I come from a "modern family" of my own. My parents got married in 1969. 5 years later, along came me. 2 years after that, my brother. 5 years after that, my youngest brother. By then, my parent's marriage was already in jeopardy, but we were meant to be a three child family. I think my youngest brother was still in diapers when my dad moved out. Separation and divorce in the mid 80's was not like it is now. It was not something people saw all the time. It was not the norm. We were different from the minute my father closed the door behind him.
My mother remarried a few years later and with that marriage, came an older step brother and a younger step sister and step brother. For years we lived as this "Brady Bunch" family on the weekends with my mom and step dad and the six kids. Not all weekends as some were spent with my father and his new partner. Well after college, my mom and step father split but I have recently reconnected with one of my step brothers over Facebook and with my step sister over email as she found my blog as has been following my "story". I still feel a connection to them both. They were my family.
As we grew up and grew older, we began to make families of our own. My brother closest to me in age got married first. His wife became like a sister to me. Her family like a second family to me. It's there we all go for Thanksgiving and we all very much feel like the family we are.
Then my youngest brother got married. I was fortunate to get another sister. They have spent much of their married life traveling and seeing the world. When they are not here, we invite her brother to spend the holidays with us. And he does. Because he is family.
Then I met Gary. His brother is so close to one of my own that I sometimes forget he is Gary's brother. His brother's wife is someone that I feel like I have known my whole life. We spend Christmas with them and the joy and love I feel sitting around their tree with spiked egg nog in one hand and a niece or nephew in the other gives my years of only celebrating Hanukkah a run for their money. They have welcomed me in and accepted me as their family.
When Allie was conceived, Gary and I were so looking forward to creating a family of our own. New traditions and new customs and new reasons to celebrate. When she died, it was not just losing her that cut us to the core, but it was the loss of all those dreams we had for her. And for us.
Trying to get another sibling for Allie has been nothing but headaches and heartbreaks and we have felt very much hopeless and helpless. We have done everything we could think to do. We took out our savings and spent it on procedure after procedure (none of which is covered by our insurance in Pennsylvania). We could handle the negatives, but after our last try, when our positive became a negative, we knew we needed a new plan.
Adoption.
Gary and I went to a meeting the week before last to see if it was something we could truly get behind. We were scared and nervous and 10 minutes into the meeting, I leaned into Gary and said, "Do you hate it?". We had gone to a meeting last February at a different agency and we were both not ready and thus we decided it was not right for us then. But now? He leaned back and said, "No. Not at all". We stayed after and talked to the social worker and asked what our next steps would be. Gary even asked what the protocol was for babies that were born still. The social worker looked mortified which to us meant it was not something they dealt with on a regular basis! After the obligatory head tilt, he explained the process to us.
We came home from that meeting feeling invigorated!!! We could still have a family. We went to his brother's the next night and talked it out from every angle. We went to my brother's the next night and rehashed it again. We talked to my mom. Gary talked to his parents. We asked our friends if they would be our references. We filled out the application. We got more and more excited.
Our application was received last week and we were assigned a social worker on Wednesday. She will be in touch this week to get our file started. Next up is home studies and background checks and some kind of fundraiser as we are going to need all the help we can get. For the first time in ages, we feel so good!! We have hope back. And we could be matched with a baby in as soon as 6-9 months.
I carried a child. I loved that child. If I close my eyes, I can still feel her kick. I remember the cravings I had when she was growing in my body. I remember the euphoria I felt knowing that I was responsible for that little being inside of me.
There are other ways to create a family. There are others paths to make Allie an older sibling. There is a baby out there who needs the love and warmth and joy that Gary and I can provide. There is a baby out there who was meant to be a part of our family and we are going to do our best to bring him or her home. Looks like we might get our rainbow after all!
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Friday, November 16, 2012
The Head Tilt
I have referenced Friends before in my blog and I am going to do it again. Who remembers this scene?
Twice this week, I have told Allie's story. Once briefly and once in more detail. Both times, my very sympathetic listeners tilted their heads so far that I was sure their heads were going to roll right off their necks. But that's ok. I don't mind the head tilt or the look of "holy crap!" that crosses their faces as it reminds me that it is perfectly normal to still be sad and still be mourning and to still be all over the place because our daughter was born still.
