tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20952782096472001242024-03-13T19:56:33.548-07:0038 weeks and countingRenelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.comBlogger87125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-8770466208559041112013-03-31T19:43:00.000-07:002013-03-31T19:47:13.383-07:00Things Were Going Well Until They Weren'tSomething happened.<br />
It isn't good.<br />
In fact it's very bad.<br />
<br />
The truth is that I usually cry about 5 out of 7 days a week because I miss Camille...but now I don't have time for my grief for Camille because I need to do research and find answers and find hope for Harlow.<br />
<br />
She has been amazing, growing and learning. She is 7 months young today...my little chicklette is the bright sunny spot in my days. She screeches and sits up, she can finally roll over in both directions but just barely. She is the most calm, congenial, mellow little girl. She is so soft and bald and super squishy. <br />
<br />
We started on food around 6 months. Rice cereal, banana, butternut squash avocado. A couple weekends ago I gave her some rice cereal mixed with breast milk, about 3 hours later she started vomiting profusly, she was pale, lethargic and than the next day she was her usual self. I thought my breast milk had gone bad even though it was only 4 days old. It didn't taste bad...but I figured it must be that. Than a week later I gave her some rice cereal again with freshly expressed breast milk, 3 hours later the same progession of events... I knew she was allergic to rice cereal...but what baby is allergic to rice cereal? I called in to the on call service for my pediatrician...I told the nurse everything I had researched...We got a diagnosis on the following Tuesday after a lot of research on my part...She has FPIES (Food Protein Induced Entercolitis Syndrome). It is a very serious food allergy. It is cell mediated which means she doesn't get a rash or anaphylaxis. Her intestines sees food proteins as foreign.<br />
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She is fine unless she eats a trigger food. The problem is there is no set pattern, every child is different and we won't know what food she is allergic to until we feed it to her. It's like rush and roulette with food. It may not be the first time I give her the food, it may be the 5th or the 14th. She is already allergic to rice and so all grains should be avoided. If a baby is allergic to rice, they are most likely allergic to soy and milk and so those are to be avoided. We will have to trial food for up to 3 weeks to know if it is a safe food for her. Our family has no allergies so I don't know where this came from. I was allergic to wheat when I was little and grew out of it. The good news?? she MIGHT grow out of it in 3-4 years. I have to hold on to that hope. I am scared about the potential ER visits because of one bite of food, or an accidental ingestion of a piece of cracker....<br />
<br />
It is a rare disease, like 1 in 100,000 babies. I don't know how I keep drawing this shit luck number. I can not begin to tell you how scared I am, how overwhelmed I am. I have had a bit of a pity party but mostly I am just sad. Sad for her. I know this will drastically change our family...I am just not sure how yet. It is all so new. I know so little. I am waiting to hear back from our pediatrician about resources. I have joined forums and read information in scientific literature, I have signed up with international associations and read blogs. I am trying to educate myself. I have stopped giving her food. Strictly breast feeding and wondering when I should start on that first scary bite by bite process. Should I strictly breast feed until Harlow is 1 or should I start trialing food sooner. I know she won't pass all the trials and at some point she will need more food than my breastmilk can provide. <br />
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I have aniexty and stress, I am right back in the throws grief and why me, her, us. I feel almost paralyzed by my fear. What I need to do is find my hope again. I hope she will outgrow this, I hope her path will be easier than harder. I hope we find foods she is not allergic too. I love her with all of my heart. My rainbow baby. My love.<br />
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<br />
Here is some information about the disorder: <br />
<a href="http://iaffpe.org/">International Association for Food Protein Entercolitis</a><br />
<a href="http://fpiesfoundation.org/">FPIES foundation</a><br />
<a href="http://www.expert-reviews.com/doi/pdf/10.1586/eci.11.13">Expert Reviews Article</a>Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-27276133178558459442013-02-16T13:13:00.001-08:002013-02-16T13:45:33.178-08:00What A Difference A Month Can MakeI was on a walk this morning with just the small baby. I was thinking to myself... Who am I anymore? I really don't know. I have lost all concept of who I am currently. I can tell you very clearly who I used to be or who I have been in the past...but now I am only a mother. <br />
<br />
I lost so much with Camille's death, Many of the things I loved left too. <br />
I could list them: Athlete, reader, chef, driven career woman....I am non of those things....I am interested in them but non of them define me anymore. My main focus is keeping my children alive which is no small task when viewed from the eyes of those who have failed at that job. <br />
<br />
I did cry while I walked because I don't even know if it is a choice...or if these things are gone like my daughter is...not by choice. <br />
<br />
It is hard bumbling through life, so unlike "me" whoever that is. I liked having an "identity" or being so "_______" <br />
a statement like "that is so Renel" <br />
<br />
<em>I</em> can't even do that and I live in my skin. I accidentally made a peanut butter and jam sandwich the other day and found it the next day inside the bag of bread....fucking hell, I know I am functioning on less sleep, working, not blogging and not going to therapy....those combine into a morning walk with tears for sure. Sometimes I try and test myself to see where I stand... How am I without a month of therapy, a month of not blogging. Well not great. I need them both but I have little time with work and babies and realistically the lack of sleep is very dysfunctional. <br />
<br />
I am trying to lose weight so I can regain some semblance of self...will I find who I was or a whole new me? I kind of wonder...will it be an epiphany or will I wake up someday living a completely different life and wonder how I got there. Nothing seems particularly conscious and that feeling is not a good one. Sometimes autopilot is necessary but I wish I had more direction.<br />
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Sleep...I need a lot of it and am getting very little. I think to myself: I put a sandwich back into the bag with bread and I am working on people's broken hurt bodies at work....EEEEGADS! the lack of sleep is affecting my relationship with D. Short fused and short on patience. No one else can need me right now. I have nothing to give anyone. I am all used up. I try and remind myself that this is short lived. I will get more sleep soon. I never take it out on the baby. I know better, so everyone else gets the shrapnel of fatigue and exhaustion. <br />
<br />
I remind myself: <br />
We loved each other.<br />
We loved each other so much that we had Kai.<br />
We loved Kai so much we had Camille.<br />
We loved Camille so much we had Harlow.<br />
Where will our love lead us next?<br />
<br />
Because sometimes I forget about my love for anyone but the babies. I feel like a Foo Dog standing guard over them, mouth open, teeth barred. But the fierceness does not need to be focused on all people. I have to remind myself: They are not the enemy. <br />
I have to remind myself.<br />
I am not sure who to blame anymore...I am too tired to figure it out...and so I lash out at anyone who gets within striking distance. I have no patience for you I say. My heart is still bleeding behind my love armor. <br />
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The truth is: I cried almost everyday in the month of January. I don't really know why. Maybe my return to work and taking Harlow to daycare has me all emotionally taught. Trying to find the balance between working a job I love and being away from my baby....it makes me want to vomit. I hate working even though I like being there....I hate being away from her. I trust no-one. No matter if Harlow is in good hands, they are not mine. I have the best of both worlds. I have a great job with a fabulous schedule, I make good money, Harlow is up the street. UGH I just want to be home to have her nap on my chest. <br />
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Kai turned 4 years old last week. He is giving me a run for my money. Smart kids do this. He doesn't throw fits, he will rationally discuss with me the reasons for his disobedience or bad choices. It is exhausting. He is brilliant and funny, loving and sweet and stubborn, obstinate and loquacious with words. I know his vocabulary stems from me. He can talk you into the ground. I tune out. I feel guilt for wanting just a little quiet. I love him. He is so grown comparatively to the not quite 2.5 year old that carried my heart on his shoulders when Camille died. He is mine and not mine at all. I remind him that I grew him. He loves to hear stories of things I did with him while he was in my belly...like a far away adventure novel. He knows 50 site words and loves to read what he can. He isn't even in preschool. He has a kind heart that oozes out onto our meditation floor. He says he has 2 sisters and that he loves them both and it makes me love him even more... and when I see him giving his sister kisses and parroting in a high pitched voice what he hears me say to her, or to watch Harlow shriek with laughter because her brother is just SO funny... my heart swells with love for him. <br />
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So this past month we got the plague and recovered, I went back to work and put Harlow in daycare, Kai turned 4 and I have loved bigger and missed more. It seems a lot for a month. Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-50552170344635449212013-01-20T00:07:00.003-08:002013-01-20T00:07:51.201-08:00The Profound Things We SeeHave you seen the movie "The Words" with Bradley Coo.per? I'd been wanting to see it ever since it came out, but I never go to the movies. No one told me that someone's baby dies in the movie. It isn't the main theme but it is an essential component. How is a baby's death anything ever but an essential component? You see, the main character pretends to write a novel that he found. The novel was written by a man after his daughter dies. At one point Bradley Coo.per asks the man who is now old....what happened ie. to writing, to his marriage, to him etc... the old man replies "life happened". <br />
<br />
I am watching a movie about a family inextricably broken by the death of their child. They are so shattered that their marriage falls apart. The old man says he had always imagined his wife being desperate and broken after their split but than he recalls accidentally seeing her several years after they separated, he was on a train and she on the platform. She was with another man and they had a child. He said she actually looked happy. <br />
<br />
She had her rainbow baby and the man had never been able to move on, or rather, forward. I don't think either one of them was unscathed...she just found a way to try and find happiness in a way he never really could. He spoke of finding a sort of peace. This is something I haven't come to. I think it is much too early in my process. I'm too close to Camille's death. I am still broken, wondering, floundering, flailing, angry, sad, missing.<br />
<br />
This was a really good movie. I actually really enjoyed it. It is strange to watch something like your life play out before you on the screen. But here's the thing....It's only a good story when you're watching it on film or reading it as fiction, not when it is your own tragedy, unfolding before you with no ability to change the words or know the outcome beyond what has already played out. The long nights staring out into the night time sky, the stars that no longer hold the luster they once did. The days spent wondering of the other path, the one more often traveled it seems by almost everyone but you. The path that leads to complete families and no dead children. The pleasentville neighbors and their hidden demons that couldn't hold a candle to your pain. The sidelong glances at the families who have the right number and matching genders of the children you gave birth to but are not represented by the number of bagels ordered at the cafe.<br />
<br />
Camille is not my tragedy, her death was. <br />
"Life happened"<br />
Death happened<br />
and my life kept going. <br />
(and so besides the movie details that don't match up to mine exactly)<br />
I find myself on that train station platform<br />
with my husband, son and my rainbow baby girl. <br />
My past can not be changed or rewritten. <br />
I can only watch it, like the train, moving father away from me. <br />
I hope for happiness<br />
maybe someday... a measure of peace<br />
but I know the missing will never go away. Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-82774878731214783432013-01-04T22:10:00.000-08:002013-01-04T22:10:07.990-08:00My Peaceful Place<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last year on New Years Eve day and New Years day we were outside, We also conceived Harlow. <br />
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What a difference 1 year makes....A whole baby....living and everything. </div>
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This year we were in Santa Cruz and once again we were outside. I think it is a good way to end and start a year, being in a space and place that makes your soul feel more at peace. We went to the beach and although it was slightly chilly, it was beautiful, radiant, clear, fresh and it felt really good. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A beautiful winter day at the beach</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Boy</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-krJBsO-m45Q/UOe89rKOXII/AAAAAAAAAV8/LT3-R6PfYYE/s320/babies%2Bbeach.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All my babies together...if only in a photo </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camille would have turned 1.5 on the 30th of December. I can imagine her walking around on the beach all blond and tiny and I just miss her so much. 18 months of missing...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5LU2U4uro_s/UOe9MLPitAI/AAAAAAAAAWI/CmAiwfS1WHg/s320/Harlow%2B4%2Bmonths.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harlow turned 4 months on the December 31st. here she is at midnight!</td></tr>
