Triggered

Dear Genevieve,

Your dad and I took a trip up north to go to your second cousin's wedding. The prospect of going on this trip triggered me big time. The last time we were up there was for your memorial and there were a lot of people we haven't seen since then. I continued to feel embarrassed by the fact my arms were bear and I wasn't pregnant, none of that being your fault by the way. I was worried our family and friends would look at me and assume there must be something wrong with me if I'm still without a baby. I sometimes wonder it myself. 

Before leaving, I had a hard time deciding if I was going to take the Eve Believe bear or not. I was worried it would get lost or that the TSA agents would ruin it because it weighed 6 lbs and 7 oz, just like you. I finally decided that I would leave the bear at home to stay on the safe side because I would be more upset if something happened to her than not having her for a few days. I did, however, bring the pink Alice in Wonderland blanket with your name. 

The trip wasn't as bad as anticipated, but I did have one bad experience.we planned on getting dinner with a couple of friends and their children. I figured I would be able to handle it. 

 There was a baby born a couple of months before you were. It was your daddy's friend's baby. When I saw her, I was curious. I wasn't sure what to accept of a child at that age since I haven't gotten to see you grow up. She was wearing a duplicate of an outfit that was given to you at the baby shower. The one for you is in a different size, but it was surreal to see a baby close to your age wearing an outfit that is in the nursery closet. 

It didn't bother me at first, but after holding her, I couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to hold you now. She was walking, would you be? She was eating all people food, what food would I be feeding you? She did not enjoy sitting in the high chair, would you have also disliked it, or would you have gone with the flow? It brought to mind all these questions that wouldn't be answered in this lifetime. It seemed so unfair that I didn't have you and I couldn't handle it. I started to tear up. I told myself to get a grip. That didn't work so I hid behind the menu hoping no one would notice the meltdown I was having in the restaurant. Your dad did, so I told him I needed some air. I quickly walked out and around the side of the building and ugly cried. I got a hold of my friend and she talked to me and understood how hard it was for me in that moment. Them your dad came out to see how I was doing and offered to get me some medicine to calm down. 

It took me awhile, but the clozapam started to kick in and I felt like I could return to the table. I was embarrassed even after my friend on the phone and your dad told me there was nothing to be embarrassed of, I hate crying in public. I hate crying. I always ugly cry and my face gets red and my eyes puffy and it looks that way for awhile. Luckily the restaurant was dark so it didn't look as bad. I made it through the rest of the meal and we went back to the hotel. 

Thank god for good friends, your dad, and clozapam. 

I love you and miss you. Always. 

Love, 

Mom

Stepping back

Dear Genevieve, 

I made the really hard decision to step back from the friendship I have with your godmother. Right now she is not a healthy person to be around and I'm so sorry I can't be her friend right now. It's one of those lessons you learn growing up and throughout your life, who you should be around and who you shouldn't. 

Your godmother married someone who was incapable of being a good companion. She knew this going into it and even questioned whether or not she should follow through with getting married. I told her if there was a question in her mind to not get married; however, she thought she would be embarrassed if she called it off so she didn't. Now she's unhappy most of the time. 

As much as I love your godmother, every bad situation she's been in is because she put herself there, and I can't stand by and watch it anymore. It wouldn't be good for me to continue to be friends with someone who hurts herself. I tried to encourage her to get help. I really did. But I can't make her do anything she doesn't want to, and so excuse after excuse was made and no steps of action were taken. 

Genevieve, had you lived, I would have taught you that it's strong to ask for help and how to get out of bad situations. I would have encouraged your independence and courage. I would have taught you that sometimes you have to step away from someone and I'd be here for you when you did. 

So I'm sorry that I have to step away from someone I'm sure you care about, but it is what is best for me at this time. 

I love you. Always. 

Love,

Mom

Sad 2.0

Dear Raine,

I don't know how to start this letter.  We did not have that much time together.  I was so excited when I found I was pregnant with you.  I couldn't believe it.  We had been trying to so long and then suddenly you were there.  We were ecstatic, we had trouble going back to sleep.  Finally, after fifteen months, I was pregnant with my rainbow baby.

