Octobers

The other day as I parked the car Finn looked over to see a family getting out of their car. There were three kids and he said, "I wish Cale was here. Do you wish he was?"

It always makes my heart skip a beat when I see how Cale's absence has impacted Finn. He's said similar things - like the time he mentioned that the neighbors have three kids in their family and we should have three. I think he really would like to have a (living) brother and it pains me that he doesn't, but it also makes me happy that we talk about Cale enough that he really understands that someone is missing and that Cale should be here.

.....

On the 15th of this month I lit a candle for Cale, like I always do, but I couldn't help but think how much even that simple act has changed over the years. It seems grief has really grown into an almost comfortable aspect of my daily life. The sharp pain and literal ache of not having my baby is more infrequent, replaced by a somber yearning for what should have been.

I'm both grateful to be at this point in my life and also at times nostalgic for the days when the missing was all consuming. 

.....

It was eight years ago this month I learned I was pregnant with Cale. Those precious memories of the excitement and hope we felt have not been tainted by his death. I can think of our time with him and feel gratitude and happiness because it was a time full of so much love. He was wanted, he was loved, he is loved, and he is missed. This October and all others.

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Christmas with Cale

A couple days ago I received a message from the sister of a guy I went to high school with just letting me know that she was thinking of me and Cale and was curious if we had any traditions for him during the holidays. She is not someone I'm close with, but just a really nice and genuine person who has reached out to me several times over the years with kind words such as her latest message. I wrote her back and told her that it means so much, to not only know that she thought of Cale, but that she actually wanted to know about how we remember him and honor him. And even better than just wondering, she took the time to ask. Those people are gold, they really are. I happily shared with her our few traditions and thought I would share them here as well. 

Each year we try to "adopt" a child that is in need off one of the Angel Trees. We try to find a boy who is close in age to the age Cale should be. This year we didn't find a five year old, but did get to adopt a six year old boy who needed clothes. We got him a jacket, several pairs of pants, a few shirts, Star Wars underwear and a Star Wars shirt, and some toys - we got this boy Legos as those seem age appropriate and I suspect Cale would be really in to Legos just as his brother is starting to more and more. It feels good to get to buy for a child in need, but to do so because of our love for Cale. 

Every year when we decorate I pause and wonder if I like the stocking set up. The damn stockings plague me every year and I think I've found something that feels as close to good as it can, but definitely not right. Right now I have four stockings on the mantle with our initials. Then I have a smaller stocking for Cale hanging from a bookshelf with his Christmas name in the sand.  When we put the tree up, I have a little tradition where the first thing that is hung on the tree is one of our Cale ornaments. On Christmas morning I light a candle either next to his sketch (which is always on our mantle) or next to his stocking and leave it lit all day. 

Love this growing collection of ornaments. Three of them are from
my annual Baby Loss Mom ornament exchange - something I look
forward to each Christmas. 

The other thing that I struggle with each year is what to write on our Christmas Card in regards to Cale. I feel like I say the same thing; "we miss him, we love him," but not saying it also doesn't feel right. Last year I didn't mention him in the short blurb, but signed the card, "with Cale forever in our hearts" which is similar to what a lot of my loss friends write and I like that it's a simple, yet powerful way to remind others that Cale is never far from heart. This year I mentioned him by acknowledging that he would have been five this year and also included his Christmas name in the sand on the back of the card as well as a picture of Finn and Mary. It felt like the right thing to do this year and I've learned that I just have to do whatever feels best and brings the most comfort.

That's about it as far as traditions go. I'd love to hear about any you have and hope that the holidays were especially gentle to those of you missing loved ones.

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Five Years Ago Today

Five years ago today my friend Nicole lost her first child when her daughter Caroline was stillborn. For Caroline's fifth birthday she has asked others to put a little love and kindness out in the world. It's been really special to see how others have done this - from random good deeds, to donations, paying for someone's coffee, or just leaving something beautiful for someone else to find. If you are on Facebook or Instagram you can see many of these at #KindnessforCarolineR.

Five years ago today also marks the anniversary of when I learned I was pregnant for the second time with the babe who became our marvelous Mr. Finn. 

I did a track workout tonight with some friends and Finn wanted to run with me. He hung out with his buddies until the end and then we "raced." His batman sunglasses were a must even after it got dark and he's all about his baseball hat of late - he's quirky and funny, yet if I tell him he's silly he corrects me and says he's crazy. He's mostly a really, really great kid. Of course he has his moments, but he's a sweet "bruber" and loving boy who makes me a better person. 

Five years ago today he was just a glimmer of hope, but what a gift he's been since that very day. He reminded me, even before he was born, how very intertwined our joy and our sorrow are. The very fact that I learned I was pregnant with him the same day my friend Nicole lost her Caroline is just a reminder of what a brutiful world we live in. Of course I didn't know Nicole at the time - Cale and Caroline brought us together - but it both warms and breaks my heart to have any connection with what is such a sacred and special and difficult day for Nicole's family.

Finn's life has been such a gift to my own. I can't help but think back to five years ago and be reminded of how even then, I loved him so very much.

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October 15, 2015

Yesterday I taught class for Stroller Strong Moms. I had spoken with my friend who is in charge of the Savannah Stroller Strong Moms and she was more than on board for a class specific to acknowledging Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. So we asked the moms to wear pink or blue to class and had a balloon release afterwards for anyone interested. There were 26 moms at class and all 26 stayed after for the balloon release. They all sported pink or blue and while many of them are affected by pregnancy & infant loss, I know several who have had miscarriages, not all of them are personally affected. Yet time and time again this group of women uplift and support one another and I'm really lucky to be a part of this community.

. . . . . . . . . .

A few months ago a man reached out to Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope and asked for audio recordings to play on his radio show for a segment on infant loss that they are doing throughout October. I wrote him back and said I was interested in sharing Cale's story and he asked that I record part of my submission to Faces of Loss. So I did and it was aired a few days ago. The recording, if you want to listen to it can be found here (6th one down). It also can be found by going to "topics" and then "Faces of Loss." It felt a little awkward to read, I worried it didn't portray the emotion I feel, but I'm grateful for the opportunity to raise awareness and to share Cale in any capacity.