Last weekend, we went to visit my college roommate who lives outside of DC. We spent Saturday at the United States Holocaust Museum. Gary and I visit every Fall for a touristy weekend - one where we spend at least a few hours doing something "smart". I had suggested visiting this museum in the past and it always seemed kinda heavy for the time we all had together. Last weekend, though, our mood was already somber and we decided it was the right place to go. And it was.
Standing there in virtual silence, we made our way through the museum. We went at our own pace and stopped to read all that we could and take in as much as we were able. The faces of the lost staring back at me gave me chills and reminded me why I am so proud to be Jewish and so proud of my heritage. Why I wanted our daughter to be raised Jewish. Why I want any other children of mine to be raised the same way.
That visit was not my first one. I went with my mom and step-dad when it first opened 20 years ago. I often write about the "me then" and the "me now" and I was trying to picture a college-age me walking through the exhibits and how I felt. I know I was moved and I know I was touched, but it seemed different as I walked through now. 20 years later and so much joy in that time, but so much pain, too. And then I realized it. My head was tilted. Almost the whole time.
It's natural to feel sympathy for the pain of others. It's natural to want to look away and to also want to help and to yell any cry and wonder why. It's natural to wish that no one ever experiences pain like you have felt.
When I am in certain situations (like I was standing in that museum), I get a flash of what it is and was like for our friends and family when Allie died. The wanting to help. The hatred of the pain. The unfairness of it all.
Was losing our daughter anything like the death of 6 million Jews and thousands and millions of others that were different for whatever reason? Probably not. That would be pretty selfish of me to say so. Was losing our daughter as hard for me to understand as something like the Holocaust? Yes, it was. It is. My head is bobbing as I sit here and type. And I am not ashamed of that. Feel what you feel. React like you want to. Do what you must do. Just always remember. I urge you to never forget anyone that we have lost.
Twice this week, I have told Allie's story. Once briefly and once in more detail. Both times, my very sympathetic listeners tilted their heads so far that I was sure their heads were going to roll right off their necks. But that's ok. I don't mind the head tilt or the look of "holy crap!" that crosses their faces as it reminds me that it is perfectly normal to still be sad and still be mourning and to still be all over the place because our daughter was born still.
Last weekend, we went to visit my college roommate who lives outside of DC. We spent Saturday at the United States Holocaust Museum. Gary and I visit every Fall for a touristy weekend - one where we spend at least a few hours doing something "smart". I had suggested visiting this museum in the past and it always seemed kinda heavy for the time we all had together. Last weekend, though, our mood was already somber and we decided it was the right place to go. And it was.
Standing there in virtual silence, we made our way through the museum. We went at our own pace and stopped to read all that we could and take in as much as we were able. The faces of the lost staring back at me gave me chills and reminded me why I am so proud to be Jewish and so proud of my heritage. Why I wanted our daughter to be raised Jewish. Why I want any other children of mine to be raised the same way.
That visit was not my first one. I went with my mom and step-dad when it first opened 20 years ago. I often write about the "me then" and the "me now" and I was trying to picture a college-age me walking through the exhibits and how I felt. I know I was moved and I know I was touched, but it seemed different as I walked through now. 20 years later and so much joy in that time, but so much pain, too. And then I realized it. My head was tilted. Almost the whole time.
It's natural to feel sympathy for the pain of others. It's natural to want to look away and to also want to help and to yell any cry and wonder why. It's natural to wish that no one ever experiences pain like you have felt.
When I am in certain situations (like I was standing in that museum), I get a flash of what it is and was like for our friends and family when Allie died. The wanting to help. The hatred of the pain. The unfairness of it all.
