Tag: baby

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Visiting my baby

Today is a hard day. I’m missing my baby something fierce and the tears are falling hard.

Jake and the other Shecklets are at Nissedalen for the day. (Cousins Day 2020, but with reduced attendance this year. Thanks COVID.) I just didn’t have it in me to fake a smile and pretend I was ok today. One of the things my therapist is challenging me to do is look for ways that I am advocating for myself. I guess the argument could be made that this is one of them – I can grieve how I need to grieve and allow my family to spend the day as they planned. It does make me sad to not be with them – I love watching the kids in the water.

I decided to make a stop at the cemetery and spend some time reading with my littlest Shecklet. My MIL made the sweet suggestion that I bring a favorite kids book and read it by Astrid’s grave. I brought two favorites – one that makes me cry and one that makes me laugh.

Sitting next to my baby’s gravesite, I’m finding a little joy amidst my tears today.

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Thoughts after therapy

I had my first session with a therapist who specializes in pregnancy loss/stillbirth as well as ART therapy (Accelerated Resolution Therapy.) I sat in my car afterwards and made some notes about how I thought the session went, what I thought and felt, and what I want to bring up next time. I plan to try the ART therapy in hopes of it helping me heal from the trauma I’ve experienced.

It’s difficult for me to call my experiences “traumatic,” but I guess when you talk about an emergency ambulance birth (2013,) brain tumor diagnosis (2017,) brain surgery and recovery (2018,) and a stillbirth (2020,) I think the argument can definitely be made for calling those events traumatic. Being that I’m the one who went through those things and I don’t know any different, I think I have coped by telling myself just that – I don’t know life to be any other way than what I experienced, so I just have to keep pressing on. But pressing on after the death of your child is different than pressing on after major surgery. Yes, surgery changed me in many ways, but the things I lost, (hearing, sense of taste, energy level) are things my body has adapted to. The death of my daughter is completely different. She was alive and now she’s not. Yes, my body has physically recovered (mostly) from carrying her for 25 weeks, but my heart is broken. I know I will never be the same person I was prior to my pregnancy. I’ve changed with each one of my kids’ births. But to not have the reason that I am different with me here on earth is hard. It’s not how it “should” be.

I should be pregnant right now.

Astrid was so wanted.

My heart aches knowing that I was only able to hold her body. I never got to hear her cry, see the color of her eyes, or find out if she would have wavy or straight hair. I won’t be part of all of her “first year” experiences. Chances are we won’t have another baby. It’s is difficult knowing that this is how my child-bearing years have ended.

A few years ago we felt as though we were in a good place, meaning we didn’t feel God putting the desire in our hearts to have another baby. When we got pregnant last December, it was a shock and also hard. Starting over at the baby stage sounded overwhelming – especially since we had recently been looking at high school options for Shecklet #1. I questioned how we would balance teenagers and a baby. But as He can always do, God worked on my heart and it didn’t take very long for me to soften up to the idea of starting over. I knew I would have plenty of “help” this time, which would be nice. Those feelings of peace were short-lived. The majority of my pregnancy was spent just focusing on each day – which I suppose is actually a good way to live, but it was also extremely stressful in that I never knew when Astrid’s last day alive within me would be.

She has been gone for 2 months. (Hearing the words, “no heartbeat,” took place two months ago today.) I know for her, that’s not even a blink of an eye, but as her mom, it’s the beginning of a journey I would rather not be on.

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Color in darkness

We have been given numerous flower arrangements, orchid plants, and stuffed animals, in addition to meals, prayers, and thoughtful gifts from friends who have walked a similar path as we are currently walking. These things have been visual, tangible ways we have felt loved and supported during this surreal time in our lives.

Our girls prayed with friends, a family from our church lit a candle for us in their home chapel while keeping us in prayer, and another family dropped off snacks, items to bring to the hospital, stuffed animals for the girls and yo-yo’s for the boys after hearing Astrid no longer had a heartbeat.