. . . . . . . . . .

Tonight my candle is flickering on the mantle next to the sketch of Cale. I find myself gazing up at it from time to time and truly am confronted by all the family and friends who have lit a candle with me not just for Cale, but for all the babies who are so desperately loved and missed. My friend Allyson, who took our family pictures back in June, posted a picture and said one of the candles she lit was for Cale and another was for her big brother who waits in Heaven. Allyson has a brother who was stillborn and I teared up seeing her picture and knowing how much that gesture undoubtedly meant to her mom. I can only hope that Cale's siblings show the same love for him that she showed for her brother whom she never even got to know. It gives me hope that even after I'm gone, Cale will be remember and loved and missed as he deserves to be.

. . . . . . . . . .

I hope that today has been gentle to all of you with an ache that is a little stronger today. Missing and remembering your babies with you.

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To Cale on His Fifth Birthday

Dear Cale,

I think I've olny written you a couple times. Since your death anyway. I used to write you all the time when I was pregnant with you. I have an entire journal I kept from our time together. I thought it would be neat for you to read one day. I never thought I wouldn't get to give it to you. I never thought I would lose you. And then in an instant, you were gone and the trajectory of my life forever changed. In many ways changed for the better. But in many ways not. 

The 'not better' is obvious - you aren't in our lives. Not in the way we had planned, dreamed, and hoped for anyway. I will never stop wanting you in our lives. Fives years without you is entirely too long and I miss you just as much, some days it even feels like I miss you more. Because you would be five now. Five. No longer my baby, but a boy well on his way to just being a kid. A little person with talents and opinions and thoughts we never got to know. And that's what is so hard about five. About all the birthdays and the missed days. I wish I got to know you. I thought I would always want my baby back. For the longest time that's all I remember thinking, "I just want my baby back." But it's YOU I want back. The boy. The person. My son. I daydream about who you would have been, but sometimes I worry I compare you too much to Finn. Or I project too much of him on to the figment of you. And that's not fair, to either of you, but I suppose it is what it is.

I wonder what your relationship would have been like with Finn. I hate that he doesn't have you in his life. I hate it for Mary too, but it stings more for Finn. He's been asking for a baby brother a lot lately. He will ask, "Is Cale my brother?" and when I remind him that yes, you are his brother, he will go on to tell me that he would like two brothers. It's sweet in a way - because it's as if he is able to acknowledge that he does already have one, he just would like another. He wants to go on a "time airplane" (time machine) to see you. He also told me he would drive anywhere to see you and that he would share his toys. I think you two would have been close. I wish you were sharing a room and staying up past your bed time, and fighting over trains and just growing up together. I wish we got to see you in that role of the oldest of three kids. I wish I could sign cards, "from Cale, Finn, and Mary." Even your names sound sweet together. 

There are, of course, the reasons this trajectory of life is better. Finn and Mary. They don't replace you, they don't make up for your loss, in many ways they highlight it so much more. Like when I look at pictures and find the empty space where you would fit. It's always there, that space. And when I think of how amazing it is to see these little people grow before my eyes, but that it is something we were robbed of with you - no, their presence in no way makes up for you. But they exist because of you. And not because you died, I don't ever think that. Rather I know it's because you lived and were here that they are too. So thank you, Cale - for giving me the two of the best gifts I'll ever be given. 

I wish that today was different. I wish that we know what kind of a cake you wanted or how excited you would be to be turning five. We are sending you balloons and spending the day as a family. We are talking to your siblings about you and making you a cake and lighting a candle and all these things feel horribly inadequate and aren't the things I want to do for you, but rather with you. But I hope that today, all days, you can feel our love. That you know we still miss you and that we will never stop loving you.

You are one of the best things I ever did. Happy Birthday, Cale.

I miss you.

I love you.

Mom

. . . . . . . . . . .

Finn helped me make the cake. When we ate it he paused and said,
"we didn't say 'happy birthday' to Cale!" as we didn't actually sing "happy birthday."
He's such a sweet little brother with a sincere and precious heart.

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Faces of Loss

A couple months after we lost Cale I heard about a website called Faces of Loss, Faces of Hope. It was fairly new and created by a woman named Kristin who lost her first child, Stevie, at 26 weeks. She turned Stevie's loss in to something really remarkable by creating this space for other bereaved parents. I posted Cale's story in October of 2010, which can be seen here, and found comfort in the (far too large) community I never wanted to be a part of. Through Faces of Loss, I read Brandy's story about the loss of her son Andrew, I read about Julius and became friends with Tiffany, and through the site, and various blogs, I started to "meet" more and more baby loss moms. Some of whom I was lucky enough to meet in person and have since become good friends with. They became my tribe. The people I turned to (and still do) when I need to just talk, vent, cry, and have someone who can say I'm sorry, and also, I understand. I get it. Me too.

Cheryl Strayed says it best in that "The healing power of even the most microscopic exchange with someone who knows in a flash precisely what you're talking about because she experienced the same thing too cannot be overestimated."

I cannot overestimate the importance of Faces of Loss in regards to my own grief and how grateful I am that Kristin created such a beautiful outlet for others to share their stories. I will never be fully healed, but there definitely is a great deal of healing power found within this community of bereaved families.

Over the years, Faces of Loss has published hundreds upon hundreds of stories of much wanted pregnancies and babies who are missed every single day, but sadly the site went dormant while the stories still poured in. Through the hard work of my friend Brandy (one of the very first friends I met through FOL), the website is out of its state of dormancy and active again. I'm working with the team who is editing and posting backlogged submissions and in the next few weeks we will be able to start posting new stories of loss which is absolutely the definition of brutiful. Because I wish we weren't posting so many stories and babies weren't dying and I wish pregnancies were thriving, but that's just not life, as much as I wish it were. Just last week I got a phone call about a local woman who was preparing to say goodbye to her first child. Life can be crazy beautiful, but it's also full of brutally heartbreaking stories, but as I said in Cale's Faces of Loss submission, these aren't just stories of loss, they are stories of love. I'm so glad there is a space where people can share their story and hopefully Faces of Loss can (once again) connect people who are searching for their tribe. 

