A flicker of hope

December 11, 2012....the hope of a baby returns with the flicker of a heartbeat on an ultrasound screen.  My baby.  My rainbow baby, lil' sprout, as we are affectionately calling this baby until we find out what he/she is.  Not that the hope wasn't there when we found out about this baby on November 21st (the day before Thanksgiving), but there is such a "realness" behind seeing the heartbeat, especially when the last ultrasound you had with a baby showed nothing at all.  Or nothing that you could visibly pick out...and the tech refused to show you anything.

A baby.  Yes, a baby.  A second chance at bringing a baby home with me for keeps.  A possible July baby (to be exact).  There is absolutely nothing I want more in this world.  So, please bring on the nausea (and so he/she has).  Bring on the anxiety (oh, yes, already there).  And please bring on the hopefulness that this baby could be one that stays.  I am so attached already.  I am dreaming.  I am planning.  Imagining.  Pinning.  Thinking.  And all of the above on constant repeat.  I find that I have difficulty thinking of much else these days, which is absolutely impossible given my job and life.  However, it is my focus.  My life (well, most of it).  This is what is most important.  And that is why it consumes my every thought.

Consuming of anything in large quantities doesn't really mean it's a good thing.  I must admit that.  But because I am consumed with the thought of this baby and everything that goes with it, along comes the anxiety, stress and constant reminders of what was.  Even though I willingly asked for the nausea (see above), it also brings me back to the times when I was nauseous before.  It takes me to the days I had sitting and sleeping on a couch wondering if I would ever stop vomiting (sorry to be graphic) and worrying about what was happening to my body and to the baby.  There were days then where I could barely do anything...and then the stress of the pregnancy added to the stress of my marriage.  I think about how the nausea ended around 16-17 weeks, but that my baby didn't live much longer after that time.  Will I worry about that when the nausea ends this time around?  Wondering if the little heartbeat inside me is still flickering?

Added to the nausea is the fear/anxiety.  The majority of those out there who still read my blog know what this is like.  I have read your blogs.  Your Facebook posts.  Emails.  The fear is always there.  And the blissfulness is gone.  Gone are the days where I might have said, "when" but "if" has replaced that.  A co-worker of mine told me that 2013 is going to be a wonderful year for me and my family.  I looked at her, and replied with "I hope."  Yes, I dream.  And yes, I do plan.  But some of that scares me.  It scares me to be so attached.  It scares me to imagine what "could" happen.  I know I can do this.  It's why I tried again.  Because I know I can handle whatever comes my way, and seeing all those rainbows out there has renewed my hope that good things can happen.  But, I also know that bad things can happen again.  I have seen that too.

So, as I share this post and this news with all of you.  I ask for your prayers.  I ask for your comments or messages of hope.  I ask for you to share this journey with me and with lil' sprout.  I also ask for you to keep this to yourself and the babyloss world.  Please no Facebook wall posts.  I love all of you and your support, but I am not ready for that part of my world to know yet.  Many close friends and family of mine (not BLMs) have been told, and I often find it frustrating the way they celebrate it.  The advice comes.  The desire to see me celebrate and smile all the time comes.  Believe me....I (we) are so, so happy.  Blessed beyond belief.  But I have done this pregnancy thing.  22 weeks to be exact.  I know that right now there are people I need more than anyone else.  And that includes so many of you.  You are here because you know my story.  You love Kennedy.  And you "get it."  Not only is lil' spout my flicker of hope, but you are also....you and your babies.  Each and every one of them.  I can't do this without you.   I really truly believe that.

You may say I'm a dreamer...?

