“Time has taken me from you. Although not very far. I’ll be watching through the sunshine and through the brightest star. I’ll be watching all of you from the heavens above. So take good care of yourself and carry all my love. If you’re ever wondering if I’m here, here’s where you can start. Take a look inside yourself, deep within your heart. I’ll always be your baby, your child, your best friend. So anytime you need me, close your eyes and I’m back again.”

I am not who I was before.

That is apparent as everyday passes.
Life is not what it was.
Life will not be the way it was supposed to be.

Learning to live without Graeme is a struggle.
Everyday.
I struggle to understand a point.
I struggle because there is no point.
I struggle to understand why he is gone.
Yes I know the technical why.
But the why I struggle with is the universal why.
Why did the universe give him to me in the first place if it was just going to take him away?
I struggle because no answer to the why will ever be good enough.

Would I be better off with out having him at all?

Absolutely not.

Making him made me better.

Losing him kills me.
But it doesn’t lessen the joy that he brought to me in such a brief time being here.

I also am thoroughly convinced that the only people who understand how I’m thinking and feeling, are the women who have experienced this.
My sisters in loss.

The brutality of this cannot be explained
It can be put into words
But the true meaning of the words cannot be understood.

My husband and I made our son in love and wonder.
I carried him in my womb.
This child was made of me and the man I love.
I felt him grow.
I felt his life.
I saw his future.
I knew the love he would have.
The love he already had.
Then violently and painfully he was ripped away from me.
This child who was physically part of me.
Made of me.
Altered me completely just by being in me.
Then altered me forever by being torn away.
Physically there is no true understanding with out feeling the life of your child leave you.

It is not just sad.
It is not just hard.

It is devastating, horrific, never ending pain.
And It is impossible to “deal” with.

I have been amputated
I have to learn how to live all over again

And because of all of this.
I am not who I was before.

I never will be.

I give you this one thought to keep.
I am with you still. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on the snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not think of me as gone.
I am with you still in each new dawn.
Native American Poem

1 month

One month and two days, that’s how old my son should be today.

I have felt every week, every day, every hour, ever second since we lost him.

It has only been one month and two days, it feels like and eternity, and at the same time,  its going by way to fast.
I know I have already posted this quote but I feel the need to post it again because it really speaks to how we feel as mothers of loss.

Undo it, take it back, make every day the previous one until I am returned to the day before the one that made you gone. Or set me on an airplane traveling west, crossing the dateline again and again, losing this day, then that, until the day of loss is still ahead, and you are here, instead of sorrow.
– Nessa Rapaport

I just want to go back to the time before he was gone, to the time that there was no fear or pain, just blissful ignorance.

I will never be the person that I was before.
That is evident with every passing second.

One week ago today, we buried our son.
I am grateful for the fact that it’s finished, that the tests are over and he has gone back to the earth.
That has brought me some small semblance of peace.
However the permanence of it is, emotionally exhausting. nauseating. staggering.

We participated in a Ceremony Of Remembrance, held by Mercy hospital  for all of the babies lost before 20 weeks.
I am so glad that they do this  because I had no Idea what we would have done if it weren’t for that.

The service was beautiful, even if it was full of “god”.

It was still very comforting.
We participated in a flower ceremony, where everyone there got to stand up and take a carnation for the child that they lost.
It was so utterly moving, and absolutely devastating.

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The whole ceremony was done with with such grace, they read a lot of prayers and poems, the one that brought me the most comfort was this Jewish prayer/poem.

We Remember Them-Sylvan Kamens & Rabbi Jack Riemer
At the rising of the sun and at its going down
We remember them.
At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter
We remember them.
At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring
We remember them.
At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer
We remember them.
At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn
We remember them.
At the beginning of the year and when it ends
We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live; 
for they are now a part of us
as we remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength
We remember them.
When we are lost and sick at heart
We remember them.
When we have joy we crave to share
We remember them.
When we have decisions that are difficult to make
We remember them.
When we have achievements that are based on theirs
We remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live;
for they are now a part of us
 as we remember them.

It’s the truth, because no matter what I face in life, no matter what decision I make,  any children that I might have, Graeme is a part of us, he will always be apart of us, and no matter what.  We will remember him.

After the service we went to the grave site, Next to giving birth to my son and not being able to keep him, it was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life.

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I was overwhelmed by the size of the grave, but more so by the number of children being buried, 21 including my son.
21 babies that were taken away from their mothers and their families, and it was the 8th ceremony that they have had.
Too many children, too much pain.
It is so cruel.