Was losing our daughter anything like the death of 6 million Jews and thousands and millions of others that were different for whatever reason? Probably not. That would be pretty selfish of me to say so. Was losing our daughter as hard for me to understand as something like the Holocaust? Yes, it was. It is. My head is bobbing as I sit here and type. And I am not ashamed of that. Feel what you feel. React like you want to. Do what you must do. Just always remember. I urge you to never forget anyone that we have lost.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
48 Hours of Bliss
Gary and I knew that my levels were low and that it could go either way. But instead of home testing all weekend to see if the line got darker and darker, we decided to just enjoy being positive. Gary stopped on his way home from work on Friday and got a little stuffed animal turtle for us. We sat on the couch and just looked at each other and allowed ourselves to feel happy and hopeful and optimistic. We feel asleep around 8...we were that exhausted from the day.
The next morning, Gary went out and got fresh bagels for breakfast. We laughed a lot and enjoyed each other and we were happy. We knew it was too soon to be happy but we were "cautiously optimistic". I remember saying that this baby felt like he or she was gonna give me morning sickness. I did not have that with Allie. I had a dream one night last week that we were having a boy so we started talking about boy names. We knew it was too early but after all our pain and sorrow and grief, we were going to take whatever optimism we could find!
That afternoon we went to a birthday party for the daughter of a close friend. She has just turned one. I was happy to skip the yummy hot dogs and the various kinds of wine....I was positive, after all! No nitrates for me! No alcohol in this system! I had a being to protect!
Sunday came before we knew it. As we drove the doctor's office, we talked about what would happen if we were no longer positive. We could understand it - after all, we were so newly positive. 14 days. 2 weeks. Not 37 weeks. This was not like being pregnant with Allie. This experience was a whole new one for us. If my levels dropped, that would mean this baby was not meant to be. But surely that would not happen, right?
We got home and waited for the phone to ring. My palms were sweaty. My heart was racing. My head was pounding from the stress and the lack of caffeine over the past few days. Then the phone rang.
I knew as soon as she said my name. Gary leaned back before he even heard the words. "I am so sorry. Your levels dropped too much. This is not a viable pregnancy. It was a chemical pregnancy." There was more but the important thing was that we no longer had a positive.
When the tears started, they were so intense that I did not think they were ever going to stop. I thought I was going to throw up. Gary was so upset that he wanted to physically do something. He later told me he wished there was a down tree somewhere near by that he could hack into. Something. Anything.
A chemical pregnancy means the embryo never had a chance to implant. There was never a heartbeat.
Allie was "Baby K" before we told the world her name and at some point last weekend, I said to Gary that this was "Baby K2". Damn. We knew from the onset that this outcome was possible, unlike when we lost Allie. We had 48 hours and not 37 weeks. So many differences and yet the pain all feels the same.
The good news came on Friday. The bad news came on Sunday. Monday we went back to work. Today I can finally breathe enough to write about it. No baby. No sibling for Allie. No rainbow. No hope. No positive.
We met with the doctor today. We have some time to decide what to do next. Gary and I have a lot to discuss and a lot to think about. We are in this together and he has my back no matter what. We have each other and I can't for ONE second forget the power of that.
We are not sure what our next steps are, but we do know this...we had 48 hours of bliss and nothing can take that away from us. For 48 hours, we were parents again. For 48 hours, we had hope. It was the most spectacular feeling in the world.
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| This turtle now sits on a shelf in the office next to a little Piglet that we got for Allie before she was born. |
Friday, November 2, 2012
Sandy
Monday, October 29th: We are in the midst of a massive storm here on the East Coast and yet Gary and I do not seem that panicked. We just this morning ran out for water and crackers. I refuse to be the people that buy the ingredients for french toast, so we have water and crackers. And pop tarts. And cookies. Very healthy hurricane eats in our house! But we are not really that worried.
Why aren't we worried? Well, we already survived our disaster. We are still surviving it. And I guess it feels like not much else can touch us after all we have been through. I feel like I do not have room for much else.
Friday, November 2nd: The strangest thing happened. I got distracted and never finished my last post. I tried to come back to it several times, but I was not sure what I wanted to write.