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The next day we went to Fall Creek state park. I grew up on Fall Creek road, yeah really.... with a creek and redwoods in my back yard, a horse pasture across the street and the street dead ended at the state park! WOW! I spent my entire childhood running around those woods. Ferns, moss and water, mushrooms, redwoods, thick dark soil, leaves and that woody smell of all things natural. <br />
<br />
I strapped Harlow onto me and our family trekked into the very chilly woods. The overgrowth of forest makes for very cold winter conditions, wet and slippery. I can not tell you the joy that fills my heart when I get to see Kai exploring the woods I grew up in. Jumping and climbing, finding sticks and toadstools. This is my peaceful place. I am not religious but in the woods and nature is where I feel my most spiritual. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Isn't this just beautiful</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">glorious</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">leaf skeleton</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_Lk3fp8iLHw/UOdyEUDDkEI/AAAAAAAAAUA/c9doRN5_SdU/s400/fallcreek%2B7.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and two of my babies</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sDmhZi029Mg/UOdxmWUXUFI/AAAAAAAAATc/0gd-qh1yPPI/s400/fallcreek%2B4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When I hold my breath under water, I walk across this log in my mind. <br />
Holding my breath is the ONLY thing I can beat Daryl at... <br />
2 min and 52 seconds is my record. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The boys, hands in pockets...It was really cold.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Magical</td></tr>
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There is a poem that my friend has on her wall. Now it resonates with me on a whole new level. I read it everyday, multiple times a day. This poem fits my state of mind and brings me to a place of calm. <br />
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<strong>The Peace of Wild Things</strong></div>
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When despair for the world grows in me</div>
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and I wake in the night at the least sound</div>
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in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,</div>
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I go and lie down where the wood drake</div>
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rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.</div>
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I come into the peace of wild things</div>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
who do not tax their lives with forethought </div>
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of grief. I come into the presence of still water.</div>
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And I feel above me the day-blind stars</div>
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waiting with their light. For a time</div>
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I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.</div>
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-Wendell Berry</div>
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<br /></div>
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The forethought of grief....oh man. I have such a hard time with this. The worry of what if... I worried about death of those I loved before Camille died, now it is a haunting that I have to consciously stop thoughts about. To be in a peaceful place where I feel calm and relaxed is just what my soul needs. I have to go to these places in my mind since I can't be there physically all the time. <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VlJ9UQ3YqEA/UOdw__WoiZI/AAAAAAAAAS4/UbIWHXdCEHY/s1600/fallcreek%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-q6QbyrAfIn0/UOdyXqPhYII/AAAAAAAAAUY/cfI-hih_hRc/s400/Hike%2B2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="300" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">another day on a hike overlooking the ocean</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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2012 was filled with hope for a rainbow baby. I worked for Harlow like nothing I have ever worked for.</div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q0Hbxc2Xz0Q/UOdwcDOUUkI/AAAAAAAAASg/aenLF8veRIA/s1600/beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>I hope in 2013 to regain some fragments of who I once was....I hope for rays of sunshine to pour into my soul and help warm the cold parts of my heart. </div>
Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-27700927139790427632012-12-25T16:26:00.000-08:002012-12-25T16:36:46.895-08:00It's ChristmasIt's Christmas...Our 3rd with Kai, our second without Camille and our first with Harlow. We have done a lot of things this month to try and make the holiday special. I think part of it is actually that I am thankful for the distraction, something to take my mind off the sadness on the inside of my bubble along with all the happy and joy and merriment. <br />
It all swirls around like a snow globe: each flake a different emotion... drifting, settling, shooken and than falling again together. <br />
<br />
I was not sure what to do about the stockings. Camille doesn't have one, I didn't buy one for Harlow...I guess I felt like it would be incomplete regardless of what was hanging. I got all panicky about it close to Christmas but still 3 stockings hang there looking very incomplete. I think it is the physical representation glaringly obvious at the center of the room that makes the stocking conundrum so precarious....because who really cares about a stocking right? I didn't hang them last year and I didn't hang them this year...Daryl did. So I figure ~like a cat behind a curtain with my tail and feet sticking out, if I can't see you, you can't see me...haha. If I just do nothing about the stockings they will just go away. My action was in-action. Way to avoid huh?<br />
<br />
I wish I was buying presents for two little girls, but I am not. <br />
I wish I was hugging three children, but I am not. <br />
I walk past Camille's photograph <br />
I stop and walk back. <br />
The little votive candle is flickering <br />
but seems kind of dim in the day time. <br />
The two little plastic poinsettias sit at the base of her ashes. <br />
The sand tree from Australia is printed smaller than I wanted unframed near the back of the shelf. I got the photo too late to print and frame it the way I had hoped<br />
...I guess there is next year. <br />
She will still be dead<br />
Same photo, same ashes, same ache and longing. <br />
I am holding Harlow, she is trying to fall asleep, I rock back and forth and look at my other daughter who I can not hold. <br />
Tears and that throaty feeling well up. <br />
I say to her "I love you, I have not forgotten you. I wish you were here, I am so sorry" <br />
The apology always seems to be necessary<br />
I don't know if it is a statement of missing or a request for forgiveness<br />
...probably both. <br />
It seems odd for us to be all alive and her to be dead. <br />
It still surprises me that I have a dead child. <br />
It is so unfair...especially to her. She is missing out on her whole life.<br />
<br />
There is a lot of joy in the house today. Kai said it was "present land". He is thrilled with all the gifts and I am pretty sure he is hooked on the holiday and the elves and Santa. I smile at him. I love that he can believe in fantasy. Just as he can believe that a mouse may ride a motorcycle. It is magical and fleeting. I enjoy watching his fascination and pure aliveness. We did this last year too, but it was less enjoyable because it was so close to Camille's death.<br />
<br />
This year is better because of Harlow, because of time, because grief changes. <br />
<br />
BUT...<br />
<br />
I miss her no less, I long for her no less.<br />
I don't want to bring sadness to a happy day so I go upstairs and nurse the baby and think of my other baby who I never got to nurse. I cry a little for her and read some other blogs...try to connect to others who have lost and are missing like I am today. <br />
Today is a good day. I am thankful for a lot, especially my husband and two living children.<br />
Sending love, especially if you are missing too. Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-10519273834882702702012-12-21T16:52:00.001-08:002012-12-21T16:52:12.418-08:00The Dog MovieMy husband is the vice pricipal of an elementary school. He sometimes brings home movies the librarian has set aside and thinks Kai may like. The other day I saw the movie he brought home. I start laughing and totally making fun of it. There is a Big O cheesey grinning mug of Richard Gere and a fluffy dog on the front. I was thinking...Oh brother a dog movie that I am sure is just filled with horrid cliches of joy about as fluffy as the dog. The movie is called <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Hachi-Dogs-Tale-Richard-Gere/dp/B0031RAOVY/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1353036307&sr=8-1&keywords=hachi+a+dog%27s+tale">Hachi a dogs tale</a>. It is based on a true story of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hachik%C5%8D">Hachiko</a> a dog who lived in Japan. <br />
<br />
What I didn't know is that this movie is about grief. I should also tell you that I totally cried watching this movie. R.G. finds the dog at the train station as a puppy and they fall mad passionately in dog love and are BFFs. You kind of watch them grow together in fast motion. The dog walks R.G. to the train station each morning and than at the end of the day goes and waits for him to get off the train. It really is very sweet what an amazing connection the two share. I am not ruining the movie by telling you that Richard Gere dies. He is a professor and has a heart attack while at school. Hachi goes to the train station to wait for his dad who never gets off the train. It is absolutely heartbreaking to watch as the dog just doesn't understand. All the locals tell Hachi that he can go home. The wife moves and R.G's daughter tries to take Hachi to her home but he runs away. The dog goes to the station EVERY DAY to wait for his dad. He goes to the station everyday for <strong><em>10 YEARS</em></strong> waiting for him to come home. The dog can not get over the loss of his father. <br />
<br />
I was sitting there on the couch crying because in some ways I feel like Hachi, I will mourn everyday for the rest of my days. I stand vigil for my daughter, the one who will never come home. I wait paitiently in my heart for Camille, but she isn't getting off the train. Everyone says to go home, she's not coming, but people don't understand that we keen over the grave of our children. We stand vigil for them in our hearts, we remember when everyone else has moved on. The world keeps going. Although I eat and sleep and have a life, somehow everyday I end up back at that trainstation. <br />
<br />
That is how a dog movie mucked up a perfectly good evening. I see the world through a lens of grief...When I hear quotes, poems, philosophies, stories...I hear them with ears and process them with thoughts that have been changed forever by grief. <br />
<br />
How about you?Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-25673134666258579982012-12-15T20:26:00.000-08:002012-12-15T20:26:57.200-08:00Sweet and SaltyI remember last year, around this time, I was in the darkest of despair. I still felt like I couldn't breathe. I was in a very very sad place after Camille died and I felt as though my life would never get better. I wasn't sleeping, I cried constantly. I read blogs CONSTANTLY. I felt so alone. I remember finding a post on Kate Inglis' blog <em>Sweet Salty</em>. I follow her on blogger but honestly I don't read her posts all the time...but...there was this one post <em><a href="http://www.sweetsalty.com/sweetsalty/2011/10/3/abide-with-me-the-walk-to-remember.html">Abide With Me: A Walk To Remember</a></em> that was so profound and I would read it over and over. Last month I went looking for it, searching through her archives so I could read it over and over again. At almost a year and a half since Camille's death I still find it profound and deeply moving. In light of yesterday's tragedy at the elementary school in Connecticut I hope this will be a read that will help someone's heart the way it has mine. <br />
<br />
She recently did a <a href="http://www.sweetsalty.com/sweetsalty/2012/11/2/at-tedxhalifax-creativity-bereavement-and-parallel-solitudes.html">TED talk</a> and it is also amazing and so I am giving the links here so that you can read and listen as well. <br />
<br />
Light and love to you all.Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-4096545022122717512012-11-25T16:41:00.000-08:002012-11-25T19:11:27.237-08:00Trying Too HardMy therapist gave me a book to read. She tells me at almost every visit how well I articulate my feelings which she thinks helps me cope with my grief. I joke that my verbal ability doesn't seem to be helping. She said I get a gold star and we laugh. She said "you remind me of a woman who's blog I follow and she wrote a book I think you might like to read." The authors name is Joanne Cacciatore...I said" that name sounds familiar". My therapist said "she started the MISS foundation". Okay so I borrowed the book. The book title: Dear Cheyenne. I had it in the car and kind of forgot about it. We went out today and Daryl was driving my car and so I picked the book up because it had been in my passenger seat. I think I got about 3 pages into it before I started crying. I mean CRYING. I sometimes feel like I am doing well "can't you tell by the smile on my face...I am doing really well, REALLY WELL" I can tell myself "I am doing REALLY WELL" but that really well is also very relative. How quickly the facade deteriorates with a few pages read that reach into my heart and remind me just how full of pain I am. <br />
<br />
Remember this crushing feeling? the one where you can not breathe? remember your daughter, the one who can not be forgotten with a few good days or weeks? Remember the name you mistakenly said instead of Harlow because Camille is forever present on your mind?<br />
<br />
I couldn't even keep reading, I knew my mood was immediately shot. Exchanging Daryl's sweater for a bigger size seems so ridiculous right now. I am going to write out the passage I was reading. I don't think everyone is going to run out and buy the book but I want to write it down.<br />
<br />
Page 3<br />
<em>Passages...</em><br />
<br />
<em>A pink stripe-positive, innocent unknowing</em><br />
<em>Destiny prevails</em><br />
<em>Screaming, "This shall be!"</em><br />
<em>ten lunar months</em><br />
<em>With or without her participation</em><br />
<br />
<em>She engages in the battle of denim</em><br />
<em>The expanding belly-The Victor!</em><br />
<em>tearful quest</em><br />
<em>For acceptance of herself</em><br />
<em>And elastic waistbands, instead</em><br />
