Trever and I enjoyed a wonderful day together. We were able to have time alone, to hold and comfort each other. To talk, to listen, to cry, to laugh, to be connected. To share the happy memories that we both hold onto, to share the moment when we knew our life, Abby's life, was changing.
Our house felt so empty. It's so rare to have all 3 kids gone. The time together was full of healing moments, and the emptiness was a reminder that our family makes life more precious. That each child has made the love in our home tangible, they have each given us so much. I hope we will always be able to show them how important they are... all 4 of them.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Sunday, July 29, 2012
July 29th, 2012
We headed up to Sequim yesterday to celebrate 10 years of a beautiful marriage with our friends. It was nice to be surrounded by so much love, and a good dose of distraction. The kids had a great time with all of their friends too.
By the end of the evening I had hit the limit of smiling. I just wanted to sink into a couch and stare at a wall. And my tummy was cramping, and my boobs are ready to explode. (TMI???). And unfortunately I forgot my Vicodin. My pity party had visitors... as I sat down (kind of thinking that I had snuck away) my friends all starting filling in the room around me. It was nice to just sit there relaxing. We didn't sit around talking about me, which was nice. There had been plenty of conversation about our life, about plans for Abby's celebration. I really appreciate that I can share my thoughts at any moment and my friends are there to listen and engage.
This morning I woke ready to go home. On days when the depression hits a bit harder I just want to be home. I don't mind visitors, but I don't really want to be out and around people. Before we could get out of the house my sweet daughter came up to me and gently lifted both of my shirts and pulled my waist band down a bit to expose my tummy. I knew what she was doing, but I asked anyway. "I'm gonna give Abb... I'm gonna give you a hug". I was instantly in tears. I'm crying even writing this right now.
Natalie is so used to giving Abby a hug, I wonder how many times she will start by instinct and then remember that Abby isn't in my belly anymore. I am so fortunate that she loves her sister and still thinks about her, that she was already used to giving her love. I'm so sad for her that her sister isn't here anymore.
The day after we came home from the hospital Natalie asked me why my belly was still big. Then she told me that she wished she could sing to Abby again, that she wished she was still with us. Me too sweet girl, me too.
By the end of the evening I had hit the limit of smiling. I just wanted to sink into a couch and stare at a wall. And my tummy was cramping, and my boobs are ready to explode. (TMI???). And unfortunately I forgot my Vicodin. My pity party had visitors... as I sat down (kind of thinking that I had snuck away) my friends all starting filling in the room around me. It was nice to just sit there relaxing. We didn't sit around talking about me, which was nice. There had been plenty of conversation about our life, about plans for Abby's celebration. I really appreciate that I can share my thoughts at any moment and my friends are there to listen and engage.
This morning I woke ready to go home. On days when the depression hits a bit harder I just want to be home. I don't mind visitors, but I don't really want to be out and around people. Before we could get out of the house my sweet daughter came up to me and gently lifted both of my shirts and pulled my waist band down a bit to expose my tummy. I knew what she was doing, but I asked anyway. "I'm gonna give Abb... I'm gonna give you a hug". I was instantly in tears. I'm crying even writing this right now.
Natalie is so used to giving Abby a hug, I wonder how many times she will start by instinct and then remember that Abby isn't in my belly anymore. I am so fortunate that she loves her sister and still thinks about her, that she was already used to giving her love. I'm so sad for her that her sister isn't here anymore.
The day after we came home from the hospital Natalie asked me why my belly was still big. Then she told me that she wished she could sing to Abby again, that she wished she was still with us. Me too sweet girl, me too.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
I just went to my BabyCenter page and deleted Abigail. It sounds worse writing that than it did pushing the button... and pushing the button felt horrible. I just don't want the emails that will come about her development, but it's sad to remove her from my family list.
I'm heading up to give the kids a bath, I wish that I was bring the Moses basket with me. That Abby was going to be propped up in the bathroom while I juggled my duties (which aren't "my" duties, they are "our" duties and Trever is currently doing them alone).
I wish I hadn't slept the last two nights, because continued sleep deprived nights would have been magical moments with Abby.
I'm heading up to give the kids a bath, I wish that I was bring the Moses basket with me. That Abby was going to be propped up in the bathroom while I juggled my duties (which aren't "my" duties, they are "our" duties and Trever is currently doing them alone).