I had told myself before I got pregnant that when I was pregnant I was going to focus on being grateful and sharing my love with my baby for as much time as I can.  I think I did that.  I hope you felt the love your dad and I had for you.

We called you Baby R 2.0 since Genevieve was originally called Baby R.  I would play positive pregnancy hypnosis audio to help me relax and then I would think positive thoughts or talk to you and hoped you get my messages.  You were very loved and very wanted.

I was having trouble figuring out if I had loss a baby or if there was a baby to begin with, and I will probably struggle with that in the future.  But one thing I know was real was the love I felt for you and the love I feel for you still.

As I sit here and type this I am still in disbelief that I have been pregnant two times and have zero live babies to show for it.  I can't believe this happened again.  This time is different, I feel like I barely got to know you and then you were taken away.  It's like I know I am missing something, but I don't know what it is.

Before this I had set plans, my rainbow baby's middle name is going to have Eve in it somewhere to honor their big sister.  I wanted the rainbows to know about their big sister, Genevieve Pearl.  I would want them to know you too, but I have nothing to show for you except a picture of a couple of sticks I peed on.  You were not in any sonogram photos so I'm not sure what to tell future children.  I guess I will have to figure it out when it is time.

I have learned a lot from this experience.  For one, I want to put the nursery together and make it gender neutral.  Before I wanted to do themes, and I still love the idea of themes, but for now I want to make gender neutral and then do a theme when your siblings is a toddler.  I want to try to relax as much as possible and not put pressure on myself to get pregnant again.  That one is easier said then done.  If I didn't think it was even possible, I love your daddy even more.  I want to go back to working out and living my life and I am so lucky to get pregnant again, then I will try to have the same philosophy that I had with you: Love with everything and be grateful for our time together.

I have may have known about you for a week, but you were a wise little embryo.

Love,

Mommy

Confused

I am feeling so confused about this miscarriage. The doctor told me she only saw the gestational sac and there wasn't a yolk or a fetal pole. Was there even a baby? Did I lose a baby? With Genevieve, it was so obvious she was a baby. I held her. I kissed her. I have pictures of her. With this, I have a few sticks I peed on. 

If there was never a heartbeat and a baby wasn't seen, was the baby alive?  Was there a soul? Did I lose a baby? Did I just name a gestational sac?

I miss being pregnant. I miss the possibility of bring a baby home. I miss the happiness and excitement I felt when I was pregnant. I miss looking at onsies that I could possibly put a baby in and discuss names with the husband. I miss those things, but did I lose a baby? Was there a baby? 

If there was a baby there, I probably flushed her down the toilet. So which is better? There being a baby there or not? 

I have these thoughts and questions floating in my head and colliding together. The confusion is frustrating me because it's not precise or neat. Not that baby loss ever is, but with Genevieve I knew what I was missing. I knew what I was grieving, with this, I'm left confused. 

Angel Sister

Dear Genevieve,

It finally happened for me.  The day before Mother's Day, I saw the second pink line.  I stared at the stick in disbelief that there was actually a second line there.  I called for your dad to make sure I wasn't just seeing things.  He saw it too.  Fifteen months.  That is how long it took to see a second line.  Fifteen months.  We couldn't believe it.

That weekend we were staying at a timeshare resort.  We didn't know it before we book the hotel, but there was a Lake Eve on the property.  "Aww," we thought.  We knew you were going to be with us for that Mother's Day weekend.  It was bittersweet.  We were with you, even if we couldn't see you.  Then to make our weekend even better, we saw that second pink line.  How could we be so lucky?

I woke up on Mother's Day at 2 am in the morning and immediately took more pregnancy tests for confirmation.  I got it.  Both pregnancy tests were positive.  I ran to your daddy and woke him up.  We immediately fell in love with your sibling and we felt so blessed for this gift you gave us.  We were sure it came from you.  It made Mother's Day bearable since I was on cloud 9 the entire day.

I was on cloud 9 the entire week.  I was so happy to be pregnant.  I was scare too, but I was so overjoyed to have a second little one, your sibling.  Your dad and I were convince she was a girl, even though it was way too early to find out.  We just knew it was a girl.