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photo 3 (1)

While at the ceremony talking with my family who came up to be with us, looking at the other family that was at the site with us, my mom looked at me as said  “You know that this is your new family now”   In that I took the chance and said hello to a mother that I felt drawn to from the moment she sat next to us in the chapel.  We connected almost immediately, and over this past week this woman has become such a comfort, such an amazing part of my life. I couldn’t be more grateful that she has come into my life in this. The situation is terrible and we should never ever have to go through this, we shouldn’t have to be friends, but we are and at least now we have each other.

I survive because of the people around me. the people who love and care for me.

On Thursday, we got our answer… Its not the answer I wanted, my and all of my control freakery, I wanted something I could’ve prevented, something that I could’ve fixed but its wasn’t. It wasn’t even close.

Chorioamnionitis.

Our baby died because of an infection in my placenta and amniotic sac.
Chorio caused all of my bleeding and forced me into preterm labor.

1-2%
1-2% of pregnancies are affected by this.

Of all of the shit that could have caused us to lose him, I get this.
Something caused by bacteria that naturally lives in a woman’s body.
Something that usually doesn’t happen until the 3rd trimester.
Something that could have made us sick, or killed both of us.
Something that I couldn’t have stopped happening.
Yes it was an infection and I could have tried antibiotics, but it wasn’t a guarantee.
Not to mention I was asymptomatic.
The only symptom I had was weird discharge, and even that came back normal.
The only way we could have found it was by doing an amniocentesis, which is just as dangerous.

It was doomed from the start.
I couldn’t prevent it from happening and I cant prevent it from happening again.

So yes, I got an answer, but the answer did not make me feel any better.

So where do I go from here?
I am feeling very low, and very lost.

I guess this is just where I’m at and where I need to be for now.

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.
– Edna St. Vincent Millay
I love you Graeme ❤

Updates

I have another post coming I promise. Things have been so crazy here this past week that I feel like I have hardly had time to breath. I’m surviving barely with the help of the people around me. The ones that have been there and the new ones that have just recently come into my life. But I will speak more of these beautiful people soon.

I did get an answer. Not necessarily what I though it would be but at least I know.

You’ll here from me soon again. I promise ❤

DG

I found this online while looking for quotes. It really spoke to me so I wanted to share it with you all ❤

A Birth Healing Blessing

Blessed sister, beautiful one
with broken wings.
Your journey is a difficult one
that no mother should have to endure.
Your path is steep, rocky and slippery
and your tender heart is in need of gentle healing.
Breathe deeply and know that you are loved.
You are not alone,
though at times, you will feel like a
desolate island of grief
untouchable
distant.
Close your eyes.
Seek the wisdom of women who have walked this well-worn path before you,
before,
and before,
and before you yourself were born.
These beautiful ones
with eyes like yours
have shared your pain, and
weathered the storms of loss.
You are not alone (breathe in)
You will go on (breathe out)
Your wings will mend (breathe in)
You are loved (breathe out)

~ Mary Burgess

Undo it, take it back, make every day the previous one until I am returned to the day before the one that made you gone. Or set me on an airplane traveling west, crossing the dateline again and again, losing this day, then that, until the day of loss is still ahead, and you are here, instead of sorrow.
– Nessa Rapaport

Ghosts that we knew – Mumford & Sons

You saw my pain, washed out in the rain
And broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins
But you saw no fault, no cracks in my heart
And you knelt beside my hope torn apart

But the ghosts that we knew
Will flicker from view
And we’ll live a long life

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
Cos oh they gave me such a fright
But I will hold as long as you like
Just promise me we’ll be alright

So lead me back, turn south from that place
And close my eyes to my recent disgrace
Cos you know my call and will share my all
And our children come they will hear me roar

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
Cos oh they gave me such a fright
But I will hold as long as you like
Just promise me we’ll be alright

Hold me still bury my heart on the coals
Hold me still bury my heart next to yours

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
Cos oh they gave me such a fright
But I will hold on with all of my might
Just promise me we’ll be alright

But the ghosts that we knew
Made us black and all blue
But we’ll live a long life
And the ghosts that we knew
Will flicker from view
And we’ll live a long life

I’ve always loved Mumford and Sons but today I really listened to the lyrics. They have struck me so hard. I know that this is how I feel and I’m sure I’m not alone in that.

