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My second child and our first daughter, Camille, died and was born on June, 30 2011 when I was full term at 38 weeks pregnant. I gave birth to my rainbow baby, a second daughter, on August 31, 2012. This is me trying to figure out how to be a mother to my living son and daughter and function in society after our tragic loss.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

Right Where I Am- 1 month Exactly

Today it has been exactly 1 month since Camille died. I am sad, devastated, tired...no exhausted. The first couple weeks were blurry and I felt numb even though I cried constantly. The last week feels HEAVY. This burden of sadness and missing and ache feels too big to carry for the rest of my life. The weight of my loss is heavy on my shoulders and I feel like I am dragging through each day, trying to get through it. I miss my baby, my beautiful little girl. Kai is our saving grace right now. I laugh and play every day and I love him so completely but I also feel very distant from everyone and everything. I am constantly living June 30, 2011 over and over and over like a really bad groundhog day. A nightmare I won't wake up from. Every morning I wake up and realize that yes this is still happening, Camille is still dead. The heaviness sinks in and I drag myself out of bed.

I have tried to go out with Daryl and Kai...out to eat, to Costco and Target...but everywhere I go, the last time I was there, I was pregnant and happy and oblivious to the tragedy that awaited us.

I think about Camille all day everyday. I miss her with every ounce of my being. I love her so completely and I never even got to really know her. Only what I felt of her, for her, dreamt of who and what she would become. I miss all the eventual memories that we were going to make. My heart physically hurts, and sometimes it is hard for me to breathe. Is it too much to ask of a 2.5 year old to absorb so much love wrapped up in this grief. He knows we are sad and how much we miss his sister and yet his concept of death is limited to the beauty of a world known to a 2.5 year old. I used to feel so complete with my love of our son. Now I feel empty and I feel bad that my son is now not enough because I miss our daughter.

This is the worst thing I could imagine and yet here I sit as...the woman who's second child died. How did everything go so wrong? why was there no indication? How could I not have known?

I lost a little piece of my mind the day I delivered my baby and held her precious soft perfect body. Kissing her lips and cheeks and holding her close, I feel like I failed her. No matter how much people tell me there was nothing I did wrong, I blame myself. I was supposed to be the safe spot, the one place nothing could harm her. I failed her. I need a time machine, I need to go back and make it right, save my daughter. I just don't understand why or how this could have happened to her, to me, to us. It is so unfair. I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy and I wish it was my best friend instead of me.

 I feel all over the place, my mind jumps from thought to thought, tangential and random and centered all around the death of Camille. This is supposed to happen to someone else, not me. Someone else, anyone else. When I cry it isn't even a sob, just a whimper of shear anguish with tears streaming out of my eyes and sucking of air as I try and catch my breath....my baby is dead, my daughter, my beautiful little baby.

I didn't think it was possible to have enough tears to cry everyday for a month, but I do...I have enough tears to cry multiple times a day for a month, for a year, for eternity. I know the pain won't always be this acute, but right now I feel like the pit of hell I am in will never get better. I remember telling myself the day I delivered Camille that it can not get worse than this. This will be the worst day of my life, it can only get better. Each day will have to get better. I think it was the worst day of my life, but each day does not seem to be better. Some days are easier, some days are harder and I never know what the day will be like before I am in it. It is so hard to feel so out of control. Yes I am on Antidepressants, I have never taken medication in my life. So at 34 years old, 2 children, and one dead baby later I am taking meds. Are they helping? I don't know. Probably. I could take every pill on the planet and I would still be sad and I would still cry. I am just trying not to spiral into a space that would not allow me to care for my son. I am not driving yet. I don't trust myself to make good decisions or be present enough to pay attention to such an important task but I will have to try soon.  

I don't know how I am going to do this, deal with this, survive this... I keep telling myself "the only way out is through" but through to what? there is no other side. I will never be okay, I will never be through with this...Never. I love my baby forever with every piece of who I am and who I will become. I certainly am not the same person I was a month ago. I don't even remember who that was. I am empty shell right now. I wish someone could save me. I wish I could save myself, I wish I could save my daughter. I am incredibly sad.


  1. Renel, thank you for sharing your story, Camille's story. My heart aches for you and the pain you are going through. I am holding Camille and you in my heart today.

  2. I'm so sorry you lost your daughter. There are no comforting words. Just know someone in MS is praying for you right now.