Friday, your daddy and I went to see the high risk doctor.  We were hoping to see a little alien-like creature in my tummy.  I had prepared myself the entire week to not see the heartbeat.  I knew it was too early and I didn't want to scare myself.  I told the doctor I would be 5 weeks, but when she did the ultrasound, she only saw the gestational sac and no yolk or fetal pole.  She said it was consistent with being pregnant for 4 weeks.  She sent me out to do blood work.  I was nervous, but your dad was not.

Saturday we went to visit with your grandma and when we came back that evening, I saw blood.  It was not a lot, just a few drops, but it was there.  I did not bleed with you so I was nervous. I made an appointment with an urgent care to be sure there wasn't an infection.  He sent us to the emergency room.

I had several tests run, and it appeared my HCG hormone was low, but we had nothing to compare it to since my other blood work did not come back.  It was looking very grim. I tried to hold out hope, but I figured there was no point.  My paperwork said it all "threatened abortion."  When I read those words, I just knew I was going to have another angel.

Sunday morning around 2, I woke up to blood and pain.  I was huddled over in pain and knew that I was miscarrying.  Thank goodness your father insisted I go to the hospital.  I was shaking in pain the short ride there and when I arrived I told the man what was happening.

I am taken in right away.  The nurse sits at the desk and I sit on the chair.  Although she heard everything I told the man in the window, she asked me what happened.  I said it again "I'm having a miscarriage".  I told her about the ER visit earlier.  I told her how I woke up with blood and pain and that I took ibuprofen to help with the pain.  She looks at me and asks "You're pregnant?"  I said I was and she replies with "you're not supposed to take ibuprofen if you are pregnant."

Eve Believe, I have seen so much ugly in this world.  And in that moment, I could have turned and slapped her.  I could have turned to her and said, "Thanks a lot you insensitive cow."  I could have done so many things.  But I didn't.  I said again I was miscarrying.  She gets up and slowly walks down the hall to bring us to our room.  She does not speak to any of the nurses and leaves us there.  My hands start to go numb.  I can't believe this is happening to me again.  I call for a nurse and say I can't feel my hands.

A nurse comes to the room and takes my blood pressure.  I told her what happened.  I told her about the insensitive cow.  I told her about you.  I told her I can't believe I am losing another baby.

The doctor comes in and we talk.  They finally give me pain medicine to help with the pain.  The doctor does a pelvic exam and sees that I am having a miscarriage and I have tissue causing the pain.  He removes it and I immediately feel relief.  I am so grateful for that doctor.  He was so compassionate and understanding.

When we were alone, your daddy and I cried for our baby.  We decided to call her Raine since she was supposed to be our rainbow and it could be unisex.  Even though we thought she was a girl, we still wanted a unisex name in case.  You have a sibling.  You are a big sister.  You get to be with her and I don't.  Please take care of her.

I imagine you both running through a field holding hands and giggling.  I imagine you playing with each other and giving kisses to Grandma Muggy.  I imagine you both happy.  Your daddy and I love you both, forever and always.

Love,

Mommy

Mean Body

Dear Genevieve,

I thought for sure I was pregnant. I thought for sure you were going to be a big sister. I thought for sure this was going to be the month. 

I was late. I was get nauseous. I was using the restroom frequently. All of the signs were looking good. All of the signs were pointing to me being pregnant. 

Until today. Today all of that was shattered. All of my hopes and dreams for the future of the potential baby came to an end. It feels like failing. I feel silly for evening hoping or dreaming I was actually pregnant. Of course it wouldn't happen for me. 

I love you, and I want you to be a big sister. I want to be a mommy to a baby I can hold too.

The inbetween is so hard for me.  I don't know what I can do differently.  I feel so hopeless.

None of this is your fault.  I love you now and always.

Love,
Mommy

Good Friday

Dear Genevieve,

Today is Good Friday, the day Jesus died, and for once I want to go to church.  I want to hear how God handled his death, but I must admit, in all fairness, when Jesus died, he went to be with God and when you died, you did not go to be with me.  Which makes me wonder, wouldn't Jesus' birth be harder for God than his death?  It must have been very difficult to have a child born, knowing he was going to die horrible death.