<br />
<em>Danger: Nicotine. She smells it.</em><br />
<em>Looking for the source, nearby</em><br />
<em>Quickly changing seats</em><br />
<em>She drowns in primitive awareness </em><br />
<em>The role of sentinel</em><br />
<br />
<em>Tup-tup, tup-tup, tup-tup</em><br />
<em>their eyes dance to the beat</em><br />
<em>Of their unborn sister's heart</em><br />
<em>Smiles</em><br />
<em>Anticipation</em><br />
<em>Hope</em><br />
<em>Patience</em><br />
<em>Lessons esoteric</em><br />
<em>And then off to the sandbox</em><br />
<br />
<em>What is happening?</em><br />
<em>Could it be? A gesture of life</em><br />
<em>Maybe just her stomach? Must be indigestion</em><br />
<em>No! Again...the flutter of her baby.</em><br />
<em>No words. Just silence and a moment. A sacred moment. tear-beads accessorize the day.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Dancing bears and mint green lambs</em><br />
<em>Adorn the walls</em><br />
<em>The bassinet awaits to become the warm, safe place</em><br />
<em>Second only to the nest of her arms</em><br />
<em>Three weeks remain</em><br />
<em>She travels down roads of visual imagery</em><br />
<em>The sterile room</em><br />
<em>Pain, the joy...the incredible moment of birth</em><br />
<em>Her heart beats, races without ease</em><br />
<em>Deleting calender days in her mind</em><br />
<em>But serenity steps in the door, and brings a morsel of patience along</em><br />
<br />
<em>Barely re-transitioned </em><br />
<em>To the repose of slumber</em><br />
<em>Her only escape from the suffering</em><br />
<em>2:00 a.m. six pillows and bathroom run three</em><br />
<em>Tiredness creeps in </em><br />
<em>Stolen reserves</em><br />
<em>Her ankle bones hiding beneath the swollen tissue</em><br />
<em>Sacrifice of self. trapped in this foreign body. Vulnerable. Frightened.</em><br />
<em>Naked and aching</em><br />
<em>The journey has taken its toll</em><br />
<br />
<em>Two more days</em><br />
<em>An eternity, at least</em><br />
<em>She gently strokes her abdomen unaware</em><br />
<em>As their hands meet with holy intimacy-</em><br />
<em>She knows her mother. Better than anyone. they are one.</em><br />
<em>Love, only love, wakes her slumber</em><br />
<br />
<em>Morning saunter is slow</em><br />
<em>But this day will be different</em><br />
<em>She falls to her knees as if to pray</em><br />
<em>A pain, indescribable</em><br />
<em>Her body convulses</em><br />
<em>"Oh my God!" </em><br />
<em>Too fast....it is all too fast.</em><br />
<em>Rushing, rushing...get the doctor</em><br />
<em>"she is term, contractions every minute....she'll be going soon!"</em><br />
<em>Excited, yes, but scared too! It is happening so fast.</em><br />
<em>Culmination of timeless time will soon end. Her laborious months</em><br />
<em>Finally yielding the reward</em><br />
<br />
<em>"It was all worth it," she thinks silently</em><br />
<br />
<em>She smiles through the pain, with renewed assurance that it will all be over soon</em><br />
<em>A hodgepodge of clinicians, in and out</em><br />
<em>Unrecognizable faces sharing in the moment</em><br />
<em>Schooled by choice to be surrounded with new life</em><br />
<em>With brazen confidence the man who will guide</em><br />
<em>the passage from the womb's safety meets her glance</em><br />
<em>Strapping charcoal bands, cold, tight</em><br />
<em>Around the infants swollen domicile</em><br />
<br />
<em>Sudden change. Faces transform. Silence-</em><br />
<em>Their smiles break like glass </em><br />
<em>Searing through the faces of the white costumed staff</em><br />
<em>Glances unfamiliar to her</em><br />
<em>Once again, her body not her own</em><br />
<br />
<em>"What is happening?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>Silence-</em><br />
<br />
<em>they team up. Together. Screaming repetitions of nothingness</em><br />
<em>"What is happening!?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>Their secret code fractures her spirit.</em><br />
<em>Fear begins to ravage every cell in her body</em><br />
<br />
<em>His heart is callused like a laborer's hands </em><br />
<em>the synopsis, detached</em><br />
<em>"Your baby is dead."</em><br />
<em> "Your baby is dead."</em><br />
<em> "Your baby is dead."</em><br />
<em> "Your baby is dead."</em><br />
<em>"Your baby is dead." (Please, please turn the volume down.)</em><br />
<br />
<em>Contractions every thirty seconds</em><br />
<em>No time to think. No La Maze. Too much pain.</em><br />
<em>Unimaginable pain</em><br />
<em>Physical. Spiritual. Mental. Emotional.</em><br />
<em>"What? No. No. No. No. NO!"</em><br />
<em>She tries to get up from the bed</em><br />
<br />
<em>They hold her down, like a prisoner</em><br />
<em>What crime has she committed?</em><br />
<br />
<em>"No. I cannot do this. I want her to stay within me. Safe and warm...</em><br />
<em>No. I don not want to have my baby now! Let me go home. Lies, all lies!"</em><br />
<br />
<em>She fights in hateful protest</em><br />
<em>But the contractions bound her, and kick her, </em><br />
<em>And punish her.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Corrosive sweat</em><br />
<em>Rains like fire from her temples</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Push, push, push."</em><br />
<em>She can feel her child being born.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Head, elbows, chest. Finally her feet emerge</em><br />
<em>From her Judas body</em><br />
<em>Someone puts the camera on slow motion.</em><br />
<em>Frame by frame, outside herself she watches</em><br />
<br />
<em>Eyes clenched tight</em><br />
<br />
<em>Awaiting, baited breath.</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Cry, baby. Cry for mommy," she pleads helplessly</em><br />
<br />
<em>Negotiations. What can I give? What sacrifice? My life? Money? Time? </em><br />
<em>She is gone.</em><br />
<br />
<em>"What is happening? I don not understand. PLEASE take me! Take me!" she implores</em><br />
<em>No one throws her the life jacket. She drowns in agony, and</em><br />
<em>Dresses her lifeless baby in bear pajamas that match her room</em><br />
<em>The pajamas say, "I love mommy" all over</em><br />
<em>But mommy has failed. Mommy couldn't save you.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Pink, white, and blue are the choices</em><br />
<em>Not for lacy dresses but for caskets- they ask her to choose. "Choose? A casket?"</em><br />
<em>Looking around, planning her escape</em><br />
<em>For there are too many tiny caskets in the room closing in</em><br />
<em>She cannot see, as the tears asphyxiate her</em><br />
<em>Falling to the cold tile</em><br />
<em>"This cannot be, this cannot be."</em><br />
<br />
<em>The second hand is in a hurry today.</em><br />
<em>She begs it to stop, but the time has come.</em><br />
<em>Reluctantly she places her into the pastel casket.</em><br />
<em>Carefully, as she bends over to kiss this child of Heaven</em><br />
<br />
<em>Milk burns at her breast in disapproval</em><br />
<em>Her body doesn't understand</em><br />
<em>Her body must feed her, hold her, nurture her</em><br />
<em>A visceral need unfulfilled</em><br />
<br />
<em>Beautiful- eight pounds, dark curly hair, porcelain baby</em><br />
<em>She closes the casket cover</em><br />
<em>And falls down in fetal position</em><br />
<em>One being. She remembers when they were one-</em><br />
<em>A loss so physical, so permanent</em><br />
<br />
<em>Now death has transplanted her organs with despair</em><br />
<em>Today, she will bury her precious child.</em><br />
<em>Cathedral flowers tied with ribbons of sorrow</em><br />
<em>Black limousines stand at attention</em><br />
<em>Her anesthetized consciousness fades</em><br />
<em>In and out, as the sun dances</em><br />
<em>Between summer clouds</em><br />
<br />
<em>And from the earth that swallows her child</em><br />
<em>She begs acquittal</em><br />
<br />
<em>Stepping in to assume the role her body once played so well</em><br />
<em>Her mind becomes the stranger now</em><br />
<em>Evolution, bursting, dragging her through the muddy waters of grief</em><br />
<em>Swallowing the poison,</em><br />
<em>Blinding her, confusing her</em><br />
<br />
<em>Senseless propaganda in her ears</em><br />
<em>Stinging reminders around every corner </em><br />
<em>Disinterring the immortal hours...</em><br />
<em>Her body bleeds defiantly, still,</em><br />
<em>And her spirit lay mortally wounded</em><br />
<em>Amongst the shadows</em><br />
<em>Curled up</em><br />
<em>On the dark closet floor</em><br />
<em>Where her elastic-waisted garments hanged,</em><br />
<em>Anointed with French vanilla</em><br />
<br />
<em>And where no one witnessed </em><br />
<em>As she invited Death to come.</em><br />
<em>But He declined her offer</em><br />
<em>Another time, perhaps?</em><br />
<em>He leaves her in the carnage.</em><br />
<br />
<em>Like Gretel, looking for crumbs of hope </em><br />
<em>To guide her through the forest,</em><br />
<em>Through the passages of the deepest torment she will ever know</em><br />
<em>Not one in the millions</em><br />
<em>Of peoples, languages or philosophies</em><br />
<em>Can begin to speak the truth of <br />The torment of a mother </em><br />
<em>Whose child has been ripped, without mercy</em><br />
<em>From her burning arms</em><br />
<br />
<em>2,190 days </em><br />
<em>Six phantom years but love does not decompose as flesh</em><br />
<em>Memories try to sneak away when she is not looking,</em><br />
<em>The alarm sounds and quickly she brings them home</em><br />
<em>Edges of the photographs are time-faded and worn from too much handling</em><br />
<br />
<em>So she juxtaposes scenes from two worlds</em><br />
<em>And escapes to the voices of a thousand ghosts</em><br />
<br />
<em>Yet, in the underground passages of her mind</em><br />
<em>Through the only pardon from darkness</em><br />
<em>Shines the light of hope</em><br />
<em>And the gifts of angels, immortal</em><br />
<br />
<em>Now she walks the forest thick with grief </em><br />
<em>Leaving crumbs for the others</em><br />
<em>To discover the passage to peace and courage</em><br />
<em>To discover and to help change the world</em><br />
<em>Destiny prevails and whispers, "This shall be"</em><br />
<br />
And so this is why I couldn't stop crying....I didn't need to read this. I lived it. EVERY SINGLE WORD. I lived it. The memories try to escape, but how quickly I regain them. A snippet here. A tidbit there. And Bam! I am back to June 30th 2011 and every grief enveloped day since. I haven't read any more of this book. The book could have been simply those several pages. the end. It would have been enough. My heart aches for Joanne, my dear friend whom I have never met...because I know too well the path she travels and the forever ache in her heart. <br />
<br />
As the holidays are upon us, I realize that with all the merriment, and present buying, the decorations and preparations. I am trying too hard. Trying hard to make up for last year. But there is no make-up and the trying is exhausting. It isn't fake, it's just somewhat contrived. If I force it, it must be. If I am happy, it must be. If things are joyful, I must be. But it doesn't work like that. my heart can not be so easily tricked. But the tricky lies in the fact that happy, and joy form the padded walls that protect the sweet memory of Camille. I don't know how the joy lives so intimately with the sadness but they do seem to be the best of friends. And so I will kiss my children and breathe in their pure aliveness, and will wrap my arms around them and be filled to capacity with love. The love I have for Camille pushes out against the aliveness of the others and I feel as though I cannot possibly contain any more. Take a deep breath. In and out like the sun meditation. As the breath is taken in, the light from the sun in my chest expands. With each breath the light fills up more and more of the body until its radiance shines through us in all directions. That is the meditation I will do tonight. But right now oh how the pain hurts. Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-73111389152023940972012-11-21T20:15:00.002-08:002012-11-22T15:12:25.965-08:00The Thank You Letter<br />
I have a lot to be grateful for. I know many times I have thought that everything good in my life was not <em>good enough</em> without my daughter here and than I would chastise myself thinking that it <em>should</em> be good enough. It is difficult to feel thankful for anything surrounding the death of my daughter because of how completely tragic it is. <br />
<br />
My neighbor's daughter was my postpartum nurse after Camille died. I knew her, I would see the mother and daughter walking and we would talk. My nurse went to elementary school with my husband's older brother. Small world. She was the one who finally took Camille from Daryl and I. The last time I got to kiss my daughter, she was there. I am thankful that I knew the woman who took my daughter away. I am glad my daughter was taken by someone who would love and respect her. She was not with a stranger. I never wrote her a thank you letter. I wrote about 1000 of them in my head but I would completely block when I would try and physically write one. How do I say "I am thankful" for anything surrounding my daughter's death? It makes me cry just to think of it. <br />
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Well this nurse was also my postpartum nurse with Harlow. How lucky! I felt like I wanted to thank her for being respectful of Camille's memory while helping me welcome Harlow into the world. Tricky, very tricky. I knew she liked marshmallows and so I made a bunch of fancy marshmallows dipped in chocolate and various sprinkles. I made rice crispy treats and wrapped up little cute baggies of marshmallows. I put them in a pretty box that had a beautiful design on it including butterflies and it said <em>wish hope dream</em>. I knew I had to write a letter but I just kept procrastinating...but the treats were going to get stale- ha. So I texted her and asked if she was going to be around and she was at work but said she would pick up what I had for her from her mom's house. I knew I was stuck now and had to write that dang letter. So I grabbed some stationary and a pen and sat down. I hand wrote a 2 page letter telling her how I felt about Camille's death and her compassion, about her wheeling me out of the hospital with empty arms, about my broken heart and journey of grief. I wrote of my gratefulness for her love and how she held my hand and my heart. I wrote of my appreciation of her caring for me with Harlow and how difficult it was for me. No rewrites, no spell checks. I read the letter once, I wish I had made a copy so I could reread it but I forgot because I was sobbing as I wrote the letter. I put it in the pretty box and walked it down to her mom's house. She texted me later that night saying how grateful <i>she </i>was to be a part of our lives, how she will remember Camille's beautiful face for the rest of her life and how grateful she was to be able to help me and our family through the darkest time in our life and how glad she was that she got to be there to help us with both Camille and Harlow's birth. <br />
