Dear Marshall

Dear Marshall,

Tonight we fell asleep on the couch watching Phineas and Ferb. I was so tired and so uncomfortable, but instead of rushing to get up and lay you in bed, I stayed where I was. I let your head lay on my shoulder and tried to soak in the moment. The softness of your hair. The sound of each breath. The heaviness of your body as you sank deeper and deeper into sleep. It may sound silly, but I really want to make the most of these moments and the time we have left together.

I finally reached 37 weeks in this pregnancy, which means that Little Brother will be here really soon. I'm so excited to meet your brother and to watch our family grow. I'm even more excited to see you as a big brother. You've been a little brother your whole life, but you've really missed out on the brother experience. I know you're gonna be great, and I can't wait to see what kind of adventures are in store for you. Last night we made Big Brother/Little Brother shirts, and you were so proud. You ran your fingers over the words and clutched the shirt to your chest repeating "bruhver" over and over again. Your smile made me even more excited.

I have to be honest though. Even with all the excitement, I'm still a little sad. And maybe a bit scared. I left the Navy last year to stay home with you. When Daddy went back to work, he was gone or asleep, so it was almost always just me and you. We've had quite a year, the two of us. It was a hard adjustment, and we still have our bad days. But I love our days together. The lazy days. The crazy days. The special adventures. I love the way you smile at me when you wake up in the morning. And the way you look back to see if I'm watching when you are doing something by yourself. I love the way you hold my hand when you're tired and the way you have to look at me and touch my face before you go to sleep at night.

I know that I will love your brother just as much as I love you. And nothing, not even a brother, can make me love you any less. But a brother does mean that it won't be just me and you now, that we will have less time together. And that's what makes me sad. You have been such an amazing little person in our lives. You are my side-kick, my partner in crime, my best friend. I don't know if I'm ready for that to change. I don't know if I'm ready to share you. Or any of our time together.

I will eventually get over it. We will figure things out as they come, and we will have an awesome little family. And you will be an awesome brother.

I love you.

Just some things.

It's been a while since I've been on here. I still read other blogs and keep up with yall. But I just haven't made time to sit down and write. I'm not even really sure what to write about anymore, honestly. I want to write. I want to keep this place alive. But I'm not in the same place anymore, and I'm not quite sure what direction to take things on here.

A lot of big things are happening this year. I'm excited, but suddenly feeling pretty overwhelmed.


My Stillbirth Doula certification will be complete in February/March.

My first series of childbirth classes starts in March. I guess that's not really a big thing, but I'm pretty nervous about it.

College graduation is in May. I was the first person in my family to graduate from high school and the first to even be able to go to college. Then I got burned out and dropped out. Then I joined the Navy. Now I'm right there at the finish line. I will finally have a degree!

We are expecting baby #4 in July. I'm not even sure what to say about this yet. So overwhelming in its own.

Marshall will be 2 in August. Two! Again, that's not such a "big" thing. But the realization of how far we have come is pretty powerful.

Our wedding is set for September. We've put it off for so long so that our families could be there. Now four years and four babies later, it's finally happening.

We are also hoping to buy our first house this year. We are trying to figure out putting up a backyard fence, setting up a garden, and renovating the basement....all while juggling everything else and getting ready for another baby in the house.


I remember posting a long time ago about how I was so disappointed when the hospital on the island wouldn't let me donate our Lilly's Dream memories boxes. Then when I got pregnant with Marshall, I had to put it aside because it was just too much at the time. It's been too hard to keep up with all the legal requirements of the non-profit stuff, especially with being in a different state now. So I had Lilly's Dream dissolved. I worked really hard to pull that project together, so it was really painful to let it go. But I had already been looking at taking the project in a different direction, so I know it was really for the best. I really can't devote much of myself to it right now anyway. I'll be sending a lot of what I have to Crystal over at You Are My Child for her next set of memory boxes. I'm excited to help her project grow.


I guess that's all for now. Stay lovely!

Some things.

We are slowly getting settled into our new place in Wisconsin. It's cold up here already, and it will still be another 2 weeks before our household goods shipment arrives from WA. Gotta love those government movers.

I have a lot on my heart lately, but not nearly enough time to write it out. So for now, a couple things I wanted to share.


I got certified to teach childbirth classes, and I finally have my website up and running. I'm trying to find a good balance in supporting all mothers and their babies, regardless of whether they lived or died. You can check out the website if you're interested. Or find me on facebook. Even if you aren't looking to have childbirth classes, I just like talking to people. I'm on facebook much more than here. (And I miss talking to yall!)


I also wrote a piece for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, and it was featured at Modern Alternative Pregnancy. One of their regular contributors asked me to write in her place this month because she felt she couldn't do the subject justice. You can read it here if you'd like.


I need sleep. More coming soon.

Stuck.

In August, I packed up all my worldly belongings and moved away from WA.

In September, I was officially separated from the Navy.

In October, we will eventually move out of the in-laws' spare bedroom to live in Wisconsin.


So many changes.

I'm not dealing well, to be honest.

I feel like I'm stuck.


Almost everything I own is locked up in storage on the other side of the country. I don't care about things. Not usually. But their things are locked up out there. Everything that I have that belonged to them. That had anything to do with them.

It's on that side, and I'm stuck over here on this side.

I feel silly. They're just things! Just pictures and paintings and blankets!

But I want them here with me. With us. In our own house. In our own space.

Space.


I need space.

I need things to do.


I need to stop being stuck.

A walk with Andy.

Life has been overwhelming lately. I needed to clear my head, so I drove out to the landing and parked at the top of the hill. I needed to walk it off, whatever it was that was wearing me down so heavily.  

