October

Yesterday my amazing friend Anna completed the Chicago Marathon. When we were texting back and forth afterward and she brought tears to my eyes when she told me that she ran mile 25, the last full mile of her very first marathon, in honor of Cale and all the other babies who are missed. The last .2, her victorious finish, she ran for Daren, who had planned to run another marathon after returning from Afghanistan.

I was just so touched, but not at all surprised, that in the last bit of a very long, probably painful, journey - the marathon itself and the training for it, that Anna was thinking of others - that she honored Cale and Daren with her incredible accomplishment.

Yesterday Miles and I went to the Packers game in Atlanta (Pack won 25-14, but I'll save my obnoxious fan blog for another day), and during the half time show they did a wonderful tribute to Breast Cancer. It was really beautiful and this little picture doesn't really do it much justice.

But during it I couldn't help but think "wouldn't it be nice if as many people knew what else this month represents?" Don't get me wrong, it's great and incredibly important that people know about and support Breast Cancer Awareness, but until we lost Cale I had never heard of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. I'd like to think that one day we can find a cure for breast cancer. That by raising lots of money by wearing pink and running races and putting "Save the Ta-Ta's" stickers on your car, eventually enough funds will be raised to help science and medicine find a cure for breast cancer (ironically I'm wearing a pink For the Cure T-shirt as I type this - not at all planned). But I know it's not that simple. It's not just about raising money. And that's certainly the case for pregnancy and infant loss. No matter how much money you put towards good causes, like the March of Dimes, stillbirth research, etc, people will still lose babies. I'm not saying that funding these wonderful causes is futile because it's certainly not and it can and it does help in many important ways, but this tragedy of pregnancy and infant loss will unfortunately never end either. That's part of what makes it so heartbreaking. Cale was a perfectly healthy baby. The screening and tests run during my pregnancy came back negative (not that it would have mattered to us), and he was always growing right on track (or ahead of schedule). He was perfectly formed, perfectly sized, perfectly perfect. And he didn't make it. A cord accident, a very rare problem in a pregnancy, killed him as I went into early labor. The very thing that gave him life took it away. No amount of money could have saved him. And although I struggled with this early on, I know that nothing could have been done to save him. I had appointment after appointment during my pregnancy with Finn. Ultrasounds, amniotic fluid checks, non-stress tests, MFM visits, you name it - we did it. But the fact of the matter is that Finn was statistically no better off than Cale was.

My to-do list today  includes putting together some candles that I'll send out to some friends and family to be lit on October 15th. October is important for me because it's a chance to raise awareness. Well, I'll be doing this my whole life, but it's still nice to have an official month and an official day of remembrance.

Sometimes terrible things happen. And there's nothing we can do to change them. But we can remember our babies. We can honor them by ensuring others recognize them and are more aware of what this month means and not afraid to support Pregnancy and Infant loss - to talk about it openly, to share stories of babies who have little stories to share. To think of them, like Anna did, in times of personal triumph, or moments of personal reflection. And most importantly, to never ever forget them.

Are you ready for some football!?

We are.

Some New Insights

It's hard for me to refer to my children as a number. Cale was our first, Finley our second, but it's still a little hard to answer the question "how many kids do you have?" That implies how many kids do you have living. I've been in a course this week where we've had several people come speak to us about various programs and resources available in the Army for Soldiers and their families. One of the speakers today said, "please raise your hand if you have kids." So I did. And then she asked us to hold up the number of kids we had (so she knew how many of these silly magnetic picture frames to hand out). So I just held one finger up, but it felt wrong. I think things like that will always just sting a little. Similarly, if people ask me how many kids we want, I don't just say a number. Because that's a complicated question when you factor in a dead baby. I usually say we want at least one more and leave it at that. Because if I said I wanted two kids, I'd feel the need to say two living children, but shouldn't that go without saying? And if we are fortunate enough to have another, I don't want that baby viewed as baby #2. Because hopefully they'll be living baby #2, but no matter what they would always be baby #3. Anywhoo. . .just some thoughts that were bouncing around my head today.