If you are interested in sharing your baby(ies)'s story, please do so here. We would love to post it. You aren't alone.

Taken from my maternity pictures with Cale

The Faces of Loss Facebook Page can be found here.

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Heavy Conversations with Little Kids

I recently had a really nice conversation with a new friend here in Savannah who shared with me that her mother had lost a child (a two year old) before she was born and she always felt like she was an inadequate replacement for that child. It really struck me to hear her say that. She went on to compliment the way I parent Mary and Finn despite losing Cale, which really meant a lot, but it really had me thinking about the importance of parenting after loss and how hard it can be.

A big concern of mine is that I do not project my emotions on to my (living) children any more than I normally would, had we not lost Cale. What I mean is that I don't want Finn (and Mary, though I'm starting to see it more with Finn since he's older) to mistake my feelings for their feeling, but at the same time I do think it's important for children to learn empathy and I think part of the way you do that is you have to teach kids how you feel and hope it helps them better understand how they feel.

Our kids will always grow up knowing who Cale is, and helping us celebrate and remember him. When Finn asks to see his pictures, I show him. I don't want Cale to be forbidden or off limits for Finn, but at the same time I don't want to push him to talk about Cale or love Cale in any way that isn't his own.

We have a book, Someone Came Before You, which is a short children's book about a couple losing their baby and going on to have another baby. Finn occasionally will pick it out to read and is becoming more aware at the emotions and the story - "Oh, are they sad?" "Did they miss their baby like you did?" things like that. He will ask me if we were sad when baby Cale died and I will tell him yes, we were very sad and once when my friend Amy asked him how he was he said he was "sad because we lost baby Cale." Which, don't get me wrong, I think is very sweet, but I honestly think that was more a reflection of a recent conversation and not really him being sad or feeling like he was missing Cale.

About a week ago Finn was flipping through a book we used to read a lot when he was just a new toddler called, What's Up, Duck? A Book of Opposites, and he came in the room to ask me "is that duck sad?"

I said, "yes, he's sad."
"Why is he sad?"
"I don't know. Maybe he's sad because he was naughty or maybe he's sad because he was in time out."
"I think he's sad because he lost his baby duck."

When that occurred we had not been talking about Cale recently so I found it interesting that he associated the duck's sadness with losing a baby. Again, I think it's sweet, but I also want to ensure that he understands that being sad  can be associated with lots of things. And I do I think he grasps that - he will tell me he's sad when he misses mommy or daddy or when he's in time out or that he's sad for other logical (and illogical) reasons.

I recently hung up the sketch of Cale and Finn came over and said, "ohhh, is that baby Cale?"
"It sure is, buddy."
"Is Cale my broder? Did he died"
"He is you brother, honey and yes, he died."
"He's so little."
"He was. He was just a little baby."
"He will grow bigger so he can't die"
"No, sweetie. I wish, but when you die you go bye bye and you do not come back."
"Sometimes you do"
"No, honey, you can't"
"Do you want to go downstairs with me?"

And so we went downstairs and left it at that.

I want to talk about Cale, but don't want to force a conversation on him. I wish so badly Cale could grow bigger so he won't die and I love that Finn asked that question, as heartbreaking as it was.

I just hope that Finn (and Mary) never, ever feel like an inadequate replacement for Cale. But I also don't want them to feel like an adequate replacement either. I want them to know how special Cale was and is and how special each one of them are simply for who they are.

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Walk to Remember

Last night we participated in a walk to remember for Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month. The event was put on by the Zoe Foundation which is the organization we raised money for in July as part of the Summer Sizzler 5K race. There was a really good turnout - they had music and tables set up to make quilt squares as well as tables with information about resources and support, and fundraising events. Next month I will be running for the Zoe Foundation during the rock 'n roll half marathon. Cale's name (and many others) will be on the back of my race shirt.

They also had jars at each table with the names of each child being remembered, and read the names out loud of all children who were being honored:

And after a few speakers, we were invited to light a floating lantern and push it out on to the nearby lake. I found this very peaceful and beautiful.

This is the first event we have attended specifically for loss awareness since Finn was an infant. It was important to me to attend first and foremost because of Cale, but also because Finn is at the age where he's starting to understand and process things more and I want him (and Mary) to grow up knowing about Cale and the importance of still celebrating and remembering him. When I told him we were going to the lake to light a candle for baby Cale, he asked me if it was Cale's birthday. I said, "no, it's just a special day to remember him and other babies."

When we left the park Finn asked, "where baby Cale at?" and we told him that Cale died. I've told him this before (I think it's important to be honest and not try to make a confusing subject more confusing), but he did say, "when me was a baby, I died" to which we quickly corrected him. He then said, "Mary didn't die, Daddy didn't die" to which we reminded him that yes, Daddy and Mary and you and Mommy are all alive, but Cale did die. We explained that when you die, you go bye bye and don't come back. He told us that baby Cale is with Uncle Daren, but a few days prior had asked if Cale was Daren's brother. We tell him who Daren is and try our best to explain it all to him and I do think he's understanding it a little better. Today we drove past a cemetery and he said, "is baby Cale der?" which is kinda sad, but mostly I think it's intuitive of him to ask as we have never told him that Cale was in a cemetery, but he does know that a cemetery is a place you go when you die. Honestly, the drive home from the walk was almost kind of comical. Yes honey, Cale is your brother and he died. No he's not Uncle Daren's brother, that's your daddy's brother who also died. I mean it's obviously not at all funny, but funny in the I'm going to laugh so I don't cry sort of way.

Finn's tag reads, "Walking in Honor of my brother Cale" and when we got home he was adamant about wearing it, so Miles put it on his pajamas and he slept with it on. Then when he woke up he asked me to put it on the shirt he wore today. I know he doesn't get the significance of it, but it tugged at my heart nonetheless.

I'm grateful this event took place and we were able to attend. We will also participate in the Wave of Light on October 15th. I invite you all to light a candle with us at 7pm that day (or anytime) in honor of all babies who are gone, but never ever forgotten.

