And so it begins... again!

It is hard to say how time goes on and yet stands still at the same time.  Since I last wrote, so much has changed in my life.  I have been blessed with a beautiful little girl, we moved to another state, and my son is growing up so fast.  With all that being said, there are times when I am pulled back to the most life changing time in my life.  As while Gabriella is in our lives everyday, life is going on.  I try so hard not to be defined by my loss.  It is so hard.  How do could you ignore or deny your left arm? Your leg? Or your heart? They are apart of you, apart of your daily functioning.  And yet daily, I am in situations where I have to decide whether or not to bring Gabriella to the forefront of my day through conversation or some other way. 

In my bereavement group, those of us who are a year plus into our loss, we call ourselves and are considered veterans.  The pain changes, the challenges change too.  And while we move on, we are not without obstacles to us living the 'normal' life we once knew.  How do you move on? Quite simply, you don't. You embrace the loss and understand in embracing it you live with it.  Our little ones have meaning to us always. 

Now, here I stand at another crossroad in my life- what do I do now? I worked through the grief and moved on.  We are family of four now in the eyes of those who don't know us, complete with a little boy and little girl, here in this realm.  Having our second daughter was a time that called for strength.  We did it.  And now as the dust settles, the baby now being just about 4 months, and we physically leaving behind the place where it all happened, I need to rediscover and redefine myself once again.

I now live in a place where most people do not know me or my story.  I am forced to make new friends and socialize with people I don't want to know.  My safety and security of home is gone.  I am feeling alone and bored.  I have no desire to get close to anyone.  The people who I am close to now live 1100 miles away.  Why would I want to start over? Quite frankly I don't. I have to desire.  I guess I will have to fugure that out.

My Pampered Chef business is at a stand still, having no momentum here and literally starting over.  My income has suffered as well and I question if this opportunity was a 'season' rather then a 'life time' event in my life.  Ican not believe stability is not something I can find in my life.  And more than anything it is the thing I long for the most.

Readiness

Of late, I have been reflecting on this past year and how much my life has changed.  Of all the questions I have been asked over this past year, the one that stands out the most and to me is the most important, was posed to me by my aunt.  She asked me, 'how do you remain so positive and in such a good place after such a loss.'  Some of you may remember reading about it over the summer.

I too am amazed that I am not a complete basket case and wreck, even immediately following the loss of Gabriella. If you were to be told as you entered adulthood that you were going to face a loss, like losing a child, I would bet your response would be one of terror and your expectations of yourself and your reactions would be to a lower standard than that of how you would actually function.  For me, I know I would have told you that they would be peeling me off the floor if I lost a child.  And on the contrary, I walked, and I walked proudly to have even been her mother, even if for just that short time.  Now, being in the position I am in, I have come to know many bereaved parents.  We all have a different story and we all have walk our paths at different paces.  But, one thing that remains the same is the strength we never knew we have and never even asked for.  We became survivors. 

I know for myself, a lot of that strength was built up, years in the making.  I didn't even know I was preparing.  I am truly blessed to have had the experiences I had prior to losing my baby.  They have made all the difference for me.  They prepared me for the greatest challenge I have faced so far in this life.  And while some may find it odd, I am at peace.  I am finally believing and feeling all those words and sentiments, I thought and spoke of a year ago.  A year ago, I knew things would be okay, but, I didn't know how. A year ago, I feel grateful to have had her at all.  A year ago, I didn't challenge my maker.  Today, I whole heartily know, I am okay, I am totally and completely grateful and today, I love my maker even more than have.  My life has more of a purpose today than it ever has. My life is more fulfilling and my life is more clear.  I am so much happier in my own skin, more confident in myself and more aware of love.  All these gifts were bestowed on me by a tragic hand.  How blessed am I to be able to see it so clearly? I am ready for the next steps in my life's journey and I am hopeful that my experience will continue to keep my eyes as well as my heart open for the great things to come.