But the reason I wanted to write a new post was to share some comments I received from a very dear person. After Cale died there were some people who really just showed their true colors (both good and bad) and Megan was one of those people, who despite never experiencing stillbirth, has just reached out and been the most compassionate and wonderful friend I never even asked for, thus making her that much more special to me. Recently I asked her if it'd be alright if I shared Cale's pictures with her. It's nice to share my little boy with people and I knew it'd make me feel good to do so. I told her that he was a little bruised and really wasn't expecting much in return - it was more so for me to get to share him. But her response was so beautiful and really resonated with me. I don't expect everyone to have the same viewpoints and as she says, our relationship with God is personal, but what she shared with me really gave me a new insight on Cale's life and the impact it has on my life so I wanted to share.

Caroline -
Cale is absolutely beautiful. The sketch just does not do him justice. Yes, he may have a little bruising, but these pictures are not unlike my first memories of Marie in the first few hours...I remember the doctors saying how badly bruised her face was, but honestly I could not see what the doctors were talking about. All I could see was perfection. And I see the same thing in these pictures of your beautiful son--absolute perfection. My reaction in my heart of hearts as I looked at him last night was that I wanted to just pick him up and hold him close. I cannot imagine how difficult it must have been when you had to stop holding him, and I am so very, very sorry that you didn't ever get the chance to see him open his eyes or grasp your finger or hear him make a sound. I've wanted to give you a real hug so many times and I wish I could do that now.

When looking at these pictures something very faith-based came to mind that I felt compelled to share, so I hope you don't mind me doing so. Many people know that my faith is important to me, but I feel that someone's beliefs are something that are between them and God, so I usually don't talk about things in a way that could come across as pushing my beliefs on someone else. But I feel like I should share something I believe very strongly in since it relates so much to Cale. Forgive me if I have trouble verbalizing it.

I fully believe in a concept that Catholics call the Communion of Saints. Most people think this means that we're just putting some crusty and pious old legend who lived a perfect life up on a pedestal (though many saints led pretty colorful lives!), but what it really means is that there is a very real connection between those of us on earth and those in heaven.That everyone in heaven, including Cale, really and and truly still exists as a living, eternal soul, and not only that, those eternal souls are able to pray for us humans still living our imperfect lives on earth.

Just as we can talk to God in prayer, those in heaven can talk/pray (even more directly) to God...they're no longer blinded by this world or bound by human limitations; instead they are now surrounded by absolute glory and perfection, so their prayers are much more effective than ours. This is why people talk about "praying to" saints or Mary (though this isn't really true since worshipping/praying to anyone but God is idolatry, which is a sin). But it means that we can ALWAYS ask those in heaven with a 'direct line' to God to pray for us, just like I can ask you to pray for me. (It's called intercession). And who better is there to pray for us than Jesus's own mom who watched her own son die, or a saint who figured out how to live a holy life in this messed up world, or our loved ones who have died, especially your very own son, Cale, who owes his entire life to God and you and Miles, because he was created out of your love.  What a powerful thing to know that Cale is capable of this.

And that's the line I love most in the poem I sent--the one talking about how a child in heaven stands before God with the image of his parents' face imprinted on his own as their personal intercessor. So I fully believe with every confidence in me that Cale is with God right now, alive, hearing you talk about him, loving you and praying for you, knowing that he was created out of your love, and on his very face reflecting a beautiful combination of Caroline and Miles to God every single second for the rest of eternity. You are his wonderful advocate on earth. But Cale is your personal advocate before God in heaven. I really cannot imagine a more meaningful relationship than that between a mother and son.

I think this directly tied to another concept that is extremely important---that each soul God creates has absolute worth, and no matter what we on earth might think, significance is not determined by age, lifespan, or earthly accomplishments. We are significant because God chose to create us, and from the very  moment we came to be in human form, our souls--which will literally exist forever--also came to be, carrying more worth than we can ever comprehend. We matter so incredibly much to God, regardless if our life in our earthly bodies lasts only a day, nine months like Cale, several years like you and me, or to a ripe old elderly age. God created us all with the same ever-lasting significance. So even if no one ever spoke Cale's name again on this earth, even if you were not doing all the amazing things you are as his mother to preserve his earthly memory, it would not change the fact that his life--both here on earth and in eternity--has absolute significance, absolute worth. There has never been another eternal soul created to be Cale Harrison Hidalgo, and there never will be another.  He still lives. He still matters. He will always matter. Because God created him to matter. And nothing anyone does or says here on this earth can ever minimize his true significance. The same goes for the children who Peter and I never met, for Daren, for all our other loved ones who aren't here anymore. They still exist, they still matter, they still hear us when we call their names, and they are amazingly powerful advocates for us here on earth once they are with God in heaven.