There was a long dirt road leading to the water. It was dry and cracking from a summer with little rain. It was well-traveled, with grooves worn deep from the passing tractors. Dusty blackberry bushes lined one side; rows of beets and turnips stretched out along the other. 

The salt air drifted gently over the fields. I glanced down as a small white butterfly danced around my feet, around one and then around the other. I smiled, following its cheerful choreography with my eyes. 

Would you look at that sky?!

There was a familiar thickness to his accent; a heaviness as his hand grasped mine. 

Days like this are my favorite, ya know? 

He smiled at me, and he gently squeezed my hand. 

It had been six years since I last saw that smile. 

My mind started racing with all the things that have happened in those six years, all the things I wanted so badly to tell him about. Joining the Navy. Adventures at sea. Mountain climbing. Marriage. Divorce. Babies. Relationships. Leaving the Navy. 

Relationships and babies. That was why I was there that day, on that dusty road. A fragile relationship that's one more stupid argument from being over, and a baby that is turning one. A baby that is the reason behind leaving my job, leaving this state, leaving my comfort and stability for something more. A baby that is the lone survivor of three, a baby with a dead brother and a dead sister. 

My head started spinning. I couldn't breathe. I was shaking. I wanted so badly to talk to him, to tell him, but I couldn't find the words. I started to cry. 

He put his arm around me and laughed. Silly girl, just let it go. Just for today. Just walk with me. 

He smiled at me again. I never could say no to that smile.

And so we walked, his hand in mine, along that dusty road through the turnips and the beets. 

As we walked, all those things started melting away. It was like the last six year never happened. It was just my friend and me, together again, without a care in the world.

When we reached the end of the field, I stopped at the bench to take in the view and take some pictures of the flowers. I watched as another small white butterfly danced around my head for a couple seconds and then fluttered off into the blue sky. When I looked back, I was alone. 

Happy Birthday, Andy. Thanks for the walk. 

Silence.

Marshall was screaming for milk.

Austin was screaming to go outside.

Bryan was complaining about wanting sex.

The cat was knocking over stuff in the kitchen.


...It's overwhelming in our house lately...


I noticed the day's mail was on the table.


Marshall started screaming just for the hell of it.

Austin started screaming because Marshall was screaming.

The cat moved to using my leg as a scratching post.


Dinner was almost done. Laundry still needed to be done.

Marshall needed a bath. Homework needed to be done.


I needed a break. A few minutes of silence. Of fresh air. Of nothing. Just a few minutes of nothing.


I flipped through the mail. Junk. Junk. Another book for class. More junk. A manila envelope. Medical Records, it said.

I'd been waiting for that one.

I'm getting out of the Navy in a couple months, and I have to start the separation physicals and VA evaluations. I need to make sure Emergency Room visits are documented properly. Most times, they aren't.


I held the envelope in my hands for a minute. I vividly remember every single visit to this hospital. I just wanted to skim through it, make sure all the right dates are in there.

I flipped through Marshall's allergic reaction. A pulled shoulder muscle. An intercostal injury in the ribs. A lab report. A miscarriage. An ultrasound. A radiology report.

The ultrasound that saw my baby alive, but surrounded by blood.

I have memorized every bit of that ultrasound, that report, that paper that said you're bleeding but we think every thing is okay so we are sending you home. I have read it to myself in my head over and over and over again throughout the past two years.

Spotting. No fluid leakage. US performed. Anterior placenta. No abnormalities.

I read it again, for old time's sake.

A single living intrauterine gestation. Breech position. Anterior placenta. 164 beats per minute. Blood clot measuring 1.8 x 1.0 x 2.0 cm. Normal amniotic fluid.

But wait. What's this? This isn't the report I remember reading. This isn't even the diagnosis I was given upon discharge.

A blood clot?

A blood clot with a location and a size?

A blood clot that I just happened upon by chance, two years later.

A blood clot that was never mentioned to me, that was never discussed with me, that was never written in any of the papers forwarded to my primary doctor, in my primary medical record.

A blood clot that, two days later, was most definitely involved in the premature birth and death of my son.



All I wanted was a few minutes of silence to pull myself together in all this chaos. Now all I can hear is silence. Shattering, deafening silence.

A first step.

During my pregnancy with Marshall, I posted periodically about how things were going. Mostly the emotional mess of having a baby after losing a baby kind of stuff. After his arrival, I posted periodically about the emotional mess of having a baby after losing a baby kind of stuff. 

But I've never written much about his birth. 

Birth scared me. 

There were so many things that were just waiting to go wrong. Structural issues with my uterus and cervix. Marshall not showing growth for a month. Pre-eclampsia during my last two weeks. Delivering in a military hospital that loves c-sections. History of hemorrhage. 

I had given birth to two babies. Both babies were alive, and then they died. 

Birth was the end of my pregnancy. Birth was the end of knowing Marshall was alive and well. Birth was the uncertainty, the moment when my baby would either be alive or die like his siblings. 

I was terrified. 

I had experienced so much trauma related to pregnancy, birth, and just hospitals in general. I was terrified of what would happen, what might go wrong. I was terrified of the induction the doctor wanted to do. I was terrified of any chance that I would have a c-section. I was terrified that I would walk away without a baby. 

I wanted a natural birth. I wanted to feel the pain. I wanted to feel my baby come into the world. I wanted to hurt, just like I had done with his sister and his brother. I knew my chances were a bit slim, especially in a surgery happy military hospital, but I was determined. 