I can't believe...still

It is almost a year ago that I found out that I lost my little girl... I can't believe it still.  Last year at this time, I was in holiday mood and the festivities were actually festive.  I was busy with my plans for after the holidays, that would be my preparation for my baby to come home.  A year ago, at this time, I was full with belly and proud to be so.  I was carrying well and daughter was a busy little acrobat. 

Today I can't believe it happened to me still.  I can't believe I am still a bereaved parent, and now after a year of my life has been spent grieving I think the acceptance process may begin.  I know early on, it may have seemed that I 'accepted' the lose, but, truly by accepting it I simply was not rejecting the notion of it.  Now accepting it means something different.  It means realizing she is gone and never coming back.  And I think that is the most frustrating, sad and lonely part for me.  All the tears in the world will not put her back in my arms.  And it is so hard to believe, but, I think I am starting to realize I have to.

An entire year has past and nothing has changed and all the same life has gone on.  And it is so hard because apart of doesn't want life to go on.  Apart of me wants to be in that moment forever, while my baby was still apart of me, inside of me and with me.  I don't want to lose her even though I already have. 

Anger is a more identifiable emotion for me now.  I am a bit angry that I can't change it and this entire year has taught me it is real.  With every 'first' that has past, it has become more and more real... she is gone.  Our first family wedding back was hard for me, our Easter holiday away from the area, our first family vacation, Dominic's birthday, preparing the Christmas tree and making holiday cookies all together, all reinforces that fact that we are one short.  And in my mind, in my heart there should be a little girl crawling around, getting under foot and preparing for a first living birthday.

I wonder how the years to come will be and how it will change over time.  Will the joy of the holidays ever be there for us, for our family? I wonder when will that day come that I am not thinking of her all the time.  Will there ever be a day I don't remember her or think of her? And how will that effect me? Will my heart always feel the emptiness?

How I am different now compared to then, I don't know if I can surmise.  I can only say I don't think I will ever by the same, I don't know if I would want to be.  All I do know, is these days are hard and don't like them.

Anger and Renewal

I'm sorry if my grief makes you uncomfortable.  Imagine how I feel!
Please stop waiting for me to change or get better and consider this just may be who I am now.  You may not like it but that is okay.  As long as I can manage and live with myself  you are not of my consquence. Can you walk in my shoes and live my life?  I am not up for apologizing for being, I just am.  I am! Maybe not how you knew me or want to know me, but here I stand, slightly a mess, but still proud that I can still stand, unassisted and without fear.  I face each day with a hopfulness that today will be better.  Imagine my dismay when it is not.  And yet each day I wake and start over.  I have learned to relish in the small triumphs, let the rest fall where it may, and having faith God will take care of the rest.  And yet you can stand in judgement of my tears and evaluate my hurt and my pain because you don't like it. If I could I would trade it all to have my life back to what it was and have my child in my arms, but I can not.  Rather than worry about me, count your blessings and search your heart for the reason you think I need something more.  Do I, or do you need to feel better? Yes, I struggle I have terrible days and I weap for my loss, but still I live and I am  and will continue to be.  Maybe not what you want for me, but what I was meant to be and how God has make me.

Moving on

One of the things I've had to try to figure out since December 18, 2010, is how do you move on from your life being shattered into a million pieces.  9 months later the answer to that question is more elusive to me than that very first night.  That night, I only knew in my soul, my core that it would be okay and I/we would survive. 

Now how to survive is much more complicated than I could have ever imagined.  Even with faith and love in my heart my sorrow and pain are so predominant that even breathing hurts sometimes. Ever aspects of my life and all I know, have known and have learned and believed to be true has been challenged.  Everyday is a struggle to get by and survive.  I had always wondered why obituaries read, "Mrs. Jones was survived by..."  Now I know.  We, the living, are challenged to survive our lose, our grief and our sorrow.  Mourning is hard work and a task no one voluntarily takes on.  We do not choose the death of our loved ones, we simply are left to accept it.  And it is the accepting it that is hard.  But, even with it being hard, the accepting is not the challenge.  The challenge is living with the change.  The change of the knowledge we are mortal, we are susceptible and we have no control.  All the cliches are sweet: she is in a better place; she is not there, only her body; she's happy; she's the lucky one; and on and on, are the pathetic things we say to help ourselves feel better when trying to help someone else.  When the truth is there is nothing to be said and nothing will make it better.

