Tag: pregnancy loss

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Even those who never fully blossom bring beauty into the world…

kristinamariedaily

Well my sweet Amelia… it’s 2023 and it’s time for your garden to grow for its third season.

When we planted your first garden in 2021 I was utterly heartbroken. I was the version of me who was shattered into a million different pieces with no instructions for how to put me back together. I couldn’t see how beautiful the future would be but I had a dream that each year as winter turned into spring I would plant a new garden to care for and tend to just as I would for you if you were here. I had a glimmer of a vision that someday our family would be able to enjoy your garden year in and year out, together. But that year the fog of grief was thick and heavy. I learned a lot that first season… replacing a few plants that couldn’t survive the hot summer… figuring out how to prune some flowers and allow others to do the pruning on their own. I learned how frequently to water and watched some wildflowers that started as seed paper grow next to your flower bed… first in a small pot that was replaced several more times with larger pots to accommodate the growth. It was such a cool experience from start to finish, despite the sadness your absence brought. It gave me purpose during my darkest year and it brought some beauty to our home which held some of the most horrific memories.

Your first garden 2021

Then came 2022 and I had just found out I was expecting your little brother. Your garden took on a new form as I planted seeds that required less labor and watched them sprout. Some didn’t make it. Others grew… and grew so wild I couldn’t keep up. I had to learn how to oil the cedar flower bed that had become greyed and weathered. I had to plant some grown flowers to fill the sparseness between seedlings. I had to fight with mushrooms that had taken up residence between the flowers for several weeks. And through one of the hottest summers your garden that was once full of color was a bed of mostly green and brown with a flower here and there. It feels symbolic reflecting on the challenges this 2022 garden brought as I faced challenging and often conflicting emotions throughout my second pregnancy.

Your second garden 2022

This year… 2023… your garden is full of color and joy. My heart feels lighter and my soul feels renewed. I long for you and also feel a sense that we are right where we belong. If ever there were a year filled with song this would be the one. As I shopped for the flowers I would plant this season I scoured the aisles for anything bright and vibrant. I gravitated to flowers with colors blending into other colors… and colors I’ve never gravitated to before. It feels right to fill this season of your garden & this season in my life with brilliance. Maybe it’s because we’ve come so far… so far as a family and on our journey of loving you… but this garden is my proudest yet. It is truly a wonder to behold… looking at your garden while the wind gently blows the sweet melody of your chimes. It’s a wonder to behold how a little pot of pink flowers survived the winter ice and came back brighter than ever. I’ve never felt your presence more, Amelia, and I love it.

Even those who never fully blossom bring beauty into the world.

-Unknown
Your third garden 2023
These little flowers survived the winter freeze. A sign from you? Absolutely.
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Your second Birthday among the stars

kristinamariedaily

Two whole years. Amelia, it’s been two years since you were born into the stars and since we were able to see you and hold you. Two years since we said hello and goodbye. And two years since the journey of loving and deeply missing you began. We’ve made it through two years of grief, trauma, and being the version of ourselves that we became when we lost you. Two years as your parents. Two years I wish could’ve been different but wouldn’t wish away because you have taught us so much.

This year we continued our traditions. Your Daddy, Daisy, Benjamin, and I wrote messages to you on another pink balloon and sent it to the sky. Another year… another set of messages. Did you see them?

Every once in a while I experience something strange. I see these little twinkles… almost like thousands of tiny white specks moving all over… as I look around. It happened just before we lost you, just before we found out we were expecting your brother, and again on your second birthday as I watched the balloon float up and up until I could no longer see it.

When this happens I have this overwhelming sense that one of my angels is there with me telling me something. Was it you? Were you there with us in that moment feeling the love that we were sending your way? Was it you wrapping your little arms around us? I hope this time it was you. What a sweet thought it is that maybe our little family was together for a moment.

Imagining our little family together for a moment. Not sure you’d be in such a big dress! But maybe you would on your second birthday!

