tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78553687658179287192024-02-19T05:57:58.520-06:00Mommy to an AngelStefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-39352798834524164022014-07-16T10:56:00.000-05:002014-07-16T10:56:24.211-05:00Only the strong survive.Throughout this journey I cannot tell you how many times I have heard the statement, "Your a strong woman/mom/person/girl, etc." It's a statement I have grown to hate.<br />
<br />
Before loosing Sam I took that as the greatest compliment. After all, that's how I was raised. Strong, independent woman. I still am, just in a different sense. I know I am a mom that knows what she wants for her children. Does that really make me <i>strong</i>?<br />
<br />
What does "strong" mean?<br />
<br />
Who determines the perimeters of "strong"?<br />
<br />
I hate this phrase more now after loosing Sam than anything. I take it as a threat to my grief and where I stand in my grieving journey. I know people don't intend it to be that way, but, that's what it feels like every time someone says it to me.<br />
<br />
I may appear to be strong because I have to lie. I have to lie to make people think I'm not about to crumble.<br />
<br />
You see if I let people in to what is really going on then they hop on the concern train and pester out of good love and heart. I don't like to be pestered, I need to figure things out for myself. Hardheaded, stubborn <i>they </i>call it.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I just want to be weak and ball up into the fetal position and cry for days on end. But I can't I have to be a mom and wife.<br />
<br />
Now that my second son is in the NICU, I have heard this phrase resurface again and again. I hate it, I really do. I'm not "strong", I'm a mother. You have no clue how I am behind this facade. I plow through what I have to to make it and crumble when it's least expected. Being here I am inundate with emotions that have to be kept in a tight-lid jar. If I let them go, I could risk being separated from my only living son. People here "worry" about me and my well being because they know my fragile past, I've only mentioned it a thousand times. We are the only parents here that are ALWAYS here.<br />
<br />
We're here because of Sam. We're here because of our experience with the unthinkable.<br />
We live the unthinkable.<br />
Don't tell me it's impossible.<br />
Don't tell me "he'll be fine".<br />
<br />
You don't know that. Who made you fucking God?<br />
<br />
We live too far to miss a possible <i>goodbye</i> if it came to that. I never got a <i>hello</i> with Sam. How could I risk a missed <i>goodbye </i>with my second son. Sam died alone. If it came to that with Angelo, I don't want him to take his last breath without one of us being here. Sam has taught me every second of life is precious. If I can witness and behold every second of it before it's swept from my feet, you'd better be damned that I'm not going to miss that.<br />
<br />
I want to turn to faith. In this hard time.<br />
<br />
But I have none. I obviously want something to hang on to because I'm mentioning it, but I hold it at arms length. I feel like I've been shit on so many times, someones got to be to blame for it. I haven't been able to figure out all the horrible things I've done that could have brought this punishment on. Why me?<br />
Why us?<br />
Don't start reciting the bullshit line,<br />
"Everything happens for a reason" or "God only gives you what you can handle."<br />
Bullshit!<br />
And this is your God? The one who says my son is in Heaven. Why would I trust a creator that has only shit on me when I needed "Him" most?<br />
<br />
It's for the strong folk. The ones that are able to release their worries and pain to the higher. It's the weak that are too stubborn to release from the white-knuckled grip.<br />
<br />
It's all a game. This talk about strength. It's what people tell you when they have nothing else to say to someone that's in a shady place too murky to travel themselves.<br />
<br />
It's a game for the grieving and bleeding. It's not strength you see before you, it's a mom just trying to hold it together long enough to cry alone and release the pain when permissible.<br />
<br />
It's just a battle of wits for me. Don't tell me I'm strong, it's only hurtful to my grief.<br />
<br />Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-68883927062711383302014-06-30T14:44:00.000-05:002014-06-30T14:44:09.428-05:00Through the wringerWow! A lot has happened since I last posted. I will give a quick update and move forward with my post.<br />
<br />
1. Had another baby boy on June 18th<br />
2. Been in the NICU since his birth because of complications and he was 6 weeks early.<br />
<br />
Now, where do I begin...<br />
<br />
We must have told Sam's story, our story about a thousand times since his brothers birth. Having another boy was enough of a stressor, now having my little boy in the NICU is beyond stressful. I feel like I have to validate my fears and anxiety. I have to let nurses and doctors know that we have a legitimate reason to be fucking crazy!<br />
<br />
"If I walk out of here without my son, I have to know I left no stone unturned. I have to make sure I do everything in my power to protect him." This is what I tell the doctors. They usually nod and do as I ask.<br />
<br />
We've been treated so nicely while here. I just hate being here. Counting down the days, counting the days that have past. Being torn between my children again. My girls have done a great job going with the flow but I know they are shaken by all of this, I know they want things to be different.<br />
<br />
Then there's Michalina. She has had her moments were I can see the joy in her eyes that she can embrace the fact that she has a brother here on earth. Then I can see the fear and hurt she has for seeing him through the glass when she comes to visit, wanting him to desperately come home. She gets scared that the outcome may be the same as Sam's, she doesn't tell me that but I can sense it. How do I comfort that when I have the same fears?<br />
<br />
My emotions have been on a downward spiral. I look around our room and know that my boy could be worse, but that doesn't make it better or any less painful. I am grateful we are not in other possible situations, but I live in anger and fear that he is even here. I am terrified that if I walk out of the doors without my husband at his bedside, he's going to die alone or that I won't have the time to say good-bye.<br />
<br />
My grief has taken a turn, a downward spiral type of turn. I'm not sure when I will be able to get a handle on it again.<br />
<br />
Maybe I never will.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-7435879440050365012014-03-13T10:09:00.000-05:002014-03-13T10:09:08.240-05:00I'm still here….It's true. I'm still here. Still here in the grieving. Trying to deal with what life brings and walking a life with a piece of my heart missing.<br />
I've wanted to write, just haven't had the words to express where I'm at. Which I'm not entirely sure where that is either.<br />
I'm stuck. Those are the only words I can think of that can explain where I stand.<br />