I think, in part, I want to go to church today because I want to hear the part of the story where Jesus asks God why he has forsaken him.  I can relate to Jesus in the way.  I often wonder the same thing.  Why am I forsaken?  Today I learned that a one of the people in the support group I went to a year ago had a baby and another one is pregnant.  There were 6 couples, including us, that were in this support group, and only your daddy and I don't have a child to hold or are pregnant.   Why am I forsaken?

When I hear this news, Eve Believe, it is so confusing.  I feel happy, jealous, angry, guilty and sad all jumbled into one.  I am happy for them, but I feel left behind and I am jealous because I wonder why isn't this happening for me?  Then I feel angry because it hasn't happened for me yet, and then I immediately feel guilty and sad that I feel anger and jealousy in the first place?  Why can't I just be happy?  Why do I have to feel those other things?  Maybe that is why I am not pregnant because it is hard to feel happy when I first hear about other people getting pregnant, even loss mothers like me.  Maybe I'm not good enough to have a living baby.  I don't know.  I want to think I am good enough, but isn't that arrogant to think?

Recently, someone told me that I have gotten myself comfortable in the anger stage of grief.  I wish it were that easy to have stages of grief.  Then I could just move on to the next one, no big deal.  But grief is much like all the those feelings when I hear someone is pregnant or had a baby.  It is like a kid took a crayon and drew a big scribble mark, chaos.

I wonder if that is how Jesus felt when he knew he was going to die or if that is how God felt when Jesus died or was born.  I wonder if I will find the answers I am looking for in this church service.  I don't know what else is wrong with me that I am not getting pregnant and it leaves me asking, "Why am I forsaken?

I love and miss you always.

Love,

Mommy

The Closet

Dear Genevieve, 

I started to clean out the closet of what would have been your nursery. I put off doing it for 15, almost 16 months, and I had this lingering feeling that it was time to start organizing it. Today I went into the nursery and put the yarn blocking the closet into the crib that was meant for you. Then I opened the closet door and proceeded to take the clothes meant for you off the hangers and pack them away. 

As I took off little outfit after little outfit, I thought about how these clothes didn't touch your skin. I thought about how I had picked out many of those clothes over a year ago and I would never get to see you wear them. I took the Illinios outfit off the hanger and remembered how I wanted to do a family picture of us all wearing our Illini gear. Tears rolled down my face as I thought about how we would never get to take that picture. I thought about all the things we wouldn't get to do together. 

The past week or so, I have been scaring myself. I read an article about reliving the beginning grief with a new baby. It terrifies me and of course I put myself in my own personal hell. I'm not pregnant and already I have myself scared about having a rainbow baby. I was afraid I would resent a rainbow baby for not being you. I asked other loss moms about their experiences with their rainbows and how they felt after. What I've learned: the feelings are complicated.  I created this fear in my head that I wouldn't be happy with a rainbow because I would go back to the raw, scary place I was in right after you died.  As much as I love you, I really don't want to go back there. 

So as I folded the tiny clothes I had hoped you would wear, I started to wonder if I would ever get to bring home a baby. The thought of your daddy and I not getting to raise and hold a living baby was unbearable. After I folded all that my heart would allow, I went into my room and cried. Eventually your daddy went in there to comfort me. And that's when the lightbulb went off. That's when it all made sense. Resenting your sibling for not being you would be similar to resenting you for dying. It hurts. A lot. But I could never resent you for it. I will love a new baby and ache for your simultaneously. I'm sure it will be bittersweet. And I'm sure at first it will be more intense until I cope with it. 

I know I can do it. I'm ready to. 

I love you and miss you always. 

Love,

Mommy

Be Mine

Dear Eve,

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day and I want you to be my valentine. I want to kiss your cheeks and watch you sleep in my arms and for you to be mine. 

You will always be mine. You will always be our eldest daughter, our first born, and no one can ever take that away. In that sense, you'll always be ours. It just hurts that you can't be physically ours. Not that it's your fault, it just is. 