Aunts, uncles & friends have sent these:

My SD family sent us these:

Jake’s brother & SIL sent us this stuffed swan and a matching print that I hung in the girls’ room. (I love that their purchase of the swan and the print equals 15 meals for children in need.) The Psalm reference in the note is Psalm 91:4. “He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings.”

This print with a quote from St. Zélie Martin is one I absolutely love was given to me by two different people. It sits on the dresser in our bedroom.

Shecklet #4 drew this for me – it’s Astrid in my belly when I was pregnant. I’ve said this before – she was so excited to have a baby sibling come live with us. I wish I could have given her that gift.

A friend of mine gave me this – left on our front porch – after Astrid died. It now sits on my kitchen windowsill next to the “Hope” cross that another friend gave me after our miscarriage back in August 2009. The note in the small box below reads: “A mother’s love is not defined by the number of children she can see, but by the love she holds in her heart.” Franchesca Cox

My SILs, Kari & Stacie, sent this sweet gift in remembrance:

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7/11/20 – 8 weeks

How can time go so fast and yet so slow?

8 weeks while pregnant always felt so slow – probably because I always felt so sick. The 8 weeks since Astrid’s death and delivery have gone so fast. I cannot believe that much time has passed.

I am going to see a therapist on Monday. The weight of the last (almost) three years is heavy and even though I have done a lot of work on my own, Astrid’s death made me realize that it would be good to try to work with someone other than myself. I have no idea whether or not this therapist and I will be a good fit, but I’m willing to give things a shot. I want to heal from the hurt of Astrid’s death, the loss of relationships, and the stress, physical and emotional toll that having a brain tumor diagnosis and surgery have had on me.

It’s time.

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6/16/2020 – one month

I find myself making note of “anniversaries” every week. Things like “I should be X number of weeks pregnant now,” or “it’s been X weeks since we were told there was no heartbeat,” or X weeks since I delivered Astrid,” or “we buried our daughter X weeks ago.”

Today marks 1 month since we went to the hospital to start my induction and subsequent delivery of Astrid. I still catch myself wondering if this has all been a dream. I scroll through the photos we took in the hospital (and while wishing we had taken more) am grateful for the ones we did take.

I miss our baby girl so much.

Her older sister, Shecklet #4, asked to see pictures of her little sister last night. (I had been waiting for her to ask rather than ask if she wanted to see them.) She asked a few questions about her skin color, but other than that, just commented about how small her fingers were and how cute her feet were. She would have been so good at loving her little sister here on earth.

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5/30/20 – Range of Emotions

Two weeks ago I delivered Astrid. If you were to see me today, it’s highly unlikely you could tell I was still pregnant 14 days ago. The realization that there is no longer an outward sign of my pregnancy makes me so sad. Jake feels that sadness, too.

Yesterday was a good day. I told a friend of mine who was checking in on me that I felt guilty admitting that it was a good day. I laughed, smiled, and enjoyed the beautiful weather. Such a stark contrast to last week when I was back in the hospital overnight or two weeks ago as I spent the last night at home with Astrid with me. My friend reassured me that it was ok. That it’s good to have good days. Not that I needed her permission, but it was good to hear her say that to me.

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5/21/20 – 5/22/20 — ER & overnight

As if there needed to be more emotional stress added to life right now, I went to the ER after Astrid’s funeral due to running a temp and feeling pretty crummy overall. (It started on 5/20, led to phone calls with the nurseline in the evening and morning of 5/21 as well as a televisit on 5/21 prior to Astrid’s funeral.) While I was in the ER, my BP went high (for me) and I was running a temp of 104 degrees. The combination of those two issues made me very nervous. (Once again, Jake was not able to be with me. I drove myself to the ER and texted him updates along the way.)

After having an ultrasound, it was determined that I needed a D&C to remove retained tissue (placenta) and be treated for an infection. Once I had the surgery and they started me on IV antibiotics, I began to feel much better. They admitted me overnight due to the high temp and told me if I remained fever free for 24 hours, I could go home.