I wish I hadn't slept the last two nights, because continued sleep deprived nights would have been magical moments with Abby.
Friday, July 27, 2012
July 27th, 2012
It's so cliche to say that I don't know how to find the words... while writing.
We slept last night. That in itself is a gift from God (and ambien). And I awoke to the sounds of Andrew. It's difficult for the sadness to overwhelm me when my heart is feeling so much love, and my children definitely fill my heart with love.
There are so many moments that I need to go back and capture in writing. I'm hoping I can do it, that I can sit here as long as it takes today and walk myself through the last 4 days. That I can remember the details, the moments and live through the emotions.
It's amazing how strong the human brain can be. I go from feeling so detached that there is no emotion, and then a small crack starts. Soon the damn is bursting. Reality sets in, and I can't block the memories of our sweet little girl. I can't pretend that she is still in my tummy, that this journey is still unknown. I really thought we would have our doors open wide to visitors when we got home, that we would be encouraging people to drop by and meet Abby. I believed her time would be short, but I really believed she would come home.
Instead we are trying to keep our doors open to visitors because it's a welcome distraction for us and the kids. A distraction that helps us ignore the absence even if only for a moment. When we can open the door and smile to see a visitor, that split second before we acknowledge why they are here.
There are moments when I feel strong, as I made breakfast this morning, cuddled with the kids, talked with my in-laws. But the truth is, I am also strong when I let myself sit here and cry. When I close my eyes and sob with the pain that fills my body, when I really allow myself to live this journey and accept how much it hurts. I'm thankful for both types of strength, I'm thankful that God has given me the ability to live and to embrace everything that comes with that gift.
We slept last night. That in itself is a gift from God (and ambien). And I awoke to the sounds of Andrew. It's difficult for the sadness to overwhelm me when my heart is feeling so much love, and my children definitely fill my heart with love.
There are so many moments that I need to go back and capture in writing. I'm hoping I can do it, that I can sit here as long as it takes today and walk myself through the last 4 days. That I can remember the details, the moments and live through the emotions.
It's amazing how strong the human brain can be. I go from feeling so detached that there is no emotion, and then a small crack starts. Soon the damn is bursting. Reality sets in, and I can't block the memories of our sweet little girl. I can't pretend that she is still in my tummy, that this journey is still unknown. I really thought we would have our doors open wide to visitors when we got home, that we would be encouraging people to drop by and meet Abby. I believed her time would be short, but I really believed she would come home.
Instead we are trying to keep our doors open to visitors because it's a welcome distraction for us and the kids. A distraction that helps us ignore the absence even if only for a moment. When we can open the door and smile to see a visitor, that split second before we acknowledge why they are here.
There are moments when I feel strong, as I made breakfast this morning, cuddled with the kids, talked with my in-laws. But the truth is, I am also strong when I let myself sit here and cry. When I close my eyes and sob with the pain that fills my body, when I really allow myself to live this journey and accept how much it hurts. I'm thankful for both types of strength, I'm thankful that God has given me the ability to live and to embrace everything that comes with that gift.
Our house is filling with flowers. Such a beautiful display of so much love...
I've never been in a situation where I've been on the receiving end of so many flowers...
This isn't a club I want to be a member of. I'd rather have a moment with her for each beautiful petal that fills our home.
When the grief hits it's amazing. It's crushing.
I've never been in a situation where I've been on the receiving end of so many flowers...
This isn't a club I want to be a member of. I'd rather have a moment with her for each beautiful petal that fills our home.
When the grief hits it's amazing. It's crushing.
Thursday, July 26, 2012
The funeral home...
Taking your loved one to the funeral home... It's not something you want to think about when you've just brought a life into the world. It feels like the whole "circle of life" was more like a dot.
Trever could not imagine handing Abby off to someone at the hospital. It was scary to not know where she would be, how she would be handled and cared for.
So we decided that we would take her ourselves.
It was a bit strange to wheel through the hospital with Abby in my arms, wrapped to snugly in a pink blanket. I only heard one person mention the joy of a baby. She was a joy, and I was proud to be holding her. Not that I didn't wish deeply that her story was the same as my other children, that I would put her safely in the car and take her home. That Trever and I would feel the desire to shout from the rooftops that we had a new baby, that our lives were filled with new joy.
