Day 7: Memory

Capture Your Grief Day 7: Memory

Some memories escape us, some memories fondly stick with us and then there are the memories that haunt us. When I think about my first son, I have some of all of these memories. I'm actually glad I wrote a lot down the first year after Nolan's death because with my second pregnancy, lots of what I experienced during my time as a pregnant woman has become muddled. I don't entirely know what I felt when and with what pregnancy anymore. I do remember enjoying a time of ethereal bliss during my pregnancy with Nolan which I never experienced with Ronan and will never experience again with any subsequent pregnancies I may experience. It was a time after we surpassed the delicate first trimester and before I went to the hospital that fateful night. For 20 weeks, between weeks 14 and 35 gestation, we lived happily ever after. We put together the most amazingly zen nursery, we had baby showers, we picked out a name, we nested, we took baby classes and we dreamed of the very near future. We took weekly pregnancy photos, went to ultrasounds every 3 weeks and by the end of my pregnancy I waddled every where I went. I had gained 30 pounds with Nolan. My feet were swollen, I couldn't tie my shoes myself with any ease, my back ached and I felt swollen everywhere. I had stopped wearing my wedding bands the week prior as my fingers were just too swollen to allow me to get them on. I counted carbs my entire pregnancy and took my blood sugar 3 times a day. It certainly wasn't the fun pregnancy I had romanticized it to be, but I only had one bout of morning sickness my entire pregnancy and I was more than excited to welcome my baby boy into this world. It was all going to be worth it. But then it wasn't.

Nolan moved a lot early one but as the weeks passed and he got taller and taller he moved less frequently. I assumed he was running out of room. At 21" long, he was quite curled up in my short torso. I remember nearly every ultrasound the technician commenting on Nolan's height - his long legs, specifically. Then they would look at my 5'3" stature and ask if my husband was especially tall. Nope he was pretty average height for a man. No idea where our son was getting his height. I had heartburn like crazy nearly my entire second and third trimester. Old wives tales will tell you that means your baby has a lot of hair. Ultrasounds confirmed all the hair and sure enough when Nolan was born with a thick head of brown hair I knew there might actually be something to the old wives tale after all. 

There were some major difference between my pregnancies with my sons. My husband and I actually clung to the differences as a sign of hope that things would be different the second time around. I was never diagnosed with gestational diabetes with my second pregnancy, despite the three different glucose tests they gave me just to be sure.  I also didn't gain as much weight the second time around, although I didn't lose all the weight from the first pregnancy before I got pregnant again 3 months later. I never got bloated, my feet never swelled and I was still wearing my wedding bands when they made me take them off in the hospital before my c-section. They never did figure out what happened. There are no answers as to why Nolan passed away, although there is some speculation. Obviously, the most clear images and memories I have are the few short hours we spent in the hospital with Nolan after he was born.

I remember how delicate his skin was. I remember being afraid to really touch him for fear he would fall apart like a china doll. I remember being so afraid to bathe him and dress him and so thankful the nurse was there to help. I remember thinking it was silly they put a diaper on him, but then realizing they had to to preserve his body. I remember his perfect little lips and how quickly they changed as his body withered away by the hour. I remember his long, skinny fingers and perfectly manicured nails and how Marshall thought those were perfect pianist hands. I remember putting the little hat I had knitted him on his head for the only family photo we would ever have. I remember his ears and wondering if he would have been able to hear. I remember never seeing his eyes open. And then I remember him in his bassinet as the nurse wheeled him out of my room for the last time. That was the last time I would see my son's body. The next time I would see him would be when the funeral home handed me a box full of his ashes.

Day 6: Books

Capture Your Grief Day 6: Books

When Nolan passed away a few people sent us books on grieving, losing a child, how to cope, etc. At first I didn't have an interest, much less the focus to read any of them. What I did do immediately was begin writing. I started a blog entitled Something Beautiful. I focused on not only pouring out all the crazy, angry, confused and hurt thoughts I was having but also tried to focus on something I found beautiful that day - a sunset, a thoughtful message, a quiet moment during the storm. 