<br />
I have dreams.<br />
Don't know how to get there. Or maybe I'm just too chicken shit to take the steps. I want to be bold yet fear takes over and squeezes with great force.<br />
<br />
I envision the mom I want to be. Yet I still yell at the girls for the stupidest things, then feel horrible.<br />
<br />
I want to grieve.<br />
Yet I feel I'm in a choke hold and feel I can't breath long enough to let it go.<br />
<br />
When I can grieve, it's never enough. Never satisfying. An addiction I guess. I cry. feel better for a bit then look to cry again just to lift the weight a pinch.<br />
<br />
Life gets in the way of grieving. Hard to find the balance between reality and a fantasy.<br />
<br />
...a never ending balancing act between my child who isn't here and my family who is.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-61907735869437690582013-11-03T15:51:00.000-06:002013-11-03T15:51:28.870-06:00A New Type of GriefGrief is weird these days. We are coming into the dreaded holiday season and our trip to Faith's Lodge is just around the corner.<br />
<br />
After our weekly trip to Sam's Park this morning I came to a realization. I hate leaving there.<br />
I hate that feeling like I am leaving him behind for the wolves to raise.<br />
I leave him every week.<br />
I leave his body behind and hope that I'll make it the next week.<br />
I leave his "things" behind and hope the animals or bitter bystanders or groundskeepers don't mess with it.<br />
<br />
I leave with the feeling that I've left my son with a stranger.<br />
<br />
I leave feeling like I have to choose between my children.<br />
Between the living and the dead.<br />
<br />
A mom should never have to choose one child/children over another. But that is what I'm asked to do every single day of my life.<br />
<br />
I have to choose my living children or my dead child.<br />
<br />
And every day I breathe.<br />
I'm not sure why. I don't know if I am actually making that decision or not. I don't know what would happen if I did make that decision.<br />
Would I see my son?<br />
Would I be damned to hell for all eternity?<br />
Would I or my family be punished by some higher being?<br />
Would nothing happen? Would I placed in my wall next to my son's body for my living children to visit and life moves on?<br />
<br />
I don't know. And that scares me. I don't know where my son is and I don't know why I continue to breathe.<br />
<br />
I'm caught in a realm that demands both the living and the dead.<br />
<br />
I need Faith's Lodge more now than I think the last time we were there. I need it's comforts, warmth, community, peace, and hope. We are going as a family this time and I think that will be a different experience than when we went just the two of us. My oldest is looking forward to it most; she's counting down the days.<br />
<br />
Feelings of the unknown have cradled my grief and made it hard to handle. I've never been in this place before, the unknown. I have been given the reality check again. Control is not in my favor. Control has always been in my favor. I've always gotten a way around things and made them compromise with my demands. Grief has a handle on these and is holding tight.<br />
<br />
After all of this, I'm left with guilt.<br />
Guilt that I have chosen my living children over my dead. Guilt that I missed something in this calculated plan and somehow let grief slip in. Guilt that I am absent from reality because I'm trying to figure out how to navigate through this realm.<br />
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<br />Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-82011866511237840422013-10-11T07:40:00.001-05:002013-10-11T07:40:49.208-05:00MichalinaismOut of the mouth of sibling loss...<div><br></div><div>M: I love my sister. Mommy, can me, vivianna, and Sam all be together in the same square when we die?</div><div><br></div><div>Me: Sure. If that's what you want. </div><div>(Exhausted from trying to explain to her for the millionth time that I hope she dies when she is old and has her own family)</div><div><br></div><div>...Sigh...</div><div><br></div><div>Reminders of why I hate this reality!</div><div><br></div>Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-67312044803975650362013-08-08T15:10:00.000-05:002013-08-08T15:10:44.163-05:00Poetic Just now driving home from a morning breakfast-picnic at Sam's park and an afternoon of shopping with my girls, I see it...<br />
<br />
The first and only Monarch butterfly I've seen all season.<br />
<br />
It was beautiful. Just as I remember it on that cold windy late October day at Sam's park.<br />
<br />
My little boy saying, "Hi, Mommy, I'm here."<br />
<br />
This one was different.<br />
<br />
I first noticed it as the van in front of me smacked it with the car.<br />
<br />
It quickly disappeared from sight. It was gone just like that. Another victim to passing car.<br />
<br />
Just then I see something fly from the front of this car and flail in the sky, as if trying to stay afloat.<br />
<br />
The Monarch.<br />
<br />
Desperately clinging to life.<br />
<br />
Trying to fly.<br />
<br />
Trying to stay alive.<br />
<br />
I watched helplessly as this beautiful creature danced with death. Obviously there was nothing I could do....<br />
<br />
But drive and flashback to 2 years, 2 months, and 4 weeks ago.<br />
<br />
Did he dance with death?<br />
<br />
Did he desperately cling to life?<br />
<br />
Or was it quick?<br />
<br />
Did he suffer?<br />
<br />
I would have saved him if I could.<br />
If I'd known.<br />
I would have laid my own life down for him. I still would, just for a moment with him.<br />
<br />
...and it was gone. I could no longer see dance with death. I supposed it died. How could something so fragile survive.<br />
<br />
Life's fragile.<br />
<br />
Life changes in a second.<br />
<br />
Life is out of my control. I hate that.<br />
<br />
That Monarch was my son. Gone in an instant.<br />
<br />
<br />
Ahhhh...He laughs again at me. You don't make it easy to find faith.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-39743986479075093692013-07-25T09:23:00.002-05:002013-07-25T09:23:50.971-05:00It's been a while...I know, I know, I'm one of those moms that have a rainbow and forget about my grief and stop posting. Well I never wanted to be that way. No, I have not forgotten about my grief, I could never, that would be like forgetting Sam.<br />
<br />
You know it's been a while when your husband asks if you have posted lately.<br />
<br />
Well I'm going to post. Post something.<br />
<br />
Here it goes...<br />
<br />
Since my last post a lot has happened so I am going to be short winded because I don't have the time for anything else.<br />
<br />
Sam's 2nd birthday. We had a nice evening with family. Since it is also hubby's day we had dinner with the extended family and chilled with just us most of the morning. First we as a family did our own thing; had breakfast, went to Sam's park, sang "happy birthday", and lounged around. It's hard for my husband because he feels the pressure from others to celebrate his birthday but all he wants to do is mourn his son. Since the day went to shit weather wise we ended up in the pitch black and rain at Sam's wall, with the whole family after dinner! That surprised the shit outta me. I have an awesome family to go stand in front of a wall in the dark rain!<br />