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What Four Years Post Loss Looks Like For Me

The aching and the longing are still there, just not as acutely present. I can look at baby boys and find that my eyes don't well up with tears as they once did. In fact I can look at baby boys and not feel much of anything as they aren't my baby boy. Seeing brothers play together still makes me sigh, but it's an inward and silent sigh.

I usually don't initiate it, though sometimes I do, but when I talk to pregnant women, I can ask them questions about the future they are preparing for. I never ask, "is this your first?" or any question related to numbers of children, but sometimes I wonder if I should as there are times that I want to be asked those questions so that I'm afforded the opportunity to talk about Cale. Yet four years later I still don't always have the right answer and sometimes give a response that later causes anguish and guilt. Speaking of guilt, four years later and the guilt still plagues me in regards to all I failed to do after Cale was born. I'm afraid it always will.

Four years later and I'm still (thankfully) very much a part of the little kiddo stage of life. Conversations about crawling (not yet) and sleep patterns, pottery training, and tantrums happen almost daily. It's a season of life that I'm not ready to move on from for several reasons, but one of which is the connection it has to Cale. When the kids are older and no longer babies, I worry about what will happen to my forever baby. His presence will fade further and further from conversations and memories of pregnancies will start to blur.

As I mentioned before the age itself doesn't bother me as much as it once did. Perhaps that's because the age itself is getting less distinguishable. I should have a four year old, but four year olds don't cause me the same ache that one and two year olds once did. I suspect as time moves on it will be events that cause more reflection than age - I should have a kindergartner, a high school senior, etc.

Four years has me not only missing my baby, but also who he should have been. What's hard about that is not knowing who he should have been and not knowing exactly who it is I'm missing. Maybe he would have loved construction vehicles as much as Finn, or maybe trains or race cars would have been his obsession. What would his favorite food have been? What book would he want to read over and over? I have a hard time picturing what it would be like to have him as a four year old because he will forever be our baby.

Four years later and the acts of kindness people do for and because of Cale still mean as much as they did just following his death. Four years later and I still, very clearly, remember who was there for us (and who wasn't).

Four years has taught me that when I do bring Cale up and share his story with someone new, their reaction will lay the groundwork for any future relationship I may have with them. Four years makes you able to discern the keepers from the rest much more quickly and unabashedly.

Stories of loss and love and kindness and pain still resonate much more with me than they did over four years prior and I'm realizing more and more how connected we all are by the stories that are sometimes hard to share.

Four years later and I still can't believe he's not here, yet as I recently read another mom state, I think I'm accepting that he died (though I will forever hate the unfairness of it), but not able to accept that he never got to live. His death will always be wrong and horrible and I'll never be ok with it, but I am able to recognize it a little more for what it is - the worst kind of bad luck possible. A fluke and a tragedy.

Four years post loss and I still miss him every single day. 

Four years later and I love him just the same. 

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Blessed

When we moved to Georgia and met with the leasing agent to sign for our house, she looked at Finn and Mary, commented on how cute they are (I agree!), and told us how blessed we are. It's one of those comments that I smile for, nod in agreement, and yet cringe inwardly. After she left I asked Miles what he thinks when people make comments like that - saying how "lucky" we are our how "blessed" we are. We agreed that those comments are well intentioned, and true, and yet they are still just a little hard to digest. Because on one hand, I want to say, "if only you knew." If only you knew that we actually have another child who died at birth. That eight months after his son died, Miles' brother was killed in Afghanistan. That we had a miscarriage in between Finn and Mary, that the two cute children you see before you - it's not that we don't think we are lucky to have them, it's just that you don't know just how insanely lucky we are to have them in spite of all the bad luck that has come our way.

Several months ago I read this article which really resonated with me. The author argues that Christians should stop saying how blessed they are when it comes to materialistic possessions. That the definition of a blessing, or being blessed, according to the bible is pretty much the opposite of what modern day society depicts.  (eg - Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted  - Matthew 5:4).

But because of the way the most people view blessings, it's equally hard to digest the fact that the Bible says I'm blessed because I mourn. It seems counter-intuitive. But I'm trying to get better at not cringing when I hear people tell me how blessed I am, or how lucky we are. Because the fact of the matter is - we are blessed (both in the biblical sense and the modern sense). We have two adorable and healthy kids. I was able to carry and deliver three children. It really is amazing and I'm trying to handle those comments a little more graciously and let go of some of the bitterness. When someone tells me I'm lucky, I can't look at these faces and disagree.

Cale's death was unlucky and awful and heartbreaking. But it doesn't make Finn or Mary's presence any less wonderful. In fact it has the opposite effect.

It's just that even when I have some clarity and I can accept at face value how lucky I am, I wish I was even luckier. I wish I was even more blessed. I wish I had a nearly four year old who also needed a story and a snuggle before bed. I wish being blessed didn't feel like it had an asterisk next to it.

......................

As we round the corner to Cale's fourth birthday, we are raising funds for The Zoe Foundation, a local non-profit that helps newly bereaved families who have lost an infant by providing resources, support and funds to help cover memorial expenses. We will be running a 5K in July which benefits the Zoe Foundation and felt raising funds for their worthy cause would be the perfect thing to do in honor of Cale. If you would like to help us by making a donation, you can do so here. Any amount is greatly appreciated.

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Return to Zero

I got an email this week from a woman who lost her daughter just days shy of her due date. Days. It's so heartbreaking to hear of new loses and to know that this tragedy still happens and sometimes when I do hear of a new loss I think, "I can't even imagine..." And obviously that's silly for a few reasons. Because of course I can image. I lived it. I know exactly what it's like to lose your child. To be so close and have your dreams and your plans shattered. To have to deliver a lifeless baby you so desperately want to bring home. Of course I can imagine it. It's a horrific reality I know all too well.

Often when we hear of other people's tragedies we say "I can't imagine," in response to their experience - I've heard that many times when people learn of Cale, and I'm sure I've said it many times in response to others stories. But really, what we should say is "I don't understand your pain, but I'd like to try to understand it a little better." Because we want people to imagine. We want them to be willing to try and imagine what it's like (whatever "it" is). Because in doing so you show your humanity and your compassion.

The people who haven't walked in our shoes, but try to imagine what it must be like - they are true gems. They are the people you grab hold of and surround yourself with. They are the people who deserve to share in your joy because they don't shy away from your pain.