I am off from work today. It was a planned day off, unlike the days off that everyone around us seems to have due to the devastation of the aforementioned hurricane. I am at the dining room table and my father-in-law is upstairs in the office trying to get some work done as he has been without power since Monday night and it seems like they might be out for the foreseeable future. He is driving 1.5 hours each way just to use our Internet and electric. I am making a list of hardware stores for him to stop by on his way home so he can get gas and supplies for his house as well as for Gary's brother and his family who are also out of power and doing their best to get by.
This storm was a true disaster. Whole houses and towns and communities were washed away. There were power outages and fires and danger all around. It's one of the scariest things I have seen in my lifetime. Yet I have heard very little complaining. Very little "why me?" or "why us?" Mostly just thanks to everyone who is helping out.
We are constantly reminded of the good in people - the people that are sharing what they have and doing what they can to help their friends and even strangers in this time of need. I feel a warmth when I see people helping out and realize that I have not lost my sense of hope or compassion. I still have room! And that makes me sigh with relief.
I think having my daughter and loving my daughter has only strengthened my core and it was good to be reminded of that this week. In the midst of all the chaos, to be reminded that I can still feel for others, I do still care for others and that my heart is big enough to love Allie and still have love left for the others that need it. Not a bad lesson. Not an ideal way to learn it, but still.
Hope everyone out there is safe and healthy and has what they need...you are all in my thoughts and in my heart. Yes, there is room for all of you.
Why aren't we worried? Well, we already survived our disaster. We are still surviving it. And I guess it feels like not much else can touch us after all we have been through. I feel like I do not have room for much else.
Friday, November 2nd: The strangest thing happened. I got distracted and never finished my last post. I tried to come back to it several times, but I was not sure what I wanted to write.
I am off from work today. It was a planned day off, unlike the days off that everyone around us seems to have due to the devastation of the aforementioned hurricane. I am at the dining room table and my father-in-law is upstairs in the office trying to get some work done as he has been without power since Monday night and it seems like they might be out for the foreseeable future. He is driving 1.5 hours each way just to use our Internet and electric. I am making a list of hardware stores for him to stop by on his way home so he can get gas and supplies for his house as well as for Gary's brother and his family who are also out of power and doing their best to get by.
This storm was a true disaster. Whole houses and towns and communities were washed away. There were power outages and fires and danger all around. It's one of the scariest things I have seen in my lifetime. Yet I have heard very little complaining. Very little "why me?" or "why us?" Mostly just thanks to everyone who is helping out.
We are constantly reminded of the good in people - the people that are sharing what they have and doing what they can to help their friends and even strangers in this time of need. I feel a warmth when I see people helping out and realize that I have not lost my sense of hope or compassion. I still have room! And that makes me sigh with relief.
I think having my daughter and loving my daughter has only strengthened my core and it was good to be reminded of that this week. In the midst of all the chaos, to be reminded that I can still feel for others, I do still care for others and that my heart is big enough to love Allie and still have love left for the others that need it. Not a bad lesson. Not an ideal way to learn it, but still.
Hope everyone out there is safe and healthy and has what they need...you are all in my thoughts and in my heart. Yes, there is room for all of you.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
18 Months
It's been 18 months since we said hello and goodbye to our baby girl in the same breath. It's been 18 months of learning to live without her. It's been 18 months of heartache and tears and agony. 18 months since we put her things into storage in her basement and 18 months since our foundation was rocked to the very core.
Time matters to me - always has. I am a scheduler and a planner and I have several watched in a variety of colors and styles so that I can always know exactly what time it is. I am that person who goes overseas and says..."It's only 7 at home!" or whatever the time may be. I find time fascinating.
I do not think Gary is as much of a time person. I know when it comes to our daughter, he measures the time we had with her more than the time without her. I do not think either one of us is right, it's just the way it is.
18 months. It seems so long to me. It's twice the amount of time we had her and I guess that resonates with me.
My youngest brother and his wife have spent the last year traveling all over the world. Thailand, Ireland, England, Italy, Spain...to name just a few places! They are in Bulgaria now and heading out to Greece in a little over a week. And from there, India. And in the midst of all their travels and life experiences, they took a few minutes in Barcelona to remember their niece. This is the gift they sent...along with Zoe adoring it. A beautiful hand painted tile of a butterfly. A nod to Allie and how she is everywhere. We love it. It's on my nightstand for the moment so I can see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Eventually we will find just the right place to hang it.