It wasn't until some time later that I started to read the books sent to me. While they were nice and thought provoking, none really spoke to me. I just couldn't really relate to them as they were discussing different types of loss and grief than what I was dealing with. So I continued to blog and in doing so I started receiving messages. Messages from friends, messages from friends of friends, and then messages from complete strangers. One way or another they caught a piece of my story, or stumbled across the entire blog and began to read it from start to finish and it spoke to them. I was amazed that what I was going through touched people that had never even experienced such a loss. I was even more amazed that women all across the country were writing me and expressing how grateful they were for my words and how it helped them through their own grieving process for they too had lost a child. 

Although I only write intermittently on my blog now, I still continue to receive messages from women who find peace and comfort in my writing. Clearly, for some solace does come in the form of books or reading someone else's experience. For me, the solace was the writing process and the beautiful messages I received from women I was helping. I've been told countless times I need to write a book and perhaps they are all right, although I feel as though I already have. 

http://beautifulnolan.blogspot.com

Day 5: Empathy

Capture Your Grief Day 5: Empathy

When faced with what to say to the bereaved, I find people turn to the old standbys, "everything happens for a reason," "God has a plan," or "this too shall pass." Or some, knowing these things sound utterly stupid to someone struggling to deal with grief, just choose to not say anything at all. Then there's the friends who turn to you and say, "I'm so very sorry I don't know what else to say." I know, I had a bit of it all. So what should you do or say when your friend, family member or coworker has a child pass away? If you haven't also experienced this type of loss, please don't tell us you know what we must be going through. You don't and I pray you never do. I have buried friends and very close family members (all of my grandparents being deceased), I even buried a very special aunt but none of these compared to the tremendous feeling of helplessness I experienced when our son Nolan passed away. 

When I was in high school my five year old cousin passed away from drowning and I remember how deeply hurt, shocked and confused I was that this could happen to an innocent child. I grieved along with my family members. I saw it destroy his parents' marriage, deeply affect his twin sister and profoundly change the way many of my family members looked at the world. But to say I understood what his parents were going through would be a complete lie. Even today I cannot understand. You see, I lost my son as a newborn. They lost their five year old. Yes the loss is similar, but different. I can empathize and I have a new profound understanding for the highs and lows they went through and are still going through, but our stories are different. 

The first thing my husband said to me when he arrived at the hospital early that morning was, "I don't blame you." He would tell me this time and time again, knowing that I still blamed myself. It's hard not to. Knowing you were the one that was carrying the baby and was supposed to be protecting him, it's hard to come to terms with the fact that there was absolutely nothing I could have done differently to change the outcome.

Perhaps the thing I liked to hear the least was "everything happens for a reason." I just can't believe that there is ever a good reason for the death of an innocent child. In fact, I don't imagine anyone wants to try to imagine the reason their loved one died, especially when it was sudden and unexpected. If you don't know what to say, the best advice I can give you is to be honest. I had friends tell me they had no words but were so sorry for me and I appreciated it. I knew they cared. I knew they realized the importance of my child's life. To not say anything begins to negate the child's life as if because you didn't see him, he didn't exist. In my Mommy of Angels group, this is often the biggest complaint. We all want to know that the world, our family and our friends all acknowledged our children. I want my friends to know I'm a Mommy of two boys, even though they only see me with one. 

We did receive a lot of very thoughtful gifts and messages but perhaps the most thoughtful one I received was the one that was probably from the person it was hardest for me to see. You see one of my very best friends was also pregnant when I had Nolan. She struggled with even coming to the hospital as she didn't want to hurt me any more than I was already hurting. I know this because she messaged my husband about it. She finally decided to come anyway, swollen belly and all. I knew it took a lot of courage for her to show up there and I appreciated it. I knew most women would have shied away from me and maybe would have dissolved the friendship over this, for in fact some did. But not her.

A couple of months later I returned to work out of town and after being in my work apartment for a few weeks I received a care package. It was from my pregnant friend. In it contained a beautiful letter, some fun things to make me laugh like crazy socks and hair ties to work out in, a purple cuddly blanket (she knew to be my favorite color), some awesome smelling candles (because I always stole her candles at our Christmas gift exchange), and a beautiful nightlight to represent Nolan. She knew I had gotten a nightlight for his nursery at home so she thought I might need one to remind me of him while I was gone. It was so very touching and the most perfect thing. She followed it up by sending my husband a Father's Day card that summer. 