Awhile back I heard about a movie that was in the works called Return to Zero. It's based on the the director's true story of losing his son when his wife was pregnant and their journey as they navigate life after loss.

I pledged $35 through Kickstarter when the film was raising the funds necessary for production and as a result would receive frequent updates during the filming and production. The day before filming, the director, Sean Hannish, sent out an email welcoming people from the baby loss community to share their thoughts with the cast and crew. He wanted to read them aloud before filming took place. I thought it was a powerful thing to do and so I sent him this email:

Dear Cast and Crew of Return to Zero -

Thank you for giving your time, energy and part of your hearts to the making of Return to Zero. You are doing so much more than making a movie. You are giving a voice to a community of grieving families, to a tragedy that isn't spoken about as often as it should, and most importantly, you are giving a voice to those who are not here. Our children.

Cale Harrison Hidalgo is one of those children. He was seven pounds even with dark brown hair. He looked like his Daddy. He had big chubby hands was perfect in every way except the most important one. He passed away as I went into labor. Our much wanted, much loved first child. So much hope, so many dreams, so much love.

The hope and dreams for his future died with him. But the love. . .our love for Cale will always be there. I wish I got to share him with the world, but I do what I can to still be his mother. To tell others about him. To be his advocate and share his story and his brief, but beautiful, life. 

Thank you for also being my son's advocate. Thank you for your willingness to tell this story. 

Wishing you the best of luck - may this be a successful and meaningful journey for you all.

Sincerely,

Cale's Mom

 And sure enough, I got a response back from the director thanking me for my words and offering his condolences over the loss of Cale. I have no doubts that he wrote everyone back and no doubts that he took to heart each and every message he received.

The movie, and independent film, went on to get enough funds (I suspect in large thanks to the baby loss community), but could not get a distribution deal in theaters. Minnie Driver (who I've loved since Circle of Friends and now love even more) stars at the mother to the stillborn baby and has done some wonderful interviews raising awareness of and promoting the film. She mentioned in an interview recently that part of the reason the movie could not get a distribution deal was because it's too sad. No one wants to see such a sad movie, no one wants to talk about such a sad subject. Fortunately, Lifetime picked it up, and this Saturday at 7pm central, Return to Zero will air for the first time. I'm thankful that the people at Lifetime were willing to take on a sad movie and willing to show something so that maybe others can imagine what it's like. Viewership is important for films like this as the more people that watch, the more times it will get replayed. The more times it is aired, more awareness will be raised.

I have see clips of the movie (the trailer can be seen here), and while I'm sure it will bring up lots of emotions, I'm excited to see it. I'm excited that there will be people talking about stillbirth and excited that this will help break the silence that surrounds far too many infant loses.

If you've never experienced the loss of a child, especially if you've never experienced the loss of a child, I encourage you to watch the film. Help break the silence.

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Mother's Day

Last week as we were waiting for our stuff to arrive at our empty house, I was laying on the floor with the kids. Roscoe, who was probably the only member of the family not to mind the lack of furniture, happily came over to join us for a snuggle.

I grabbed my phone to take this picture, although it looks as though Finn were the photographer. Of course Mary, who had been smiling moments prior, decided she would make this adorable stink face for the picture.

It's hard to see, but I'm wearing a necklace with a little gold disc that reads, "cale." Miles got it for me last year for Mother's Day. It's a beautiful necklace and if I'm not wearing it, I'm usually wearing a silver one with his name or one with his initial my sister-in-law gave me. But almost every day, I have some sort of Cale jewelry on.

But I wish that instead of pretty necklaces symbolizing my first child, that the space in the bottom right of that picture was occupied. There will forever be an empty space in our family that I wish was filled with the immeasurable, yet massive, absence he left behind.

I miss him.

I miss him as Mother's Day approaches and I can't kiss his sweet face and look into his brown eyes and thank him for making me a mother. And I miss him on days that are sunny and beautiful and I can smile and laugh and hold my two other children (and fur baby).

I will miss him on Mother's Day and I will miss him always.

Mother's Day will always be bittersweet for me, as I know it is for so many. And to be honest I don't want the day to be much different than any other day because of the emotional complexity it brings. Today I saw some beautiful hydrangeas at the grocery store and sent a picture to Miles as a hint for a last minute gift idea. Seriously, Miles - you could just get me a plant and I'd be thrilled. Typing that out is just another reminder how much I am turning in to my own mother. Which I suppose is fitting given the topic at hand.

This Sunday I suspect will be like all days, and like all Mother's Days. A little sad, mostly happy, and also sort of exhausting. If the weather cooperates we plan to go tot he beach (because we live near a beach now and I plan to continually remind my friends and family of that fact to lure them in for a visit). And I will enjoy the day and our two kids, one who probably won't sleep through the night, the other who probably will sit in time out at least once. And I'll miss their brother with a little extra tug at my heart on the day I can claim as mine, because of him. So this Mother's Day, if your heart is heavy and your missing your own mom, or one of your kids, or your chance to have ever been a mom - I hope the day is a gentle one. And hope someone buys you a nice plant.

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Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

I've mentioned before that one of my biggest regrets when we lost Cale was that I said I didn't want to take any pictures. I had my camera with me. It was tucked away in my carefully packed hospital bag that also contained a newborn outfit and cord blood banking kit and various other things that we never got to use.

I was asked if I wanted to take pictures, but I said no. It didn't seem right. You don't take pictures of a dead baby. We weren't happy. We were devastated and heartbroken and why would I want to capture that?

I didn't know that it wasn't (just) heartbreak and devastation we would be capturing, but love and beauty as well. I couldn't see past Cale's death to capture his brief life. And so I didn't.

Thank God one of my nurses took two pictures anyway. But I wish that they didn't take "no" for an answer and gently held my hand and said, "I know it doesn't feel right, but you're going to want these pictures and here's why..."

Fortunately for many of my other loss friends, they did capture images of their babies. A lot of them used the services provided Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep - a nonprofit organization that sends professional photographers to the hospital to capture remembrance images free of charge. It's an incredible organization and I'm so grateful that over the years, family and friends have made donations to Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep in honor of Cale.