Love to you all

1 in 4

I am a statistic.

I am still not okay with that. I never will be, but I am not alone.

1 in 4 women will lose their baby.

1 in 4.

How did I not know this before I got pregnant?
Not that knowing it would have made a difference.
I would have tried regardless.

But would knowing the odds have made me more prepared to lose him?
No of course not, but I guess I at least would have known.

Over the past almost month now I have been researching statistics.
I’ve been talking to other mothers that have lost about what they were told, or read about their losses and their conditions.
The amount of women that got no answers or inklings about what was happening to them is astounding.

Some doctors don’t warn you, some stay “neutral”, and some prepare you for the inevitable.

My doctor, for example tried to stay positive, she told me that 30% of women experience some form of bleeding in their pregnancies, and that the majority of these issues resolve themselves so it was likely that I would go on to have a healthy pregnancy. The perinatal specialist was positive but told me that 70% percent of the women that experience bleeding in their pregnancies, go on to have successful pregnancies.
That meant that 30% of those women lose their babies.
I am that 30%.
By the time I was in the hospital the third time, It was 50/50.
I am one of the 50% that lose their child.

All of the numbers that you read after you lose your baby are so freaking confusing. Mostly because they are based on situation.

Something else that I wasn’t prepared for, the fact that having a miscarriage meant that I was more likely to have another one.
Everyone talks about how rare it is for someone to have multiple miscarriages, that if you have one miscarriage, you are far more likely to go on to have a healthy pregnancy, unfortunately that is not true.
When you have a miscarriage, your risk for a second miscarriage increases by at least 3%.
Now you may not think that that is a very big increase, but I am the 3% of women that suffer a second trimester miscarriage.
That 3% scares the shit out of me.
So hey lets one up it right.
My placenta detached, its called Placental Abruption, usually it doesn’t happen until after 20 weeks and it’s incredible dangerous.
I don’t know the exact statistic that I will experience this again, I do know that I am far more likely to experience it now because its happened before.

I know all of this sounds awful, and scary, because it is. But for me Science provides an answer. Science comes from trial and error and its all that I have now.

One of the women that I have met through this (and has become part of my strength and survival), has an even more devastating story, both of her pregnancies ended in tragedy and her most recent statistic was 1 in 1000.
1 in 1000 women go through what she went through. I am so completely baffled by that statistic. My heart breaks for my dear friend. I cannot fathom what she is going through.

So here is my question, why is it so hard to bring awareness to our losses?
Why in the HELL do we have to experience at least 3 miscarriages before we can have extensive testing.
Miscarriage is so freaking common that we need to stand up and ask questions.

It shouldn’t matter how far along we are, or how many times it has happened, we should be offered testing at least for the peace of mind that we could get from knowing where we stand.
The 1 in 4 statistic is part of the reason I came out about our loss.

We have to start talking about this.

Coming out

I just “came out” on Facebook. I’m glad I did because I feel like I don’t have to hide anymore. We never really “announced” our pregnancy maybe cause I subconsciously knew that we would lose him. But I felt the need to tell people that Graeme existed. Even though he only lived for 15 weeks inside of me. He was still here and he was still real.
It took a bottle of wine and a lot of courage but I’m glad I let the world know that my little boy lived.

I feel like we need to make the world more aware of this horrible tragedy that we live in and this was my tiny step towards doing so.

The agony is great and yet I will stand it. Had I not loved so much I would not hurt so much. But goodness knows I would not want to diminish that precious love by one fraction of an ounce. I will hurt. And I will be grateful for that hurt for it bears witness to the depth of our meaning. And for that I will be eternally grateful. – Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

It hurts so much because you are loved so much.

I miss you Graeme.
My heart aches everyday for you.
I’m so sorry we couldn’t have our lives together.
I love you baby.

Research

Hello everyone,

I’m currently working on writing a post about miscarriage statistics, and I was wondering what you alls doctors told you about your conditions and your odds/ statistics for miscarriage.

for example at the start of my bleeding I was given a 70% chance of having a successful pregnancy but once I passed a large clot it dropped to 50%

any help that you could give would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you in advance
Hope you are all doing okay.

DG

“Your absence has gone through me like thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with its color.” W.S. Merwin

Try and focus on the positive.

Easier said than done right.

Two weeks since I went into labor.
My body is working its way back to normal.
The bleeding has almost stopped completely.
The tears are lessening every day.
My heart hasn’t stopped hurting though.