We walked out of the hospital with my parents, Trever's brother and Beth. I'm thankful we were surrounded by support. And our fabulous nurse, Diana was the one to wheel us out. She is so calming to me.
Then we went to get in the car. I have to say, even though Abby wasn't alive, it was strange to hold her while driving. I kidded Trever about getting pulled over... can you even imagine the conversation with the cop??? It might have been worth it, I know we would have laughed afterword.
The funeral home has been great, but the woman we met with was not my favorite, maybe she shouldn't work with families of children. We sat in the chapel with Abby after we were done filling out paperwork.
It's amazing how easily it is to transition from "business" to pain. I felt a bit detached as we walked into the chapel. But one look down at our tiny angel and I crumpled. We knew this was it, our last moment holding her. She was gone, but we were about to say goodbye to the only part we could really hold on to.
We decided that we wanted to keep her outfit... but we didn't want to send her off not dressed. So Trev ran out to the car to get a different outfit. And he came back with a beautifully hand knitted sleeper. I so gracefully said "Really? You picked the one heirloom quality outfit that we have? The one she wore for pictures??" (I said it with a bit of a laugh, he knows how to take my words). Trev said he had thought about that... but once he had it in his hands he just went with it.
So back to the car...
With more defined expectaions...
And he came back with a simple pink sleeper... perfect. But no hat...
So back to the car...
And finally she had clothes and a hat.
What I didn't know was that each time he went back and forth to the car the lady who was helping us would say "Are you done?" (yes, she lacked verbal skills) And he would have to say No, not yet.
He said he surely looked crazy... running back and forth to the car, digging through the luggage in the trunk.
She did bring a blanket to wrap around Abby (we're giving her credit for this since we're also giving her lots of not-so-wonderful credit). As Trever wrapped Abby he had to ask if she should be completely covered or wrapped like a baby... there should be protocol posted somewhere. It's easy to wonder what the "rules" are.. but really???? Who cares about that stuff at that moment.
As we drove away from the funeral home we were drained; physically and emotionally exhausted. But we had some comedic moments to lighten our hearts, that always helps.
And when we got home we were surrounded by our kids, their smiles make our hearts smile. Trever took a nap while I played with Andrew. He is like a ray of sunshine, filling my heart with joy. When Trever woke up he was in lots of pain, filled with his sadness. After we talked and held each other we invited the kids in... they can't take away the sadness but they balance it with such intense joy. We are so blessed.
Trever could not imagine handing Abby off to someone at the hospital. It was scary to not know where she would be, how she would be handled and cared for.
So we decided that we would take her ourselves.
It was a bit strange to wheel through the hospital with Abby in my arms, wrapped to snugly in a pink blanket. I only heard one person mention the joy of a baby. She was a joy, and I was proud to be holding her. Not that I didn't wish deeply that her story was the same as my other children, that I would put her safely in the car and take her home. That Trever and I would feel the desire to shout from the rooftops that we had a new baby, that our lives were filled with new joy.
We walked out of the hospital with my parents, Trever's brother and Beth. I'm thankful we were surrounded by support. And our fabulous nurse, Diana was the one to wheel us out. She is so calming to me.
Then we went to get in the car. I have to say, even though Abby wasn't alive, it was strange to hold her while driving. I kidded Trever about getting pulled over... can you even imagine the conversation with the cop??? It might have been worth it, I know we would have laughed afterword.
The funeral home has been great, but the woman we met with was not my favorite, maybe she shouldn't work with families of children. We sat in the chapel with Abby after we were done filling out paperwork.
It's amazing how easily it is to transition from "business" to pain. I felt a bit detached as we walked into the chapel. But one look down at our tiny angel and I crumpled. We knew this was it, our last moment holding her. She was gone, but we were about to say goodbye to the only part we could really hold on to.
We decided that we wanted to keep her outfit... but we didn't want to send her off not dressed. So Trev ran out to the car to get a different outfit. And he came back with a beautifully hand knitted sleeper. I so gracefully said "Really? You picked the one heirloom quality outfit that we have? The one she wore for pictures??" (I said it with a bit of a laugh, he knows how to take my words). Trev said he had thought about that... but once he had it in his hands he just went with it.
So back to the car...
With more defined expectaions...
And he came back with a simple pink sleeper... perfect. But no hat...
So back to the car...