Last week a friend of mine contacted me to let me know that she was applying to become a NILMDTS photographer. She's never lost a child, but has been immeasurably kind and sympathetic since we lost Cale. She's also started her own photography business in Hawaii and is quite talented. I'm far from being a professional photographer myself, but the truth is being a volunteer for this organization is something I would love to do as well. But I need to get better at my own camera skills, and practice more with auxiliary lighting before signing up for something like this as it's so important that the families in need of these services are provided with the very best pictures. When we move, I'd like to look into being an assistant to the photographer or community volunteer.

But when my friend Jessica contacted me and shared with me her reasoning, I couldn't help but cry. I'm so touched that she is willing to help others who will be faced with the unimaginable task of saying goodbye to a much wanted and loved child:

Why do you want to be a photographer for NILMDTS?
Losing a child during pregnancy, naively, never occurred to me.  Ignorantly, I assumed once you make it past the 20 week mark you're pretty much in the clear.  This completely changed for me when a friend from college lost her child at 39 weeks- to an umbilical cord entanglement accident.  My heart completely shattered for her.  I was pregnant at the time and it really stopped me in my tracks and made me rethink EVERYTHING about pregnancy and carrying a child.  How does that happen?  Losing a child at 39 weeks?  Why does that happen? I remember when she was expecting her second child she sent out a note telling everyone in lieu of gifts to send a donation to NILMDTS if you wanted to send something for her and the baby.  I didn't know what the organization was- so I did look in to it and made a donation in Cale's name.  Volunteering for this organization has always been in the back of my mind since then but I never thought I was quite 'good enough' or mostly, selfishly, wasn't sure I could handle such an emotional and sad situation.  I've probably opened the photographer application 100 times in just the last few months, and decided yesterday that I do really want to do this.  And that my own sadness isn't anything compared to what the family is going through and will live with forever- and that if I can gift them some photos for them to cherish forever then I would love to do that regardless of if it makes "sad."  So here I am submitting my application today for Cale & Caroline and hopefully to help other families in this  unfathomably difficult situation.

Amazing isn't it? It warms my heart to think of how Cale prompted this amazing and selfless act. I told Jess that I would be happy to share with her some insight into what images I wish we had captured. I wish that I had pictures of Cale that I was comfortable displaying in our home - not tucked away in a special box as his two images are. We have our sketch and I love it, but I wish I had a picture of his little feet, or a close up of our hands and his. Simple, yet powerful images that say "yes, Cale was here! He existed and was perfect." I wish we had a family picture of us holding our first born or a picture of me kissing his forehead and telling him I loved him.

I'd like to solicit feedback from anyone who used NILMDTS or had pictures taken - what images are you grateful you have? What do you wish your photographer did differently? What are the things you know now, but in your shock and heartbreak you didn't know you needed or wanted?

If you'd like more information on becoming a photographer or volunteer for NILMDTS, please visit their site here.

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Unused Hand-Me-Downs

I recently went through the bins of packed away baby boy clothes. I had pulled out some gender neutral things before I delivered Mary, but eventually I weeded through a lot of the boy clothes and donated a bunch and sold a bunch to a consignment store. But even in doing that I still have a bin and a half of little boy things that I'm just not anywhere close to being ready to part with. Because so many of them have a memory - either of when I was given them during my pregnancies with both Cale and Finn or when Finn got to wear them.

Other than some monogrammed items, there are very few clothes that we were given or purchased for Cale that Finn did not wear. Having both boys in June, it made reusing the unused clothes very convenient for me. But it was definitely very bittersweet. To know that Finn was wearing all the clothes that were originally intended for his brother - I was so thankful he was getting to wear them, just wished they had already been worn, ya know? Mary has worn two sets of pajamas that Finn wore - both items that were intended for Cale. I'm glad she's able to wear them and there's a little bit of a connection there - that she can share clothes with her brothers. I have one more larger sized gender neutral set of pajamas, but then that's it - she probably won't share any other clothes with them.

As I went through the bins, I came across so many special outfits. Like a little dog outfit that I had packed in my hospital bag as it had both long sleeves and short and I didn't know what we would dress Cale in so I wanted options. And even though I never dressed him in it, I always think of it as his "going home" outfit, so I'll never be able to part with it. Here's a (not so flattering) picture from my baby shower of the little outfit:

And there were a few other things, that while they definitely have a connection to Cale and were special to me, I wanted to pass them along to some of my baby loss friends. The first is a little Julius the monkey outfit that my sister in law gave me when I was pregnant with Cale. Finn wore it a couple times, but I wanted to pass it along to my friend Tiffany. Her first son Julius passed away from SIDS in 2010. She went on to have a little girl in 2012 and just recently welcomed another little boy who I hope will get some use out of this outfit. Two big brothers loved and remembered, and two little brothers who get to wear it.

The other outfit was again one that was given to me when I was pregnant with Cale. It's a set of onesies and pants that have a little Duck on them. My friend Brooke is pregnant with her third "baby Duck" and I wanted to share them with her.

I couldn't find any other pictures of when Finn wore this - hard to tell, but there's a little Duck on his shirt. He was seven months here:

Before I even mailed these outfits to Brooke she had sent Mary some pajamas that were intended for her little Eliza, stillborn in 2010. We got a head start on St. Patrick's Day and Mary has been wearing them the past two nights.

I love babies in pajamas - they are squishy and snuggly and I think Mary looks just precious in these shamrocks. But it was bittersweet to dress her in them. Because they should have already been worn in and Eliza should have looked squishy and snuggly and oh so cute in them and I have no doubts she would have. I'm grateful Brook shared a little connection to Eliza with Mary, and I'm grateful to be able to share a little connection to Cale with some of my friends, but it's just so heartbreaking and beautiful all at once. It just reminds me so much of when I first dressed Finn in those special and meaningful clothes, passed down from, but never worn by, his brother.

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Not a First Time Parent

As I've gotten into a somewhat comfortable groove having two children at home, I've reflected back on how parenting this time is so much different than it was last time.