One year ago I imagined what it would be like to send off your balloon while holding a baby… your little sibling. I wished and wished for this to come true before your second birthday and I’m so glad this year we got to have this experience. Benjamin is little but watching the wonder in his eyes through it all was incredible. He loved watching your birthday candle… the flame flickering back and forth. His attempted handprints on your balloon… this will forever be the first time he touched finger paint. I love that he will grow up knowing you and sending you messages with us. I imagine singing happy birthday to you, the messages he will scribble and write over the years, and talking with him about how old you would be and who you might be here on Earth with us.

Who would you be today if you were here with us? Would you have blonde hair or brown? Would your eyes squint like Benjamin’s when you smile and would you also have dimples? What would your voice sound like? Would you have similar interests to the other little girls we know who are around your age? Would you run around, climb things, play in your kitchen? I wonder what kind of toys you’d be asking for this birthday… would we celebrate with cake and ice cream? Or would you prefer cookies?

For the rest of my life all I can do is imagine who you are… and who you would be if you were here with us. Imagining a life that could never be is both comforting and sad. But I’ll never stop imagining, Amelia, because you are my first born… my baby girl who deserved so much more. My girl who I both connect with and love through flowers and traditions like these. My girl who no matter what and no matter where is always on my mind.

Happy second birthday among the stars, Amelia.

I love you,

Mommy

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I Haven’t Lost You…

kristinamariedaily

In the still of the winter, it’s difficult to feel you here with us. Even more so this winter with how busy (and tired) your brother & Daisy are keeping me. But I know that soon the air will turn warm, our grass will green all over again, and I will be able to prepare and plant your next garden. I can’t wait. I can’t wait to pick out the flowers at the nursery that make me think of you… and I can’t wait to show Benjamin all of the beautiful colors as they bloom. I can’t wait to feel you here with us more often again. It will be so nice to spend more time in the yard where your presence is strong… It will be so nice to have moments for just the two of us as I prune and tend to your next garden.

A few weeks back we had some winter weather. And although your garden is brown with flowers that are ready to be cleared to make room for new, I couldn’t help but stop and photograph what I saw.

The icicles dripping all around your flower bed were so pretty and just like you, they would only be here a short time. After taking Daisy inside I had to sneak back out with my phone to capture the moment. I know how important it is to capture moments before they are gone.

In a few weeks we will celebrate your second birthday among the stars and spring will arrive with new perspective and growth. But for now, my sweet girl, I want you to know that I haven’t lost you. Not even a little bit. Not at all.

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New Years Eve

kristinamariedaily

Today I’ve felt a little off. A little sad under all the happiness I feel. It took most of the day to figure it out… but I realized what it is. Today is New Years Eve and although I’m right where I’m supposed to be, a part of me is missing you. For the first time in a while I’m excited to see what 2023 brings our little family, but I’m also missing you.

Two years ago we spent an excited NYE with you inside my belly, learning you were a healthy baby girl with our family during a zoom gender reveal as this was the first year of the pandemic and we were all keeping our distance. What a way to spend our NYE, ringing in the new year celebrating the baby girl we would be welcoming in 2021! Finally, we would turn the page to a new chapter that would include you. We were overjoyed with the news of you! Our family was overjoyed. Your Daddy and I picked up a steakhouse dinner and snuggled as we watched the ball drop at midnight. This night was one where we felt so certain of the future… It was one of the last innocent, carefree moments of our pregnancy with you because just a few days later the bleeding started. And many weeks later we would receive the horrible news that led to us losing you.

Pink confetti! I will never forget the moment we burst the balloon and saw the confetti.

One year ago we also spent NYE at home, this time with a dear friend visiting and you among the stars. We had lost you and by NYE we had been on a heartbreaking nine month journey of navigating life without you and facing infertility treatments and procedures with no idea when we might get another chance at parenthood. We had experienced many firsts without you and had experienced many fertility setbacks at the same time. I’d be lying if I said New Years Eve 2021 was anything but depressing. I didn’t have a 2021 highlight reel to share, no top 9 Instagram post to share… I couldn’t even bear to look on social media to see everyone else’s highlight reels. Life felt unfair. The new year did not bring any promises. How could it after we lost you? How could it after so many infertility failures and setbacks?

