An un thankful Thanksgiving

I wish I could be all sorts of happy and thankful this year...

But what should I be thankful for...
The sleepless nights without my baby?
The overwhelming anxiety when faced with babies who are the age my daughter should be?
The realization that people would rather ignore my daughter's existence than talk about her?
The unfairness of the entire situation?

Yea, sorry... I'm not thankful. I'm just all sorts of sadness and hopeless with a dash of anger this year.

Should I hide my pain?

I feel so battered down, as though I should just hide all of my feelings because they aren't the feelings that are expected of me. I'm sorry, I can't control what hurts my feelings, or what triggers my deep sense of loss... I can't magically make the hurt all better... All I want is some support while I'm experiencing those feelings of hurt.... Not to be made to feel as though I need to suppress my feelings.

I guess I've reached the point where I should just pretend that everything is ok because people expect me to be ok now. Maybe I will just bury my pain deep down inside myself because when I reach out for support I'm made to feel as though I'm overreacting. It would probably make other people more comfortable around me if I pretend that everything in my life is perfect and that certain things don't hurt me.

 I just want someone to be there for me when I'm feeling down, even if they don't fully understand... Please, all I ask is just hold my hand and say you're there for me on my journey through grief.

She existed

Sunday, at a family get together it was reaffirmed that my daughter doesn't count in our family because she isn't here. Obviously they didn't directly come out and say she doesn't count, but in the count of the grandchildren it was as plain as day to me that she was not included. I piped back "We have two children." but there was still a lack of understanding and I was left trying to  validate my point when everyone else wanted to forget the subject even arose.

It certainly threw off my entire day, a day I was hoping to enjoy with family we rarely see. Secretly I wanted to go home right away or run as far away as possible. But I sat there and didn't say a word about my feelings for my husband's sake. I just felt very down and out of it the entire day.

I get it, most people didn't meet her so she's not on their minds... But I just want my daughter remembered. She existed. She deserves to be remembered. I refuse to sit back and watch her memory fade away.

Acrostic

Everyday I think of you.
Visions of me holding you.
Angels took you home that day.
No longer in my arms to stay.
Go on sweet girl and fly free.
Eventually with you I'll be.
Losing you was heaven's gain.
In our hearts you will remain.
Never far from Mommy's mind.
Evangeline, you're one of a kind.

Thanksgiving

The other day while eating dinner Ryan asked what all we were going to make for Thanksgiving. I shrugged my shoulders and said "Really I don't feel like making anything..." I feel terrible saying that but last year Thanksgiving was when we told our parents we were expecting a baby.... I was so happy that day. And this year we were supposed to be thankful to have our baby here... And I'm not thankful this year, because she's not here.

Ryan said we should at least make it a good memory for Mariah, and I get that... But at the same time we are still having a family get together before Thanksgiving so she will remember that. She's four... If we eat turkey and all the sides a week or two before Thanksgiving with family that's practically Thanksgiving to her.

I feel like such a lousy person saying these things and I'm sure people think "You still have things to be thankful for..." Yes, I know I do, but I'm still too sad and angry at the world right now.... The only thing I really want to be thankful for this year is not true. I wanted to be thankful for making memories with my two beautiful children... And although I have two beautiful children, I've been robbed of ever making memories with one of them.

I'd much rather order chinese food, watch movies all day and forget that it's Thanksgiving day.

A shoulder to lean on

I understand that everyone's lives continue on, but it's so hard feeling like Evangeline is forgotten. If she were here people would be asking about her and wanting to see pictures. Since she's not here nobody ever talks about her. At times I feel like people intentionally pretend she didn't exist... to make it easier on themselves so they aren't uncomfortable, and because they think it's easier on me to not talk about her.

This past week was six months since we lost Evangeline and it was an incredibly hard milestone for me. On top of missing my baby I felt completely alone. I had an awful day at work and nobody really checked in to see if I was ok. I know it's nobody's responsibility to do so... I guess I was just hoping for someone's support.

And then, when I thought that I should just get over it, and nobody cared... I received a package on my doorstep, sent with love from across the country. A friend I've never met in person (we met online 5 years ago when we were both pregnant with our first babies) became my shoulder to lean on. This beautiful person anticipated that the six month mark might be a difficult one for me. She sent a beautiful photo that she photographed and put Evangeline's name on, and a batch of homemade cookies. Her note simply said "Thinking of you all." but those simple words meant more than anyone will ever know. I cried. But my tears were tears of joy. The pain of losing my daughter was acknowledged and I wasn't alone in my pain. I felt like someone was holding my hand and missing her too.

Thank you Hannah for lifting me back up on a day that I was so far down in my grief. I'm so grateful to have such a wonderful friend.

6 months

Dear Evangeline,

Today marks six months since you were born. I honestly have no idea where the last six months have gone. It hurts so much that six months were allowed to just fly by without you here. How does the world keep spinning without you in it? I don't know.

One thing is for certain sweet girl, I have not stopped saying your name. Even though I'm sure some people probably think I should just be over it by now or I shouldn't talk about you anymore, I don't care. You are my daughter and I like to talk about you. I am proud of you no matter what. I love you and I will always miss you.

I will always mother you and just because it's in a different way than people get to parent their live children I don't care if other people think it's strange. I will mother you by honoring your memory, by not letting the world forget about you, and by making sure you always know just how loved you are. You are our daughter, our second child. You will never be replaced or forgotten. How we wish that you were here with us.

Love you forever,

Mommy

The same struggles

Tonight, Mariah said to me, "Mommy, I hate babies..... I only love Evangeline. I hate all those other babies."

