my story...

I am writing this because I feel like I have to. I feel like it has been inside for too long and it needs to come out. It's not that I have been hiding it - it has just taken a while to make sense to me - sense enough to put into words and write about it.
February 12th, 2005 was a dark day for me and I feel like my life has not been the same.
My husband and I spent years trying to have a baby. I was into it 100% and he was tolerating my desire. I did not feel like we both had the same goals. Even though he was along for the ride - he was in the back seat. My heart ached for a baby with every breath I took.
Every month was a roller coaster. We did all of the testing... I swallowed the pills... did the injections... different pills... more injections... more tests... 8 times we did IUIs... meet with the IVF specialist a few times... years past and I still had empty arms and a barren womb and wavering hope.
Why Me? Why? I was very angry with myself. I was mad that I was "broken". The doctors said that there was no explanation. Nothing that could be fixed. Nothing that could be explained.
But, then I got pregnant.
Oh how I remember the day that I knew I had a little life growing inside of me. You could probably see my smile from a mile away. Hearing the heartbeat... seeing my baby during the ultrasound... telling my family and sharing in their joy...
Seven weeks.
Eight weeks.
Nine weeks.
Ten weeks.
Eleven weeks.
Twelve weeks. Telling more people and starting to plan the nursery and thinking about names. All of those things that I had been dreaming about for so long were finally coming true.
Thirteen weeks.
Fourteen weeks.
I had been put on bed rest for a few days but another ultrasound showed that everything looked good and the baby was growing and the heartbeat was strong. And then for some reason at fourteen weeks 3 days - it was over.
I spent the night in the hospital because I was dehydrated and I had lost a lot of blood.
I was sad but I was strong.
I cried but I didn't grieve.
I tried so hard to be ok that I didn't allow myself time to heal.

I missed 3 days of work.
3 Days...

I thought that I needed to get back to my routine and forget all that just happened. I thought that jumping right back in would keep me so busy that I would get over it faster. I didn't give myself time to mourn the loss of my child - the loss of my joy - my dreams - my hope... That is what I thought was best for me. Looking back on it now - I wish I would have taken more time. I was never going to forget so why did I deny myself the time to work thru the pain and emotion I had inside?
Ironically, it probably would have been difficult for me to do it differently. That is the way I am. I like to work hard and I feel appreciated and fulfilled at my job. It was a pick-me-up just being there and I was focusing on something instead of what I had just gone thru.
But, I tried so hard to convince everyone and myself that I was ok. It worked for a while. But, Deep down, I knew it was a charade. A part of my heart had died that day and I felt like I needed to honor my child. The child who I had prayed earnestly for. The one that I failed to protect. The one I would never hold. I put together a little collage and framed it and then tucked it into a special place. Every now and then I pull it out and hold it close and whisper a few sweet words or hum a lullaby thinking about what could have been.

I know everything is ok. Things happen for a reason and the void doesn't ever have to go away. I don't have to prove anything to anyone. Life has gone on. Hope has been renewed. God is in control.
I am not writing this because I want to be in a pity party or to make anyone sad. I am just sharing my thoughts and feelings. Time has passed. Life has changed. I have a beautiful 2 year old who I love and am so blessed to call my own. But, there is still a small part of me who longs for that tiny life that ended before it started. I wish I could hug my child who's heart stopped beating before the first breath was taken. I long to look into a face that shares my eyes and my husband's smile. But, I continue to remind myself about God's faithfulness. I am content in knowing that God loves me more than anything and He is not withholding His best from me!

Stickers

Stickers - Stickers - Stickers....
My little princess loves stickers. She loves sticking them to the furniture. She loves sticking them to the floor. She loves sticking them to the walls. She loves sticking them to ME.
At random times I find stickers stuck to me in random places. For example, a few weeks ago my co-worker pulled a sticker out of my hair while I was at a work convention in Appleton and last week another coworker pulled a sticker off the back of my pants at the office and a few days ago the bagger at the grocery store noticed I had a sticker stuck to my face while we were in the checkout line and last night when I was laying in bed I felt something on my neck about an inch under my left earlobe and I found a sparkly Cinderella sticker. How does she get all of these stickers on me without me knowing it? She is good. I need to pay more attention. I need to soak in every moment and savor the joy of being the mother of a very wonderful 2 year old.