At any rate, I'm sorry that this is so long-winded (as usual) and full of theological ramblings. And I hope I wasn't too forward with my thoughts. But I think you should know as his mother why Cale is so important to me, and that his importance to us is nothing compared to his true worth in God's eyes. So thank you again--so much--for sharing him with me, and allowing me to understand more about the amazing, beautiful soul he is. 

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Baby Mommas

This past weekend I had a lunch date with two very special friends and their very special babies. This was the first time that Priscilla, Rhiannon and I got together with our babies. . . not in utero that is. It was (is) just so wonderful to sit back and think how far we've come. Having the support of these wonderful gals was so helpful throughout my pregnancy.  It really is hard to believe that we made it and I'm just thankful beyond words that these cute little babies are here with us now.

 June 2011

 

September 2011

 

 

Something I'm also really thankful for is that we were able to not only share or fears and worries during our pregnancies, but were also able to openly and often talk about the babies who we carry in our hearts. Those babies are the reason we met which is yet another reason to be grateful for them and the huge impact they left on all of us. Friendships like these will make it hard to move away, but the bond we share will hopefully keep us close a lifetime.

Missing Cale

I think about Cale all the time. But especially in the car. I don't know why, but anytime I'm driving anywhere, I re-live June 28th over and over. I think about what it was like waiting for the terrible news I knew was coming after the failed attempts to find his heartbeat. I think about how foreign it was to see so many tears in Miles eyes after I caught my breath and looked up at him. About how that made me cry even more. I think about how I rubbed my belly and talked to Cale when, for a brief moment, no one was in the room but us. I think about how scared I was to deliver him. How I still expected him to cry once he was born. I think about saying "hi Cale" when I first held him. How seeing his little hand under the blanket made me cry even more. I think about his wavy dark hair and his cute little lips. They were such a deep red. He was perfect and real. But not alive. It's been almost 15 months. I know Cale's not coming back. But I still have a hard time wrapping my head around it sometimes. My baby is dead. It's a hard pill to swallow.

These couple of months post the one year mark have been hard for me. I'm not sure if it's just because grief is a sneaky bastard and will catch you off guard or if it's because the couple of months leading up to the year mark were also counting down to Finn's arrival. So maybe some of these emotions that would have oozed out earlier are now creeping to the surface now. I'm not sure. I don't think there is a timeline on grief and I am never bothered by getting upset and missing him. I don't feel like that's a sign of weakness or an unwillingness to "move on," but rather a sign of how much I love him. It doesn't bother me to grieve. It bothers me that I have a reason to do so.

I'm absolutely loving my time with Finn and I do feel that I love him so much more deeply because of everything we've been through. I kiss him all the time, hold him whenever I can. I physically cannot leave him in his crib at night or at daycare without telling him how much I love him and giving him a kiss. But gosh, I miss my first son so very much. I miss everything I dreamt we'd have with him - the life he never got to have. Seeing Miles with Finley is so touching - he's such a good dad. I love seeing them interact. But I wish he got to have all those experiences with Cale. When he was holding Cale he was wearing this big navy blue sweatshirt that Daren had brought him (along with a few other things as it was cold in the hospital room, but Miles never left to go home). The sweatshirt was relatively new and had that really soft feel to it. He held Cale so gently and Cale just fit in his arms, in that comfy sweatshirt, so perfectly - the way a new baby should in a father's arms. So when I look at Miles holding his second son or playing with him, I soak in the moment and treasure it because it's something he never got with his first, but should have.

I know I will always miss Cale and I know that I can be {and still am} happy. It's just that my grief for him will be intertwined in every thought, action, and event that takes place in our life. And I don't think that's a bad thing. Sometimes it makes the experience more wonderful. Sometimes it makes things harder, yes, but my grief and Cale's short life have put a perspective on my own life that I am thankful for. But some days, some moments, I just miss my baby. Plain and simple. I just miss him. I ache for him and I love him so, so much.