<br />
Family is victim to another stillbirth. My 3rd cousin gained his wings in June. Yes, I said 3rd cousin, us Italians stick together. Just like Sam, his death was and is a complete surprise. The moment I got the call I knew what I had to do. I had to be there for my cousin and his wife. I waited around for a phone call all day to visit them in the hospital and see this beautiful angel. It was hard to see him but not as hard to see them, the parents of a baby that was supposed to be here in their arms not in Heaven. The odd thing about this set of cousin's is their first child. You see, their first has been one that I've been avoiding.<br />
Why?<br />
Well, you see she is one month younger than Sam. So, needless to say, seeing her is seeing Sam's <i>should have's </i>and what should be his milestones. I hear her talk and wonder what would Sam's voice sound like?<br />
Anyways, of course, that has now all changed. She is a sister to an angel.<br />
<br />
Vivianna's 1st birthday. We had the whole shebang. We always said we would. It is our rainbow after all! So we had 63 adults and 19ish kids at our house, and our house is not big by any means, but it worked.<br />
<br />
I am amazed at her and her life. She is a firecracker like none other. She is one that will keep me up at night as a teenager. Complete opposite of M. But, I love her just the same.<br />
<br />
My faith has gone over the edge. I am in a hole that is very difficult to get out of. Not sure where my son actual is. Is there a Heaven? Is there a God? I don't pray, I can't? I'm scare shitless to. I prayed with Sam and look what happened. Ugh! I hate this feeling and I know deep down this is evil trying to take over but my fucking analytical self seems to make it make sense! So I continue to lie to M and answer her God questions like a true believer. I just would hate to take that away form her too. Anyways, this is a post in and of it's self, one that I've wanted to post for a while just been too chicken to put these thoughts out there for the public. Just avoiding the lectures that will be store.<br />
<br />
As for my grief, I'm numb. Just numb! Sam's 2nd birthday was worst than his first. I cried more and miss him more in year 2. I barely have any time to grieve and sometimes take that out on my kids. Which of course is not fair at all. I find my self stifling my tears for the sake of my girls and life that gets in the way. I hate that I don't have time to drown myself in my sorrows and cry whenever I want to.<br />
<br />
I think I gave enough to read.<br />
<br />
Mommy loves you, Sam.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-23280611248960333072013-05-07T09:55:00.000-05:002013-05-07T09:55:02.734-05:00Hollywood StyleHollywood style without the lavish materialistic things. The <i>things </i>that make you feel good. Kinda like the work with no play. You know the acting without the payoff.<br />
<br />
I pretend a lot lately.<br />
<br />
I pretend for my eldest daughter.<br />
I pretend for my youngest.<br />
I pretend for my husband.<br />
I pretend for work.<br />
I pretend for friends.<br />
I pretend for family.<br />
<br />
After all, it's been 2 years since I watched that little white box slide into the wall to never emerge again.<br />
<br />
I should be different, right?<br />
<br />
2 years without my son. It doesn't get any more fucked up than that.<br />
I live a lie everyday.<br />
<br />
I pretend it's ok that I have this life.<br />
I pretend that it's okay that I a still furious with God and sometimes doubt his existence at all or that there is a heaven.<br />
<br />
I shed a few tears here and there always making sure I don't fall apart. Keep the pieces together Stefanie.<br />
<br />
People have forgotten. Or at least they are more comfortable talking babies and life with me. I'm not as comfortable as you think. I pretend. I act. It's what I do well.<br />
<br />
Loving my girls doesn't change the fact that I don't have my little boy in my arms. Yes, he's in my heart. But, that's not fucking good enough. I selfishly want all 3 of my kids in my arms.<br />
<br />
I don't pray. I have doubts of God existence or his goodness. I hate him for what he's done to my family.<br />
<br />
-But I pretend for her, for them. They have to believe in something.<br />
<br />
I'm aching for you baby boy.<br />
<br />
-Mommy loves you.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-79941993391694638162013-04-21T09:44:00.001-05:002013-04-21T09:44:41.920-05:00NumbThere are days like today where I sit here in front of your wall so numb from the pain that it actually feels like reading a story book to your dead baby is something everyone does. <br />
<br />
Man, I miss you. <br />
<br />
Does this pain ever end? Will I ever feel close enough to you?<br />
<br />
Probably not. <br />
<br />
I love you baby. <br />
<br />
Mommy loves you. Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-54051322602566803132013-02-13T13:58:00.004-06:002013-02-14T09:45:08.942-06:00Padded EnvelopeWho would have ever thought that a padded envelope would be a trigger. I haven't had one in a while, a trigger that is. At least not one that has sent me to the place I visited last night.<br />
<br />
I needed a damn padded envelope to send back my K-cup for the Kruerig that was replaced under warranty last week. Last night I had one of those, "Wait! I think I have one here and I don't have to buy one." moments. Well in my search for the fucking thing I pulled open the file cabinet that now resides in my son's room.<br />
<br />
I felt a bit of hesitation as I dared to open the cabinet. Not because of a potential trigger but because I knew I would come across memories that would be hard to resist. Memories of M and her baby days.<br />
<br />
There it was staring at me. A file folder marked <i>Sam</i>.<br />
<br />
Do I dare?<br />
Now I clearly knew the damn envelope wasn't going to be in there. Why the hell would there be a padded envelope in his file?<br />
<br />
I thought about it for a split second then wrestled the idea of "Do I?" "Leave it?"<br />
<br />
<i>No. I want to feel close to him. I need to feel close to him. </i><br />
Time has a funny way of robbing you of this sense of closeness. The more time passes the farther I feel from him.<br />
<br />
I did it. I opened his file. There staring back at me was a stack of papers that explained his life. These were papers that I had faxed to the maternal and fetal medicine doctor that I saw just after Sam died. <br />
<br />
I began reading his autopsy report, the only proof of life that I have. These papers are gold to me. They prove to me that Sam is a real baby and he exists. I've read this before not long after he died for the same reasons I read them last night. <br />
<br />
To feel close to him. <br />
<br />
As I read it, there alone in his room, the tears began to flow, I mean really flow. I cried out in anger at the God that stole my son, "I should be holding him in his room, not reading his fucking autopsy report."<br />