I was talking to a close friend of mine earlier today and I said how time does not make the loss any better. That's not entirely true. Time had closed the wound so that it only opens up every once a while now. Time has made it so I can get up every day and be an active member of society. I can go to work and I can go out to eat and I can go to a movie and I can laugh. I never thought I would laugh again. So time has helped to some extent. But in other ways, no amount of time will change that my first born is not here and never will be.
We were at a wedding over the weekend and someone leaned it to me as we were leaving and whispered, "Congratulations! I heard the great news!" It took me a second to find my footing as we did not have any good news to share. We have been trying to get pregnant and that is not a secret but somehow this person must have heard that we had success...when in fact, we have not. So I just smiled and said, "Not yet, but hopefully soon!" as I walked away with a silly smile on my face so as to not make that person feel badly. It took me a few moments to catch my breath. Maybe soon.
Time matters to me - always has. I am a scheduler and a planner and I have several watched in a variety of colors and styles so that I can always know exactly what time it is. I am that person who goes overseas and says..."It's only 7 at home!" or whatever the time may be. I find time fascinating.
I do not think Gary is as much of a time person. I know when it comes to our daughter, he measures the time we had with her more than the time without her. I do not think either one of us is right, it's just the way it is.
18 months. It seems so long to me. It's twice the amount of time we had her and I guess that resonates with me.
My youngest brother and his wife have spent the last year traveling all over the world. Thailand, Ireland, England, Italy, Spain...to name just a few places! They are in Bulgaria now and heading out to Greece in a little over a week. And from there, India. And in the midst of all their travels and life experiences, they took a few minutes in Barcelona to remember their niece. This is the gift they sent...along with Zoe adoring it. A beautiful hand painted tile of a butterfly. A nod to Allie and how she is everywhere. We love it. It's on my nightstand for the moment so I can see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Eventually we will find just the right place to hang it.
I was talking to a close friend of mine earlier today and I said how time does not make the loss any better. That's not entirely true. Time had closed the wound so that it only opens up every once a while now. Time has made it so I can get up every day and be an active member of society. I can go to work and I can go out to eat and I can go to a movie and I can laugh. I never thought I would laugh again. So time has helped to some extent. But in other ways, no amount of time will change that my first born is not here and never will be.
We were at a wedding over the weekend and someone leaned it to me as we were leaving and whispered, "Congratulations! I heard the great news!" It took me a second to find my footing as we did not have any good news to share. We have been trying to get pregnant and that is not a secret but somehow this person must have heard that we had success...when in fact, we have not. So I just smiled and said, "Not yet, but hopefully soon!" as I walked away with a silly smile on my face so as to not make that person feel badly. It took me a few moments to catch my breath. Maybe soon.
Someday we will have news. I just know it. And then we will be in for months and months of a whole new journey of what to say and how to act and how to feel and all the while knowing that I will want to just live in the maternity ward to make sure nothing bad happens to Allie's sibling. I am so ready for that day.
Hopefully it will be sometime within the next 18 months.
Monday, October 15, 2012
The Circle Game
I grew up in a house where music was all around. Folk music in particular. Lots of Peter, Paul and Mary. For some reason, this song popped into my head today. It's a classic by Joni Mitchell called "The Circle Game". Below is the chorus.
And the seasons they go 'round and 'round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game
The sense of calm I get from this song is unmatched. I just hit play over and over again and letting the words wash over me. We just go round and round...just like the seasons...we can't return (go back) but we can look behind to see where we have been and move forward from there. I just could not stop listening to it today.
On Friday, I went to visit my dad. He's pretty ill I do not write about him much as I am just not sure where he fits into my life or how I fit into his. He went from Assisted Living to a Nursing Home and is wheelchair bound now. I was worried he would not know me any more and I was not sure if I could handle that. We have a long and crazy history, but the fact of the matter is, he is still my dad. And the minute he looked up and saw me, his face lit up. We did not stay long. There was not much to say. His memory has faded and he does not have a lot of energy. I assure him that his children were all doing well and that we loved him and I kissed him as we walked out the door. I felt an eerie calm as we left. I'll go back soon to see him again.