I had prodromal labor for 3 weeks before Marshall finally showed up....the day before Doc wanted to induce. Contractions picked up at 10:30 PM, so I tried to take a nap until I couldn't take it anymore. My friend Ayla was training to become a doula, so she joined us at the hospital at 2:30 AM. I was diagnosed with pre-eclampsia in the first hour. Back labor. Horrible, painful back labor. Marshall was...what did they call it....sunny side up? Fourteen hours later, I was laughing as they handed me my perfect, tiny little guy. He was breathing. He was alive, very much alive. He was perfect. (APGAR of 9!) 

And I did it all completely natural, completely drug free, completely in the moment, fully present in every painful contraction. Just like I wanted. 

My body had finally done what it was supposed to after failing me, failing my babies. It was a first step in forgiving myself, forgiving my body, for everything that had happened in the previous two years. It felt healing. 

One of the nurses commented that it was the first natural birth she had seen in that hospital in 10 years. 

I'm in a military town. Many of the women around here don't have family locally. Many of them endure pregnancy, and often birth, with their spouse deployed. Many of them don't know what to talk to their doctors about or what options they have. Many of them are walking in those same shoes, having a baby after losing a baby, and losing their minds in all the stress that entails. 

It hurts me to see how unsupported so many of these women are. 

I wanted to do something about it. 

In September, I will be a certified instructor for natural child birth classes. 

It's a first step in a completely different direction. It's a pretty big step for me. 

I'm also working to get Lilly's Dream back up and running. I had to put things away during my pregnancy because it was too much for me, especially after the nurse shooting me down when I talked to her about our memory boxes. I will have more time to develop the local resources, which I hope will help even more than the boxes. I'm anxious....but excited....to dive back in. 

I'm hoping to be around here more often. Four months was way too long. 

Marshall is doing great, by the way. He is 19 pounds, and he will be 8 months on Sunday. Can you believe that?! 

Sweet potatoes.

Discovering grass and flowers.

My friend Qi took this at our Easter picnic.

Something bigger.

Earlier this month, we passed the 2 year mark of the day that B was born and died. I took the week off work, and we went to the beach. A fun family vacation. Down time to relax and remember. To celebrate the little boy we love but only held for a short time.

But this is the Pacific Northwest.

We made it to the beach. And it was cold. And windy. And rained every day. It was absolutely miserable.

(I suppose that was fitting....)




I have just over 4 months left in the Navy.

I'm due to go back to sea duty. 5 years of sea duty and deployments. I just can't do it.

Someone told me that I'm being selfish and reckless with my family's future.


I've learned a lot over the last few years. About love. About family. About priorities. About what really matters. About following your heart. About trusting something bigger than you.

Everything in me, in my entire being, tells me to get out. That my family is more important than a deployment. That these youngest years are important to spend with my son, these years that I didn't get with his brother, these years that I may never get with another child.

If I wait 5 more years, there is a great possibility that I will never have another child, that Marshall will never have a little brother or sister.



My priorities have changed. My passions have changed. My direction has changed.

I'm feeling pulled to do something different, something bigger.

My heart is telling me to go, and I feel like I have to listen to it.


Big news coming soon.

(And by soon, I promise not 4 months, like last time. :-) )

Christmas Letters

Dear Marshall,

Tonight is Christmas.

This morning we slept in late. We had cinnamon rolls and hot chocolate for breakfast.
We opened presents. We talked with grandparents and aunts and uncles. We snuggled on the couch and watched cartoons in our jammies all day.

We were all sick, but we made the best of it. Lots of snuggles. Lots of tickles. Lots of giggles and slobbery smiles.

We tried to take a family picture in front of the Christmas tree. Alice and Austin wanted nothing to do with it...even though they photo bombed almost every other picture we took.

At the end of the day, we filled the bath tub with bubbles and rubber duckies. After a bath and some milk, you were quickly sound asleep on my shoulder.

When I laid you down, you never opened your eyes, but you grabbed my finger and held it tightly. You were fast asleep again, still holding me close to you.

I laid there next to you, in awe of every rise and fall of your tiny chest.

Last year, I wanted nothing to do with Christmas. Dad and I went to Oregon, and I spent Christmas weekend running down the stormy beaches of the Pacific Ocean with Austin. I was hoping to run away from all the pain and exhaustion. I was praying for a break, for a change, for a fresh start.

One year ago today, on Christmas Day, I got the best Christmas present ever: those tiny pink lines that said I got another chance.

Those pink lines meant that I got you, and well, you really are the greatest present ever. My heart still hurts for your sister and your brother before you, but you make my heart so full and happy. Your smile and excitement for everything around you keep me going.

Merry Christmas, baby boy. I love you.

Complete.

It's been well over a month since I've written on here, so I'm not even sure where to begin...or what I actually want to say. I've had some pretty nasty struggles with mastitis...and post-partum depression...bad enough that I admitted to the doc that when I'm up for a night feeding, I want to hit Bryan with a lamp because he's snoring too loud and hasn't been helping much. I'm happy to report that it's getting much better. And my lamp is still intact.

Marshall is 3 months old now.

Some nights it's still so hard to believe all this is real. That he is here. That he is mine. That he is real.

For the most part, things are going great around here. We still have our really bad days. And our sleepless nights. Bryan and I still fight. And I still have hormonal breakdowns. And sometimes I still cry for no damn reason.

But I take it all in stride. Or at least I try to. I never expected this to be perfect....or easy.


Waking up at 4 AM for work sucks. But when he wakes up with a big smile and waits patiently to be changed and fed, it doesn't matter anymore. That smile makes everything else disappear. It has easily made me a bit more of a morning person.