The main difference has been a comfort and a confidence I have in tending to an infant that I didn't have initially with Finn. When Finn was born we were second time parents, but not really. I felt like a mother for the second time, but really I felt like a parent for the first. And that was hard. I was much more emotionally fragile after Finn was born than I was after Mary was born. While still in the hospital with him, realizing that breastfeeding wasn't coming naturally and that he was struggling to latch, I was struggling not to feel like a failure for it. The  nurses and lactation consultants were all up in my business, but not in a tender and supportive way. In a - let me grab your boob, constantly weigh your baby, freak you out about weight loss, etc - sort of a way.  The on call pediatrician once said, "since he's your first baby" and through my tears I snapped back, "he's not my first baby, he's just the first I've breastfed." And while it wasn't malicious and she probably didn't know our history, her comment stung and made me feel like a first time mom when I wanted desperately not to feel that way. I had already felt like I failed to bring Cale safely into the world and now I wasn't doing a good job providing for the child I was lucky enough to bring home.

It took a couple weeks and many tears shed, but we eventually got the hang of breastfeeding. I remember Miles rubbing my back as I pleaded with Finn to latch on and then winced in pain when he did, both of us crying and frazzled. This time, Mary took to nursing well right away. I think in part because she was better at latching, but largely because I knew what I was doing this time around and wasn't stressed. That comfort with nursing was a huge confidence booster. There were still a lot of painful winces, but, physical discomforts aside, our experience with nursing was much more pleasant from the get go.

Our hospital experience was better with her as well. We only had to stay the night she was born and were released the next evening. Mary met all the criteria the pediatrician had for discharge at 24 hours - she was nursing well, she was a girl, and we were not first time parents. Being validated as someone who had done this all before felt so good. Even though we hadn't done it before with Finn, it was just hard to be reminded of that fact. This time, there was no need for such reminders because we definitely were not first time parents.

Just as nursing was easier, the same went for our initial care for Mary. Sure, we were gentle with our little newborn babe, but diaper changes went quicker, giving a bath was no biggie, long sleeved onesies were easier to put on (I remember with Finn I worried I was going to hurt him if I pulled too hard to get his little arms through his shirt). It was as if we quickly fell back into the groove of things because we had done it all once before. And that helped put me at ease - something that just took longer with Finley.

Having two kids definitely has its own challenges. Tending to them when they both need something, ensuring that Finn gets enough attention and it's not all directed at the baby, ensuring that Mary gets the snuggles and cuddles that Finn got as a newborn, and the biggest challenge - getting out the door! Loading kids in a car, with all necessary gear, should be an Olympic sport!

The questions and the assumptions about our family dynamic still remain difficult. The few times I've gone out with just Mary I've been asked if she's my first. Sometimes I've said, "no, my third." and sometimes I just say, "her two and a half year old brother is at home," but of course that response always has a tinge of guilt associated with it. While still tender, those questions were almost easier to answer when I was pregnant. Because Cale absolutely can and should be included when I talk about my pregnancies. And while he should be included when I talk about my kids, it's also harder because pregnancy was all I got with him. So when asked how many kids I have, I still struggle to find the right thing to say. I suspect I always will.

But ten weeks in to having two kids at home and I'm still so grateful to not be a first time parent. I'll forever miss the experiences I never got to have with Cale, but am so grateful that I had them with Finn that he taught me how to be a parent to a living baby. I'm so grateful that this time I can not only feel like a mother for the third time, but a parent as well.

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Pregnancy After Loss, Revisited

I posted this picture to facebook last night and immediately was sweaty and nervous.

It was the first pregnancy related thing I've posted, thus "outing" myself in facebook land. Comments are nice and sweet. But it makes me feel crazy vulnerable to have done such a thing. But the twisty part is that I decided that if the baby dies, I would want people to know that he/she existed.

And obviously those close to us, and anyone who reads this blog, have known for a bit that I'm pregnant again. But I guess this part of me that's messed up by grief and loss knows what sort of reaction I would want should things go south (again) and I am more inclined at times to prepare for that potential reality. Though good gracious, I hope it's an unlikely reality. But even if statistics are on my side (ha! as if that means anything) I still feel vulnerable having such precious and important news "out there" where people don't understand the true complexity of it all and how fragile I am about it.

But here's the thing - it's so much better this time than it was when I was pregnant with Finn.

I can literally envision bringing home a baby easier this time around. I'm planning to actually decorate the nursery (once Finn is out of it) and would like to get a lot of it done before the baby arrives. When carrying Finn, I could barely reopen the things that had been packed away in tupperware. It felt too risky. Like I would jinx myself if I did any such planning because the first time I was foolish enough to prepare for a baby, we had no baby to care for. I have even bought a few things - like an Ergo that I got on a super sweet deal on zulily! I pin pictures and daydream about a future with two living children.

I'm gaining more weight than I did with Finn. I seem to be on the same weight gain path that I was with Cale and I think that has more to do with the stress incurred during Finn's pregnancy and not the insane amount of ice cream I've consumed this go around - though I shouldn't rule that out.

When I was pregnant with Finn I rented a doppler before I was even out of the first trimester so that I could listen to the heartbeat at 10 weeks. I used it pretty much every day. When Daren was killed and I flew out to his funeral I forgot the doppler and asked a friend to mail it to me. I needed it. Even when I could feel Finn move, I needed to just listen to him. It was practically a ritual. This time I do have a doppler, lent to me by a wonderful friend - but she had already loaned it to another friend and I didn't get it until I was about 20 weeks along. And I was fine with that. And even now that I have it, I don't use it much. I enjoy it when I do, but don't "need" it the way I did when carrying Finn.

I don't always, but many times I feel at peace. I feel a sense of calmness that helps me savor the moments with this baby - the kicks and the nudges and enjoyment that comes with the gift of carrying a child.

I think part of that is the fact that I have been so very lucky to have had a good outcome. Finn's safe arrival proved to me that I can carry a baby and birth him, bring him home, and live out a version of happily ever after, you know the version that stems from the cruelest and darkest of stories. And just maybe, we'll get so lucky to do that all over again.