Yesterday, Gary and I took Ella for a few hours and we went to an event sponsored by our company at a local farm. We were so proud to show off our niece! She picked out her own pumpkin and carried it around all day. She loved to look at the cows and the pigs and tried to make the noises that they made. Someone from my company remarked that my daughter and her granddaughter were the same age. I corrected her and said that Ella was my niece. She seemed confused so I quickly explained that yes, Ella was born in April 2011. Her granddaughter was born in March of 2011. That woman saw me pregnant last year and then saw me with a sweet little girl and it made sense that she would think she was mine. I bet she was not the only one.
I love being an aunt and I think I am good at it. I know Gary loves being an Uncle, too. I love that those are roles that we would excel at no matter what.
"And the seasons, they go 'round and 'round"...the leaves are changing around here and my flip flops are back to spending more time in my closet than on my feet. Life is moving on and I have no choice but to move along with it. "We're captive on the carousel of time"...moving forward each and every day. Make peace with my life. Mending my heart. Making sure my baby is always remembered, never forgotten, and hopefully making me a better person for having created her.
It's been about and hour and a half now now since we lit our candle tonight. Since you all lit your candles and sent me pictures or uploaded them to Facebook. The wave of light that you all have helped us create and shown that although Allie is gone, she is never ever forgotten. What a gift.
The "painted ponies go up and down"...I hope there is a carousel where you are baby girl and that you are enjoying the ride.
Yesterday, Gary and I took Ella for a few hours and we went to an event sponsored by our company at a local farm. We were so proud to show off our niece! She picked out her own pumpkin and carried it around all day. She loved to look at the cows and the pigs and tried to make the noises that they made. Someone from my company remarked that my daughter and her granddaughter were the same age. I corrected her and said that Ella was my niece. She seemed confused so I quickly explained that yes, Ella was born in April 2011. Her granddaughter was born in March of 2011. That woman saw me pregnant last year and then saw me with a sweet little girl and it made sense that she would think she was mine. I bet she was not the only one.
I love being an aunt and I think I am good at it. I know Gary loves being an Uncle, too. I love that those are roles that we would excel at no matter what.
"And the seasons, they go 'round and 'round"...the leaves are changing around here and my flip flops are back to spending more time in my closet than on my feet. Life is moving on and I have no choice but to move along with it. "We're captive on the carousel of time"...moving forward each and every day. Make peace with my life. Mending my heart. Making sure my baby is always remembered, never forgotten, and hopefully making me a better person for having created her.
The "painted ponies go up and down"...I hope there is a carousel where you are baby girl and that you are enjoying the ride.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month
There were things that happened during my pregnancy with Allie that I never had a chance to share...after all, I was not blogging at the time and figured I would have her whole life to tell her everything I wanted share. Only now, almost 18 months later, am I starting to really remember some of it. Here's what I have come up with so far.
Allison Paige was originally Allison Parker. We poured over our book of baby names and made list after list and finally came up with the perfect name. The A for my grandfather Allen and the P for Gary's grandfather Paul. It was such a perfect name that I went home that night and Googled it so see what it would look like in print and to see what would pop up...and something did pop up. The original cast photo from Melrose Place. Courtney Thorne-Smith's character was names Allison Parker. So I guess Aaron Spelling came up with her name first. We changed her middle name to Paige that night and immediately loved it even more.
I could not wait to buckle my little girl in her stroller and go for long walks with her. I would point out the plants and flowers along the way and we would oh and ah over the pretty colors and the rich tones. I went for long walks before her and I go for long walks after her, but sometimes now my hands feel empty as if they should be pushing her stroller.
When we were alone, I would have long talks with Allie. Mostly in the car. I would tell her where we were or where we were going and explain how this mattered to her. (I am not sure it did, but I loved talking to her). I imagined that when she was born and she would hear my voice, she would be like, "Hey! I know you!"