And bedtime. Oh, bedtime! That's my favorite part of the day.

We have a nice routine down.

Bath. Milk. Story. Bed.

We relax in the rocker recliner. He snuggles in close to drink his milk while I read him a book. And then we rock until he's falling asleep. Most nights I let him fall asleep against my chest, and I just stay there, breathing it all in. It's the one time of the day that I can shut everything else out. I try to make sure that I am fully present, fully appreciating every second, because I know that these moments don't last.

It's usually in these moments that I miss his brother and sister the most.

A few nights ago, we were reading "Wherever You Are My Love Will Find You" by Nancy Tillman. (Those books are my favorite!) He stopped drinking and looked across the room with huge eyes. He started smiling and nodding and making facial expressions and cooing like he was having a conversation with someone. 

"Wherever You Are My Love Will Find You" by Nancy Tillman

For the first time, I thought of them without missing them. I felt like they were there. I felt like I was reading to all of them. I finally felt like I was a mother of three, a mother to ALL of my babies.

For the first time, my heart felt complete...

Tonight I received an email from a very dear friend. A friend of hers is 5 months pregnant. Her unborn daughter has a hole in her heart. She was also diagnosed with Trisomy 13 and 18.

I've been putting together some links and resources for my friend because she's trying to be as supportive as she can. (If you know of any good support sites specific to this diagnosis, please send them my way!)


If you pray, please keep them all in your prayers.

Illuminate Week Four -- One Year From Today.

“The very least you can do in your life is figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof.”
― Barbara Kingsolver, Animal Dreams

In 2006, T left home for the Air Force. The same night, F was killed in a horrible car accident.

In 2007, I left home for the Navy. 17 days later, Andy was killed in a horrible car accident.

In 2008, I had a job I loved and I was married to my best friend.

In 2009, I was divorced.

In 2010, I was pregnant for the first time and then my baby died.

In 2011, I was pregnant for the second time and this baby died too.

In 2012, I was pregnant for a third time and this baby actually got to come home.


I've been trying to write this for five days. Just sitting here, staring blankly at the screen. Trying to think of what a year from now might look like. One year isn't very long, so that sounds simple enough. But then I look back at where I was a year ago. And a year back from then. And then another year. The last several years have been one hell of a roller coaster, to say the least. They definitely didn't work out like I had planned...or like I could have ever imagined.

One year from today.

Marshall will be almost 14 months old. Bryan will be done with school. My time in the Navy will be done. I will be 3 years and 3 months from losing my first baby.

If I try really hard, I can picture us moving into our own place. A nice little house with an oak tree. A garden full of big hydrangeas, some butterflies, and maybe even some chickadees. A sun filled room for me to paint in. A patio to relax and enjoy a cup of tea as the sun comes up. Pictures and reminders of Lilly and Brake will fill the inside, just as they do here.

I can picture Marshall and the dog chasing each other around a big fenced backyard. Or Marshall running to his dad as he gets home from work. I can picture his dad actually playing with him...a feat that is hard to come by right now.

I can picture being back in school, finishing my nursing degree. I can picture running my own business. I can picture an outreach of sorts, with a room full of local baby loss mommas with a safe place to open their hearts. 

I can picture a healthy, happy family.

Real, true happiness. In spite of the grief, the fear, the nightmares, but probably never without them.  

But then I start thinking again. About the past. About the present. About all the things that have happened and all the things that keep going wrong.

And then I start doubting because the past has already proven that what I imagine doesn't always happen, that life sometimes has other plans, that some things just don't work out.

In reality, I don't know that any of that will happen next year, or even the year after that.

I guess all that's left is to pray and cling tightly to hope. That's what has brought me this far.

Selfish.

I go back to work next Friday, for the first time in several months. That's 6 days.

Marshall starts day care in 9 days.

I'm terrified.


I have honestly been dreading this day since I found out I was pregnant. I know that people send their children to day care every day, and that this shouldn't be a big deal.

But when I think about handing him over to someone else, I'm haunted by the image of myself handing Brake's lifeless body back to the funeral director. When I dream about it at night, I wake up drenched in sweat, and I have to get up to make sure that Marshall is alive, that he is real. During the day, especially while trying to figure out all the paperwork, my chest gets tight and I start crying.

Maybe it's just the end of my maternity leave becoming too overwhelming. Too many changes and adjustments all at once. Too much to do. Too many places to be. It's all just too much.

I know it will get better. I know he will be okay. But it still hurts.


Speaking of going back to work, I have to make a decision about my future in the Navy soon.

Right now I have just less than a year left. I want to get out. I want to go back to school. I want to be home with Marshall. I want to do anything that doesn't involve going back to sea duty and long deployments and leaving my son for several months at a time.

It's more than that though.

My job played a huge role in losing Brake, and I made up my mind last year that I wasn't doing this anymore. The way things happened. The way it was handled. The way I was treated. The night mares about going to work. The nervous breakdowns on the flight line. All those nights that I would rather have driven off the bridge than gone in to work.

I'm a lot better this year. But the hell I went through last year and the people in charge that either let it happen or made it worse broke me to a point that I don't want anything to do with the Navy.

I want to feel like my own person again.

I want a job that makes me happy.

I want to work without always wondering when or if that might happen again.

I never planned on making this a career. I joined because I was bored of my small hometown. I wanted to get out and have some adventures and see where they might take me. I figured by the time a family came into the picture, I'd be out and settled down somewhere. (I wasn't planning on a family quite so soon.)