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I am thankful that I had the courage to write that letter, that I got to finally say what I had been wanting to say for a very long time, that her kindness and compassion did not go unacknowledged. Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-80619936807514367912012-11-03T22:46:00.002-07:002012-11-03T23:00:12.501-07:00Magical<div style="text-align: center;">
It was one of those moments</div>
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the kind of moments so filled with magic and joy that you can feel yourself experiencing it. </div>
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You know while it is happening that it is special </div>
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that your hippocampus is on overload with the instantaneous ignition, </div>
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of a bright and fiery memory that will be fixed in your mind for the rest of you life. </div>
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Through the process of pregnancy, the death of Camille, pregnancy with Harlow and than the first couple months of Harlow's life...there are recurrent thoughts...One of them is how much I wanted to grow my family, how much I know I will love all of my children completely. Another thought which I know is common among second or third time mothers (even mothers who's first child died) is the worry about the love that will be taken away from the first child , the one who taught you what true love really is, when another child is brought into the family. I was worried I would not be able to love another child as much as I love Kai, but I do. I was worried, while deeply grieving, about the way it would affect him. I worried that I was damaging him by being so damaged. I worried that I was not able to shelter his heart, now I worry that I won't be able to shelter two hearts...because mothers want to do this. I have shed tears in the past couple months about guilt over not being able to give him the attention that an only child is accustom to receiving. He requests to cuddle and I have to say "please wait, I have to finish nursing Harlow, burping Harlow, changing Harlow". I know it is not a bad thing for a child to develop more independence and what time I have to split up between care for my children will hopefully be made up in companionship of a sibling. </div>
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I have been thinking of ways I could retain, sustain, build my relationship with my son. Ever since Kai was a tiny baby we have read to him, he has his own shelf completely packed with books. In our library downstairs he has his own shelves. We read to him throughout the day, after bath every night and before bed. We started with board books, and then short stories, we have moved on to more involved short stories. Kai is 3.5, he says things like "well actually" and "I suppose", his vocabulary is extensive and that may be because he is exceptional or because we talk to him like a person and not a baby, or because we read a lot of books...maybe it is a combination of all of these things. </div>
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One of my favorite childhood memories is sitting on the couch with my older brother and my mother while she read novels to us . She read us Black Beauty, Sea Star, Misty of Chincoteague. She read The Boxcar children and Peter Hale. I remember my mothers voice and her inflections, feeling warm and safe, loved and taken to another place. I loved the evenings on the couch.... and so the other day I decided to start reading him chapter books. I wasn't sure if he was old enough or his attention span long enough, but I thought that maybe this would be the way I could spend some special time with Kai, help ease my guilt as well as be something we could both look forward to. So while I was shopping at the money suck store (Target- go in to purchase welcome mat, leave spending $100) I decided that our first chapter book would be Charlotte's Webb. I told Kai that we were going to start reading chapter books, there weren't a lot of pictures but he would like to listen to the story. He was excited and asked to start reading it when we got home. </div>
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I sat down on the couch and had him sit right next to me. Harlow was laying in my lap. I read the back of the book to him, and told him what the book was about. I read the title and then began reading the book. I started choking up and had tears in my eyes. I knew it was one of those moments that I would always remember. I knew that this was going to be an ongoing experience that he will look back upon with joy, just as I do. I read two very short chapters and said "should we read some more later" Kai said "No, keep reading" I kept reading, I kept checking in with him asking if he wanted to be done. We ended up reading 60 pages! I told him it was time to take a bath so we could make dinner but he didn't want to, he wanted to keep reading. While he was in the bath he said "mama I like reading chapter books, I was using my imagination to think of what the pictures would look like" I told him how thrilled I was that he was enjoying the book and how much I enjoyed reading to him. When he got out of the bath he was in his robe and asking for me to read again. We read more while dinner was cooking. At bedtime we read one of his usual short books. He said he was looking forward to reading some more of Charlotte's Webb tomorrow. </div>
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I will never get to have any more magical moments with Camille. I did have a few, before we ever officially met. One I specifically remember was during an ultrasound. Daryl and I were both there and she was beautiful, yawning, and then she stuck her tongue out at us. We laughed and my heart filled with joy. These moments, these magical moments...I grasp on to them with both hands and squeeze them tight. I breathe them in as deeply as I can while I close my eyes. I want to remember the details.</div>
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And so it has begun. I hope we successfully instill a love for books, imagination and knowledge in our son. I hope that this will bring us closer in a new way. I already have a list in my head of novels we will start in the next couple of weeks. I am so excited. </div>
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Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-67046359327260714512012-11-01T22:44:00.000-07:002012-11-01T22:44:50.304-07:00Halloween<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
Kai was a pirate for Halloween this year. Harlow, a parrot. I was hoping our whole family would dress up like we have in previous years but we just didn't get it together. I have never been a big fan of this holiday. I find it kinda creepy. The little kids are cute with their costumes and innocence and of course their love of candy, but the dark death side freaks me out. So last weekend when I was wondering if maybe we could get D and I into our own pirate paraphernalia we went into a Halloween store. What a HORRIBLE idea. It was a BIG store and decked out! They had HUGE displays and one of them was a giant tree with about 5 or six swings rotating around it with dead babies on the swings. There were huge signs that said baby zombie and all kinds of dead baby everything. I HAD TO GET OUT OF THERE! I cried and cried. Who would think this was a good idea? Don't people know how tragic it is to actually HAVE a dead baby? </div>
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It is not a joke, it is not a costume, it is not something funny and not something that should be put on display.</div>
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I cried off and on all day. I was so completely shocked and unexpectedly blindsided by the display. I was seriously traumatized. I ended up telling my therapist about it and she said she wanted to go and have a talk with the store.<br />
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I hate seeing fake gravestones and skeletons, I hate that people decorate their homes with ghoulish things that represent death when I have to live it everyday. I hate seeing skeletons and references to things dead. It freaks me out. What are people playing at? It just has a whole different meaning for me now. <br />
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You know because we had Kai already, and since Camille was our second child, we continued to "celebrate" holidays even in the wake of her death. Even if our smiles were fake and we dragged one foot in front of another, we did this for our living child. <br />
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This year Halloween was better than last year but it's still not my favorite and it has an extra edge of creep that I look at sideways and try to disregard. </div>
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Kai's first Halloween: Skeleton family. -Now I don't think this would be a very good costume. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downtown Santa Cruz- We look so happy.</td></tr>
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Kai's Second Halloween:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FiZki2ab3z8/UITlmH2utbI/AAAAAAAAAQA/5GLDoEuWtE8/s1600/hungry+caterpillar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-FiZki2ab3z8/UITlmH2utbI/AAAAAAAAAQA/5GLDoEuWtE8/s320/hungry+caterpillar.jpg" width="269" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Very Hungry Caterpillar and the Butterfly</td></tr>
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And than last year Halloween was 3 months after Camille died. Our whole world was upside down but we still had a 2.5 year old who wanted to dress up and get candy. We just wanted to hide and cry. So we did what many parents do. We swallow hard and look after the hearts of the small people. You know that comedian who says "you know you're a redneck if..." It is kind of a joke with us now, a year later: "you know you're grieving when a family of vegetarians dress their child as a hot dog for Halloween...Right? <br />
So... Kai was a hot dog and we were...the very sad parents of a hot dog.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The hot dog Downtown Santa Cruz- This photo really says so much to me. <br />
There doesn't look like very much happiness.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Posing with the hot dog.</td></tr>
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This year Kai was a Pirate captain and Harlow was his parrot<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1e4P77Cs0I/UJNZ7XIiLwI/AAAAAAAAARY/zfI6G1y5164/s1600/pirate.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" qea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Q1e4P77Cs0I/UJNZ7XIiLwI/AAAAAAAAARY/zfI6G1y5164/s320/pirate.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Argh!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yqBthECtwBU/UJNZ3hHQXmI/AAAAAAAAARQ/TIXABAYCTvA/s1600/parrot+butt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" qea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yqBthECtwBU/UJNZ3hHQXmI/AAAAAAAAARQ/TIXABAYCTvA/s320/parrot+butt.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I made this costume out of a onesie, boas and felt</td></tr>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7t0FJArTZc/UJNZ1GlwwFI/AAAAAAAAARI/eQZJhAPS6bc/s1600/parrot+baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qea="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Y7t0FJArTZc/UJNZ1GlwwFI/AAAAAAAAARI/eQZJhAPS6bc/s320/parrot+baby.jpg" width="320" /></a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hr_qbiikM0Y/UJNZsD0VjCI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/9V5VlPJrE8s/s1600/hugs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" qea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hr_qbiikM0Y/UJNZsD0VjCI/AAAAAAAAAQ4/9V5VlPJrE8s/s320/hugs.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was the first time Kai held Harlow</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2XU9WGy8on0/UJNZwKubpEI/AAAAAAAAARA/Qyg9K9Jw6JA/s1600/kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" qea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2XU9WGy8on0/UJNZwKubpEI/AAAAAAAAARA/Qyg9K9Jw6JA/s320/kiss.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">so much love</td></tr>
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So this year we have two babies to dress and a 3.5 year old who still thinks it is great fun. I look sideways and pretend it is fun but inside I hate Halloween.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1h2X12B35Ug/UJNZ-muRPGI/AAAAAAAAARg/l91ziXwBFdA/s1600/pumpkins+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" qea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1h2X12B35Ug/UJNZ-muRPGI/AAAAAAAAARg/l91ziXwBFdA/s320/pumpkins+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">but painting pumpkins is fun</td></tr>
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Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-24394377899573418942012-10-26T23:16:00.000-07:002012-10-27T00:15:27.082-07:00The Photographs LieTonight, after watching a couple <a href="http://stilllifewithcircles.blogspot.com/2012/10/spoken-word-blog-round-up-two.html">vlogs from Still life with Circles</a> I was very emotional. <br />
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Earlier today I was looking at Harlow's feet. I had this moment where I realized that her feet looked very much like I remembered Camille's looking. I knew I had to look at my pictures to see if I was right. After I watched the vlogs, with Camille very much on my mind, I decided to look at the photos. <br />
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It breaks my heart, my eyes become blurry with tears. My daughter is not as beautiful as I remember. Damn those photos for not being what I remember, but rather what was reality. Damn them for not making her look more alive, for not washing the dead away. No instagram filter to soften the death. <br />
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Ever since Harlow was born I tell everyone how much she looks like her brother and sister. They all have very similar characteristics...similar features. All my children have the same nose, chin, ears and feet. I call them cookie cutter kids because our genes seem to match up the same way each time. I could see them in Camille, but she was dead. <br />
Death<br />
no tone<br />
no spirit<br />
no life<br />