Recently, I had a pretty eye-opening conversation with my significant other (yes, I haven't officially posted about him...but there is one.  And there has been one for awhile now.  Awhile? Yes, at this point and at this stage in my life, I don't really keep track of months.  The girl who remembers just about every date doesn't remember how long it has been?  Nope.  And it's okay.  Because the point is, he makes me happy.  He accepts my life before.  Acknowledges my daughter.  And makes me want to be a better person.  I can see a future with him.  Sorry to be brief.  But it is an update, after all.  There will be more about him throughout this post, so stay tuned.)  But anyways, back to this conversation.  (Side note again: we have known each other for awhile before the "dating" was official, so he knows about this whole "grief" thing.)  We were on our way home from the Brewers game.  It has been absolutely sweltering in Wisconsin, so I think we both might have been a little on edge during this conversation; but nevertheless, the conversation took place.  We have been talking a lot about the future (again...time moves faster the older you are...and maybe the more you have lived).  Marriage.  Kids.  Money.  House.  Careers.  Etc.  This conversation kind of encompassed them all.  However, the kids part took precedence.  Mainly, because we both know it is our number one priority at this point (or at some point) in our lives.  I want a rainbow baby.  He wants to be a dad.  So, in talking about the future, he brings up buying a new car or house.  I am a little taken aback by this because I don't see the reasoning right now to do that, especially given our current working locations and financial situations.  He says, "I am just thinking about it...and wanting to talk it through."  I then go on to explain that if we really are planning to be together (which I know we are), then I don't know if buying a car is in our best interest at this point.  Although, I do mention that if a car is really needed (since I know so little about cars), then he does need to go ahead and start looking.  However before I can really stop my mind from starting to race the conversation evolves into the "What ifs?" then.  And they all came straight from my mouth.  What if we need money to take care of fertility issues?  What if I lose another baby?  What if we need money to adopt?  What if the baby is sick or needs extra care?  What if.....  What if.

And so it goes.  The big "What ifs?"  Seriously.  When did I become such a pessimist?  Or is that a realist?  I don't know.  Anyways, after all of those thoughts went through my mind and out my mouth, I could tell that his mind was now racing too.  But not in the way I thought it would.  He didn't look scared.  He didn't look angry.  He looked agitated.  Frustrated.  And then he looked at me and said, "When did you stop being a dreamer?"  WHAT?!!! I am a dreamer.  Right?!!  I dream about world peace.  I dream about the end to cancer.  I dream for all people to have food on their tables and a place to sleep. I dream about every kid getting a good, high quality education and live in a world where they feel safe.  I dream about people coming together, holding hands and singing, "Kum Ba Yah" or "We Shall Overcome."  And that's all people coming together.  So, see.... I am a dreamer.  Right?!!  And I do dream about me.  About what my life could look like.  But my significant other was right....in some ways.  The dreams about my life are skewed.  They are tainted with darkness and the "What ifs."  To realize this that day in the car stung a little bit.  Maybe it stung because I realized he was right.  Maybe it stung because I thought my significant other already knew this about me.  Or maybe it stung because my life has been made up of so much unhappiness (lately) that to imagine happiness is a little bit scarier than I ever thought it would be.  It was probably a little bit of all of those feelings combined.

We then went out to talk a little bit about what he saw when I talked about a future.  He said he hears me talk about children.  Even getting pregnant.  But then there is always the "if" or "but."  I then tried to explain to him how my naivety has been taken from me, especially when it comes to pregnancy and bringing home a take-home baby.  My odds right now are 0/1.   0%.  That is a terrible percentage to have.  I told him how I am scared, but excited.  Hopeful, yet cautious.  I really don't see it being any other way given what I have been through.  I have those feelings about everything.  Not only pregnancy.  Life.  Scared, but excited about what is yet to come.  Hopeful, yet cautious about what could happen next.  I express that as "realism".  But maybe it is pessimism.  Even if it is, so be it.  This is the way I am.  I cannot help it.  I am better than I was before.  I know this.  But I cannot go back to the way I once was.  And until you truly experience the loss of a child, I don't think you can ever really understand how scary it is, and how hurt and jaded you become because of the situation.

As we had this conversation that day in the car, I knew this was everything he knew already.  But I also started to see a different side to his argument or conversation point.  The part where he wishes things could have been different.  That the pain wasn't there.  That "if" there ever is a chance for us to have a take-home baby from a healthy pregnancy, it is going to be a lot of work.  This isn't something that he is scared of.  I know that.  But it's something that makes the prospect of having a child a little bit jaded for him too.  Unfortunately.  He's walked the road of loss with me, as a friend and now as my partner.  I just think he wishes that there were more dreams occurring in my mind than pessimistic thoughts.  That the idea of moving forward in my life wasn't marred by continued obstacles and the past.  I wish that too....but it was it is.  That's that whole acceptance piece that I have been experiencing lately.  I cannot change what has already happened, but I can move forward taking with me the lessons and moments learned from those past situations. Those lessons and moments brought me to this moment in time.   A moment when I can finally dream about a future.  A future with someone.  A future that may bring me a take-home baby.  A future that I have been waiting for.  Aching for.  Wishing for.  Somehow.  Some way.  Sure, it's got the obstacles...and there will be the many road bumps, maybe even more heartchaches.  But man...what a beautiful story it will be if everything really does come true.  I cannot even begin to imagine...but yet, I want to.  I want to dream.