<br />
This reading did something different this time. Besides filling me with closeness it filled me with anger. If any of you have ever read an autopsy report you would know what I'm talking about. The verbiage used to describe my son felt cold and disconnected. Although reading it gave me validation and comfort. <br />
<br />
When I started reading it I was noticing that his blood type was nowhere to be found! Mine was but not Sam's. this bothers me. Again, this is another way to validate his life since he was never given a birth certificate. <br />
<br />
I continued to read, trying to see through the tears. The pain ripped through me like a tornado. I had to keep reading, I just have to know his blood type. <br />
<br />
At this point my I can barely see through my tears and my husband walks in. Then M. She asks what's wrong and my husband tells her, "we miss Sam." Of course she comes back with Kleenex for my tears. <br />
<br />
Again filled with the should have and left with empty arms and a gaping hole in my heart. <br />
<br />
Mommy loves you, baby boy, mommy loves you. <br />
Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-71415025862213044532013-02-04T18:36:00.001-06:002013-02-04T18:36:54.617-06:00Groundhog DayThat's right my post is going to be about Groundhog Day. How does that have anything to do with grief? I'll tell you...<br />
<br />
A poetic viewing of the movie Groundhog Day on Saturday sparked a question in my husband. He says to me, "If you had to do/live one day over and over again, which would it be?"<br />
<br />
With out hesitation I answer, "as much as it would hurt...giving birth to Sam. Even though the pain would be so great, I'd get to hold him everyday." <br />
<br />
I miss him. I yearn to hold him and feel him again. <br />
<br />
Days have been rough lately. Just feeling very exhausted in my faith and its slipping quickly. Am I really going to see him again? How do I trust God again? <br />
<br />
I want a Groundhog Day. <br />
<br />
Mommy loves you. Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-73973153706718847222013-01-30T17:20:00.001-06:002013-01-30T17:20:10.453-06:00PiecesI have to begin by saying I'm sorry. I'm sorry I haven't written. I doubt anyone notices how long it's been but its been awhile. <br />
<br />
I've had a lot on my mind just haven't had the time to write. Then again I've had nothing to say because I've been at a loss for words. I just don't know where my grief or emotions stand right now. <br />
<br />
What has sparked me to write is my AMAZING 4 year old. Last night she said words to me that no 4 year old should ever say. <br />
Here is how our conversation went:<br />
<br />
M: are you happy you have a live baby?<br />
Me: yes honey I'm am.<br />
M: Sam is up in heaven and when you get there he will be there waiting for you.<br />
Me: yes, he will be.<br />
M: -and nonni and poppy will put you in your box.<br />
Me: I hope nonni and poppy are gone long before me.<br />
M: then who will put you in your box?<br />
Me: (this took me a minute to figure out how to answer, but I figured since we've always been honest and up front with her...) hopefully you will. <br />
M: okay I will do that! <br />
Me: (tears begin to form and I'm loosing my stomach at the thought of our conversation not because of the content but because its with my four year old)<br />
M: mom, I'm going to miss you when you die.<br />
Me: I'm going to miss you too, but that's not going to be for a very long time. Can we talk about something else? Lets not talk about me dying anymore. <br />
M: ok. I love you mom. <br />
Me: I love you too<br />
<br />
With my four year old! Well beyond her years. Sam has given her so much emotion that I think a normal preschooler would never be able to handle. <br />
And what for? <br />
Is she going to be something great? <br />
Or will she too die too soon?<br />
God I hate to think of that! But that's me always analyzing. <br />
<br />
Since then, or maybe it was before that, I'm trying to pick up the pieces. I feel shattered again. Barely able to breathe. <br />
<br />
It's been 18+months since Sam died and people are starting to forget. Or at least it feels like it. I have a wonder family that always say his name and acknowledges his presence but others are forgetting. <br />
Not forgetting him but forgetting I may still be broken. I will never be whole. Sam is the piece that competes me. Since V was born people have been blinded by excitement of a new baby and filled with joy. It gave them something to talk about with me.<br />
<br />
"How are your girls doing?"<br />
<br />
Before people would ignore me and I knew that they remembered my story. They recognize that I may still be fragile. <br />
<br />
Remnants of him...<br />
<br />
----------------------------~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~------------<br />
I'm surrounded by babies lately. Babies being born left and right. I politely converse about their pregnancy and act excited for them. <br />
I feel like people feel like they owe me the sympathy and say something like this towards the end of the conversation, "yea it's getting close. I just want him/her to be healthy." <br />
<br />
Really, dumb fuck! Is that your little way to acknowledge my loss in your ignorance? <br />
Sam was healthy. Nothing came back abnormal in his autopsy report. <br />
<br />
HEALTHY BABIES DIE TOO! <br />
<br />
Ugh, when will society get there head out of there ass! Nothing's impossible. <br />
<br />
Do me a favor just acknowledge my brittle heart, mention his name and pray your baby is born alive. <br />
Sam<br />
<br />
Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-80089030812775189592012-12-25T14:15:00.001-06:002012-12-25T14:15:22.284-06:00It's Christmas DayIt's Christmas Day and I feel almos foolish to think I actually thought year number 2 without Sam would be a smidgen easier than the first. <br />
Shit! I'm wrong! <br />
This sucks. We stop at the oasis for Starbucks and my eyes begin to flow at the sight of a father and son hand in hand. <br />
<br />
I allow my head to be filled with the guilt that struck me so early on. <br />
I'm sorry for not giving my husband a son, my daughter a brother, completing my family. <br />
I know it's not my fault. But this Christmas season has brought out that mother instinct, the one to protect the young at any cost. <br />
I just want my son back. Even if its for a split second. <br />
<br />
I imagine him riding around in this truck that we would have bought him this year for Christmas. <br />
<br />
I can hear him babbling some gibberish that only daddy and I can understand. <br />
<br />
I imagined him opening his gifts this morning and either being a terror to his big sister or the most sweetest little boy to his mommy. <br />
<br />
But I'm not having any of that. Their only dreams that will never come true. <br />
<br />
We will never have a complete family. We will never have a complete holiday. <br />
<br />
Merry Christmas baby boy, mommy loves you. Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-51284968064173833832012-12-22T07:32:00.001-06:002012-12-22T12:41:58.619-06:00ChristmasI've been having a really hard time with Christmas this year and Lucas is doing even worse. <br />