It changes the way she would have looked. Some sleep deprived nights I can look down at Harlow and it is like I am nursing Kai. That is how similar they look. They look so much more alike especially because of their aliveness. In my moments of sadness in the middle of the night I sometimes secretly wish that maybe just maybe Harlow and Camille are the same, that my baby didn't really die. That never happened to me. I don't want to be the women who's daughter died. I wish it hadn't happened. I want it to go away. I am not confused and I do not pretend. It is a passing flicker of a thought. When I look at those photos, Camille looks a lot like Jean, Daryl's mother, to me; mostly in her mouth. I remember being fascinated with her tongue. I kept thinking about how it should move and cry, what it would feel like sucking on my breast. A newborns tongue is so different and unique from a child or adults tongue. And so there are a lot of photos where her mouth is open because I wanted pictures of her tongue. But this just made her look more dead, mouth gapping<br />
no movement<br />
tongue still<br />
Everything...still. <br />
Her hand that should be clasping my finger, lay open and limp; perfect tiny fingers. . <br />
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But the pictures lie...My daughter was beautiful. It took me a while to see past her death and recognize her beyond the lack of life. Now that is how I choose to remember. I am so thankful for those photos but I don't really like looking at them. Memories are softened and many times our mind chooses to remember the joy more than the sorrow, but when the memory is of the death and birth of your child there is very little except sorrow and pain, anguish and loss. And so I am trying to choose to remember the beauty I saw, the photo filter my mind has created around the fading memory of her beautiful face.Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-61954878467008859642012-10-21T22:32:00.000-07:002012-10-21T22:37:17.609-07:00A Time To Remember<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For October 15th, Angel Babies puts on a "Time to Remember" with a candlelit walk and dove release. They read this: </div>
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With these doves, </div>
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We remember our infant loved ones who have died. </div>
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Death has forced us to let go of the children we would hold.</div>
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As we let go of these doves we send forth a message. </div>
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To the community the message is: </div>
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Our babies were wanted, were real, are loved, and grieved, and remembered. </div>
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To one another as bereaved families the message is: </div>
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We are not alone. With support we survive and grow. </div>
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To our beloved children we have spoken of today the message is: </div>
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We remember you! We miss you! and most of all, we love you!</div>
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Last year I was angry I had to be there. I thought it was cheesy and lame. I was just really upset that my daughter was dead. I was only 3 months out from my loss. I still wish I didn't have to go to this. But....I am so glad they have something. I need something, and so I am grateful for the cheesy electric candles and the doves and the sad music sung by the man and women with guitars. I am thankful for the little name tags saying who we are remembering. I am grateful that they read each and every baby's name. I am grateful for something that allows us to publicly remember our children. I remember her everyday.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4sgvODso480/UIDU2c8ox-I/AAAAAAAAAOs/S28dKiW5hm4/s1600/camille's+balloon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4sgvODso480/UIDU2c8ox-I/AAAAAAAAAOs/S28dKiW5hm4/s320/camille's+balloon.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The balloon Papa, Kai and I wrote on for Camille</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-saHVpeo03pM/UIDU6vQ-b9I/AAAAAAAAAO0/MF_rCK7uuow/s1600/papa+and+Kai+remembering.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-saHVpeo03pM/UIDU6vQ-b9I/AAAAAAAAAO0/MF_rCK7uuow/s320/papa+and+Kai+remembering.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Papa and Kai Remembering (Harlow is on the blanket in front of them)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Hppy7hlozu4/UIDU8jRTpRI/AAAAAAAAAO8/vRIuVouXrm8/s1600/wave+of+light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Hppy7hlozu4/UIDU8jRTpRI/AAAAAAAAAO8/vRIuVouXrm8/s320/wave+of+light.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Wave of Light</td></tr>
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Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-77284102821619127982012-10-18T20:49:00.000-07:002012-10-18T20:50:57.084-07:00It's Unfortunate I'm An AssholeI had a particularly angry day last week. Usually the waves of anger I feel last for a few hours. This day it just hung on and made my heart a black and twisty place. I also noticed that my feelings haven't really subsided over the past week. You see I am having a difficult time being happy for people. It could be a recent pregnancy announcement, finding out the sex of their baby in the direction of their preference, a new job or promotion etc...<br />
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When I hear the "good news" my first thought is "FUCK" or "Of Course". I was examining these feelings. I wasn't jealous....For goodness sakes I just gave birth 6 weeks ago to my beautiful rainbow baby girl. Everything is good right? So what were these nasty feelings I was having?<br />
I realized I WAS jealous, not of the object, the event or outcome...what I realized was, I was jealous of the "feeling" of having things working out, of the feeling that you deserved good luck, or that working hard toward something results in success. I am jealous of the naivety of bliss and joy without consequence. Jealous that things work out for other people just not me.<br />
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I can say "I'm happy for you" and mean it because in a parallel universe where my daughter didn't die and things work out for good people, I am happy for them. But my twisty black heart pulls me down sometimes. I don't always like who I've become since Camille died. At once more compassionate and then also a bitter bitch.<br />
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Everyone who has had a child die knows the fallout of losing friends. Something that has been hard for me lately is even losing friendships with people who were initially very supportive after Camille's death.Is it me? Am I just not good friend material? I've always been a really loyal friend, I was once witty and fun to be around. If people just hung around long enough they would see there are pieces of that person who struggles to surfaces like blades of grass in a cracked sidewalk. It feels almost extra painful when people who had proven themselves as the type to stick around end up abandoning you as well. Like my grief just isn't going away and they can't deal with it anymore. I don't have a choice I have to live it daily. It doesn't just go away after a year or after a rainbow baby because my dear daughter is still dead. I've been having a lot of flashbacks lately. Sleep deprivation and holding a gorgeous living child in my arms I think fuels the missing. The late nights with no sleep although for a good reason this year takes me back to my sleepless desperate nights last year. <br />
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Here is my angry song...I play it to and from therapy visits and anytime I'm pissed off.. Enjoy haha!<br />
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Brandi Carlile- My Song<br />
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<div style="background-color: white; border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="line line-s hover" id="line_1" jquery17101365865508752297="53" style="mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">Everything I do surrounds these pieces of my life</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s hover" id="line_2" jquery17101365865508752297="54">That often change or maybe I've changed</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s hover" id="line_3" jquery17101365865508752297="55">And sometimes seeming happy can be self destructive</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s hover" id="line_4" jquery17101365865508752297="56" style="mozborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; mozborderradiusbottomright: 8px; mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; mwebkitborderradiusbottomright: 8px; webkitborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">Even when you're sane or only insane</span> </div>
<div style="background-color: white; border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="line line-s" id="line_5" jquery17101365865508752297="57" style="mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">But don't bother waking me today</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_6" jquery17101365865508752297="58" style="mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;"></span><br />
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<span class="line line-s" jquery17101365865508752297="58" style="mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">I'm so young</span> <span class="line line-s" id="line_7" jquery17101365865508752297="59" style="mozborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; mozborderradiusbottomright: 8px; mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; mwebkitborderradiusbottomright: 8px; webkitborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">I know I've been bitter, I've been jaded, I'm alone</span> </div>
<div style="background-color: white; border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="line line-s" id="line_8" jquery17101365865508752297="60" style="mozborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; mozborderradiusbottomright: 8px; mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; mwebkitborderradiusbottomright: 8px; webkitborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">Every day I'll bite my tongue</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_9" jquery17101365865508752297="61" style="mozborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; mozborderradiusbottomright: 8px; mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; mwebkitborderradiusbottomright: 8px; webkitborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">If you only knew my mind was full of razors</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_10" jquery17101365865508752297="62" style="mozborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; mozborderradiusbottomright: 8px; mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; mwebkitborderradiusbottomright: 8px; webkitborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">That cuts you like a word if only sung</span> </div>
<div style="background-color: white; border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="line line-s" id="line_11" jquery17101365865508752297="63" style="mozborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; mozborderradiusbottomright: 8px; mwebkitborderradiusbottomright: 8px; webkitborderradiusbottomleft: 8px;">But this is my song, it is my song</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" jquery17101365865508752297="64" style="mozborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; mozborderradiusbottomright: 8px; mwebkitborderradiusbottomright: 8px; webkitborderradiusbottomleft: 8px;">Now, I live every day like there'll never be a last one</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_13" jquery17101365865508752297="65" style="mozborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; mozborderradiusbottomright: 8px; mwebkitborderradiusbottomright: 8px; webkitborderradiusbottomleft: 8px;">Till they're gone and they're gone</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_14" jquery17101365865508752297="66">And I'm too proud to beg for your attention</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_15" jquery17101365865508752297="67">And your friendship and your time</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_16" jquery17101365865508752297="68">So you can come and get it from now on</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" jquery17101365865508752297="69">Here I am, I'm so young</span> <span class="line line-s" id="line_18" jquery17101365865508752297="70">I know I've been bitter, </span><span class="line line-s" jquery17101365865508752297="70">I've been jaded, I'm alone</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_19" jquery17101365865508752297="71">Every day I'll bite my tongue</span> <span class="line line-s" id="line_20" jquery17101365865508752297="72">If you only knew my mind was full of razors</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_21" jquery17101365865508752297="73">That cuts you like a word if only sung</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_22" jquery17101365865508752297="74">This is my song, it's my song</span> <br />
<span class="line line-s" id="line_23" jquery17101365865508752297="75" style="mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">And it's you, it is you</span> </div>
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<div style="background-color: white; border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="line line-s" jquery17101365865508752297="76" style="mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">Here I am, I'm so young</span> <span class="line line-s" id="line_25" jquery17101365865508752297="77">I know I've been bitter, I've been jaded, I'm alone</span> </div>
<div style="background-color: white; border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="line line-s" id="line_26" jquery17101365865508752297="78" style="mozborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; mozborderradiusbottomright: 8px; mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; mwebkitborderradiusbottomright: 8px; webkitborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">Every day I'll bite my tongue</span> <span class="line line-s" id="line_27" jquery17101365865508752297="79" style="mozborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; mozborderradiusbottomright: 8px; mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; mwebkitborderradiusbottomright: 8px; webkitborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">If you only knew my mind was full of razors</span> <br />
<span class="line line-s" id="line_28" jquery17101365865508752297="80" style="mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">I'm not sure I can take it, I'm nothing strong to hold to</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_29" jquery17101365865508752297="81" style="mozborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; mozborderradiusbottomright: 8px; mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; mwebkitborderradiusbottomright: 8px; webkitborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">I'll wait to only hate you, my mind is full of razors</span> </div>