And finally she had clothes and a hat.
What I didn't know was that each time he went back and forth to the car the lady who was helping us would say "Are you done?" (yes, she lacked verbal skills) And he would have to say No, not yet.
He said he surely looked crazy... running back and forth to the car, digging through the luggage in the trunk.
She did bring a blanket to wrap around Abby (we're giving her credit for this since we're also giving her lots of not-so-wonderful credit). As Trever wrapped Abby he had to ask if she should be completely covered or wrapped like a baby... there should be protocol posted somewhere. It's easy to wonder what the "rules" are.. but really???? Who cares about that stuff at that moment.
As we drove away from the funeral home we were drained; physically and emotionally exhausted. But we had some comedic moments to lighten our hearts, that always helps.
And when we got home we were surrounded by our kids, their smiles make our hearts smile. Trever took a nap while I played with Andrew. He is like a ray of sunshine, filling my heart with joy. When Trever woke up he was in lots of pain, filled with his sadness. After we talked and held each other we invited the kids in... they can't take away the sadness but they balance it with such intense joy. We are so blessed.
July 26th, 2012
We woke to celebrate Abigail's birthday. At 12:21 we sang Happy Birthday, gave her the cupcake, helped her "blow out" the candle and gave her birthday kisses.
We were awake (after all I had a 45 minute nap) so we sat and ate a snack while doing some paperwork and cuddling our sweet girl. We had no idea these were our last moments with her.
Trever felt like she was having more trouble breathing so I held her in bed with me while reclining. We went to sleep around 1am. At just after 1:30 am on the 26th I woke up. As I looked over to Abigail my heart told me she was gone. It was a simple, sad and peaceful thought. I laid her in front of me to watch her for a moment and then woke Trever. He was obviously sleeping lightly, all it took was saying his name. Then I said "she's gone". It was true. Her little spirit had left us.
We sat and stared at her, holding her and touching her and crying. After a bit we called the nurse to let her know. She came in to check on us and then called the Pediatrician. The doctor came in and was so gracious, she watched her for a moment and then let us know that she needed to listen for a heartbeat. After a moment she confirmed her death. The time was 2am.
Trever remembers that each time Abby had difficulty breathing she would open her eyes and look around. My heart tells me that she opened her eyes, looked around and found that we were asleep and decided it was time to leave us. She gave us such a gift, to leave us peacefully and not have us watch her with the painful wonderment of whether or not she was leaving. I'm sure that God prompted me to wake, so I wouldn't wonder how long we had slept after she left. I find comfort in knowing I was asleep for such a short time.
My heart aches just writing this. I can talk about her, about the details, with a certain level of detachment. But when I write, when I think about these little moments I can't hide from the vision of her. From how tiny she was in our arms, from the touch of her skin, from her beauty. I miss her so much, I want more... more moments with her to love on her and whisper to her. More moments to hold her tiny little hand.
I told Trever that I totally get the "crazy" people who keep their loved ones around for days and days after they pass. I'm sure it sounded creepy to me at one time, and I'm sure it still sounds creepy to other people. But part of me would love to be able to just pick her up and hold her, to cry my tears onto her even though she is gone. Even though it's just a body and not her spirit.
We did stay awake with her until after 5am. We took casts of her hands since we hadn't done that earlier, and we did footprints.
We held her and dressed her, we cried deep sobs. My body ached with so much pain. It's so painful to loose something so precious. It's the loss of so many hopes, so many dreams.
I feel the pain for myself and for my children. During the last few months as I've watched Andrew learn and grow, it's been so bitter sweet. I long for those moments with Abigail. I yearn for more smiles, for her learning to sit up, giggle, walk. The squat that defines a toddler as they explore and learn about bugs and flowers. My heart hurts when I listen to Natalie's thoughts. How badly she wants a sister, when she picks out a dress to send to Abigail in heaven. When she asks if there are beds in heaven. When she talks about the next time I have a baby in my belly. I wasn't able to give her what she wants, what she thinks she needs, a sister to grow and play with. It's a terrible feeling.