Bryan wanted a career, but it didn't work out for him. So now he wants it for me because I have such great potential and it's better for us, for our family. He's pushing for a re-enlistment, for an officer package, for whatever keeps me in longer.

I understand that this really is the best place for our family, at least financially, with the steady paycheck and insurance. I understand that money is important because that's what keeps the bills paid and groceries in the house.

But if I'm really this unhappy, is it worth it?

Or am I just being selfish?

Illuminate Week 3 -- Grateful

Illuminate Week 3 -- I Am Grateful For

This has been an extremely rough month, both emotionally and physically. I'm having a hard time healing from Marshall's recent delivery, and my mind is a complete mess of rampant thoughts and emotions. Just when I thought things were finally settling down, I got mastitis. Bad, bad mastitis. I dropped to the floor and cried. Because of the excruciating pain. Because of the disappointment. Because of the feelings that as a mother I was already letting my baby down.

I cried. And cried. And cried some more. I cried until I didn't think there was a drop left in my body.

The next morning as I was feeding Marshall, I wrapped us in a quilt from Grannie Eva. I pulled a book, The Pokey Little Puppy, from the book shelf. And I tried to calm myself, rocking and reading to my baby. When Marshall had fallen back asleep, I sat there looking at him, marveling at how amazing he is.

Then I looked around at my little corner. Andy's quilt, almost like my security blanket, covered the back of my recliner. The quilt covering us was crocheted by Grannie Eva as she earnestly prayed during my entire pregnancy. The book was from my mom. It was one of my favorites as a kid, when my mom read to us every night. Brake's urn sat just out of arm's reach, next to a bouquet of some of my favorite flowers.

In that moment, I remembered my own childhood. All the hopes and dreams my parents instilled and encouraged. The love, the hugs, the bed time stories. The self-esteem and confidence built at a very early age. In that moment, I realized how far I have come. And how many wonderful people have come this far with me. They may not have walked the same agonizing steps as I did, but they were there to help me, to pray for me, to hold me, assuring that I was never completely alone for a single step of this journey.

Of all the small things that make me happy, like sweet tea and sunrises and autumn leaves, I think these realizations, these people, their unwavering love and support, mean so much more. I think grateful is probably an understatement.



For the photo assignment, my 100 steps took me down the sidewalk to what's left of a flower garden:

 

Illuminate Week 2 -- Light

Lilly died in the middle of the night, in the middle of the bathroom floor. I became terrified of the night, of the dark, of the bathroom. I tried desperately to immerse myself in as much sunshine as I could. I wanted sun, bright lights, open skies. Anything but darkness. I never wanted to see the night again. And even more than that, I never wanted to go into the bathroom again.

I went home for a visit when I was on medical leave. I took flowers to my cousin and childhood best friend, F, at the local cemetery. I had dreamed of her, holding my Lilly. F is buried under a huge oak tree, which I found very fitting for her, though I'd much rather she not be in the cemetery in the first place. Oak trees are known for their strength and endurance, and they look so noble and beautiful standing tall in the sunshine. I told myself I wanted to be strong like that oak tree. I wanted to stand tall and soak up as much sunlight as I could....and I never wanted to see darkness again.

After Lilly died, I was transferred to a new duty station on the other side of the country. Within a few months of settling in, we found out we were expecting again. I was still terrified of the dark, and especially of the bathroom. Five months later, Brake died, in the dark, in the bathroom. I was spiraling downward, quickly, and I tried so hard to hold tight to the image of that huge oak tree. I wanted to hold on to that sunlight and soak it all in, but I was failing miserably and my fears of the dark were escalating.

When I returned to work, I had a hard time adjusting. I wasn't sleeping well. I couldn't concentrate. I wasn't getting along with people very well. So I was moved to a midnight shift. I left for work around 10 PM and I usually got home around 8 AM. There's something about the flight line at 2 AM. It's cold. It's almost always raining. And it's so very dark. I was stuck in what I hated the most, and it was pulling me in. Many nights the darkness felt so thick and heavy that I might suffocate just from walking into it. Even when the skies were filled with stars, there still wasn't enough light to save me.

The deeper it pulled me in, the darker everything else became. I became like a robot, a machine. Go home and sleep all day. Get up and go to work all night. Go through all the motions but never really feel anything. I never saw the sun anymore. I don't think I noticed it even when it was there. I started having nightmares during the day. I started having flashbacks at night. It drove me to the point of a nervous breakdown in the middle of the flight line....on more than one occasion. I didn't realize it, but I was slowly and painfully shutting down.

One day I decided that I wanted to start painting again. After high school, I had a scholarship for art school, so I thought maybe picking up with the creative stuff again would help work out some of the emotions. I bought an easel, some canvas, and some paints. But they just sat there, waiting.

I was late coming home from work one morning, so I was awake to see the sunrise for the first time in a long time. (Or perhaps it was just the first time I was coherent enough to notice it.) I took a picture of the sun's reflection in my side mirror, still framed with ice from the night before. I posted it to Facebook, and a friend commented how we have the most amazing sunrises up here. I sat on the front porch the entire morning, staring at the sky, at the colors and the light.

I finally found the little boost I needed to pick up the paints. I sat out on the porch every morning, regardless of the weather. A canvas, a paint brush, my Bible, and a big cup of hot tea. Sometimes I would set it all up, but I wouldn't even paint. It just felt so good to be sitting out there, to be seeing the sun again, even though it was just for an hour or so before I had to go bed for work.