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<span class="line line-s" id="line_30" jquery17101365865508752297="82" style="mozborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; mozborderradiusbottomright: 8px; mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; mwebkitborderradiusbottomright: 8px; webkitborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">That cuts you like a word if only sung</span> </div>
<div style="background-color: white; border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="line line-s" id="line_31" jquery17101365865508752297="83" style="mozborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; mozborderradiusbottomright: 8px; mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; mwebkitborderradiusbottomright: 8px; webkitborderradiusbottomleft: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;">But this is my song</span> </div>
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<br />Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-47069660153585517892012-10-04T17:29:00.003-07:002012-10-04T17:29:31.015-07:0036Happy birthday. Happy birthday? I'm not quite sure on the punctuation this year. Last year was the worst birthday of my life, 3 months out from Camille's death. This year I was so sure I would have a fantastic birthday, I wanted to celebrate, there is so much to celebrate. I have found that I am bound and determined to be happy. But... Sometimes intentions are high jacked by feelings. I woke this morning irritable and on edge. I dropped Kai off at school and almost cried as I drove down the street. Because regardless of intentions and reasons to celebrate and the beautiful family I have, it is supposed to be different. That is what I kept saying last year: it's just supposed to be different. It's hard for me to say that and write that while Harlow lays in my lap. I love her with my whole heart. But my heart is still broken. <br />
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Nobody asks me how I'm doing anymore. I guess everything is supposed to be better. Things are better. I've survived the first year of my daughter being dead. I've survived a subsequent pregnancy, I've grown a bigger heart. I am still sad. That just doesn't go away. It sits there like a wicked thorn in the side of my happiness.<br />
I am more happy than sad. <br />
36 is better than 35. <br />
My 35th year was a bitch and I'm happy to say goodbye to that year.<br />
I look ancient. Grief grabbed my face and gnawed on it. I'm skeptical plastic surgery could do anything to help with that. The damage is the inside out version. Your face sometimes reveals the status of your soul. <br />
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I didn't just drop off the planet when Harlow was born. She got sick 2 weeks after she was born. Just a cold. But you can bet I've lived at the pediatricians office. Than Kai got sick and than me and than my mom. Snot does not = dead baby, but the crazy in my head from crashing hormones, worry and carry over anxiety makes for sleepless nights and constant bedside vigilance. I've read some blogs and intermittently commented. I posted on FB about Harlow's birth which was a big step for me. We got Harlow's newborn photos taken. If you would like to see them they will be up for another week or so: <a href="http://www.derksenphotography.com/">Derksen photography</a>, go to proofs, find Harlow, type password ralston. <br />
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My intention after Harlow was born was to have a meet and greet/ sip and see. It hasn't happened...yet. D's school threw him a baby shower and signed us up for the PTC (Parent teacher club) sunshine committee meals. These people we don't know literally showered us with gifts. It was so incredibly kind. But I'm also not blind to the fact that there was this outpouring because Camille died. I guarantee you that Daryl didn't go around telling people about his dead daughter but the word spreads quickly amongst teachers especially at an elementary school. So we graciously accepted the kindness that was given and we went from having hardly anything for Harlow, save for a couple outfits I had purchased on a brave day, to swimming in a sea of pink. I've spent a lot of time writing thank you cards but the ones I need to get to the most are for the nurses who helped me in the hospital. I don't want their kindness to be left unacknowledged. I never finished Harlow's quilt. I had to go to the hospital unexpectedly. Not having it done before I went to give birth REALLY freaked me out. And so it sits with only a couple things left to do on it. These projects that I feel I must complete pile up as I sit and type or do laundry or sit and gently stroke my daughter's head and limbs. <br />
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Well vomit and baths for the baby and me interrupted the flow of this post...<br />
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I cried today, I am thankful today. I hear the wind chimes my friend gave me for Camille's birthday and it is soothing. I have so much to say. I will not stay away too long. Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-88180621913827406802012-09-07T21:00:00.000-07:002012-09-07T21:00:50.380-07:001 Week<br />
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It has been 1 week since Harlow was born. It doesn't feel like that long. I have wanted to post, but not having a computer except when my husband gets home from work makes it difficult.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HQ5lZF8STmU/UEq93loYzXI/AAAAAAAAAN4/r5wVXYRSkTw/s1600/harlow+hospital.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HQ5lZF8STmU/UEq93loYzXI/AAAAAAAAAN4/r5wVXYRSkTw/s1600/harlow+hospital.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> There is so much that goes on in my mind and in my heart over the last week. clipettes and snippets of thoughts tangential and repetitive. lack of sleep for both good and bad reasons and hormonal crashing lends itself to places of baby highs and grief lows. I am over the moon in love with Harlow, that she is here and in my arms is almost baffling. All those months of anguish and anxiety, and then bam it is like I can be walking up the stairs and all of a sudden I will think, Oh my gosh my baby is in my arms...how did I get here, when did this happen. It feels very surreal at times. I look at my second daughter and can see my first, she looks so much like both of my other children, this makes me smile and also makes my heart ache. How does this girl get to live when my other did not? </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This week has had its moments of anxiety, the other type of sleep deprivation that is not the happy kind, the up at night because I am nursing is the blissful happy kind. The other, the one where I am worried because tomorrow Harlow would be 38 weeks of gestation if she was still inside me, that after tomorrow she will be forever older than her sister. I know there is nothing cursed about the 38th week and yet I find myself worrying. Harlow was 3oz heavier than Camille at birth and a little more than a week earlier to be born. Now Harlow weighs 5#2oz and weighs less than Camille. that worries me. I know it won't be a forever kind of comparison. When I look at Harlow my heart is filled with joy and love and gratefulness. But this week is tricky with its numbers and continues to play on my mind. The lack of sleep doesn't help. People kindly point out the necessity of sleep. I recognize the importance but guess what? If you don't know what it is to lose a child than those words are lost on me. That I would sleep willingly in the hospital while hooked up to a fetal monitor is ridiculous. I would stare at the strip until my eyes were blurry with fatigue and my body put my mind out of its misery as I dozed here and there. After Harlow was born, people would say that I should get rest, the baby can go to the nursery...I am sorry but that baby was not to be out of my sight. My friend slept over in the hospital room and watched the baby sleep so I could feel safe trying to rest, but every squeak the baby made my eyes would open. This is the life of a mama on full guard. I got home and sleep was difficult because I had to watch her, make sure she was real, that she didn't try and slip away as I slipped into sleep. Camille died while I was sleeping, I know what it is to wake and have the world be upside down. Sleep is a place where things can be taken away from you against your will. I know they are different babies, different pregnancies. But...</div><br />
Today was a hard day. I cried a lot today. I know I am crashing off my hormone baby high. I miss Camille. I wish Harlow fixed that hole in my heart. But the weird part or the natural part of love is that your heart grows to accommodate, and the love I have for all my children fit neatly into this compact beating structure. The gaping hole left where my guts were torn out when Camille died does not get neatly mended with a little pink ribbon upon the arrival of my second daughter. Certainly more happy, more relieved and over joyed with Harlow here. A sigh of relief that I made it through the treacherous war zone of pregnancy after loss....but holy shit the pain is just still there. The missing is just still there. Not more or less. I wasn't focused on my grief at the end of my pregnancy. All my effort went into trying to focus on positivity for this baby girls safe arrival. Now she is here and I pass the shelf where Camille's picture is along with her ashes and some other items and I stop. I hold Harlow close to me, I look at Camille's picture and think of the crazy resemblance of my two daughters. Would they have been friends, would they have been similar people? The tears come and I just sit with that sadness, the sadness that will be in me forever....And than Harlow will take a giant squirty poop with a squished up face and I will laugh and focus on the alive, beautiful little girl in front of me. <br />
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So much joy and love, tangled up in the crazy and the sad. <br />
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Here are some magnificent photos of my precious beautiful little daughter Harlow Karrington Katoch (Kay-Tosh) in case you were wondering how to pronounce it :) I just love her name. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TXhWlu9aUt4/UEq9vnU5U_I/AAAAAAAAANY/urdJiijSmUk/s1600/blue+moon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TXhWlu9aUt4/UEq9vnU5U_I/AAAAAAAAANY/urdJiijSmUk/s320/blue+moon.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Blue Moon on Harlow's Birthday</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">Birth Plan..I kept staring at this all day</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HQ5lZF8STmU/UEq93loYzXI/AAAAAAAAAN4/r5wVXYRSkTw/s1600/harlow+hospital.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-HQ5lZF8STmU/UEq93loYzXI/AAAAAAAAAN4/r5wVXYRSkTw/s320/harlow+hospital.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harlow is here</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OwMi-PS6eDg/UEq9zYjYLmI/AAAAAAAAANo/Pd0tOTDwwJs/s1600/foot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OwMi-PS6eDg/UEq9zYjYLmI/AAAAAAAAANo/Pd0tOTDwwJs/s320/foot.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I grew this foot</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fuZvKlITfs4/UEq95rPnshI/AAAAAAAAAOA/zGWs3eHreNw/s1600/harlow+purple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fuZvKlITfs4/UEq95rPnshI/AAAAAAAAAOA/zGWs3eHreNw/s320/harlow+purple.jpg" width="240" /></a></div> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H1GKTMJRrDg/UEq-B0XZGPI/AAAAAAAAAOY/ffpotrtvQXY/s1600/yawn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H1GKTMJRrDg/UEq-B0XZGPI/AAAAAAAAAOY/ffpotrtvQXY/s320/yawn.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yawn</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3-6ZUTUPx5c/UEq97gmkjiI/AAAAAAAAAOI/5p8PHaDCYb4/s1600/harlow+squishy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3-6ZUTUPx5c/UEq97gmkjiI/AAAAAAAAAOI/5p8PHaDCYb4/s320/harlow+squishy.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All Squished Up-Hey who took me out of the hot tub?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WAaSTDAMbA0/UEq9-jMVH1I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/p6-yB6p185Q/s1600/Kai+Legos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WAaSTDAMbA0/UEq9-jMVH1I/AAAAAAAAAOQ/p6-yB6p185Q/s320/Kai+Legos.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My big baby~I love him so much!</td></tr>
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</div>Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-9519003825929519462012-09-01T19:37:00.000-07:002012-09-01T19:37:33.793-07:00Once In A Blue Moon BabyI know many of you have been waiting for my update.
Our daughter Harlow Karrington Katoch was born on August 31st at 1:04pm. She is 5# 8oz abd 18 inches. Born at 36 weeks 6 days of gestation. I can't figure out how to post pictures on blogger from my phone so that will have to wait until I am home with a computer. I feel so relieved and happy that she is here and alive. She is breathing well, nursing and trying to figure out how to be outside her hot tub. She looks just like Kai and Camille. I have had amazing nurses who laugh and cry with me and some of my nurses from my birth with Camille. A nurse I had the night before Harlow was born is a baby loss mama herself. She lost twin sons at 24 weeks 8 years ago. We got to talk about our children and have a good cry. I feel like Camille's memory is respected and loved while Harlow is welcomed into the world and that feels right. I also am pretty stoked she was born on a blue moon. That feels magical.
I have so much to say and I can hardly see straight from no sleep so I hope what I wrote is coherent. Thank you for all the love and support. It means more than I could ever express. My rainbow baby is here and I am so happy about that. What a long hard fought journey to get here. I will write soon and post pictures. One more night here and than home tomorrow. I love my family of five that is missing one. Tears of love and loss intermingled. Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com34tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-68129839877605312012-08-30T16:16:00.003-07:002012-08-30T16:16:48.262-07:00It's TimeI'm here in the hospital. It isn't what I thought I was going to be doing today. I went to the perinatologist this morning and my fluid level is very low. My peri who I really love and trust told me that I should have the baby this by the Monday. Although my fluid levels have been low normal for a couple months, they dropped to a 4 and below 5 is not good. The peri and my OB spoke and my OB said to come in today... They aren't messing around. So I scrambled around as if I was in labor trying to pack stuff up in order to come in. They are putting me on cervadil because my body isn't one for preterm labor so they have to soften my cervix before they induce me.