Those feelings and thoughts are for another post. I just wanted to drop a quick hello and picture of the girls with the "big guy".<br />
<br />
•Side note I have about 4ish post sitting in "draft" mode. I may be sorting through these and posting them over the next couple weeks, I hope. <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhctzaPkMrw-DhFET8IafRbgHbmdwqUd-P1q61bv17Q95PTN6s7hMXRhIxTt23rpBFxlisLdc-CaY5D_qHAS47YCztsMniGuwZoGYBF5V22RlcMUjJJBDZTp9b2mehotRHjbZ1vtr4lwix/s640/blogger-image-1692765478.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhctzaPkMrw-DhFET8IafRbgHbmdwqUd-P1q61bv17Q95PTN6s7hMXRhIxTt23rpBFxlisLdc-CaY5D_qHAS47YCztsMniGuwZoGYBF5V22RlcMUjJJBDZTp9b2mehotRHjbZ1vtr4lwix/s640/blogger-image-1692765478.jpg" /></a></div>Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-29380369436401377682012-12-01T11:40:00.001-06:002012-12-01T11:40:15.020-06:00SilenceI felt it. I was thick neither one of us wanted to say anything but we both felt it. The anger both filled is at the same time. It was almost like I could see it enter the car and pry our mouths open and force us to swallow its bitterness. Our chests puffed out as if the anger was too big to fit in our lives at that moment.<br />
<br />
never the less anger made its way in and fill our brains with the questions and sarcastic remarks toward our creator. Just like it always does. Never actually invited always an unwelcome guest.<br />
<br />
We never said anything to each other. He looked a few times and I glared. As if to study it looking for an answer. Looking for a final answer as to why our creator took our son from us. <br />
<br />
But I didn't find it. <br />
<br />
Still we sat there stuck in traffic in a small town near our home. At a dead stop in front of a church with a huge banner swaying between the columns that would welcome the Saturday church goers. <br />
<br />
A picture of what is supposed to be The Creators hands holding a baby still in the womb. Next to the hands was Isaiah 44:2. <br />
There it was reassuring me that Sam was in His hands before he was born, "under his care". Then why'd he let him die. He's supposed to be a loving God. Why could he take good care for my son. <br />
<br />
Why'd He choose my son to die and not yours. <br />
<br />
My eyes felt with tears as we pulled away. Tears of anger. Tears of relief. Tears of pain. <br />
<br />
And again anger consumes my thoughts. The stronghold strikes again. <br />
<br />
Fuck you anger. I want my baby boy!Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-15901526361592121772012-10-22T13:24:00.001-05:002012-10-22T13:29:14.711-05:00I'm leavingI never thought this would be me. You know the mom that <i>wants</i> to stay at home with her kids. I always thought of myself as the mom that couldn't wait to get away from her kids. The independent mama who worked full time and managed the house at night. The mom that was confident leaving her kids with someone else.<br />
<br />
It's not me. I'm not the mom I thought I once was. It's not that it wasn't hard leaving Michalina, but I got used to it quickly and knew really nothing else. It was what I always knew would happen. With her I had tunnel vision; have a baby, stay home for the summer, return to work in August. That was it. I guess I never really pictured myself getting so attached to my children.<br />
<br />
Sam has taught me different.<br />
<br />
He has taught me that my dream job is to be a mom and the very best mom I can be. He has shown me my true purpose in life.<br />
<br />
Mother.<br />
<br />
But I can't live up to that lesson. I can't keep that promise.<br />
<br />
Money. The root of all evil.<br />
<br />
It's money that holds me back from living that lesson, that dream.<br />
<br />
Because of money I am unable to stay home with my girls and be the mother I want and know I can be. I return to work tomorrow.<br />
<br />
That's the thing about being a teacher. There is very little leeway when it comes to working options. I don't have the choice to work from home or return part-time. There are students there awaiting my return. They need me, but I don't need them.<br />
<br />
He says it can't be done. He says it's too much to leave; a teacher's retirement plan, a teacher's benefit's. I never thought my life, my dreams would be run by money. I never have let it before. Why am I allowing it now? Having breathed death, I say, "What if I/we don't live that long?" "What if I die old with regrets?" I have always thought I lived by my life's motto, <i>It's the risks you don't take, you always </i><br />
<i>regret.</i><br />
<br />
I have been blessed with some very understanding team mates and colleagues. I have been granted a transition to ease my way back into my duties; aka leaving Vivianna. I don't know how I would be if I didn't have this easing. Even still, I will be in my office wiping away the tears that scourer my face leaving tracks of sadness while milk sprays from my chest into tiny plastic bags awaiting an infant that refuses to be fooled.<br />
<br />
I have had kind words told to me and offers of assurance and peace, but save your breath. I know she will be left in good hands, I'm blessed with that option, I know that. That is not it. I'm not only leaving them, I'm leaving my hopes, my dreams, and exclusively breastfeeding. So save your breath because you can't replace my hopes, dreams, and bonding.<br />
<br />
You don't understand, you can't.<br />
<br />
What if she dies while I'm away and I miss another goodbye? What if she has a "first" while I'm away? Death has changed me without ever asking for permission. I've tried to tame those ill thoughts of death and negativity but it's hard. Even when I'm able to wrangle the demons they are still waiting and taunting me in the corner, laughing at me.<br />
<br />
No matter where I am, where my thoughts and grief are, I'm leaving you day dream. Goodbye.<br />
I'm sorry I let you down.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3ZqrQJhaGtsNtLUpetvTIWUMshdkqELl0m-eAPSRSOlXD3m9cDi0TU9WX52clq0ZcmkOq1gP1INEzmUZfwIX08VL2kgfLilCOuZQbWW6j7qW8GI5Q6bTvcQRJamQtWFhpiznxVruri47/s640/blogger-image-1100144472.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO3ZqrQJhaGtsNtLUpetvTIWUMshdkqELl0m-eAPSRSOlXD3m9cDi0TU9WX52clq0ZcmkOq1gP1INEzmUZfwIX08VL2kgfLilCOuZQbWW6j7qW8GI5Q6bTvcQRJamQtWFhpiznxVruri47/s640/blogger-image-1100144472.jpg" /></a></div>Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-21431066680082510582012-10-22T09:49:00.000-05:002012-10-22T09:49:26.641-05:00Birthdays<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Birthday's. Ah, birthday's. </div>
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Everyone wants to make a big deal out of it...except for you. </div>
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<br /></div>