This year I was pregnant again, but I was on bed rest for most of it so I couldn't paint. I slept on the couch most nights because it was more comfortable. The sunrise would wake me up as it filled our giant windows with its golden rays. I would sit up in the corner of the couch and watch the warming light melt the fog off the harbor. Tiny little chickadees filled the feeder outside the window, and bunnies grazed quietly in the yard, both hungry and ready to welcome the new day. I always woke up just in time to catch that perfect moment in the sunrise, where the light and dark meet, just long enough to be beautiful, just long enough to paint a new day, a new beginning.

I'm definitely not a morning person, but being up for the sunrise does so much for my heart. Lately though, I haven't been seeing the beauty in the meeting of the light and dark. I feel like I'm wandering through a thick fog, with neither light nor dark to pull me in either direction. I'm not sure if it's the stress of adjusting to a new baby in the house or if it's this nasty bout of post partum depression. Maybe it's just a mix of everything, both new and old.

I go back to work in a couple weeks, and I'll be driving in during sunrise every morning. I'm hoping there will be enough sunshine to pull me through again.

Dancing.

Part of me says I shouldn't be writing this on here. Another part of me says that I need to get this outta me, and this is the only place I can do that.


Marshall is just over 3 weeks old. During the last 3 weeks, I have had a calmness in my heart, a happiness I haven't felt in a very long time. But in all honesty, I'm hurting. I'm hurting so bad....

Adjusting to a new baby was nothing. Adjusting to being a family, well, that hasn't been so easy. It honestly doesn't even feel like a family. It feels like a man inconvenienced by a girl and her baby. I feel like we are here out of necessity, because he has nowhere else to go, rather than because we are actually wanted.

I feel like I'm dancing on the edge of a really nasty post-partum depression.

I had a natural delivery. The first our hospital had seen in quite a long time, according to some of the nurses. Bryan was supportive. My doula was amazing. I had mild pre-eclampsia and my lady parts tore pretty bad, but otherwise, it was a perfect delivery of a perfect baby. I was told I was even laughing at some point during the end of delivery.

I cut Marshall's cord, and when they laid him on my chest he latched almost immediately. I was in shock and disbelief that it was real. I couldn't stop staring at him, not because he was perfect or beautiful, but simply because he was alive. Bryan refused to hold him. He was in such a fret over the dog not going outside that he left before things were cleaned up or the baby was done with his vitals. My doula helped me move into our room.

Our son, that we waited so long for, that I prayed so hard for, that I spent so long on bed rest trying to keep alive, was not even half an hour old, and he had other things to do. He couldn't hold him. He couldn't take pictures. He had to leave. Calling it a slap in the face is a huge understatement.

The swelling and stitches kept me from being able to move around very well. I had to have help getting in and out of bed so that I could get to the bathroom. Marshall was born during finals week, and Bryan didn't talk to his teachers, so he had to leave during the day for his tests. Marshall had to stay in the bed with me most of the day because I had no way of tending to him without calling for a nurse. Since I was alone, I wasn't getting up often enough, so I lost control of my bladder for a few days.

My parents got here a couple days after I was discharged, but I still couldn't move very well. My lady parts were the size of a grapefruit, so naturally, that's gonna take a while to heal. (Ok, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. A tangerine is probably more accurate, not that anyone cares to know.)

I wanted to rest at home with my new baby and my parents. My parents wanted to relax and help out with the baby. Bryan wanted to show them everything on the damn island. A simple trip to the grocery store had to turn into an entire family event. I cried getting into and out of the truck. I held my breath while I sat because I couldn't possibly get comfortable. I actually tore a little more because of all the moving and stretching. I wasn't able to nurse or pump for hours at a time, so I was constantly engorged and sore.

I tried to explain that breastfed babies have to eat every couple hours. I tried to explain that I have to get the milk out every couple hours, even if I have to pump. I ended up with blocked ducts that completely cut the flow on one side. Nothing would come out. Not a drop. So Bryan started pushing formula. Even if I was trying to nurse him, Bryan was still trying to push a bottle of formula at him. Even after the ducts got better.

Bryan figured out how to change a diaper. He carries the car seat and the stroller at the same time because he doesn't want to let anyone help. He shoves a bottle or a pacifier in "the kid's" face every time he whimpers. So that makes him strong and awesome. He's constantly stroking his ego with how awesome a dad he is and how he's so great at this and so great at that.

Last week he pitched a mad fit because I told him it was too cold at the beach for the baby. So he jerked the car seat out of the stroller and stomped off to the truck. He got mad because he wanted to fix a bottle of formula, and I handed him a freshly pumped bottle, with the pump still on it. He couldn't get the pump off so he threw it across the house.

I get told I'm doing this wrong and questioned about doing that. I was told that breastfeeding just wasn't for me because I was having problems. I'm up all hours of the night without help. I've tripped on the dog and landed flat on my ass almost every night for two weeks. I do laundry, I clean the house, I bathe and feed the baby. But I'm just grumpy and "fucking shitty" all the time. I'm not awesome. I'm not doing a good job. I'm apparently not even doing things right.

Bryan's dad is in town to see Marshall. He keeps joking about taking my baby. At one point, he wasn't even joking. He said that if his ex-wife was out here at the same time, he was taking the dog and the baby and leaving. And of course, once again, I'm doing this or that wrong. I'm not able to nurse on schedule. Hell, I don't even get to see my baby until night time when I'm bathing him and getting him ready for bed.

They want me to take pictures of them while he's here, of their 3 generations. It's his dad's idea, but it's the most interest he has shown since we came home. Our son is 3 weeks old, and we don't even have a picture of the three of US together. Not even at the hospital.