I've repeated positive thoughts and breathing all day, trying to keep the worry and anxiety at bay. Please keep my baby girl and I in your thoughts today, this evening and tomorrow. I can use all the positive vibes I can get. Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com38tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-62899215438542843392012-08-23T20:46:00.000-07:002012-08-23T20:46:08.749-07:00I Would Post More....ButI am absolutely freaking the fuck out!<br />
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I was at labor and delivery at 5am yesterday morning, sobbing because I wasn't having movement after two large glasses of water and some yogurt. While registering the fire alarms were going off in the hospital. I was wondering if this was a very bad sign. That I was there at the same time in the morning as I was when I found out Camille had died. It wasn't about calming down or breathing in and out. When I woke up at 3:45 in the morning I wanted to feel movement. I know babies sleep but damn it, the baby needs to wake up when I am freaking out. Of course Daryl was going to be going to the gym so I told him I had to go to the hospital. Kai woke up because well of course he would. <br />
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Once I was FINALLY hooked up to the monitors the found the baby's heart beat right away and she passed her NST in 20 min and started kicking around. I cried the whole time. SERIOUSLY...how am I supposed to get through the next couple weeks. I am so maxed out on stress. I am not always freaking out. I have moments of hope and I am doing so many homework assignments, like buying some baby clothes. Well I haven't taken the tags off of them and washed them but I browsed and purchased girl clothes: BIG STEP.<br />
I have finished the quilt side of the baby blanket as of this afternoon. I go to therapy. I do kick counts 3 times per day. <br />
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Some days I feel like a prisoner of war who is making tally marks on the wall, counting down the days to freedom. The day Camille died was the worst day of my life. The first several months of grieving were excruciating...THIS PREGNANCY with all its anxiety and stress is so hard. To be at this heightened sense of arousal all the time is so challenging. <br />
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I keep thinking of trying to put a post together of the happy and the joy to try and also focus on the positive, because it is there, present, in the midst of the crazy. I love this little girl so much. I am looking forward to meeting her soon. I try and imagine meeting her and having a successful beautiful experience. I just have to get there. Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-33302306130389518312012-08-16T20:42:00.000-07:002012-08-16T20:42:17.247-07:00ETA approximately 3 weeksSee that is why I haven't been around. I am so close...3 weeks until I am supposed to be induced and the crazy around here both internally and externally have hit a fever pitch.<br />
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News: trying not to frame it as good or bad...just is...<br />
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My fluid levels have been low normal, but still normal..8.5, 9.<br />
I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes and was just prescribed night time insulin because although I am controlling my diabetes with diet during the day, my night time levels are borderline. They say I could go another week and see, they were kind of on the fence. I haven't gotten the prescription yet. It was just called in yesterday. The morning blood sugar levels have been between 88 and 95 and it averages around 91, they would like it below 90...that is why they weren't sure if I should go on the night time insulin. These numbers are due to hormone levels not what I am eating. <br />
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This baby girl is doing well, last week she measured in at 4.5 lbs and was 4 days behind her due date but she seems to be growing well. <br />
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The non stress tests are out of control stressful! The nurses are really nice but I have already had my first trip to labor and delivery COMPLETELY FREAKING OUT! Wednesday of last week I woke up and had right sided abdominal pain that would not go away. I don't have my appendix so it wasn't that :) I didn't think it was ligamentous because that usually is sharp and then subsides...so of course I thought I may be having a placental abruption because well...I'M FREAKING OUT. I was in tears sobbing in the house because there was no coming down off the crazy tail spin of panic I had worked myself into. Kai kept telling me he loved me and that I just needed to OM and say "I love my home, I love my Kai and Papa" I felt bad because I couldn't keep it together so I called my OB and they said to go to the hospital and so I dropped Kai off at the neighbors house and went to the hospital. Daryl who had been working a whopping 3 days at his new job came and met me...<br />
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Then my NST on Tuesday was so BAD. The nurse couldn't find the baby's heart beat for like 5 minutes. I was sweating and crying....than finally there it was. It didn't matter that I had felt her move on the WAY to the hospital, when they strap that DAMNED monitor on my belly it is absolutely terrifying. <br />
The perinatologists always calm me when I see them, but I don't see them for the NSTs.<br />
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Also as I mentioned, Daryl started back to school as an elementary VP so he has been really stressed out. He used to say "Just be positive".... he doesn't say that anymore. I think he is also worried because we are so close. <br />
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Today was my last day of work. It kind of freaked me out because last maternity leave I was scheduled to work on Thursday but they forgot and moved all of my patients so I didn't have to work that day after all, Camille died that morning. Today I was scheduled to work, it is Thursday and once again they moved all my patients and it freaked me out. I went to work anyway and finished up a bunch of paperwork. I know this is NOT last time but I don't like that kind of stuff.<br />
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The baby has been moving a lot the last couple days. She is still head down but she moved her body so that her hands and feet are both on my lefts side. I can feel and see the movement so much more now which is very reassuring. <br />
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Another hard thing I did last week, We went and took family photos. We didn't do this when I was pregnant with Camille and so it was difficult for me to set the whole thing up...but I did it because I needed to make sure to DO IT. CHALLENGE! The first time we had it scheduled the photographer had made a mistake and didn't show up. It was like 100 degrees and we were sitting around waiting on the same day that I had been in the hospital because I was worried about the baby. It was a bad day and I ended up bawling on the phone to the photographer about my dead baby and gestational diabetes and how pregnant and hot it was and how stressed out I was....I just couldn't help it. She rescheduled us and was apologetic but you know I am completely topped out right now. The bonus: I think she is going to comp us a bunch of pictures...<br />
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We finally got our bedroom furniture delivered but of course we need some replacement pieces...um we ordered this stuff in MAY and we paid a BUTT LOAD for it so it better be perfect. <br />
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We have taken apart the office portion of our library and are turning it into a playroom area, so our house is in slight disarray, I guess it is our way of nesting. <br />
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I have cut out all the squares for the baby's quilt and arranged it how it will be sewn. Now that I am off work I think I will be able to work on it more next week. <br />
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I received a gift from a patient last week for the baby. I was wondering how it would make me feel because I am not having a shower. She didn't know about Camille until that day. I took the gift home and opened it, a small pink elephant rattle and some receiving blankets. You know what ...it felt good, I was happy that I was happy about it. This little girl deserves to be celebrated, I know this. I am looking forward to having a shower of some sort after she is born. BUT it was a good step for me to be accepting of things for THIS little girl.<br />
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About my grief....of course you see the grief is tied up in my worry and concern, my panic and my anxiety...because I want this little girl so much to come home with us, because I love her so much. But with me being SO close to giving birth, my grief has been pushed away, my focus is so much on THIS one. I only have so much room in my life for things and so my focus unintentionally has shifted. I am okay with this. I know it does not decrease my love for Camille or Kai, but I am really perseverating on this little girl so that I can try and ensure her safe arrival. <br />
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We picked out a name. No we aren't telling what it is. We didn't tell with Kai either. Maybe just to have something for Daryl and I between us for the next couple weeks. I am happy we decided, we hadn't decided on Camille's name and it feels good to kind of know and be able to call this little girl by her name. <br />
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I will post about some of the really positive experiences of this summer that have helped bring joy between the freak out sessions. Boy is this HARD.<br />
Thank you for all the lovely thoughts and good vibes sent out to me. I need them more than I ever thought I would. Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-16692223267626992852012-07-30T23:44:00.000-07:002012-07-30T23:44:07.949-07:00PTSD MELTDOWN*This post I will be cussing A LOT!<br />
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I went in for my first NST. I was actually thinking it may decrease my stress level. The problem is that I had to return to the hospital where I delivered Camille. My husband, son and I went to the hospital at 10am this morning for my AFI. The good news is that it has gone into the normal range. Low normal but still normal by like .5 a point. I had to wait for a good hour before being seen. I was in a part of the hospital I had never been and I was with D and Kai so it was kind of okay. Except that it was still hard just going to the hospital. BUT then the FUCKING nursery song comes on when a baby is born. That sends me into a total fucking panic. It happens at least 2 times while waiting. I have to tell the ultrasound tech why we are there...Cue tears. <br />
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Than we head up to labor and delivery....NOT STOKED. We check in and the lady tells us...sorry no kids allowed....why didn't they fucking tell me that when I scheduled the NST? So D and Kai have to leave and I am directed to sit in a chair in the hallway outside the door where I found out Camille had died 1 year ago. Once again I am alone. What kind of fucking hospital only has 3 beds in the labor and delivery triage? I am waiting and waiting...Yes I am crying. Then I see one of the nurses from my OB's practice and she sees me crying and I tell her it is the first time I have been back. She has had a baby since the last time I saw her about 6 months ago....at least it is distracting. They take some other moms into the room. I am still waiting. <br />
Now at this point I have pretty much used up all my calm your shit down mojo and the anxiety is starting to creep in. I am crying but not out loud. Than another mom comes in who is in labor so of course I get bumped....I get it. BUT... <br />
<br />
So I tell the lady who originally walked me in that I haven't been seen yet and she said that scheduled NST always take second priority. She doesn't know my story. I don't tell every nurse walking by that I'm having a rough go because my baby died last year you know? I had been waiting forever...I finally couldn't take it anymore and am sobbing in the hallway and go up to the lady and say I have to go, I cannot stay and she says well we were just going to have you go down to the 4th floor and do your NST there....WHY DIDN'T you have me go down there 2 FUCKING hours ago? This other nurse asks me if I am in pain and I tell her no and tell her it is my first time back since my daughter died and I am not okay and I need to go. <br />
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I get to the 4th floor and I have completely lost my shit with snot and tears and crazy all over me. I go into my own personal hospital room and the nurse stays with me the whole time. We talked about Camille and death and stupid people and I was there for a very long time. I know the baby was doing well cause I could feel her moving about and kicking me but let me tell you, when they strapped that monitor on me I felt like my brain was going to explode. Last time one of those was on me there was nothing except static and my own heartbeat. <br />
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I got out of the hospital by around 2:45...yeah seriously 10-2:45 which is a long time to have to keep your shit together ...well obviously I didn't. That place is like my own personal war zone. PTSD is REAL and I have got it bad. I was supposed to go to my group therapy today but I couldn't make it. I came home and told Kai he had to play or watch videos on my phone since he wouldn't nap because I HAD to sleep. I woke up after 5pm and just cried and cried. I calmed down a little but have been beyond exhausted. I went to bed tonight...exhausted but couldn't sleep and just cried and cried. <br />
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I know that this pregnancy has been difficult, stressful, anxiety ridden, but the closer I get the crazier I become. Pregnancy after the death of your child is the most challenging experience that I cannot even begin to describe. I don't know how to manage the next several weeks. I am at my wits end and I have sooo much time left. I worry about all the cortisol I am dumping into this baby from my anxiety but I don't have control. I wish I could wake up and just have my baby here. <br />
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And to think I am supposed to do this again Thursday....I have to call and see if I can go somewhere else. I have to do something because I cannot do this twice a week. I am doing the best I can, sometimes it is good enough, other times it isn't. Today was a day I knew would be hard, I didn't know it would send me spiraling. I didn't know it would send me into a full on panic. I didn't think it would be as horrific as it was. When I am in that space I have no tools to talk myself down. By the time I reach the point where I was, I am beyond all those rational self-talks. I wish this was easier. <br />
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I am exhausted. I have to work in the morning and I feel like I got run over by a bus. I wish I could make this better. I just want my baby to live. <br />