Not many people acknowledged us as parents that year, but she did. And when her daughter Harper was born 5 months after Nolan passed, she was the first baby I held after him. I wouldn't hold another baby until Ronan was born 7 months later. I have a lot of great friends and family that did tremendous things for us after Nolan passed, but none made quite the impact. Although it was often hard that first few months to be around her and her baby, I did it, knowing that our friendship meant too much to me to not be there. I'm glad she felt the same way.  Today our children play together and I hope that they grow up to understand the importance of friendship and maintaining it even when the days aren't sunny and bright. 

Day 4: Dark + Light

Capture Your Grief Day 4: Dark + Light

There's the old adage, "when life hands you lemons, make lemonade," but when life punches you in the stomach and rips out your heart it's a little hard to find anything sweet and worth salvaging from it. Some might think that it's just the days following the death of our son that were the darkest, and while they might be right, they certainly weren't the only truly dark moments. There were the days which if we told anyone else other than our friends who also buried their babies about them, we most likely would be critically judged. The what ifs and why us persist long past the time most people think it probably should. The why them is the harder one to admit. Yes, I admit it. There were several times when we found out someone was having a baby that was less than suited to be a parent and it just made us want to scream! It seems like every cocaine addict on the planet can have a perfectly easy pregnancy with a healthy baby while parents that do everything right and want a baby so badly are stripped of it and told by doctors there is no reason they can find that it happened. Then there are the days that are just dark for no reason. They days you wake up crying and fight with your husband for absolutely no reason.

But the absolute darkest day for me I barely remember. It started at about 1am when I was told they could no longer find a heartbeat. My husband was 3 hours away for work and I was in the triage room by myself, waiting for my mom to arrive. I had drove straight there from work after not having felt the baby move for a few hours. My worst fears were coming true. I watched the ultrasound of my baby and the blank face on the doctor. He had to bring another doctor in to confirm. As if being told it the first time wasn't hard enough but I had to be told a second time. Then I was given the decision. Stay, be admitted and be induced to give birth to your dead baby or go home and wait it out; eventually my body would go into labor naturally to rid itself of the dead baby. Wow. What wonderful choices you give me. I just looked at my mom unable to even speak. She asked a few questions, I called my husband told him our son had died and heard him just bust out sobbing and screaming "No, why!" 

The rest of the morning hours became a blur. I was admitted and the induction process began. It hurt like a mother f-er. I mean seriously? My baby dies and now they torment me? I was beginning to think I made the wrong decision but then again, was there a better option? To make matters worse, I began to run a fever. By the time my next Doctor came on duty, my husband was there, my friends were there, my extended family was there and my fever had spiked to nearly 105. The new doctor immediately took me off the induction meds, assuming I was having a bad reaction to them. I was only dilated 2cm at the time. Less than 30 minutes later I was a 10, in excruciating pain, active labor and no epidural yet. The amazing nurse I had was running around like crazy trying to get me an epidural while I screamed in pain "why is this happening to me?!" I finally got the epi and the doctor asked me if I wanted to push. I snapped no and she left me alone. Remember there was no urgency. I wouldn't be birthing a living baby. Some time passed and I'm pretty sure I slept and then she came and asked me again if I wanted to push. I agreed, knowing I would have to eventually. See most women could have mustered through the pain knowing that the outcome would be their beautiful baby they would take home. For me, labor was the beginning of the end.

Fortunately, I didn't have to push long before Nolan was born. We were given the option of having a photographer come, which I said yes to. The nurse helped me bathe him, we had him baptized, then we had our only family photos done with him. Lastly, we were talked to about our plans for his remains. Never in a million years had I imagined I would be having to decide what funeral home, should we bury or cremate our baby boy. Then I was told there was a chance my milk would come in too. To help ward it off I was told to bind my chest for several days with ace bandages. Again, I was lucky at least that worked and I wasn't forced to deal with lactating breasts.