I drank my feelings last night.
Not all of them though, if I drank that much I’d be a lot worse off than I am. I’ve never been a big drinker. Usually just a glass or two of wine, or a couple of beers. So I don’t know what I was thinking yesterday.
“A couple of beers can’t hurt.”
Wrong.

I know it’s hard to be around me now. My already awkward sense of humor has just gotten worse. It’s gone from borderline to totally inappropriate. I doubt I will ever be “normal” again what ever that means.

I would have been 17 weeks today. And only a couple weeks away from finding out what he was. Instead. He’s gone and now in a couple weeks we are burying him. None of it makes any sense to me.

But try to focus on the positive, right?

My family will be here. So we won’t have to do it alone. That’s a blessing. I’m anxious to see my father, during all of this he hasn’t really been there. Which is hard for me because I’ve always been daddy’s girl. I talk to my dad about everything. I look to him for guidance and solace but these are uncharted waters and he has never dealt with death well.

A is doing his best to comfort me. Even when I’m inconsolable. I locked myself in the bathroom the other night. I screamed and cried, and begged for him back for at least an hour. I don’t know how to do this. But does anyone ever know? I know it’s hardest on me because it happened physically to me. But fuck, feeling alone sucks.
Everyone is over talking about it with me. I can’t blame them. It’s depressing. And what can I say that I haven’t already said. I’m the worlds most depressing broken record.

Try to focus on the positive.
It’s gorgeous outside. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, flowers are blooming everywhere.
Outside it’s a Disney movie.
Inside it’s a horror film.

Everyone keeps telling me its going to get easier.

When??

I’m sorry this is so depressing. At this point it’s just me venting. I hope that it can at least help someone in knowing that they are not alone in how they feel.

Try to focus on the positive.

This Woman’s Work

This weekend is busy.
I’m not really happy about that.
All I want to do is sit and try to relax.
Hopefully I’ll be able to sit down and write tomorrow.
But until then here are some lyrics from Kate Bush’s song “This Woman’s Work”.
If you are looking for a good cry. Look up the video.
It’s haunting but cathartic.

Pray God you can cope.
I stand outside this woman’s work,
This woman’s world.
Ooh, it’s hard on the man,
Now his part is over.
Now starts the craft of the father.

I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.
I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.

I should be crying, but I just can’t let it show.
I should be hoping, but I can’t stop thinking

Of all the things I should’ve said,
That I never said.
All the things we should’ve done,
Though we never did.
All the things I should’ve given,
But I didn’t.

Oh, darling, make it go,
Make it go away.

Give me these moments back.
Give them back to me.
Give me that little kiss.
Give me your hand.

(I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.
I know you have a little life in you yet.
I know you have a lot of strength left.)

I should be crying, but I just can’t let it show.
I should be hoping, but I can’t stop thinking

Of all the things we should’ve said,
That we never said.
All the things we should’ve done,
Though we never did.
All the things that you needed from me.
All the things that you wanted for me.
All the things that I should’ve given,
But I didn’t.

Oh, darling, make it go away.
Just make it go away now.

“Do not judge the bereaved mother.
She comes in many forms.
She is breathing, but she is dying.
She may look young, but inside she has become ancient.
She smiles, but her heart sobs.
She walks, she talks, she cooks, she cleans, she works, she IS,
but she IS NOT, all at once.
She is here, but part of her is elsewhere for eternity.”

The things that don’t help.

“If I had lost a leg, I would tell them, instead of a boy, no one would ever ask me if I was ‘over’ it. They would ask me how I was doing learning to walk without my leg. I was learning to walk and to breath and to live without Wade. And what I was learning is that it was never going to be the life I had before.” -Elizabeth Edwards

I’ve reached the anger stage. I’m not sure what step that is in this. But I’m there and I’m mad at everything and every one.
There are things that don’t help and these things are immeasurable.
A few of my least favorites include:
“It wasn’t meant to be”
“God has a plan for you”
“Everything happens for a reason”

These statements are just the beginning of the ridiculous things that people will say to you.

These things infuriate me.
As if its not hard enough to go through all of this I have to hear “Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be”… Oh really then why was I pregnant in the first place. If it wasn’t meant to be I would have never gotten pregnant and he definitely wouldn’t have made it to fifteen weeks.

“God has a plan for you”. First off I lost my faith in god a long time ago and any faith I had left was gone the moment I lost my son. But someone please tell me how “gods plan” works. He gave me this miracle. This other life to care for. Just to rip him away before he even got a chance to really live. If that’s “gods plan” then count me out. I don’t want a part in it.

