when offered a peanut butter cookie and ate it eagerly.

 Monday night Pops died. The shroud was complete.

Once again we are grieving while the world continues on. The man I knew was gentle, clever, funny and sweet. He shall be missed, and will always be loved.

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.