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<br />Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-90743358516442593132012-07-27T20:23:00.001-07:002012-07-27T20:23:55.232-07:00Tragedy That Is Not My OwnYesterday I found out about a tragic event that took place the night before. There was a family who was out riding bikes and walking along a paved pathway very close to our home. There was a father riding his bike with a two year old on the back, his son was on his own bike close behind. The mother and their older daughter were walking on the trail. They crossed the street at a cross walk to get to the other part of the trail when the father and daughter on the bike and the little boy on his bike were struck by a drunk driver. The father and daughter went up on the hood and then off, the boy was drug for about a block. The driver left the scene but later returned. The little boy who was 7 died. I was talking about it with several of my patients yesterday. I went home and told my husband...I started to cry. It is just SO tragic. I wonder if the mother saw the whole thing. The father and little girl are in the hospital but I think they are stable. <br />
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We were driving to Santa Cruz last night and my husband says to me. "Can you imagine what that family must be going through right now?" I started crying again and said "I don't have to imagine, I know" <br />
I know the mother can not breathe right now.<br />
I know that the father wishes that he had died instead.<br />
I know that the family has been twisted and destroyed in a way that is difficult for anyone comprehend. <br />
I know that they are in the pit of hell with a darkness that surrounds them. <br />
I know the sound of silence that screams of pain and anguish.<br />
<br />
I wish I didn't know...but now a tragedy like this hits me in a way I would never have understood before Camille died. <br />
A family has been devestated by the death of their child. <br />
It breaks my heart. <br />
I feel so deeply for this family.<br />
Such a senseless and unexpected tragedy....I am SO sorry for their loss.Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-31544367164666893072012-07-21T15:12:00.000-07:002012-07-21T15:12:16.108-07:00Bravery in the Form of FabricOne of the major areas of guilt for me surrounding Camille's death is that I never made or bought anything specifically for her. We did not know she was a girl until she was born. She was born in June, it is very hot here and we knew if we had a boy we would have everything we needed. We purchased white onesies, newborn diapers and some Aiden and Anais receiving blankets. For Kai and many of my friends babies, I have made each of them a baby quilt. I never made one for Camille. Time just got away from me and I never got around to it. This breaks my heart beyond measure. I know I love her with all of my heart, but I have no physical representation of the planning and anticipation that went into her coming to our family. We thought we were being smart, that we weren't being frivolous. Now the fact that I never purchased her one tiny dress squeezes my heart and makes my breath feel shallow. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fy25dd9-QvA/UAsoQrdqI4I/AAAAAAAAANA/kDEO8UJp4bo/s1600/quilt+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Fy25dd9-QvA/UAsoQrdqI4I/AAAAAAAAANA/kDEO8UJp4bo/s320/quilt+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kai's loved, washed, and well used 3.5 year old quilt</td></tr>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Je61CPife6Y/UAsoUUwKLWI/AAAAAAAAANI/GkCeFHEKwQ8/s1600/quilt+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Je61CPife6Y/UAsoUUwKLWI/AAAAAAAAANI/GkCeFHEKwQ8/s320/quilt+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I know I have not written much about the pregnancy with our precious much loved and desired rainbow baby...I promise some posts are to come....but, one thing is very clear to me....The way I knew I needed to send out cards for Camille's birthday is how I feel I MUST make this new baby girl a quilt. The problem has been that I just couldn't even think about it, let alone begin it before Camille's birthday. It just felt so wrong to be doing it for this baby when I didn't do it for Camille. I told my therapist the week of Camille's birthday that I hoped that I would be able to focus a little more on this baby after Camille's birthday passed. The focus of every day is bringing this baby, living and breathing into our family. What I meant was that I really wanted to start the process of doing things that showed in a physical manner that I believed that this baby will come home with us....which is a difficult task. The belief and the hope are two different things. <br />
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Last week, with tears and a heavy heart I headed to the fabric store. It took a lot of effort, I might even call it courage to drive over there with intent to pick out fabric for a baby quilt. Once I was in the store, I was fine. I have been in a fabric store a hundred times. The fabric store is not my nemesis, my guilt is. That overriding feeling that I didn't do enough to show my love for Camille before she was here. I picked out fabric and it felt fine. I found some pieces that I really like and honestly it will be different in a lot of ways than some of the other quilts I have made, but this also seems appropriate. Of course now I must set upon the daunting task of actually completing the project...but I must... I will post photos once I begin...But I am glad I made the initial steps toward my goal.Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-87195707951630845312012-07-18T18:02:00.001-07:002012-07-18T18:02:14.392-07:00Pregnancy Update~ Some Good News, Some Bad NewsI am 30.5 weeks pregnant. They want to induce me at 38 weeks which means I am on the 7.5 week count down. 7.5 weeks sounds much sooner than 2 months. <br />
<br />
I had my perinatology visit this morning. <br />
I will start with the positive things:<br />
1. The baby is measuring in at 3 lbs which means she has doubled her weight in the last month. She is measuring in the 39th percentile. <br />
2. She moved head down.<br />
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The bad things:<br />
1. I have gestational diabetes. I am pretty sad about this for multiple reasons. Really it scares me. I have not had this with either of my other two pregnancies. I asked why this would be taking place and if the things I list below could affect it.<br />
A. Familial history (my father has type 2 which he developed in his 60's and manages with diet)<br />
B. Starting my pregnancy 20 lbs over my usual weight (I got pregnant 6 months after giving birth and had not lost my pregnancy weight)<br />
C. Increased stress on my adrenal system secondary to grief<br />
D. Being pregnant for almost 2 years straight puts a big strain on my pancreas<br />
The answer to all of those is yes. I will have to start doing finger sticks and managing my blood glucose. The thing is, my doctor said that the recommendations may not be that different than what I am already doing. I asked why I have not gained excessive weight (22 lbs so far) and the baby is not measuring large. The MD said it is most likely because I eat healthier than a normal person. So although my pancreas is not working optimally I am not straining it regularly the way other people probably do. What concerns me is that I am eating really healthy and my pancreas continues to not function in an adequate way. Another concern OBVIOUSLY is the impact this could have on the baby. Google has all kinds of things to scare any mama let alone a BLM regarding gestational diabetes.<br />
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2. My amniotic fluid is low. I have to go back in a week. My doctor seems somewhat unconcerned about the GD but concerned enough about the fluid levels for me to return in a week. 7.5 was my measurement and 8 is lower level of what they want to see. The question both my husband and I had which of course of ALL the questions we asked did not think to ask this one: Is gestational diabetes and low fluid level correlated...Well google says yes. Weird but GD can make you gain a bunch of weight and have a big baby with excessive amniotic fluid or you can be gaining regular weight and have low amniotic fluid levels. Low fluid levels has its own risks and obviously my doctor wants me back in a week.<br />
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He did do a doppler on the fetal blood flow and everything looks good, no restrictions etc...but guess what? I have to go back in a week because it still concerns him.<br />
I am FRUSTRATED. I am worried. I have so little control over any of this. What was also difficult for me was that during our discussion with our doctor Daryl actually started to cry. It is hard because I see him cry very very rarely, a handful of times in the 14 years we have been together, I know he worries too. He asked are we still going to have an healthy alive baby at the end of this. The MD is very hopeful and he definitely helps decrease our stress....but....we are still stressed. <br />
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I can continue to work 2 days a week, but he wants me laying down most of the time when I am home to help fluid levels. He also wants me to take two 15-30 min walks a day to help with my GD. Two different problems highly correlated and treated with opposing activity guidelines. The doctor is not freaking out but my high risk pregnancy just stepped up a couple notches. <br />Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2095278209647200124.post-51004951906695503532012-07-17T22:35:00.001-07:002012-07-17T23:00:30.310-07:00Camille's 1st BirthdayI have been trying to process what it is to be 1 year out from the death of my daughter. I keep thinking, I can't believe I have continued to breathe for an entire year without Camille here. <br />
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The month of June was full of anxiety and sadness. The week of her birthday I was a complete sobbing mess. This year was a leap year and so instead of her birthday being on Friday this year it was on a Saturday, 2 days after her death day (Thursday). I kept thinking Thursday would be the worst day. Saturday came, I woke thinking "okay, today is going to be okay", I went for a walk in the morning and I just cried. I cried 3 different times that day, big fat sobbing tears. <br />
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We decided we would try and make it a day like any other Saturday. We went and got bagels and then we went and walked around REI. Kai loves going in the tents and looking at camping equipment. I asked Kai what we should do for Camille's birthday and he said "we should bake chocolate chip cookies because they are my favorite", so we made cookies. My dear friend who is also our doula and has been present at both of my births was in town with her 9 year old for Camille's birthday. <br />
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We received lovely cards, flowers, bread with jam and honey, a book on religious/inspirational quotes, as well as some gorgeous sounding wind chimes and generally it was a positive feeling for me to know that many people had not forgotten our daughter. I did not care whether the remembrance was because they remembered or if it was inspired by the card we sent out. It was mostly just important that people not forget. <br />
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I wondered how I would feel after sending off the card for her birthday. The card had Camille's picture on it and sending that out made me feel very vulnerable. It was important that I send a photo because people can dismiss an idea or a thought much easier than a person (or so I thought) Seeing an actual photo of our daughter, I thought would help people visualize that Camille was not just an idea, she was a person, someone we love and will miss for our entire lives. I wondered about the response I would receive. In the end I felt very good about the card and the response was interesting. What I found was that the response to the card was similar to the response after Camille's death, either people acknowledged it or they did not. I realized at one point that the cards in the middle of our table pretty much represented the same individuals who had been present throughout the year. The absence of response was also a representation of those who consistently have chosen not to be present. I know some people were a little shocked when they opened the card but some of my favorite responses besides people telling me she was beautiful, was that they felt honored that they got to see a picture of her. That made me feel really good. The fact that Daryl was on board and happy with the card that we sent out was also very validating because he is not a very open person. <br />
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In the evening of her birthday I had decided to order some wish lanterns. We decided to go to Daryl's baseball field because it was very open and I didn't think we could burn anything down in the immediate vicinity. We sent up 3 lanterns....Errr rather we attempted to send up 3. We got to the field and the sprinklers were on...the field was completely sopping wet. The day had been extremely hot but wouldn't you know it the wind picked up at 9pm....Go figure. we couldn't get the lanterns to light and ended up in the dugout 3 of us trying to get the dang thing to catch on fire. We finally got one to catch but it ended up burning a hole in the side of the paper and we had to stomp on it to get it to go out. We would tell Kai, okay think of a wish but than the lantern would be burning as it skipped across the field with all of us chasing after it and he is yelling "I hope this baby comes home to live with us" at the top of his lungs and I am saying "no... wait don't wish on that one" We got the second one to go up into the sky and fly away. It was very pretty and it felt successful. The third one died a firey heap on the field as well and we ended up laughing about what a joke it turned out to be. I didn't feel sad that it wasn't perfect...It was what it was and we tried...at least we got one to go up and some laughs out of the event. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SjryHFj-OgM/UAZG3vSDYdI/AAAAAAAAAMo/HaNwYctmwnM/s1600/wish+lantern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SjryHFj-OgM/UAZG3vSDYdI/AAAAAAAAAMo/HaNwYctmwnM/s400/wish+lantern.jpg" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Papa sending up wish lantern for Camille: Notice the almost full moon in the sky.<br />
The photo that makes the wish lanterns look impressively successful</td></tr>
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So how do I feel after getting through the 1 year mark of the loss of my baby??? I was talking about this with my therapist and she asked what I hoped it would bring. I said I hoped that some of the grief would lift, that I may than be able to focus on the baby that I am growing more (like I don't completely perseverate on this baby constantly)... the truth is, it isn't easier, I don't miss her less. It does not feel as if something has lifted. The anxiety and stress and heaviness leading up to her birthday has passed which in itself is a relief. Do I think of Camille less? NO! I think of, love, care for and nurture my son everyday, I think I do the same for Camille, she just isn't here. In the weeks following her birthday I have cried a couple of times. I feel really glad that we did something to honor and remember our daughter that WE remember everyday. I was very worried I wouldn't get the cards done. I feel glad that I did. The truth is 1 year doesn't feel like 1 year. It feels like yesterday that she was here and an eternity without her. I just miss her so much. I don't think that will ever change. Renelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08490888250385942221noreply@blogger.com18