This year… Amelia, this NYE our evening is similar but our world is so vastly different. We are once again at home… but this year your baby brother, Benjamin, has joined our world! And Kilroy has joined you among the stars. Today we can reflect on a few hard moments, but also all there is to be thankful for in this year. There was so much good in 2022. It started out sad, with a failed embryo transfer and your first birthday among the stars. But soon after this we found out Benjamin was on his way… and although our anxieties were high there was still so much joy experiencing our subsequent pregnancy. There has been so much peace in welcoming him earth side and experiencing parenthood the way it is supposed to be. This NYE we can look forward to the next year and all the joy that is yet to come. Your brother has filled our hearts and healed our souls in ways I had always hoped and wished for.

Family photo. All that’s missing is you & Kilroy.

But no matter how much space Benjamin takes up in our hearts, there will always be a space carved out for you, Amelia. In times of great joy and happiness my heart will still ache for you… even just a little bit. And days like today may always hit a little harder or leave me feeling a bit off. The days are a lot easier now with much less heartache, but I will always love you. And as long as I love you I will miss you… even just a little bit!

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Messages From You

kristinamariedaily

As I finally take some time to slow down, sit outside in the warm breeze, and listen to your wind chimes… I realize, Amelia, that I have been too busy preparing for the arrival of your brother to notice you as often as I should. We are in a season of endless to-do lists, trying to stay busy to keep the anxiety from creeping in, and preparation for what is to come. But I know you are there. You are there quietly loving me and cheering me on as I waddle around, nesting like I wasn’t able to do for you.

Every now and then I still feel that pang of guilt…the longing and wishing I could’ve done all of the things I am now doing… with you safely inside my belly. As I begin to reconnect with old friends and meet their babies that would’ve been your friends… I sometimes still feel that slight hint of sadness that if you were here you’d be as big as them, talking like them, walking like them, and doing all of the same types of things. But I also feel myself turning a new corner. I can see these children who should be your friends and feel joy, happiness, and a sense of wonder at who you would’ve been.

A few weeks back we got the chance to have a maternity photo session with your brother and I asked you to give us some wildflowers. I still feel silly asking you and talking to you out loud… I’ve always felt pretty silly talking to your Papa out loud, as well… but I really wanted you to be represented in our photos and I figured it wouldn’t hurt to try. A big storm came through that almost canceled our photo session, but then it cleared, a breeze came through, and a beautiful sunset came. I told myself not to be disappointed if there were no wildflowers from you. I’m not quite sure how I feel about miracles and it honestly didn’t make any sense that there would be wildflowers in Dallas in September after a hot, dry summer. But there you were. You answered me with the sweetest little patch of blue wildflowers at the very end of our photo session. We were able to include you in these photos after all.

Your message was loud and clear. You are here! And sometimes it is easy to find you… and other times I have to be sure to look for you in ways that may not be so clear.

I know the days are about to become busy with a new set of challenges… but I promise I will try my absolute best to slow down and look for you. Keep sending me messages, my sweet girl. You will always be a part of our family… a part of our story.

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It’s Been a While…

kristinamariedaily

Today is August 20th, 2022 and it feels wonderful outside at a “cool” 82 degrees. It’s been a while since I’ve written to you, Amelia, but it’s also been a while since I’ve been able to connect with you peacefully, outside in our yard near your garden. It’s just been too hot in Texas this summer. It’s been too hot to sit outside (unless in a pool!) and it’s been too hot for your garden to thrive and reach its full potential. I’m amazed by the Zinnias that continue to grow tall. They’re the only seeds that turned into flowers this year… but my view this morning is a bit more messy, a bit more wild, a bit more sparse than I would have liked to see. Your garden lacks the bright color of last summer and while I’m learning to accept that each year your garden will be different just as each year you would be different if you were here; I am hoping to plant a few new things and revive it for the last few months of warm weather. Maybe then I will share photos from start to finish.

