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.

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.

In celebration of my mother.

Twenty months and seven days ago my life went askew. After the birth of my daughters, I was simultaneously the happiest and saddest I'd ever been in my life. To share both ends of the spectrum internally, pulls you like taffy. I didn't even know when to grieve, since all my time went towards being a wife, a stepmom, and first time mother with a demanding newborn.

That winter was a blur, and by spring D's dad was dying. D put everything he had into his father and the battle against cancer. There were two or three months when he couldn't be present at home, he had to be there for the rest of his family.

Summer came quickly. We had just celebrated out first year of marriage when my dad died suddenly. By then I was numb with shock and grief. Everything was completely raw and there was no way to put anything on hold so I could heal.

If I ever saw my daughter go through that much pain I would drop everything to comfort and support her. I realize now that learned this from my mother.

By September my mom quit her job and was here. Small visits at first, but they extended. She watched me cry and yell and vent and be quite and struggle and smile and succeed. Most of all she got to be included and incorporated into the daily routine of our family, something that I didn't realize I needed desperately. Yesterday, after almost being here a year, my mom finally felt confident in my ability and happiness, to go home for good. I am sad that she won't be here, but I am so thankful for everything she has given to us.

Thank you Ami. Thank you for recognizing when I needed help, thank you for loving me so whole-heartedly, thank you for driving back and forth to Tucson countless times (and through haboobs, snowstorms, and border checks!).

Thank you for doing laundry and dishes and dusting and vacuuming, and cleaning beyond any clean that I can ever muster. Thank you for going to Target and Costco and the grocery store with me everyday (when I couldn't get my dinners sorted).

Thank you for going to the park and knowing the people I spend my days with. Thank you for genuinely caring for them and their children.

Thank you for loving your granddaughter bigger than the sky and deeper than the sea. I have the best memory of my grandparents and I can already see the same between the chiquita and you.  The two of you have a connection that is so sweet. When she makes you laugh and smile I can feel your love pouring out.

Thank you for being passionate about the boys and their education. Not only have you gotten them excited about reading, but you've helped them learn valuable lessons about themselves and who they want to be.

Thank you for being my sounding board. Whether it be about big huge things or silly small things. Thank you for putting up with my temper. I hope I have apologized every time I've snapped at you. Especially when I was hungry!

Thank you for living here and not being a guest. You knew what was needed before I ever asked. You were always two steps and hour (or two) ahead of me.

Thank you for letting me be a mother and not a child. Our parenting techniques totally differ and you let them. Thank you for letting me stumble and coddle, and smother, and spoil this beautiful girl of mine.

I want to say that I love you more than anything, but now, after having my own daughter, I know that's silly. My love is ever expansive, like a magic balloon, that can stretch and extend with my heartbeat. My love for you lies in there, always growing with each year of experience and appreciation.

xoxo

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.

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.

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.

Odds and Ends

Breastfeeding is difficult. I had prepared for this - especially with twins. I read up on it and went to the La Leche group, heard the stories and knew that things might not go well at first. Even with that - breastfeeding is hard. You would think that something we have been doing as humans for thousands of years would be ingrained - like peeing, but no, there are lots of little obstacles to overcome.

Immediately after Ripley was born she latched well. Not a wimpy- oh there happens to be a nipple in my mouth sort of latch, a full on- I'm famished and I'm gonna Hoover this milk out if necessary latch, so right away I had high hopes. The next day the pediatrician even commented on how strong her suck was, and my achy nipples agreed - that little girl was determined. She fed every 2 or 3 hours and even though I couldn't tell, the lactation specialist assured me that I was indeed making Colostrum. On Thursday when we were discharged we were exhausted, but at least this was one thing that I didn't have to worry about.

Ripley's first doctor's appointment was the next day. We bundled our three day old little girl up and headed out. All morning and the night before she had continued to latch well and seemed content and sleepy after she was finished. In fact, she enjoyed it so much, that she had to munch at the doctor's office, in the waiting room and in the exam room. So, when the doctor was concerned - I was not prepared.

Ripley had lost a whole pound since birth. Weight loss is normal, but a pound is on the high side. She was also a little yellow, so the doc was worried about jaundice. Apparently my body wasn't making enough milk for her. The doc told us to supplement with formula and sent us to the lab to get blood work done.