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In my family we have always made a big deal out of birthday's. We usually go out to eat and exchange gifts. Well things have been different for me since Sam died. And that makes it hard for them to accept. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I hate my birthday.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Any parent who has lost a child could sympathize with me. It's hard to celebrate another year of life when you have buried your own child. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Now, I'm not asking for a pity party on my birthday or trying to offend anyone by not cooperating. I'm just asking for it to be quiet. Just me and my family. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I wept on my birthday as I gave Sam his pumpkin and parented him the best I could. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I still want to be with him. I still want to curl around his casket and hold his little body as I drift away. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Birthday's. </div>
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Another year of life. </div>
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Another day closer to holding my baby. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7YvW1EJdC89lOi9p2WutZFm8y2u_Kix9mERD7VzJh4ugIUICYq5OiMK3bubIdtwvPPlotO3by2ttiwvA7qahkYaeFeAEhdtttZUnIVzy5PZ-qUAfd69IvkgLOCho5n2w6N7uv5ZLcsAsv/s640/blogger-image-370234176.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7YvW1EJdC89lOi9p2WutZFm8y2u_Kix9mERD7VzJh4ugIUICYq5OiMK3bubIdtwvPPlotO3by2ttiwvA7qahkYaeFeAEhdtttZUnIVzy5PZ-qUAfd69IvkgLOCho5n2w6N7uv5ZLcsAsv/s320/blogger-image-370234176.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I love you baby. </div>
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Mommy loves you.</div>
Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-61907258220114760462012-10-08T18:54:00.003-05:002012-10-08T18:58:07.315-05:00Capture Your Grief: Week 1I have been participating in <a href="http://carlymarieprojectheal.com/" target="_blank">Carly Marie's</a> <a href="http://carlymarieprojectheal.com/2012/09/capture-your-grief-this-october-2012-for-pregnancy-infant-loss-awareness-month.html" target="_blank">Capture Your Grief</a> photo challenge. You can read about this challenge here. This challenge of course goes in hand with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pregnancy_and_Infant_Loss_Remembrance_Day" target="_blank">Infant and Pregnancy Loss</a> Month, the specific day being <a href="http://www.october15th.com/" target="_blank">October 15th</a>.<br />
Instead of overloading my blog with 31 posts, I thought I'd break mine into weeks. <br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>WEEK 1</b><br />
<b>Day 1: Sunrise</b><br />
<br />
<b>Day 2: Self portrait <i>before</i> grief</b><br />
This was a hard one. It's always hard for me to go back and look at the ill prepared stefanie. <br />
The stefanie who didn't see this life coming. <br />
The woman I never thought I'd be. <br />
The mother who parents an angel. <br />
You can read more about those feelings here.<br />
<br />
<b>Day 3: Self portrait <i>after</i> grief</b><br />
I chose a picture of me at <a href="http://www.faithslodge.org/" target="_blank">Faith's Lodge</a> placing Sam's painted heart rock at the base of a tree near the bridge. I can remember those feelings the emerged when I looked around at the hundreds of other rocks thinking, I'm just like all of these other moms that have painted a rock for their dead child/baby. <br />
We are a part of the same group. The community that no one wanted to ever enter. <br />
This is a picture of me 6 months after Sam was born and died. It was also the same week we found out we were pregnant with Vivianna. <br />
<br />
We were entering a new state of grief. <br />
<br />
<b>Day 4: Treasured item</b><br />
This one was hard too. You see, when you bury your baby that you never really got to know you treasure everything the has to do with them. There are lots of things I treasure that have to do with Sam. <br />
To name a few…<br />
His green hat he wore in the hospital<br />
His shirt he wore in the hospital that still have his blood stains on it. <br />
His hospital bracelet.<br />
His clothes he never got to wear.<br />
His room he never got to sleep in. <br />
His hand and foot prints.<br />
Everything that's little boy in this house is Sam. <br />
His pictures. <br />
Proof that he is real. <br />
Proof that he lived. (Remember in IL babies that are stillborn do not get a birth certificate, proving life)<br />
<br />
This picture especially gives me all of that because it brings me right back to holding him, <br />
smelling him, <br />
touching him. <i>God, what I would give to touch him again!</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1Zr154gzRnZCZiYwjNgkSAXoB-G4x690pqVGpR7Yq4bowof1T3lHEVdM9nnzEN0vDXFp0lnrVgGNV5-Q0sSMUKDYcN84FrMdeP7Sz8dnVj6Oy7FFS69ONR8tO1CunY7djN1uimjqeE_g/s640/blogger-image--1807450892.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj1Zr154gzRnZCZiYwjNgkSAXoB-G4x690pqVGpR7Yq4bowof1T3lHEVdM9nnzEN0vDXFp0lnrVgGNV5-Q0sSMUKDYcN84FrMdeP7Sz8dnVj6Oy7FFS69ONR8tO1CunY7djN1uimjqeE_g/s640/blogger-image--1807450892.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>Day 5: Memorial</b><br />
For this I chose a photo of us, again at <a href="http://www.faithslodge.org/" target="_blank">Faith's Lodge</a>, this time it was for a <a href="http://www.faithslodge.org/2012/04/28/thank-you-tree-planters/" target="_blank">tree planting</a>. The tree planting was to fill the grounds Faith's with new life after a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OueCTv4DRHQ" target="_blank">devastating storm in July of 2011</a>. Kind of ironic that families were there to plant new life in memory of a life that ended too soon. <br />
This tree was the first "memorial" that we did for Sam. Since then we have planted an identical tree in our back yard. <br />
Faith's Lodge means so much to us. We love to give back to them when ever we can or visit. <br />
<br />
<b>Day 6: What NOT to say</b><br />
I have been blessed with mostly kind words or actions. Very rarely have I encounter a stupid comment or disrespectful re/action. <br />
<br />
Then there's this statement, "You're SO strong!"<br />
I hate it! <br />
I'm not really sure why that statement bothers me so much. But what I do know is that it is mostly said to me when I am weak or when I want to be weak and swallowed by my grief (because some days I just want to be sad). Or maybe because I feel like its because of that strength my son died. <br />
<br />
I'm not strong. <br />
I'm only surviving until the day comes that I get to hold my son again. <br />
<br />
<b>Day 7: What to say</b><br />
There nothing sweeter than hearing his name. <br />
Writing his name.<br />
<br />
Sam<br />
<br />
Sam<br />
<br />
Sam<br />
<br />
Talk about him. It doesn't make me sad. <br />
What does is when you are afraid to say his name or don't say his name st all. <br />
You'll see. I can have conversations about my son without tears.<br />
<br />
I'm a proud mommy of an angel after all.<br />
I just parent from a different side of heaven.Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-87891901867810973132012-09-21T20:02:00.001-05:002012-09-21T20:04:12.102-05:00Death and FearI had a horrible dream last night. I dream the is sort of a possibility, but only to people who have experienced the "impossible".<br />