I read this quote on Pinterest where someone said they hoped babies that are aborted or die go to mothers in heaven who died in childbirth so they could hold a baby. I found it horrifying. I couldn't image you being with a different mother and her pretending you were hers. I image you are with my Grandma Muggy, you're namesake, and with Jesus. Or I imagine you're with other angel babies watching over me. I imagine you tell them I'm yours, just like you'll always be mine. 

When I die, I imagine you'll be given to me again and we will be together with your daddy. Our family finally complete. 

I hope you know how much I love you and how much I think of you. How much I cry for you and how I think of you and feel happiness, not just sadness. 

I hope you'll be my valentine this year. 

I love you and miss you always. 

Love, 

Mommy

Tragically Beautiful

Dear Me, 

Did you ever think you would be at the point where everything horrid and beautiful would be so intertwined that it's hard to tell the two apart? Did you ever think your life would be like this? Short answer no. But it is. 

I think about my life and how it is this beautifully tragic balance of life and death. I made this calendar of my little family and it of course had pictures of Genevieve surrounded by pictures of the husband and I smiling or funny pictures of our animals. I think about how the only real pictures I have of Genevieve are after she passed and how beautifully tragic those are too. This is our life, her death and our continued life interwoven in this web of delicate design. 

I never would have thought of death as beautiful until I met Genevieve. Her cute chubby cheeks and her sweet face will always be perfect in a shade of sepia to hid the fact she was red when born and started to turn purple later on. She will remain perfect forever, never able to sin or make mistakes. She's the epitome of perfection and the cost of that perfection is death. And though she is dead, it doesn't take away how tragically beautiful she is, it's her. 

And so I ponder my life and this delicate web it has become. Life and death are placed on this intricate balance without one side teetering an inch. My life, my family, has this one member missing and yet, I feel that maybe she never left. The scale it can go one way or the other, but it doesn't.  It just is. Like life, it just is. 

And this whole time I find it logically intriguing and emotionally exhausting, but it is mine all the same. 

Sincerely,

Me

Getting pregnant

Dear Universe, God, What Have You,

Trying to get pregnant sucks. I want you to know that. I want you to know I've been trying for a year and I find it infuriating and frustrating that I'm not pregnant. 

I lost my first baby, I should get a free pass on this because I've been through enough. But I don't and I find it incredibly annoying. I hate this. Are you listening world?! I.FUCKING.HATE.THIS!! It's bullshit. I'm mad and frustrated and if another person tells me to relax, I might throat punch him. 

I am doing everything I am supposed to do. I've lost over 10 lbs, I'm eating healthy, I exercise, and I take my prenatal. The husband is healthy so I don't get it. I just don't get it. 

I'm going to be a kick ass mom to a living baby because I'm already a kick ass mom to my dead one. Genevieve made me a better person and I love her for it every day. I wish it turned out differently, but I can't change that and now I am ready for a new little life to love, cherish, and teach. 

I am so ready. I'm so ready I'm annoyed. Trying to get pregnant is the perfect trifecta of helplessness. First you wait to ovulate, then you wait the two week wait until you test to see if you're pregnant, and then if it is negative you wait for your period to show. Then it cycles. It's been cycling for a year now. So what the hell body? What the hell universe? What the hell god? It only took 4 months to get pregnant the first time. 

 

I am ready to be knocked up. Please do this in a timely fashion. Thank you. 

Sincerely,

The willing participant who wants to be nauseous, moody, have back and rib pain, and all other terrible pregnancy symptoms to take home a happy and healthy baby

Birthday

Dear Eve,

I'm turning 29 soon. I'm turning 29 in 15 days to be exact. And I'm not exactly sure how that happened. I was supposed to be 29 with an almost 15 month old in my arms. We both know that won't happen. If I could just hold you one more time, I would never let go. I would hold you and hold you forever. 

What I realized is that if I don't get pregnant by June, I won't have a baby by 30. I don't know why that gives me pause. I know it's just a number and that I'll still be a good mother even if I have my first living baby at 30. 

I don't know why it even bothers me. It seems so silly.  I don't feel 29, I don't feel like any age. It's like I just am. 