And I was faced with the reality that although we are on different levels,  my sweet innocent 4 year old and I face the same struggles. How absolutely unfair that she needs to know this loss. How cruel that she misses OUR baby and doesn't understand why all these other babies are here and our baby can't be, just like me.

I gently said to her "I know Mariah... But I think Evangeline would be ok with us loving other babies too. So you don't have to hate them. Evangeline wouldn't want us to hate babies."

And she gave me a great big hug and said, "I looove Evangeline."

I do too, Mariah. I do too.

Pain

Lately I've been doing a lot of doodling on my iPad. It's my way of getting my feelings out without typing. I guess I could use a pen and paper, but this is more convenient and I'm not wasting one hundred pieces of paper everyday. This one I did the other day, and even though it's simple, I feel like it pretty much sums up my grieving.

I miss her every single day. No matter how many tears I cry the pain will never full go away. Yes, I feel a sense of relief sometimes after I cry, but the dull aching pain is still there, and will always be there. Unlike the pain of a paper cut that will heal or even the pain from a bad breakup, I will never fully recover, I will never just get over it and move on to the next one that comes along.

I don't cry everyday now. I have many days where I'm able to joke and smile and not shed a tear the entire day. But the pain is still there, and on days when something triggers my pain it can still feel as strong as those first few days after we lost her. I really hate being in so much pain, but I take comfort in knowing my pain is because I love her and miss her that much. I hope she knows that. My tears aren't because I am weak, they are tears of love.

Daycare

Everyday I take Mariah to daycare I have to walk by the first classroom... The infant room, where Evangeline should be dropped off. Most days I keep my face straight forward because I know looking in that room won't be easy. But some days I can't help but take a peek through the window and get sad while I watch the teachers rock and play with the little babies.

Last week a dad dropping off his child held the door open for me on the way into daycare. His child was in an infant carrier. I glanced down at the little boy. He was about the age that Evangeline should be. I couldn't help but wonder if they would have grown up to be friends at daycare... or maybe that little boy wouldn't even be at our daycare because Evangeline would have already taken his spot.

A month ago I picked Mariah up from daycare just before closing time. Near the end of the day the kids are all put into the same classroom, usually it's the school age classroom. That day I walked around looking for her and a teacher said, "Oh, Mariah is in with the babies!" I wanted to scream. Why in the world would they put her in that room knowing she is still trying to understand why her baby sister is not here, and knowing that I will have to go in there to pick her up? I got her out of that room as quickly as I could but it was so hard to not breakdown and cry right there in that room.

People think this gets easier, but that's not the case. There will always be these reminders for me.

A monthly cycle

Each month that passes by is just another reminder of what we are still missing from our lives. Each month begins with the hope that maybe, just maybe we will be able to catch our rainbow and so we cling to the thought of someday bringing home a baby to bring us much needed joy. The month is filled with worry, uncertainty, pleas, and a flicker of hope. And then, the end of the month comes and we see only one little line... One little line that throws me back into that pit of despair, because that one little line means that we still haven't caught our rainbow. Then my body agrees with that one little line and sheds the lining that I prayed would be the cushiony home for a new life.

Each month of trying to conceive since we lost Evangeline has been so difficult. Emotionally it's hard for several reasons. First, it is difficult to imagine trying to have another baby because we aren't trying to replace her. We are trying to share this love we have with a sibling for our girls. It's so mentally draining to feel kicked when you're down. The feeling of failing at the one thing that may really help you in your healing is very disheartening. When we were trying to get pregnant with Evangeline there was a slight disappointment when the test was negative and my period decided to show up. Now, that disappointment is on a whole new level. It is gut wrenching, agonizing, and often filled with tears.

It is also hard to see the people around me get pregnant with ease or unexpectedly. Don't get me wrong, Mariah was our pleasant surprise so I have absolutely nothing wrong with surprise babies, and I know these people love their babies as much as anyone who actively tries to conceive, it is just so hard to know that month after month we failed to achieve what these people got unexpectedly.

I just long for that idea of bringing home a baby again.

A failure

People can tell me all they want that it's not my fault, but I don't know if I will ever fully believe it. I was the one who carried her, I was the one who was supposed to protect her. I was the one who worried that she didn't move as much as Mariah.

At my appointment a week before Evangeline was born I nonchalantly said, "This baby really doesn't move much compared to my other daughter... When should I worry?" I didn't scream that I was scared, I didn't ask for extra reassurance with an ultrasound... I just brushed it off nonchalantly and asked when I should worry. All I was told was "Well as long as the baby moves an hour a day you're ok." Of course the answer I was given didn't fully answer my question, so at the time I thought as long as I felt her move daily it was ok. I wasn't told to do kick counts and that the baby should move at least X number of times within that hour... Just if baby moves an hour out of the day it's ok.

I feel like I failed her. I should have told them I was scared at that appointment, because at that point in time I was... But they gave me that answer and she had a heartbeat at that appointment so I felt reassured that all was right in the world.

I feel like they failed her. I think that they assumed that since this was my second baby that I already knew everything.... But this pregnancy was so different than Mariah. Mariah was always moving, 24/7. And with Mariah I had gestational diabetes so I had extra monitoring, an added ultrasound and non-stress tests (these things could've saved Evangeline). Evangeline was my "easier" pregnancy... No gestational diabetes this time around so I think they just acted like since it was the easier one I wouldn't have questions and already knew what to expect. Evangeline didn't move much from the get go so there was no sudden decline in movement to alarm me. I just assumed that the less movement was because my two babies were different and I focused on the fact that this was my "easier" pregnancy.

I'm glad that Ryan can say that he did nothing wrong and know that it's the truth. There was nothing he could've done to save her. But since it was my body, I think I'm always going to feel like there was something I could have done to save her... And I failed her.