<br />
I had a dream she was going to die. I had to say goodbye to the little girl who has helped put light back into my life.<br />
<br />
Here's the dream-like part; I knew how, when, and what time she was going to die. I remember clearly in my dreams being forced to say goodbye, begging with fate to not allow this to happen; to change its mind. <br />
<br />
Just like reality, I knew it was a loosing battle and I cried over her still breathing body and wanting to tell her all the things I needed to tell her. But of course all I could think of was, "mommy loves you."<br />
<br />
I woke frantic after my poor attempt at goodbye to be staring right at her, still sound asleep ignorant to my horrible nightmare. <br />
<br />
I laid there watching her chest, up and down, in and out…and the dream begins to replay in my mind. <br />
<br />
Tears begin to roll down my face. I could only see her silhouette through the ocean that has formed in my eyes. <br />
<br />
I can't loose her too. <br />
<br />
That statement has become a frequent one lately. Sometimes as a quiet whisper and sometimes said out loud. <br />
<br />
I guess it is creeping around more often because I will be heading back to work in a few short weeks. <br />
<br />
What if she dies while I'm at work? <br />
<br />
Sick. I know but that's my reality. <br />
<br />
I don't want to head back to work not just because of the whole fear of her dying while I'm not around but because I just don't want to leave her. I want to be with her, them all the time. I fear I'm going to miss something. The something that could change everything. The something that could be marked a milestone.<br />
<br />
She only wants me. Does she sense my fear? Does she know? Does she feel the same? <br />
<br />
Nightmares and fears.<br />
Fears and reality.<br />
Reality and death. <br />
<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhakrU-84SnHZR5kUOXCKu_X15bDckKA3glCcKK-TGJ_4GOZ5M_KirhEVqKtPbtaqecmljZS0Dc0DDQh84tAp1lZ5QdIJBe9GdJfKy_F8KR7m6uZaSikwU_A8H58AAS9R8U2eJvt23rJiMe/s640/blogger-image-1903872739.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhakrU-84SnHZR5kUOXCKu_X15bDckKA3glCcKK-TGJ_4GOZ5M_KirhEVqKtPbtaqecmljZS0Dc0DDQh84tAp1lZ5QdIJBe9GdJfKy_F8KR7m6uZaSikwU_A8H58AAS9R8U2eJvt23rJiMe/s640/blogger-image-1903872739.jpg" /></a></div>Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-78006028313640547822012-09-08T14:37:00.000-05:002012-09-08T14:40:39.665-05:00A look back<br />
Do you ever look back at old pictures, I mean old pictures from 10+ years ago, of yourself and see you as a different person? Not like a different person personality wise. A different person like someone that is not you. <div><br />
</div><div>I found myself sorting through some old stuff of mine at my parents house the other day and came across some old pictures of me in high school, me with ex boyfriends, and me as a small child. I looked at those and felt completely removed from the person I was looking at. I felt like it wasn't really me. It was of some one different. Someone who I never thought would give birth to her stillborn son. Someone who I never thought would be living the life she is today. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I was never one who thought I would live to be in my twenties let alone now my thirties. I don't know why, I just thought as a teenager that I would die before then. Not because of my life style but because I just could never see that far into the future. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I guess in a sense I did die.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I died at the ripe old age of thirty-two. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I buried myself on May 9, 2011. My name is even on the wall to prove it. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Except I'm not in there. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Look over one more. There.</div><div>I'm in with my son.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Curled right around his little white casket. Holding tighter than I ever thought possible. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I was dead for 1 year, 2 months, and 1 day. I knew I had to live when I gave birth to my daughter, my rainbow in a perfect storm. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I still reside in that mausoleum with Sam, but a new me has appeared. I'm still trying to figure out who she is, but I do know that she is not the same girl in those pictures. She is not that same girl from a year ago or 2 years ago.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Looking at those pictures I see innocence, immaturity, possibilities, a journey.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Never did I think that person in those pictures was going to be <i>me.</i></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4M3gB2Bp14wsrOONpj9QZ6UqTZYUezOa7VtgFI_t7TFPKI4gvu_TfHQZlc81P6dWtJeCVYfp7pbu6Yus_G-yFY4Ya31m-DGyzi6fqfIEeS0XM3RwW9UQmbEpDrJu_U1b1g2T2adXOfJv1/s640/blogger-image-1190977525.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4M3gB2Bp14wsrOONpj9QZ6UqTZYUezOa7VtgFI_t7TFPKI4gvu_TfHQZlc81P6dWtJeCVYfp7pbu6Yus_G-yFY4Ya31m-DGyzi6fqfIEeS0XM3RwW9UQmbEpDrJu_U1b1g2T2adXOfJv1/s640/blogger-image-1190977525.jpg" /></a></div>Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-28278281722190607262012-09-08T14:14:00.000-05:002012-09-08T14:18:22.924-05:00KidsKids.<br />
<br />
Just the word alone has really been bothering me lately. I think it is more the plural part of it more than anything. After Sam passed away I would say "kids" in conversations, get that puzzled look from people as they glance over at the only "kid" standing near me. That usually was my cue to either tell Sam's story or interject his name.<br />
<br />
Now there's no explaining to be had.<br />
<br />
I say the word "kids" and people can undoubtedly agree, "yes, kids".<br />
I don't like it.<br />
I miss the opportunities to tell my son's story and spread awareness about stillbirth.<br />
<br />
I find myself using the phrase, "the girls" more lately. To me, this is a way of not forgetting to include same in my "kids" ratio while still referring to my only living <i>kids. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i>Do you ever think about that? Think, that one small word could rock someone's world and send them into a valley of grief or anger?<br />
<br />
Who know such a stupid word would bother me so much. Maybe there will be a day that I won't think of it that way. Maybe there will be a day that I don't have to feel the need to tell Sam's story to the world (i doubt that will ever happen). Maybe people will hear me when I say kids and know that I am including Sam into the factor.<br />
<br />
I could always talk to people about my THREE kids...<br />
<br />