“Everything happens for a reason”. Please tell me what the reason is. My son was ripped from my body for what reason.
There is no reason.
It is senseless.
It is cruel.

My best friend and I went to the zoo today. That was a huge challenge. While I was grateful for the chance to get out of the house and enjoy the weather. I think it was more then what I was ready for. Surrounded by children and pregnant women. Screaming and laughing and crying. I wen’t off on a woman at the concession stand because she argued with me over a straw. I can’t handle anything. I am in total sensory overload. By the time we got home I was snapping on my husband and bursting into tears.

I’m not sure if I’m okay with this stage. Just being sad was enough to make me crazy. Now I’m sad and pissed off. Not really a great mix. I know that I’m never going to “get over” this.
I just want to know when it is going to get easier.

One Week

Its 73 degrees and sunny right now. I’m grateful for that.
The wind however is howling it seems to me that the weather is mimicking the way I feel.
The past few days have been miserable.
It was in the 30’s two days ago, gotta love Western NY.

I’m sitting here on my front porch, drinking my sweet tea, and thinking on the past week.
What it has done to me.
How it has changed me.
Physically, and of course mentally.

When you get pregnant, no one really prepares you for all of the changes you go through.

When you lose your child, you are even less prepared.
Of course nothing in the world could have prepared me for any of it.
No amount of stories or recollections could have warned me about what I was going to go through.

The first, most devastating change of them all, is of course the emptiness. My son isn’t in me anymore and I can feel that. Just over a week ago I was full to the brim with my two hearts, and though I wasn’t feeling full on movements yet, I could still feel Grae in there. The small little flutters, subtle reminders that I was not alone. When he was ripped out of me, that was the very first thing to go.
Aside from the realization that he’s never coming back.
The emptiness is the worst part.

The second change. Almost equally as devastating… My milk came in. I was in NO way prepared for this, there was no warning. Not from the nurses or the doctors. I don’t blame them though, at 15 weeks I just assumed that my breasts would just go back to their original size, that they would lose their fullness, and the soreness would subside. But two days after we lost him, In my emptiness and my grief, the sudden pain in my breast was beyond unwelcome and when the milk came out, I felt even more betrayed by my body. It wasn’t enough that I bleed for almost two weeks before we lost him, it wasn’t enough that I went into labor, it wasn’t enough that he was ripped out of me. My body failed me and then it gave me the one thing that would have sustained him, if he had lived.
Over a week later, my breasts are still leaking but they mean something else to me.
All signs that I was pregnant are gone. I weigh less now than I did before I got pregnant, my little bloated bump has completely disappeared, but my milk is still there, the one thing to keep it real.
To remind me that it wasn’t just a horrible nightmare.
I need all of this to be real.
I need it to heal.

The third. The blood. I bleed for almost two weeks before we lost him. I know I just said that but it is so shocking to me. This my doctor did warn me about, “You could bleed for up to a month”… What?! How do I even have any blood left. In the hospital they told me that I had only lost about a third of a liter of blood, out of eight and a half liters. Only a third. It was enough to keep from sustaining my son. It felt like enough to kill me. So now I get to feel that slow trickling reminder that my son is dead, for a month. Shock doesn’t quite begin to cover it.
Over a week later though, the blood is slowing. It’s turned from red to brown.
A steady reminder that time is passing and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Every second he is gone is a second too long.

There are of course the normal things, the ones you know will hurt.
Walking by the baby aisle.
Hearing a child cry.
Seeing pregnant women.
Seeing pregnant woman that don’t care about the miracle that they are bringing into the world.
Seeing your friends talk about their healthy pregnancies, and the milestones that they reach.
Worse still, seeing your friends announce the birth of their beautiful healthy baby. You want to be happy for them, but inside your screaming with jealousy and pain.

There is nothing that is not cruel about this situation we have been put in.

And as if none of this is enough there are the little things. The quiet moments.
My worse… 11:11, the time on the clock begging you to make a wish, it used to bring me joy and happiness, now it just brings me pain. The reminder that my wish will never come true, I will never get him back. I will never get to hold him again, or kiss his little face. I will never get to watch him grow up, or heal his wounds. I will never get to see the man he would have become. The list goes on and on.
The moments you look forward to.
The firsts that they will never have.
Your life that has changed forever.

Its all just too much.

I love you Graeme. Forever.