August 20, 2022. Texas heat has not been kind to your garden this year…

Amelia, you’ve known the whole time, but it was only recently that we shared our news with everyone that we are cautiously anticipating the arrival of your baby brother in November. While we know how lucky we are, we also know how quickly we could lose him… and since March we have faced many emotions. Amongst the anxiety, fear, hope, and joy one of the most difficult emotions I have faced recently has no name to describe it… I long for both of you, but I know I can’t have both of you here with me. I have two separate places in my heart for each of you… but just like any parent with multiple living children I have to make sure to devote time to each of you and sometimes this is difficult to do. Sometimes I feel as though I am failing to give to you both equally.

When we made it through two anatomy scans with your brother and things looked great both your Daddy and I felt relief and allowed ourselves to celebrate a little knowing the anxiety would creep back in days later. Then I felt something like guilt… guilt that we get to celebrate milestones with him that we never got the chance to celebrate with you. When his estimated weight passed the 14.4 oz that you weighed when we delivered you, I again felt some relief… and then some guilt. When we made it to viability and started to trust that maybe he will make it safely to our arms… again there were conflicting emotions… relief and hope and guilt and sadness.

This whole pregnancy has been a series of check points… even becoming pregnant was a check point that took a full year and a lot of devastation to achieve. But prior to 20 weeks the check points were similar to yours… just with a lot more emphasis on reaching them this time knowing how quickly things can go wrong. Now we are at a point where with each check point we feel more and more hopeful that he will safely make it earth side and at the same time I wish we could’ve had this experience with you. It will never be fair, but it will forever be our story.

I know the next three months will have their own unique emotions… as we prepare for his arrival by completing the nursery that should’ve been yours… install a car seat where yours should’ve been… take maternity photos and newborn photos that I had imagined with you… and more… but one thing I want to make sure everyone knows is that your baby brother does not replace you. He is helping to heal our souls and fill up space in our hearts…but he will never fill the space that is carved out for you.

Grief is love, Amelia… and I will both love you and long for you forever. Thank you for sharing my heart with your brother and thank you for sending him to us when we had lost most of our hope. I look forward to the days when he can learn your story and help me with your garden. I look forward to showing him the beauty of all of the flowers we see around the world and hope he, too, develops an eye for all of the floral footprints you leave for us all.

Note: Pregnancy After Loss Support (PALS) is a resource that has helped me tremendously through this pregnancy. The instagram app, website, and pregnancy tracking app have all provided validation that I have needed during difficult moments. Pregnancy after loss is beautiful but not easy at all. There are complicated and messy emotions… and this resource (especially the articles published by other PAL parents) helps us to know we are not alone.

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July 14th Will Always Be A Day For You

kristinamariedaily

July 14th…. it was the perfect due date. I know babies aren’t often born on their due date, but yours felt special. Yours felt like it was hand picked just for you. We conceived you one year after we lost my Dad, your Papa… and you were due to arrive just 4 days after his Birthday! I used to think there must be some force, much greater than ourselves, orchestrating all of this… and everything about you made this thought seem much more certain. But when we lost you, I realized how cruel it would be if this same force that gave you to us also took you away… and now I think differently.

Now I’m not so sure if life is orchestrated or if it is just a series of events… some good, some bad… that sometimes align in ways that seem too good to be true. Maybe your due date was just a coincidence… but what a beautiful coincidence it would have been!

Last year your due date was hard. Just like all of the other “firsts” of last year… the days approaching your due date were the most difficult. Your Daddy and I decided to pack up the car with Kilroy and drive to Colorado for the week around your due date. We spent our time in nature, connecting with you through the flowers, and leaving your mark on the world… I felt you in the peace of the mountains… and I felt you in the storm we made it through in our kayak… You were everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

On July 14, 2021 I received a video from many of my coworkers…sharing their beautiful words, sharing how you had changed their lives, and showing their support. Your Daddy and I took Kilroy on a short hike, carved your name into a tree, went to the most wonderful spa for massages, and had a dinner just the two of us. I wrote to you a social media post that poured out from my soul… and the whole day you were on our minds.

On July 14, 2021, while we were at dinner, I also received a message from our OBGYN asking for my help with therapy resources for another patient who lost a baby like we lost you. Another coincidence? I’m not sure. But the timing of this message made me feel as though you and I could begin to change the world.