As I sat on the bed holding Abby with Trever next to us, the sobs overwhelmed every inch of my body. I wouldn't have stopped them if I could, it was the most pure moment of pain I have ever experienced. I was so intensely aware of what it means to have heart ache, the moment when your spirit is truly broken. And I was so thankful to have Trever by my side. To know that I am so safe with him, to know that we both grieve deeply for our loss while holding to our belief that this loss is temporary. That our pain is selfish (which is okay with us), that we did the only thing that was possible for us. We let Abby live her life, and we are so thankful that our prayers were answered. We got to hold her, look into her eyes and share her with our friends and family. And we were able to keep her comfortable, to fill her moments with love and then gracefully release her to a happier place. We didn't fight her body, we didn't force her to live longer for our sake, we honored her story.
We are trying to walk the tightrope between joy for her, for her life with us and her life with Jesus, while nurturing the pain that comes from not having her in our home.
We were awake (after all I had a 45 minute nap) so we sat and ate a snack while doing some paperwork and cuddling our sweet girl. We had no idea these were our last moments with her.
Trever felt like she was having more trouble breathing so I held her in bed with me while reclining. We went to sleep around 1am. At just after 1:30 am on the 26th I woke up. As I looked over to Abigail my heart told me she was gone. It was a simple, sad and peaceful thought. I laid her in front of me to watch her for a moment and then woke Trever. He was obviously sleeping lightly, all it took was saying his name. Then I said "she's gone". It was true. Her little spirit had left us.
We sat and stared at her, holding her and touching her and crying. After a bit we called the nurse to let her know. She came in to check on us and then called the Pediatrician. The doctor came in and was so gracious, she watched her for a moment and then let us know that she needed to listen for a heartbeat. After a moment she confirmed her death. The time was 2am.
Trever remembers that each time Abby had difficulty breathing she would open her eyes and look around. My heart tells me that she opened her eyes, looked around and found that we were asleep and decided it was time to leave us. She gave us such a gift, to leave us peacefully and not have us watch her with the painful wonderment of whether or not she was leaving. I'm sure that God prompted me to wake, so I wouldn't wonder how long we had slept after she left. I find comfort in knowing I was asleep for such a short time.
My heart aches just writing this. I can talk about her, about the details, with a certain level of detachment. But when I write, when I think about these little moments I can't hide from the vision of her. From how tiny she was in our arms, from the touch of her skin, from her beauty. I miss her so much, I want more... more moments with her to love on her and whisper to her. More moments to hold her tiny little hand.
I told Trever that I totally get the "crazy" people who keep their loved ones around for days and days after they pass. I'm sure it sounded creepy to me at one time, and I'm sure it still sounds creepy to other people. But part of me would love to be able to just pick her up and hold her, to cry my tears onto her even though she is gone. Even though it's just a body and not her spirit.
We did stay awake with her until after 5am. We took casts of her hands since we hadn't done that earlier, and we did footprints.
We held her and dressed her, we cried deep sobs. My body ached with so much pain. It's so painful to loose something so precious. It's the loss of so many hopes, so many dreams.
I feel the pain for myself and for my children. During the last few months as I've watched Andrew learn and grow, it's been so bitter sweet. I long for those moments with Abigail. I yearn for more smiles, for her learning to sit up, giggle, walk. The squat that defines a toddler as they explore and learn about bugs and flowers. My heart hurts when I listen to Natalie's thoughts. How badly she wants a sister, when she picks out a dress to send to Abigail in heaven. When she asks if there are beds in heaven. When she talks about the next time I have a baby in my belly. I wasn't able to give her what she wants, what she thinks she needs, a sister to grow and play with. It's a terrible feeling.
As I sat on the bed holding Abby with Trever next to us, the sobs overwhelmed every inch of my body. I wouldn't have stopped them if I could, it was the most pure moment of pain I have ever experienced. I was so intensely aware of what it means to have heart ache, the moment when your spirit is truly broken. And I was so thankful to have Trever by my side. To know that I am so safe with him, to know that we both grieve deeply for our loss while holding to our belief that this loss is temporary. That our pain is selfish (which is okay with us), that we did the only thing that was possible for us. We let Abby live her life, and we are so thankful that our prayers were answered. We got to hold her, look into her eyes and share her with our friends and family. And we were able to keep her comfortable, to fill her moments with love and then gracefully release her to a happier place. We didn't fight her body, we didn't force her to live longer for our sake, we honored her story.
We are trying to walk the tightrope between joy for her, for her life with us and her life with Jesus, while nurturing the pain that comes from not having her in our home.
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