I'm tired of company. I'm tired of being told I'm wrong. I'm tired of being told how to take care of my baby. I'm tired of not being good enough. I'm tired of the jokes and taking over things. I'm tired of the lack of support and encouragement. I'm tired of the bullshit arguments and personality clashes and angry fits. I'm tired of feeling like I'm not wanted. I'm tired of feeling like my son isn't wanted, like he's an inconvenience. I'm tired of all of it.

I go back to work in 3 weeks, and Marshall starts daycare. I just want to rest and love on my baby while I can.

Illuminate Week One

Illuminate's Week One Assignment.....


Dear Lilly and Brake,

It's been two years and two months since you left us, Lilly, and a year and a half for Brake. Going back to work seemed to intensify the pain. I was learning a new job, the one that played a hand in your death, Brake, and I was also learning how to live after saying goodbye to a second baby. I was moved to a midnight shift because I couldn't control my temper. I ran on very little sleep because of all the nightmares. I was always on edge at work because there was always a flashback around the corner. I had the worst flashbacks on the flight line, the worst place to have a distracted mind. 

Last summer I started painting to help channel some of the pain. I lost motivation for it after a while, but I have still managed to let go of some of it. It still hurts. I still have nightmares. I still cry. I still can't even look at a ladder or use the bathroom at night without trembling. But I can talk about you with a smile because the joy that you brought during your short time really does outweigh the pain. I just wish others would be more open to remembering you. It hurts when people come into our home and get upset about seeing your pictures on the wall.

Almost three weeks ago, Mommy welcomed your little brother Marshall to the world. It hurts me to say this, but I finally feel like a real mommy. Lilly, you were my first born, my first love, and you made me a mommy. For the first time ever. But spending these last two years without you and Brake, well, I didn't feel like much of one.

When I'm taking care of Marshall, I realize how much I missed out on with both of you. It hurts to know that you never got a chance in this world. It hurts to know that Marshall will never get to be the little brother that he really is. Sometimes at night when he's nursing, I'll catch a glimpse of something in his eyes and I'll remember how much he looks like you, Brake. And I'll break down in tears every time.

I miss you two so very much. I feel like a mommy, but I don't feel like myself. Maybe it's a bit of post-partum depression in addition to missing you, but I feel more like a hollow shell lately. I got sunflowers in the hospital, and they are all dried up now. They are still somewhat recognizable, but nothing like they used to be. That's sorta how I feel. Your dad has been helpful but not very supportive, and I think that makes it feel worse.

Even though Marshall makes me feel happier, he hasn't and can't ever replace you. I will still always love you and miss you.

*I know there's supposed to be more pictures, but I'm still not getting around that well. I'll do better with next week's assignment.*

He's here. :-)

Sorry for keeping yall waiting for so long.... 

Marshall Andrew finally made his appearance last Tuesday at 2:11 pm. 

He weighed 6 pounds 5 ounces and was 19 inches long. 

 

 

He's doing great. I'm having some pretty rough post partum issues though, so it will probably be a few more days before I can get back with more pictures and possibly a birth story. 

Thanks again for all the thoughts, prayers, and encouragement over the last 9 months. I'm still in a bit of disbelief that this is real.

Dear Little Guy.

Dear Little Guy,

Your dad and I spent a nice Christmas vacation at Newport Beach in Oregon. We took Austin with us, and he was so excited to run and be chased by all those waves. On Christmas morning, your dad fixed me a cup of tea while we were getting showered and ready for the day. As soon as I took my first sip, I immediately started getting sick. I had been a little weak most of the weekend, but we didn't think much of it til then. Dad said he knew exactly what was wrong, and on our way home he bought a box of pregnancy tests. Sure enough, there they were: two pink lines.

We were scared. Too scared to be excited. You see, you have a big sister and a big brother, but they are both in Heaven. We were scared that you might leave us too, and we knew our hearts couldn't handle any more pain.

One day, around 12 weeks, I found a pair of shoes that I knew would look great on you. And you would match your dad! I was afraid if I bought them, I would jinx you and you would never get to wear them. So I started crying, right there in the middle of the store. But then I realized that it didn't matter if you lived another day or another year or an entire century. You were still mine. I promised right then and there that I would love you with everything I have in me and I would make the absolute best of this pregnancy, no matter how long or short it might be and no matter how hard things got. And boy, did things ever get hard.

I was sick the entire first 6 months of pregnancy. I lost 15 pounds from being so sick. You didn't seem to like anything I ate. When we did find something, it would only last for about a week or so, and then it would make me sick too. If it wasn't for popsicles and Gatorade, I don't know how I would have survived. Eventually pancakes started staying down. And sometimes watermelon. And then scrambled eggs and toast. (Your dad and I have breakfast at the bowling alley at least once a week, and those ladies think all I eat is scrambled eggs and toast.)

Even after I started feeling better and gaining some weight, I would have lots of nightmares. Most nights when I would wake up, I would feel you wiggle around in my belly, and I'd start to feel better and fall back asleep. You're really good at doing that at just the right time. Like when Dad forgot about my birthday. I was so mad that I cried, and then I got mad that I cried. And then you wiggled and, well, it felt like you were petting me, reminding me that you were still there. That was all I needed for my birthday.

In April we found out that you were a boy. You were so proud of those boy parts that you wouldn't let the radiologist see anything else. You didn't let us see much of your face, but from what little we did see, we think you look a lot like your brother.