Today is July 14, 2022 and Amelia, I do believe we are slowly changing the world together. Loving you has lit a fire within me to love you out loud and share our story. What started as loving you and sharing on my social media page to a smaller audience has turned into this blog… which I hope will continue to reach so many others around the world. Together, we have the potential to help others feel understood, less alone, and to spread awareness around baby loss. We have the potential to spread awareness around PPROM, second trimester loss, anatomy scans that can and do go horribly wrong, and choices some Mothers and Fathers must make to induce labor and end the most beautifully wanted pregnancy in order to keep the Mother safe. Maybe someday we can raise more than just awareness and raise funds to study PPROM, why it happens, and help find better ways to prevent this from ever happening in the first place. If only there had been a way to prevent this from ever happening to you… to all three of us- your Daddy, me, and you.

This due date may not be as devastatingly dreadful as our first, but this due date I find myself thinking about what you would be like. If our pregnancy had been routine and things had worked out you would be a bright little 1 year old bringing us endless joy and providing us with endless challenges! You would probably be walking now, have a few teeth, and baby girl, if I could hold you I swear I’d never let you go.

Today I’m thinking about who you would be. I’m thinking about your smiles, your shining eyes, how much joy you’d be finding in this world. Maybe we’d have a splash pad in our back yard for you to stay cool during these hot summer days. Maybe we would have had a 1st Birthday, just the three of us… or maybe more of our family would be visiting to celebrate you big. One thing I definitely know is Kilroy would be enjoying these days, licking food from your fingers as you begin to explore more and more…

I think from now on, for the rest of my life, I will always think about who you would be. Every year on July 14th I will reflect and imagine how life would be if things had worked out. Today, just a year later our life would be so much different… but you would be here and you would be beautiful like the flowers that grow in your garden.

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You Have the Best Daddy

kristinamariedaily

Amelia, you have the best Daddy. You really do. This Father’s Day should be so different… with you around 11 months old and the three of us celebrating. You shouldn’t just be on our minds and in our hearts today… you should be here with your Daddy.

I wish I could’ve seen you grow and interact with him. If wishes could come true, I’d wish for you to be here so I could see it with my eyes and feel it with my soul… If there was any way I could go back in time and make everything work out for us, I would. Oh, I so would.

But I did see how gentle your Daddy was with you when you were born and we lost you. I saw how much he loved you when we met you. And through the deep sadness in his eyes I saw how much he wished you would’ve made it here safely and alive. Your Daddy looked so right holding your precious, tiny body. If only he had the chance to hold you forever.

No Daddy deserves to go through what your Daddy has. Babies should always make it Earthside and get the chance to grow and thrive with their families. Babies shouldn’t ever die. Pregnancies shouldn’t ever be lost. But unfortunately these things happen all the time and it happened to us. I wish so badly that it didn’t happen to you. I wish so badly that it didn’t happen to your Daddy.

We both wished for you for a very long time before you were a reality. During our 21 weeks with you, your Daddy was so excited. If we weren’t in a new pandemic he would’ve been there for every appointment, every sonogram…from the start. But he was always there, watching you grow through technology. He was always there, taking care of your Mommy. And he was always there, excited for our future with you. He was so excited for a future with you in it.

Although your Daddy and I only ever wanted a healthy child… he was so excited to find out you were a baby girl. He wore pink socks to our gender reveal, secretly hoping you might be his Daughter… and I was so excited to see him as a “Girl Dad”… I even bought him a “Girl Dad” hat as soon as we found out. I can imagine how gentle he’d be with you today… how he would tell you how smart and how brave you are… Your Daddy would read to you, watch shows with you, snuggle with you, and he would teach you so many things. He would want you to grow into a strong, independent, healthy, and happy person. He would want you to be whoever you were meant to be.

But just as I have to mother you in much different ways than I would if you were physically here… your Daddy has to father you in different ways, too. I’ve seen him father you in sending paper lanterns to the sky, choosing a floral name for our puppy, writing you the sweetest message on your Birthday balloon, and clearing out the flower bed for a new garden. I’ve seen him father you in choosing the perfect little candle for the Wave of Light… and I’ve seen him father you in the moments where he notices flowers that remind him of you. He fathers you in the quiet moments where you come to mind and he fathers you in all the ways he supports your Mommy while she mothers you….