Another aspect that keeps me more relaxed is that I'm busier. Sounds like an oxymoron, but even though I'm not working like I was last pregnancy, but I'm chasing a two year old and playing choo choo's and reading stories and going to the library. Finn is such a wonderful distraction from my own thoughts and fears and therefore relaxes me. He's a constant reminder that sometimes, things work out in the end.

But of course the fear is still there. It creeps in at night when I'm alone with my thoughts. It creeps in when I worry it's been too long since I last felt the baby move or I just hit a grief trigger that sends me right back to losing Cale and knowing I'm not immune to lightning striking twice. When I check out eBay for double BOB's there's a thought in the back of my head telling me to wait until I have two kids to actually put in such an expensive stroller, that I shouldn't even look now. When I talk about the baby I still tend to preface things with "if" and not "when" and it took me until my sixth month in this pregnancy to even want to talk to Finn about my belly and a baby. Miles asked once why I wasn't ready and I said "I don't want to have to un-explain it to him."

In fact, one of the most difficult thoughts I have is that if we lost the baby, I don't know how I would be able to grieve and still be a decent mother to Finn. It's a thought that scares me and stresses me out and makes me cry just typing this. Because he's such a sweet boy and he's so happy and he deserves a mom that gives him her best and snuggles and laughs and tells him over and over what noise a garbage truck makes or a digger even though I don't really know what a digger sounds like. But I don't know how I would be that person if I lost this baby. When pregnant with Finn I feared going through the same grief process we did with Cale, I feared how I would handle it all. But now the worry isn't just for myself, but for the boy I did get to bring home.

So . . .things are different this time around - they are a little easier, a little more optimistic. But the fears and the stress, it hasn't gone away, not by a long shot. And all we can do is wait. Wait and hope and pray and cross our fingers and toes that in about two months, the cute little guy in this picture will have a sibling he can hug and kiss, and even poke and pester. Oh, how I wish.

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What October 15th Means to Me

Dear Friends,

I don't know what I did on October 15, 2009. The day wasn't significant to me. I wish it had been. I wish I knew the importance of the day without having to be personally affected. But I didn't. Not until a year later after we had lost our son Cale and were in the thick of grief, did I come to learn about Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. And every year since then, the day has had special meaning.

It's a special day because it means that as a community, of bereaved and non-bereaved, we can come together to honor the lives of those who left us far too soon. Each year we ask our family and friends to join us and light a candle - not just for our boy, but for all those who are missed. The thought is that if everyone lights a candle at 7pm, in all time zones, there will be a worldwide wave of light. It's a lovely thought and even lovelier image. We ask that you light this one candle on this one day, but know that when you do it's every day we miss them. It's every day we ache for them and wonder what life would be like had we never had to lose them in the first place. And know that when you light that candle, it means so much.

It means you haven't forgotten Cale.

It means you still hold him in your heart. And that you miss him too, despite never knowing him.

It means you acknowledge the profound tragedy that was his loss, but also the profound importance that is his life.

It means you acknowledge all forms of pregnancy loss.

It means that you are grieving yourself. For your own loss or that of someone close to you. Or that you're grieving along with us, something that is rare and touching.

It means that you are thankful for the gift of life and grateful for the pregnancies and the children you've been blessed with.

It means that you aren't too shy to reach out.

It means that little actions make a big difference.

It means . . . so much.

So thank you, in advance, for lighting a candle today and honoring all the babies who are loved and missed every day.

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Good Night, Baby Cale

I have few stories to share that I need to write down before I forget the little details and the sweetness of them.

The first happened about a month ago. Miles had just gotten back from being in the field for several weeks and hadn't gotten much sleep while he was away. The morning after his first night back I got up with Finn and turned off the monitor so it wouldn't wake Miles. When Miles and I went to bed later that night, he passed out quickly, still exhausted from the field, but I stayed up to read. When I went to turn off my light I realized that I hadn't turned the monitor back on from earlier that morning. When I did I was surprised to see that Finn was up (it was after 11 at this point). He wasn't crying really, but he was standing in his crib saying "Mama pick e up" ('me' sounds like 'e') over and over. This wasn't like him so I quickly went into his room where he became a little more frantic "Mama pick e up! Pick e up! Mama hold." I stood at the crib and hugged him (him still standing in the crib) and I rubbed his back and said "You're ok, you're ok. Mama's here. Did you have a bad dream, are you scared?" to which he started to crawl into my arms saying "scared" while shaking his head. Poor little guy. So I picked him up and went to the rocker and he laid his head on my shoulder to "nuggle." We rocked for awhile and I could feel his body relax, though I knew he wasn't asleep. I was about to put him back in the crib when I looked up at Cale's sketch and just thought "no rush, stay where you are" and so I did. I continued to rock him, to comfort him, but really to love on both boys. It was just a sweet moment that I soaked up longer because of Cale. I'm thankful for his reminders to enjoy those moments a bit longer and a bit more fully. We rocked until I started to fall asleep myself and when I put Finn back down, he wasn't asleep, but was much more calm and content. I was too.

The other little story I wanted to share happened last night. We sit in the rocker and read a few books each night before going to bed - just a nice way to settle down for the evening and Finn will remind you each night that it's time to "read book" as he runs to his shelf to fetch a few. Finn's crib is next to the rocker on the wall opposite his dresser. Above his dresser is a framed sketch of Cale:

After we finished reading, I asked Finn to give me a hug and a kiss. I said "I love you" to which he replied "I loff you Mama" (it's the cutest thing, but my favorite was when he told me he loffed me the other week, totally unprompted - in fact it was out of the blue when he said it. . .swoon). Anyway, after we said "night, night and I loff you" I picked him up and he said "Mama nuggle" so I rocked him while standing in front of his crib about to put him down. Just as I went to put him in his crib I hear "good night, baby Cale." I pulled my head back and looked at him and just smiled, totally caught off guard. He was facing Cale's sketch while we were nuggling and I was facing the crib. He said it again, soft and sweet, "good night, baby Cale" so I said "yes, sweetheart - goodnight to baby Cale" and laid him down telling him how much I loved him.

I left the room and cried a few happy tears, thankful for such a sweet boy.

The same boy who tonight asked to "feel belly" while reading stories.

Sweet Finn - I don't know how we got so lucky to have you. But I'm forever thankful we do.

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