I didn’t really sleep in the hospital, but did rest relatively well and was able to eat. By the time Friday evening came, I was feeling much better and was ready to head home. Jake brought the kids to pick me up around 6pm. It was so good to see all of them. It’s been a rough 24 hours.

While I was resting and receiving antibiotics and fluids on 5/22, I had two friends text me the Gospel reading and reflection for the day from the Word Among Us – John 16:20-23.

I love that my friends thought of me when they read this reflection. I needed to hear these words today.

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5/21/20 – Funeral Mass & Burial

Today we buried our daughter. Her place of rest is near the babies of several of our good friends. When Jake suggested we choose St. John’s Cemetery for Astrid, I immediately said yes. I can’t think of anywhere else I would want her to be than near the other little saints we know.

Her funeral mass was beautiful. Due to COVID-19 restrictions, the six of us were only allowed to be present for her funeral. (We had hoped the mass could be recorded so we could share it with a few people, but it turns out the recording didn’t work. I was extremely disappointed.) While it was sad to not have others who are also grieving our little girl’s death there to celebrate her short life with us, it was ok. I didn’t feel anxious about needing to comfort others or relive the events of the last week over and over.

Astrid’s brothers and biggest sister read the readings and intentions during mass. They did a great job honoring their little sister. Fr. Jim gave a lovely homily and even incorporated the heart sign that I put over my belly on Mother’s Day.

Jacob carried her casket (made by Trappist Monks in Iowa) out of the church and then from the hearse to the grave site. We are so grateful for the beautiful ministry of the monks who made her casket (and our parish for having it available for us.)

At the grave site, Fr. Jim prayed with us (and a few friends and family who were able to join us.) I’m grateful for the love and support we felt in the cemetery. Five of the six of us took a turn shoveling dirt on top of the vault and then each of Astrid’s siblings placed a pink rose on top. I really hope that being part of her burial is an act of love that they will always be able to look back on.

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5/20/20 – The night before

I was reflecting today that a week ago was the beginning of the end of my pregnancy with Astrid. No heartbeat. Information about induction. Fast forward a week and it’s the eve of Astrid’s funeral. Writing that is so hard. Grief has hit me in more waves today. I get choked up at the littlest thoughts of her and how, as my friend Sara put it, we “had to fit a lifetime of loving into just a few short moments.”

This isn’t how it is supposed to be.

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5/19/20 – Additional planning

Astrid’s Grandma Patti (Jake’s mom) offered for us to use the baptismal gown that Jake and his siblings were baptized in to wrap around Astrid when she is laid to rest. The dress was made by her Great-grandma Lois and is a similar design to the one that Grandma Lois made for the Shecklets’ baptisms. Jake brought the gown over to the funeral home yesterday afternoon.

Today we heard back from our Judy from our parish, who has been guiding us through planning Astrid’s funeral mass. We did some minor additions to music and asked for Shecklet #3 to change roles with Jake so she could read the intentions at mass. Shecklet #1 will read the first reading (Wisdom 3: 1 – 3, 9) and Shecklet #2 will read the second (Philippians 3: 20, 21.)

Two of our friends worked together to create a Meal Train for us for the next few weeks and we have been blessed with two meals thus far. Much like when we returned home from my brain surgery in CA, being provided a meal during a time of recovery, and in this case, recovery & loss, is a gift that means so much. I know people say “it’s the least I can do,” but really, it means way more to us.

I keep scrolling through the photos we took of our time with Astrid in the hospital. We still have not had a chance to look at the ones taken by our nurses, but we will get there. The organization, Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, that is available to take photos for families experiencing the loss of their babies was not able to come to the hospital to take photos for us, but they do offer a retouching service. Once we’ve looked at all of the pictures we have of Astrid, I plan to send a selection to them in hopes that they can be retouched if possible.