You have the very best Daddy

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A Quiet Saturday Morning

kristinamariedaily

It’s a quiet Saturday morning and this is my view…

The sun is illuminating your young garden in a way that photographs do not do justice and Daisy is in her spot along the back fence waiting for her ball to be thrown (she’s non-stop). I wonder what this morning would be like if you were here…

If you were here it wouldn’t be so quiet, but it would be perfect. Rather than waking up to Kilroy barking at the door and Daisy licking my face I would’ve woken up to the sound of you. I would have greeted you in your nursery to see a smile on your face. You would be just about 10 months old now. Would you hold your arms up for me to lift you out of your crib? Would you have a favorite blanket or “lovey” that you must bring with you to the kitchen? Everything about you- your sounds, your smiles, your chubby little hands and big shining eyes- would be absolutely perfect. Would I realize this if I had never experienced loss? Would I take you for granted if I had never lost you? My perspective was different before I lost you.

In an alternate universe maybe things worked out and we are together. Maybe I’m feeding you your favorite puréed fruit. Kilroy is so gentle now with his age and his cancer… maybe you’re snuggling up next to him helping him feel all the love before his time runs out. I know you would’ve loved him… especially now at 10 months old with your personality and growing independence. Maybe in this alternate universe your Daddy approaches you and your eyes light up because he’s your most favorite person. Oh, I’d love to experience this.

And if you were here I wouldn’t have this view. We wouldn’t have your beautiful memorial garden. We wouldn’t have Daisy. Our backyard wouldn’t look the same… not near as beautiful… but I’d have you.

Morning sun shining on your young garden
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Another Holiday Without You…

kristinamariedaily

Leaving work on Friday a friend called out “Have a Happy Easter!” and my mind and heart immediately felt uneasy…. because this meant I was approaching another holiday without you… Another holiday where Daddy and I would pretend it’s just another normal, run of the mill Sunday, spending the day with the dogs outside in our backyard.

After losing you every holiday that previously brought joy has brought a sense of sadness and longing for you. I suppose this is how most people who have loved someone and lost them feels about the holidays. What I do not know yet is how long holidays will feel this way… will this last forever? Holidays feel fundamentally different for us now, because since we lost you our faith has changed. But will it always be this way?

What I do know is on holidays like today I have to avoid social media, because no matter the true meaning behind holidays society has made each holiday about the children. Society has us believing you must share photos of your children with everyone you know on holidays. You must share photos by texting out to everyone and posting on your social media page. Today social media platforms will be filled with photos of everyones babies dressed nicely for Easter… everyones children finding Easter eggs, eggs filled with candy and presents, baskets filled with everything from toys to chocolate bunnies. And while I recognize how wonderful it is to celebrate holidays through the eyes of the children…it is such a devastating thing for me to see when I am missing you. It’s a devastating thing when I am without my baby in my arms. It’s a feeling felt by many in the baby loss and infertility communities, but it is not often talked about. Holidays are hard for grieving parents.

If things had worked out for us, you would be 9 months old today. You’d be sitting on your own, crawling, maybe even taking your first few steps a bit early! Would your eyes be brown or blue? Would your hair be light or dark? I can imagine you would have your two little front teeth already and I’d be able to give you tastes of delicious things today… tastes of things you would have never tried before. Would your eyes light up? Would you smile at me and laugh? I’d give anything to be able to kiss your chubby little fingers as you reach out for a new Easter toy. I’d give anything to see your little hands at work pulling apart plastic Easter eggs to discover what is hidden within…

I imagine if you were here some of our family members would be here with us, too, and this holiday would look a lot different. They’d want to see you on your first Easter dressed in your pretty little Easter dress. They’d want to spoil you with your first Easter basket and see your eyes light up in wonder…

But today is another holiday without you… just another day for us to get through… hoping someday these holidays will be different for our family. We will fill these Easter eggs with dog treats and laugh while Kilroy and Daisy sniff them out all over the yard… all the while missing you. We always miss you.