Until then, my <i>girls</i> and I know who's missing from the <i>kids</i> in our family.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DhSdiItxL1gvXuagDsX1QXUQzCamohH4MIQJ4hcuavW-Gc_gD2Ht-rxCLF7iK2NvN6Rbaa5xmcg8X8KS_o4oqdoDa5qCTWDwHvj6sv84FyzJ-18WomjL07fDzRJZwqDN6X5BM4HAn6In/s640/blogger-image-1286923075.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DhSdiItxL1gvXuagDsX1QXUQzCamohH4MIQJ4hcuavW-Gc_gD2Ht-rxCLF7iK2NvN6Rbaa5xmcg8X8KS_o4oqdoDa5qCTWDwHvj6sv84FyzJ-18WomjL07fDzRJZwqDN6X5BM4HAn6In/s640/blogger-image-1286923075.jpg" /></a></div>Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-88885201487843246932012-08-29T09:28:00.001-05:002012-08-29T12:25:33.186-05:00Those moments.Have you ever had those moments when there's just someone missing. You know if they were there they would love what you were doing. If they were there the moment would feel perfect. You want so bad to call them up and invite them, but you can't. You can't invite them or share the experience with them because they've died. <br />
<br />
Last night was one of those moments.<br />
<br />
We had a couple hours of opportunity open to go on the boat. The weather was perfect and it was a weekday so the lakes would be quiet. We packed up and headed out as quickly as possible so we could collect as much sunlight as possible. This was vivianna's first ride on the ski boat. <br />
<br />
That's when it all came rushing it. It's like a whole football team charging you at once. You can see what's coming and put on your padding to cushion the hits but when you do get tackled it hurts worse than you thought. Almost like you shouldn't have bothered with the pads, they didn't help! <br />
<br />
Vivianna's first boat ride…Sam never had a first boat ride. Another dream shattered and torn from me. <br />
<br />
Damn it! I wish he was here. I wish he never had to leave me. <br />
<br />
Sam, were you there? Were you with us?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On our way home we saw this beautiful sunset filled with so many colors. I asked Michalina what she thought of Sam's beautiful work. Her response, shouting to the heavens, "Thanks Sam for the beautiful sunset!"<br />
<br />
Lucas and I well up with tears.<br />
<br />
With the sunlight reaching through the tiny crevasses the clouds left, I ask her, "Do you know what those are? Those are the angels singing." <br />
<br />
She remains in the intense stare at the sunset and reveals the most content, happy, proud smile.<br />
<br />
I will never forget that smile it was as if Sam reached out and hugged her. She was immediately connected to him. <br />
<br />
Those moments when someone's missing and he reaches out and fills your heart with love.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj09ttcj0cvnL03ym1-TaLGyh0dln5WQwCXxAHegH8MR9E8wVngpkWxl3InGMhwL-Xk71TfUJAH4EpDQ5hNzUr6eQX3BOcxwRwylOKwVSHgc1q5pX5-xVUuqCwi0YfM2Zc2JvXKtX2TwUcr/s640/blogger-image-1936720338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj09ttcj0cvnL03ym1-TaLGyh0dln5WQwCXxAHegH8MR9E8wVngpkWxl3InGMhwL-Xk71TfUJAH4EpDQ5hNzUr6eQX3BOcxwRwylOKwVSHgc1q5pX5-xVUuqCwi0YfM2Zc2JvXKtX2TwUcr/s640/blogger-image-1936720338.jpg" /></a></div>Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-80004586667200683072012-08-18T10:59:00.001-05:002012-08-18T11:11:35.181-05:00Time and memoriesEver feel extra attached to your rainbow for fear that it might be your last day together? <br />
<br />
Today is one of those days for me.<br />
<br />
Yea, I am that freak of a BLM that constantly checks to see if her baby is breathing, kisses and tells her baby "I love you" every hour, and protects her with every thing I have. But this time around in motherhood I don't care what people think about that. <br />
<br />
Today it's worse. I find myself staring at her to burn her sweet face into my memory. I'm trying to recall every moment today to retrieve for my "happy" memories later. Begging for the moment to never end. <br />
<br />
To know what it's like to loose a baby is gut wrenching but allow it to play out in your living children is disturbing. I hate that I think this way but I'm afraid if I don't I'm going to take my girls for granted. <br />
<br />
I don't want to die with regrets. <br />
My family is my world.<br />
<br />
Holding moments and memories close to my heart and clinging to hope. <div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU98ZmiEKKHF-Wc7klRRjek-RMFYhOmZHNawbcHf3e1wSNEJlGtT6y8Wp4vAScP80VQSREbl1-0qxD-lP_TudvWeQI_HtMvtWzsyHj22e5lA16BgkWjYEgZGnY1OrC2hY-LIDF0urPoXYl/s640/blogger-image-1355141329.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU98ZmiEKKHF-Wc7klRRjek-RMFYhOmZHNawbcHf3e1wSNEJlGtT6y8Wp4vAScP80VQSREbl1-0qxD-lP_TudvWeQI_HtMvtWzsyHj22e5lA16BgkWjYEgZGnY1OrC2hY-LIDF0urPoXYl/s640/blogger-image-1355141329.jpg" /></a></div>Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-50610694831081098162012-08-11T04:00:00.001-05:002012-08-11T04:04:17.866-05:00WhirlwindI'm not sure I know where to begin. I've thought about this post for weeks. How I'm going to tell my fellow bloggers what it's like to birth s rainbow and the emotions that come with it, but I've delayed. Partially intentional and partly not. <br />
<br />
I just have yet to sort through these emotions. I don't even know where to begin. I almost feel like I'm in those early stages of grief again. Those days I felt twenty emotions all at once. I live day to day knowing and feeling incomplete while gazing I to the eyes of joy. I can't look at Vivianna with out thinking how happy she has made me…us. But I also see my son. This doesn't make me sad it just makes me think. If that makes any sense. She is here because he is not. <br />
<br />
I listen to the random Michalina-ism's and my heart melts. Today she told the lady I've become close with at Sam's park, "look isn't she the cutest alive baby ever?" <br />
Why does she have to live this life. The life of a selected four year old to have held her dead brother. The life of a big sister that has to visit a mausoleum to "see" her brother. <br />
<br />
I look at her interacting with V and see a family missing one. We will always be incomplete. I will always be missing my little boy. <br />
A life I still wouldn't trade. A life touched by my angel boy. <br />
<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmBb-yNg7jyMntbHyjLmRlXR4CmyiO3zOevrXOg4_FT5v-OawON7tMSDo_6AGQNE8GXV8zk20kKPLrWaqrzrxlbEwg3-QvwnSA7RMxzgM8ux651KkXlpkEJz29ucttftVc6GdpuY__2Us/s640/blogger-image--960591081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlmBb-yNg7jyMntbHyjLmRlXR4CmyiO3zOevrXOg4_FT5v-OawON7tMSDo_6AGQNE8GXV8zk20kKPLrWaqrzrxlbEwg3-QvwnSA7RMxzgM8ux651KkXlpkEJz29ucttftVc6GdpuY__2Us/s640/blogger-image--960591081.jpg" /></a></div>Stefaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15921513006762299505noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7855368765817928719.post-88100537702904443922012-07-16T18:15:00.002-05:002012-07-16T18:15:55.132-05:00She's here...Well without further a due...I had my rainbow on Thursday! Vivianna Samantha was born at 3:51 pm. Of course named partly after her big brother. She is doing well and so is the rest of our family. I will post more of her birth story when I have a bit more time. I wanted to share her picture and arrival with you all because I know some of you have been patiently waiting.<br />
Thank you all for you continued prayers and thoughts throughout this journey. I couldn't have done it with out you.<br />
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