    -another babyloss mom

  3. Sending love to you. I am so sorry for your loss.
    ~Aimee (another babyloss mama)

  4. Renel, thank you for sharing right where you are. It is so hard, so complicated explaining it all to a toddler. And yet sometimes it helped me process it to talk to my little girl. Easy concepts. "Something happened. The baby died. We don't know what. We still love her like she lived." I am just so sorry. So sorry. And as we say here, so sorry to meet you this way, but glad to meet you. With love, Angie

  5. Thank you fellow mamas for you kind words and support. It means the WORLD to me!

  6. Renel your story is so painfully familiar. It simply breaks my heart.
    I will continue to follow your story and send you all the love and support I can. By way of warning, I wanted to let you know that if you click across to my blog right now, you will see I am currently heavily pregnant again. So if that is a trigger for you, I just want you to know so you don't have to visit.
    All my love.

  7. I am so very sorry for the loss of your precious little girl. I see a lot of my own story in yours and I am reeling right along with you. Like Sally I'll be following you along, sending lots of love your way.

  8. I wanted to thank you for your comment on my blog and also say that I am just so incredibly sorry for your loss. All of the things you mentioned in this post I have felt at one time or another, and 8 months out, still feel. It is just completely mind-blowing to carry a baby so far and lose them so close to when you were planning on taking them home. The grief ride is a rough one, and I have to say that I also thought it could never be worse...And then it got worse. I just want you to know that if you start feeling worse, it is normal, as the shock wears off...For me it was around 3 or 4 months that it really wore off and then I felt I was losing my mind. But the good news is while it gets worse, it also gets better...And there is hope for the future, for sure. Sending you hugs and hoping you find comfort and friendship through the babyloss blog community, as I have. xo ~Lindsay

  9. I came across your blog and just wanted to tell you how horribly sorry I am that your daughter died. I have no words to take your pain away, but know that you're not alone in this. I wish much peace for you.

  10. I just stumbled across your blog and read all of your entries. We don't know each other, but I am so sorry for the loss of your sweet little girl.

  11. Renel,

    I'm reading your story for the first time and I feel so sick about your loss. Camille is a beautiful name.

    Your story is so familiar. Margot died on March 24, 2011, at 38 weeks. Our first child Stella was twenty-five months when she died. And it is completely gut wrenching, something all of us babyloss parents can identify with.

    Anyway, in case you might want a copy, I wanted to let you know that I added a line from this post and Camille's name to the Right Where I Am Project piece I created several months back. You can see the piece on my blog: http://www.jackatrandom.com/2011/07/right-where-i-am-project-141471-words.html

    That was the older version. If you want the updated piece, feel free to send me an email at joshjackson.la AT gmail

    Lots of love to you guys from LA,


  12. Renal,

    Your story is so similar to mine. I have two kids at home also that I am trying to keep living for. I lost my son at 38 weeks July 13th 2011. When I hit the month mark, I could not believe that I had cried everyday for that long. I had no clue that a body could hold that much sorrow.

    I am sorry for your loss. I am sorry that we are now both members of this club. I am sorry that the one place we can find comfort is in this cyber world of Mommies of babies no longer with us. I am most of all sorry, that our babies had to go before they got to grow up before our eyes.

    One thing that I am not sorry for is that I found women like you that are willing to share their story and bring some comfort to those who are here also. Just know that so many of us are walking with you on this journey and together I really do think we can help eachother to find the strength to make it another day.


  13. Renel,

    I just clicked over to your blog (can't remember from where!) I wanted to say hi and thank you for sharing your and Camille's story. My daughter was stillborn on May 5th at 33 weeks. I'm going to read some more of your story...

  14. I tried to post on all the "Right Where I am" posts. I am sorry I missed yours - especially as you wrote when Camille's birth and death were so very, very new to you. I am so sorry she died and I wanted to say that I understand the difficult of parenting whilst grieving. It helps but it is so. darn. hard too.

  15. I've been reading from the last post to this first one... Ofcourse I'm so sorry for your daughter, you and your family... I have never thought about the fact that you DO need to people say they're sorry instead of to be silent and shy (maybe even if they aren't, but who wouldn't be)... that was a real discovery to me (about some other losses and tragedies also) and thank you for that :) I'll most certainly be even more attentive about showing and telling my feelings to those who need it...

  16. Dear Renel,

    I am starting to read your blog from the beginning. I feel privileged to have found you here. I hear you. I sense the anguish you have experienced. It jumps from the page and it takes my breath away. Your feelings of disbelief, guilt, overwhelming heaviness and sorrow, and the desperate wish for this to have happened to somebody else, ANYBODY else, have been my feelings, too. Every one of them. Every morning, 7 months on from the death of my baby, I still wake up with the horrible realisation you mention, 'my baby is still dead'. Thank you for having me here. I am so sorry that Camille is gone. I'm so very sorry.


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