I stayed in the hospital for several days after but Nolan only stay for a few hours with me. When they wheeled him away for the last time, I immediately wished I had held him longer, spent more time with him. But the truth was, no matter how long they kept him with me I would have wished that. The day I left the hospital my husband and I drove to the funeral home to finish making our son's burial arrangements. Those days were the darkest of my life.

No light came until the day, nearly 1 year later when my healthy son Ronan was born. Some would think that the pregnancy would shed some light on our lives but instead it just was full of worry and biweekly doctor visits. I felt as though I was treading on eggshells the entire 9 months. Every day that Ronan has been on this earth with us has brought more and more light into our lives. He is the rainbow that colors our life. We were drowning in our sorrow and Ronan was the life boat that saved us.

Day 3: In Honor

Capture Your Grief Day 3: In Honor

Nolan Eason McGee. 

Born March 30, 2012. 

I was 35 weeks pregnant. 

He weighed 5lbs 3oz, was 21" long, had a head full of brown hair, long fingers, and perfect pouty lips.

No one expected what came our way

Only silence filled the air that day

Little fingers and little toes

A baby born, but no congrats said

Nolan was born; pronounced dead

Day 2: Intention

Capture Your Grief Day 2: Intention

I spoke with another mom today who had also had a loss before she had her healthy baby. Our rainbow baby boys now both being toddlers we shared some laughs about them and expressed our disinterest in spending much time away from them, including working. We both have take extended periods of time off since our rainbow babies arrived. Time which to some moms might seem extensive and ridiculous, but to a mom who went through what we went through to have a healthy baby there can never be enough time. 

As time passed and my son entered the "terrible twos" I found myself forgetting to cherish all the moments with Ronan, even the trying times. My intention for this year is to remember just how precious my time with him is. In his first year this was so easy as the loss of Nolan was still so fresh in my heart. But as time passes, the heart heals and I got distracted by life. 

This next year I want to remind myself that I never know when might be my last time doing a particular thing with my son. Already, we have had our last time with things. I nursed him for the last time 6 months ago, soon I will change his diaper for the last time, and in no time I will be telling him goodnight in his room for the last time. Children grow up so quickly that we often forget that we might be doing something with them today that we will never do again for them. Tomorrow they could master tying their shoes and never need us to do it again for them. So my intention this year is to try to relax and enjoy the moment. After all, the terrible twos will soon be over and as challenging as they have been I know that in a year or two there will be many things about this special time that I will miss. 

Besides, at what other time in your life can you throw yourself on the ground in a store and throw a fit and have people walk by virtually unaffected by your tantrum. If any 40 year old did that, the cops would most likely be called! Embrace the twos! (Note: today's photo is not of a tantrum. Instead he decided to go to sleep in Petco on a cat scratching board shaped like a couch) 

Day 1: Sunrise

Capture Your Grief Day 1: Sunrise

Cloudy, rainy days have a tendency to make even the happiest person depressed. After a while the lack of sunshine and Vitamin D takes its toll on your body and mind. I remember in the days following the death of my son Nolan I felt I was enveloped in a cloud of haze; there was no light shining any where, no warmth radiating throughout my body. I was nothing but a heavy storm cloud on the brink of opening up and spewing forth all the anger and coldness inside me. Instead I walked around for days, weeks, months like a storm cloud twirling off the coast gaining strength to become a category 5 hurricane. And then the sun came out and broke through the cloudiness inside me. 

I was having another baby. For 9 overcast months I wrestled the darkness inside me, clinging to the hope that this time would be different, that this time my baby would be born healthy. Every day that passes didn't bring relief, it brought more angst and anxiety. 

It wasn't until I was on the operating table and heard my rainbow baby cry for the first time that the storm cloud inside me broke open. I cried all the tears that the past year had been gathering up inside me. I cried for my dead son Nolan, and I cried for my healthy son Ronan. I finally felt as though Nolan's death had a greater purpose - it brought us Ronan. I knew in the depths of my soul we would have never had Ronan had Nolan been born alive. My rainbow baby was here and he was truly the light after the storm.