A sign of hope and remembrance

I really feel strongly in so many of the beautiful blog hops that take amidst this amazing land of baby loss families, so I felt it necessary to participate in one of them again today, especially since I believe the Small Miracles one is just about ready to close. I'm still not quite sure if what I'm going to write about is a miracle or not....but I thought it was as close to a sign of hope as anything else I have in my life right now.

My small miracle is the idea of a 2nd baby and the belief and acceptance of my first baby that is seen and felt through people in my "real life." As many of you know, I am currently in a mess of a marriage and dealing with some issues of possible endometriosis which was recently diagnosed this past summer. My life has been completely rocked in the past 2 years...and some days I feel like there is no end in sight.

I have many days where I feel like a 2nd baby will never be in the cards for me. Like maybe it's not meant to be. Maybe Kennedy was my only gift of life that I will ever feel move or carry? Maybe my baby will always just be in Heaven...never on Earth? This has been a very scary thought for me, especially since I can't imagine not being a "mom" to a baby on Earth. Ever since I carried Kennedy, I feel more ready and excited to be a mom to a baby on Earth. I want that thrill. I want the hard nights. I want a little boy or girl to look at me and call me, "Mommy." I want it all. Yet, there are many times where I feel hopeless. Scared. I find myself saying "maybe" a lot. Or "if." I hate that. I want to say "when." When will that change? Will I ever believe that it can happen again for me?

However, just recently I have felt the belief from others in my life. Others who have tried their very best to support me through it all. Or even those who may have had difficulty being supportive, yet are finding ways to help me believe. First of all, there is my "BFF". She is the friend that recently had Kennedy's cousin, "Baby G." My BFF, or "B", has really been through it all with me. She came into my life 3 years ago as a co-worker (probably at just about the right time) and instantly became like a sister to me. She has seen me at my lowest...and probably at my highest. Yet, when "B" became pregnant last February there was some strain put on our relationship. But the strain couldn't take away from the friendship. We worked through it and "Baby G" was the first baby I held after the loss of Kennedy. One day, "B" and I were driving home after a home visit of one of our students. We were talking about "life" and "future" stuff. We discussed the trials of what life has brought me and what that could mean for me in the future. However, one comment that stuck with me was this: "I bet you will be ready to have your 1st when I'm ready for my 2nd." Then, she stopped and said, "That will be your 2nd too." Although, we were too close to school for me to acknowledge the comment and the tears that were coming to my eyes, I plan on telling my friend sometime soon. First, that she acknowledged by first baby girl...and secondly for giving me hope that someday I will hold a baby here on Earth.

The second person who has recently made the 2nd baby comment was my dad. A little history on my dad...I am "Daddy's girl" through and through. I am the daughter that loves playing sports and watching them. March Madness is my very favorite time of the year and this love affair started because of my dad. He taught me the importance of sports...and he also taught me who to cheer for. I am the spitting image of him in so many ways, from looks to our love for sports. But one of the most common characteristics we share is our desire to keep everything inside. The need to keep the walls of emotions up and not let anyone in. I have only seen my dad cry three times in my life....once at his brother's funeral, once at my wedding, and most recently at my grandmother's funeral. It's not a common sight in 29 years. Yet, I never doubt my dad's love for me and the pain that he has felt watching me grieve. He doesn't come right out and say it very often, but all it takes is a hug and his comment of wanting me to happy that lets me know how much it hurts him too.

This was evident after hearing a story that my mom shared with me one night during dinner with her. She and my dad had just returned from spring break vacation in Florida. As she was telling me all about it, she turned to me and said, "Your dad said something to me that I think you should know. One night when we were sitting on the beach, he turned to me and asked, 'I wonder when we will have a second grandchild?'" My mom said that she answered with tears in her eyes, "I don't know, but I wouldn't count on your son anytime soon." It made me smile and cry at the exact same time. My dad, the one who often tells me that miscarriage and stillbirth aren't uncommon and tries to make sense of the whole situation, had not only acknowledged my baby but had addressed that there may be a time that a 2nd baby would be part of my life. Because without actually hearing the comment, I know that my dad was talking about me. Yes, I have a brother, but he's just not even close to that point in his life just yet.