Every morning at work, I would have some juice and a bagel with cream cheese for breakfast. I only worked for a couple hours because Chief wanted to make sure you stayed safe and healthy. On the way home, if I turned the radio up a little bit, you would start wiggling and dancing. You really like music. I got you some Belly Buds, like special speakers just for you while you're in my belly, so that you could listen to music with me while I was laying down. George Strait and Radney Foster are some of your favorites. So is your Uncle Andy. I'm sad that you won't get to meet him, but I'm so happy that his voice makes you happy.

The last couple months I've been on bed rest, and it's been rough. I never knew doing nothing could be so tiring! Other than being boring and exhausting, it's actually really nice to just relax and lay around the house. Most days Dad is at school, so I just nap on the couch while you stretch around in my belly. Austin really enjoys our nap time. He usually ends up passed out right next to me, with his head on my belly. He's been very protective lately, especially when Dad gets out the vacuum cleaner. I think he's excited about you. You two will be great friends.

It's the end of August, and I can't believe it's almost that time. You should be making an appearance any day now. If you're not here before Wednesday, Doc is evicting you. That's five days! It's starting to sink in, and I'm getting scared. This parenting thing is really new for your dad and me, and it's gonna be hard. It's even harder knowing that you won't ever get to be the little brother that you really are. I know there are going to be days that we don't get things right. And I'm sure there are going to be days that I miss your brother and sister really bad and I just want to sit in the floor and cry. But I think our good days will far outweigh our bad days. So please be patient with us as we figure this out.

There are so many people that have been praying for you and waiting for your arrival. You haven't even made it out of my belly yet, and you are already so very loved by so many.

Five more days. I can't wait to meet you!

Venting and an update.

I haven't been here in a while.

I'm nursing a 3 day headache from hell, so I apologize in advance if nothing I write today makes sense.

Yesterday, at 38 weeks.

All this time on bed rest has made me realize how much I miss human interaction....and how much I absolutely hate people.


I've noticed lately that a lot of women like to compare and make a sort of competition out of pregnancy and childbirth. I don't understand it. I listened to a lot of it when I was still working, but I sorta expected that there. But having complete strangers spewing pregnancy horrors at me because it's not fair that I don't have stretch marks? Or someone telling me that it's not fair that I get more appointments because I'm a high risk pregnancy? Seriously?

I've had my share of hard times and horrors. But I don't hold them against anyone. I don't compare them to anyone else. Most of the time I don't even bring them up unless I am specifically asked about them. In the first trimester, I told myself that I would love this baby with everything I have in me and that I would make the best out of this pregnancy, no matter how hard/long/short it might be. That might not sound like much, but after two losses, that's actually pretty damn hard. And it doesn't leave much room or time for comparing what I've been blessed with to what someone else has. I just wish other people could see things like that.


I've also noticed that it's much better to not talk about my pregnancy publicly. I don't have the patience for dealing with people. If I post a REAL update, we get hysterical phone calls, even though nothing is actually wrong. If I mention getting to go somewhere, I get lectured for being out of bed, even though I was cleared of strict bed rest a few weeks ago. I know there are always risks. I'm more than aware of that. But is it really that bad for me to go get a milkshake a mile from my house?! If I mention appointments or decisions, I get lectured again about how it's all bad/wrong and we should be doing more to make a better start for our child. If you don't know anything about my medical history, how do you know what is best for me or my baby? (On that note, I just want to point out that rude, hateful lectures are definitely not the way to win over a miserable pregnant woman. Just so you know.)


The thing that really gets me is the people that have recently made attacks and ugly comments about our doctor and medical decisions that have been made. We finally got a doctor that actually takes her time with us, listening to us and answering questions. She is actually taking our issues very seriously, as well as trying to prepare us for any of the complications that could arise. We really like and trust her, and that's a really big deal for me. I came into this pregnancy with a handful of issues and complications, on top of having previous losses, so I never expected this to be an easy ride. I never expected things to go smoothly. I definitely never expected it to become such a big deal to so many people that, in the big picture, really don't matter, or that don't even know us. I shouldn't have to explain myself or our decisions to these people, or to anyone else. I know my body and its issues, and I trust my doctor....and that's all that matters.



With all that being said, I want to point out that none of it was directed toward any of you. Well, not any of you that I know personally or have talked to. Yall have been wonderful through all this. Sometimes I just need to vent.

And because you sat through all that, a real update....

I was dilated to 3 cm and started having bloody show and lost pretty much all my mucous on Friday the 10th. (I feel yucky saying that stuff to yall. haha) I've been having contractions for the last few months, but they picked up. Regular contractions about every 20 minutes. We thought this was actually happening, and I felt that neurotic oh-my-god-this-is-real panic set in. So I made Bryan drive to Walmart at 10 PM because we didn't have any baby socks. (Yes. I'm serious.) I made myself calm down and try to sleep, and the contractions stopped for a while. I've been having them every day since, but we haven't made much progress. As of our last ultrasound, Little Guy looks like he has stopped growing. He was about two weeks ahead through most of the pregnancy, and then he hit 5 pounds and stopped. I know the ultrasounds aren't always accurate, especially this late in pregnancy, but 3 of them have shown him with the same measurements. His movement and heart are still showing up perfectly though. Doc wants to induce us next week if he doesn't show up on his own over the weekend. I guess it's not our ideal birth situation, but as long as my baby is ok, I'll take it. I have structural issues with my uterus and my kidneys, my cervix is pretty much non-existent, my baby stopped growing, and there's a really great chance that I will hemorrhage during birth. I'm pretty sure at this point, there are far worse things than an induction if it gets my baby here safely.


Hopefully this time next week, I'll have some great news to share with you. And then my parents and my sister will be in town for a few weeks, so I'll be missing for a while again. :-)