I've been thinking about this long and hard and I've decided that whatever age I am ill still be a good mom. I'll be able to provide for a baby much better in my 30's than in my 20's. I'll be able to give your brother or sister a better life than what I would have, had I had a baby in my early 20's. 

I think whenever I have a baby, I'll be so excited and grateful, no matter my age. I'll appreciate him or her that much more because I've waited so long. You'll have a part of it. Your brother and sister will be so loved and cherished since I didn't get to love on and cherish you the way o would like or the way you deserve. I try to do the best I can, but it's hard not getting to hold you and do all those things mommies get to do. But I promise you, no matter my age, I will do those things for your brother or sister. I know I will feel your love through them as you feel mine. 

But in order to get to that place, can ya help your mom out with getting me pregnant?  ;) I love you and miss you always. 

Love,

Mommy

Second of Everything

Dear Eve,

A show your daddy and I like to watch now has a character named Eve. Another  show we also watch regularly has a character named Genevieve. I'm guessing your name is starting to become popular. I get this weird twinge when I hear it. It's in the depth of my stomach and I long to be able to call to you and you respond. 

How's my sweet Eve Believe?!

Come here, Genevieve. 

Thank you, Genevieve. 

Please sneeze in your elbow, Eve. 

All the normal nuances that people say to one another or the things I say to my students that I'm sure would have spilled over into motherhood, I won't get to say them to you. I won't get to call out your name and you respond. 

On these shows, when I hear your name said as if it's no big thing, I get jealous. No. You can't use that name. That's my baby's name. She's dead and her name was picked perfect for her. So no your character can't be called that. And of course they can't hear my thoughts screaming through the television screen. But if they could, they'd get an earful. 

This past year went by and I missed everything. I know I've written it all before, but for some reason I'm still shocked by this. I am going through the second of everything. Valentine's Day is coming up soon and it'll be my second one without you. Then, St. Patrick's Day (not that you would be old enough to even enjoy it) and then the summer turns to fall and the holiday season picks back up with your birthday being in the middle. And then, before I know it, the second year has gone by and I missed that too. It sometimes feels like perpetual torture because there's not a damn thing I can do about it. 

I always feel that when I get to the end of my posts I should have some concluding thought that ties everything up into a bow and summarizes the entry. But then I think about how life isn't like that. Life doesn't come tied up in a bow. Life can be hard and ugly. It can be blood and tears. It can be beautifully tragic. So instead of ending on some life evolving epiphany, I end with this: no matter what I go through, whether it be the first or second or tenth of something, I will always love you and I will always miss you. 

Love,

Mommy

Baby Weight

Dear Genevieve,

I lost my baby weight. The weight I gained when I was pregnant with you, I've lost it. I feel like I should be proud of myself, and at times I am, but I feel like I've lost something else too. 

You would think that having a piece of my heart and soul missing, I'd already be lighter, but I wasn't. It's ironic that now that I actually am lighter, I feel I'm heavier. I have an extra weight, an extra burden. I have guilt. The guilt tells me that I lost another part of you. It says now there is no evidence a Genevieve Pearl once lived there.  

I tell myself that's not true, there is proof. I have one stretch mark on my belly that was given to me by you. However, that is also starting to fade and almost disappear. Sometimes I look at it and tell it to come back. I want it there. I want it to be pink like before. But it doesn't work. It just fades back into my skin only to be seen when looked for. 

Most people don't want to see stretch marks and get excited over weight loss. They get excited to buy knew clothes and do all those things you do when you've lost weight. Not me. I still wear my maternity clothes and other pants that are too big because even though I'm supposed to feel better about myself for losing weight, I still feel broken, I still feel like I should be wearing these clothes. 

Most people hate seeing stretch marks and are excited for weight loss. I can be like most people some of the time. The other times, I withdraw. I fold into myself and crawl under the proverbial rock to hide. That's where I'm okay with having the baby weight and I like seeing the stretch mark. There my feelings aren't as complicated because I set the norms. Sometimes I want to hide in there and never come out. I always do. I always have to come out. I always peek my head out of my shell, hoping it's safe to come out. It never is. So I put on my baby loss armor and get ready to see the sunshine. 

I love and miss you always. 

Love,

Mommy