These are only two accounts, although there have countless others, that have recently happened that triggered that feeling of hope again. Of hope and remembrance. Two gifts that I wish for all of us. The hope of future babies here on Earth. And the lifetime of remembrance that our babies in Heaven will always receive from us and others here on Earth. People who give me those gifts are my small miracles. They are the miracles who have suddenly appeared and made it "better" or "easier." They make life bearable in times when it's not. They accept me for who I am and my story for what it is and are okay with it. They are the ones have helped me through this...and who I will need to continue on in this journey called life.

Celebrating small miracles--Kennedy's Cat

The remarkable Franchesca came up with this beautiful idea to have a blog hop each month. Every month on the 19th we will celebrate hope. The promises, things, people, places, memories, signs, anything that brings us hope. Link up with Franchesca here or below to take part in this wonderful event.

My small miracle comes in the form of a cat. Yes, as most of you know, I celebrate and remember Kennedy with butterflies, but I will share about the power of them some other time. As I thought about what I wanted to write about today, I realized that I hadn't yet shared Kennedy's Cat story yet in blog land. And as I remembered sitting in group last month, one of my fellow support group sisters mentioned how she never forgets the story of the cat at the memorial park where Kennedy is buried.

Right about the time that Kennedy's marker was made, I would visit pretty regularly...maybe once a week at the minimum. At that point, I found the most peace when I was able to go there and talk to her. So, I would pretty much end up there at any point of the day or night. One night, pretty late, I realized how important it was for me to go visit her right at that second. At about 8:30 on a school night, I traveled to Madison to talk to my little girl. I remember how I cried most of the trip just deep in my grief at that point and missing my baby something terrible.

When I arrived to Roselawn at that time of night, it was very dark. But I always know exactly where to go, and never even really feel scared while I am there. I find so much comfort in being near the resting place of my baby. And it's always so peaceful there. Except for this night... This night started off different right away. When I got near Kennedy's marker, I noticed a cat near the back end of the park. Although, I am a "cat person," I'm not entirely comfortable with an unknown/stray cat. So, I kept a watchful eye on this cat as I started to talk to my little girl.

Almost immediately as I talked to Kennedy, the cat started to move closer to me. As it moved closer, I would step away or just head to another part of "Baby Land." But as I watched this cat a little more it seemed to have such an interesting pattern to the way it was running around or playing. The cat would run to one area of Baby Land and then quickly moved to another. It didn't seem to have any rhyme or reason behind what it was doing. It just quickly kept running around, and the more I watched it, I started to think about what this cat could possibly be running from. Maybe this cat had some powers that I know we all wish we had. The power of seeing our babies. Maybe this cat was running around with the spirit of Kennedy and Kennedy's friends who are laid to rest at that park.

The more I thought about that, the more it brought tears to my eyes and a smile to my lips. Here was a moment where I possibly was watching my little girl play. Here was a sign that my little girl was having fun. Smiling, giggling, running/crawling. Enjoying her life. What an amazing gift to be there at that second. To see a sign that Kennedy was "ok."

As the cat continued to run around, I realized how late it was getting and I had yet to really have a mother-daughter talk with my baby, so I looked up to the sky and said, "Kennedy, I know you must be having lots of fun right now, but if your mommy is to stay and talk to you, this cat will have to go away for a bit." Within 30 seconds of saying that, the cat ran to the end of Baby Land (about as far away from Kennedy's marker as is possible) and sat down. Wow, talk about power. Talk about a sign from Heaven that now my daughter wanted to talk and listen to me. After that, I talked to my baby girl for awhile and then headed to my car. The cat stayed put until I got into my car and shut the door. I then saw the cat quietly head to the back of Baby Land (near Kennedy's marker), and maybe head home for the night. I'm not really sure what happened to it. Although, I have seen one other sighting of it or another cat since.

Heading home that night, I know that I had a smile on my face as I thought about what I had seen that night. I had seen a gift. I had been given a gift of hope. At that point, I needed signs to know my baby girl was ok. I needed signs to know that despite the fact she wasn't with me, that she was being taken care of. That night, I was able to see all of that. And although, I still worry and question how she is doing, I have a good feeling that Kennedy is holding her own. Like her momma, she' s a strong-willed little girl. She's fighting the fight to find her happiness while we are apart. And that night, her happiness was chasing after a cat. Something she would have done with my cat, Lucy, at about this time in her life. Seems so simple...and, maybe, far-fetched, but it's what I saw and want to believe. I know Kennedy was there that night...maybe more in a physical sense than she ever has been before. And I thank the powers that be that sent her to me that night...and all the nights of my life.