Gary used to love to feel her kick. He would stare at my belly in awe and often times talk to her, too. I had never before seen such a peacefulness wash over his features. I have not seen it since. It was so amazing that sometimes I had to look away and give them their privacy.
People used to tell me that the worries I had when I was pregnant would turn into bigger worries when she was born and that essentially, I had signed up for 18 years of worry. I so wish that they had been right.
My daughter loved fruit. Gary cut up honeydew and cantaloupe for us to take to work every day and as soon as I took one bite, she would start kicking like crazy. She loved the sweetness. That was my first sign that something was wrong. The afternoon before we went to the hospital, I had my fruit as usual and she was pretty still. I believe there was some movement, but I know it was much less than usual and I started to worry. So much of that day is lost in my memory, but I remember sitting at my desk and starting to feel the first signs of fear.
October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. The actual day to "celebrate" is October 15th. Last year we had a moment of silence and lit a candle. This year, there is a balloon release locally that I want to attend but am not sure yet if I have the courage to go. I still have a week to decide. Regardless, we will be lighting a candle at 7pm to celebrate her and I urge you to light one, too. For all the babies out there who have parents with empty arms.
A fellow Baby Loss Mom (BLM) made this picture for us and I love it. A complete stranger turned friend as she understands the pain and agony of losing her baby, too.
Allie, baby, I have spent so much energy trying to make a sibling for you that sometimes I have buried my grief and sorrow just to survive. Please know that I have never stopped loving you and that you are my heart and my light and that this month and every month, your daddy and I remember and love you so. We don't need a special month to celebrate you, but we don't mind it, either. It's just another excuse for us to talk about and love you. And love you we do.
Allison Paige was originally Allison Parker. We poured over our book of baby names and made list after list and finally came up with the perfect name. The A for my grandfather Allen and the P for Gary's grandfather Paul. It was such a perfect name that I went home that night and Googled it so see what it would look like in print and to see what would pop up...and something did pop up. The original cast photo from Melrose Place. Courtney Thorne-Smith's character was names Allison Parker. So I guess Aaron Spelling came up with her name first. We changed her middle name to Paige that night and immediately loved it even more.
I could not wait to buckle my little girl in her stroller and go for long walks with her. I would point out the plants and flowers along the way and we would oh and ah over the pretty colors and the rich tones. I went for long walks before her and I go for long walks after her, but sometimes now my hands feel empty as if they should be pushing her stroller.
When we were alone, I would have long talks with Allie. Mostly in the car. I would tell her where we were or where we were going and explain how this mattered to her. (I am not sure it did, but I loved talking to her). I imagined that when she was born and she would hear my voice, she would be like, "Hey! I know you!"
Gary used to love to feel her kick. He would stare at my belly in awe and often times talk to her, too. I had never before seen such a peacefulness wash over his features. I have not seen it since. It was so amazing that sometimes I had to look away and give them their privacy.
My daughter loved fruit. Gary cut up honeydew and cantaloupe for us to take to work every day and as soon as I took one bite, she would start kicking like crazy. She loved the sweetness. That was my first sign that something was wrong. The afternoon before we went to the hospital, I had my fruit as usual and she was pretty still. I believe there was some movement, but I know it was much less than usual and I started to worry. So much of that day is lost in my memory, but I remember sitting at my desk and starting to feel the first signs of fear.
October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. The actual day to "celebrate" is October 15th. Last year we had a moment of silence and lit a candle. This year, there is a balloon release locally that I want to attend but am not sure yet if I have the courage to go. I still have a week to decide. Regardless, we will be lighting a candle at 7pm to celebrate her and I urge you to light one, too. For all the babies out there who have parents with empty arms.
A fellow Baby Loss Mom (BLM) made this picture for us and I love it. A complete stranger turned friend as she understands the pain and agony of losing her baby, too.
Allie, baby, I have spent so much energy trying to make a sibling for you that sometimes I have buried my grief and sorrow just to survive. Please know that I have never stopped loving you and that you are my heart and my light and that this month and every month, your daddy and I remember and love you so. We don't need a special month to celebrate you, but we don't mind it, either. It's just another excuse for us to talk about and love you. And love you we do.
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