We had just left Mia and the hospital, and here we were, worry shifted to Ripley. My body once again failing me. I felt so defeated and inadequate.

The lab called later in the day and confirmed that she was jaundiced. We started the formula immediately. I think D was actually excited about bottle feeding. He had fed both the boys with bottles and I think he was missing the closeness. I was concentrated on giving my body the benefit of the doubt. I had just had a tragedy. I spent four days in the hospital with very little sleep and food. I had only given birth three days before and it was perfectly natural to not have milk yet. All these were rational arguments, and none of them worked.

When registering for bottles I had researched every bottle out there. Nipple confusion is a major breastfeeding dilemma. Every bottle we had was low-flow and breastfeeding compatible. But they still seemed strange. The milk would drip out very quickly and Ripley would gulp big and quickly. When I put her against me again she didn't know what to do. Her little head moved back and forth as she desperately tried to figure out what to do with her tongue. She was, in all senses, confused. More ache and frustration.

We had another appointment the next day. She was weighed again and thanks to the formula she had gained an ounce. The pediatrician that day was much more optimistic. He agreed that she was confused and showed us how to supplement with our finger and a tube (to promote suckling). He also assured us that the jaundice was common and that it was a very low level. We left that day with some relief.

It's been almost a month and I'm still not confident. We have been seeing a lactation consultant and she agrees that I don't have enough milk yet. To promote production I have quite the routine: Let her latch for 10-15 minutes on each breast, then supplement with formula (by a tube that inserts in her mouth while she suckles), and finally pump for 10 minutes on each side after she's satiated. I am diligent for the most part - except for the pumping. I need to pump more. I am also working on my diet and hydration. And I just bought Fenugreek.

I have mustered all my patience. But I repeat: breastfeeding is hard.

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I am spoiling her. I hold her all the time, I let her pacify on my nipple, she sleeps mostly in our bed and we don't let her cry. I am alright with all of this.

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We're trying to keep the sleep thing from kicking our asses. D went back to work after the first week so I have been trying to pull most of the wee hour shifts on my own. Even though I have a long history of nights that have bled into dawn - no amount of pre-baby training prepared me for the third, fifth, eighth night with very little sleep. I was feeling mighty zombified for a bit. But, we may have come to a happy place. If I take a nap from 9-midnight while the little one sleeps with D, then I can be up till 2 or 3am with some coherence. D also gets up around 5 and does a morning change/feeding before work and then she sleeps with me for a few more hours. We have tried this for a couple of days now, and I have to say - its nice to be wide eyed once again.

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I don't think I cried today. I may have welled up - but I don't think I actually shed tears. That's progress.
I also feel like this is the first week that people don't look at me like a vase about to hit the floor. Up until now D has had a very concerned look in his eyes like I could shatter at any moment. I am sad, the most sad I have ever been, but I don't think I will break anytime soon.

D and I have two very different perspectives after Mia's death. He feels that we have had our tragedy, and that nothing can touch us now. I am the opposite. Losing her made me more aware that nothing is guaranteed, and tragedy can strike when you least expect it. It's a horrible feeling. I used to be so fearless, that is gone now, I am afraid of everything. This makes me want to build huge walls up around me to keep me protected and numb my feelings (go on big bad world - try to hurt me now!). Instead, I work at letting the emotion sweep over me. I will build my walls from sand and let the waves break them as they come. I will not fight fate, I will see how this life unfolds (and try not to be afraid).

I miss Mia. The whole situation sucks. I was mentally prepared for two babies. I was so very excited. Now there is one and this empty space. Ripley is wonderful and delightful, but I wonder if I'll always feel like there is something missing. Will she feel that way too? We are making arrangements for Mia. We pick up her ashes soon. Will I feel better after that? Does anyone who loses a child ever feel better, or do they realize that despite their loss the world continues and eventually you decide to join back or you fade into your sad self? I am joining the world again slowly. It's strange to know that such little time has passed, and even though I may look the same, I am profoundly changed.

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“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart.. i'll always be with you.” Winnie the Pooh

"You know that place between sleep and awake, the place where you can still remember dreaming? That's where I'll always love you... That's where I'll be waiting." Peter Pan