I want people to know, when you are talking to a bereaved parent, shut up, listen, ask questions and then respond.  We do not want to hear your thoughts or opinions.  We only want to hear acceptance from you.  We want you to accept our lives have changed, that we are difference and that we may never be the same again, and that it is okay.  Don't try to fix us, "help" us or make it better.  It won't be ever for us and that doesn't make us broken or wrong.  It means we evolved and transformed into what  and who we don't know. All we know is we must now learn how to be comfortable in this new skin we are forced to live in.  We are still your children, nieces, nephews, cousins, aunts, uncles, sisters and brothers and friends.  We just have experienced a trauma we hope you will never know.  We may be the same at times, and may be different, at times you may not even recognize us by our actions.  But for me all I ask is you love me through the pain, the tears, the laughter and the time left to figure out who I am now and how do I go on.

Heavy Heart

My heart is getting heavier and heavier as the weeks are passing and bringing me closer to the anniversary of our loss.  I realized yesterday how I don't remember last November at all.  I don't remember the little things or even the larger events, like my birthday and Thanksgiving.  I have found it surprising that I don't remember.  I could understand not remembering the days prior and the weeks following.  But not to be able to remember November 2010 is odd to me.

I am so surprised at the melancholy mood and cloud around me.  I have not 'anticipated' the anniversary to be good or bad, but the stress I am feeling is heavy.  I suppose part of it is that I am one whole year without a part of my heart with me.  I still feel the ache as my heart beats.  The emptiness there is as real today as it was then.  As a matter of fact, maybe even more so, now it is real.

I still can't believe I am one of those people... a bereaved parent.  I honestly can't.  I know I am, I am walking through this life as one, but, I am comfortable in this place.  And there is nothing I can do about it.  That is one of the hardest parts of being us.  We didn't nothing to bring us to this place and yet we are left with the burden of living it.  I know in life others have it harder and even worse than we do.  I know that.  But, can't help but almost feel sorry for myself that this is the reality I live. 

My Thanksgiving while filled with reasons to give thanks, was difficult.  My family wasn't together and never will we sit at that table together.  It is hard to 'give thanks' on a specific day in this fashion, when to me it is just another day and I am not particularly feeling thankful, since my daughter is not there with us.   I can't help but thing she should be on the brink of her first birthday, sitting in her highchair and making us laugh with her coos and self discoveries.  Instead, we go on with out her as though she was never suppose to be there.  It is hard to find the balance between remembering and obsessing about all the withouts we have.

In any event, I write because I am not sure what else it is I can be doing.  I could hope and pray, and I have, and I will continue to, but it doesn't feel like it helps.  Christmas is going to be hard. And December 19th is around the corner and I have no idea of how we will mark the date.

I remember

Looking back at the pictures at the cemetery when her marker first came in, I remember how happy I was that it was here.  I felt like the waiting for the marker to get in took so long and remember thinking it is 'finally' here.  I remember the ground being bare and without grass. I remember sitting there in the dirt and running my fingers through the loose dirt, wondering how close yet how far she was from my reach. 

Now it is a much different scene.  The marker is showing some wear from being exposed to the weather. The grass is grown in and with it came the weeds that I desperately try to cut back and dig out.  And now her grave is starting to look like every other one to the naked eye.  To all eyes but mine.  To me, she is special, that marker is special and to me it is like it was yesterday, and I remember.

Blessings

A sweet and dear person took the time to share this song with me.  I am so grateful.  Thank you Julie!
(Grab a tissue)

A Calling

In my life, I have always felt I was being called to something more.  While I could feel that pull, I could never identify that 'more'. 

In April 2008, when I was wed, I began to realize that I was suited to be a wife.  In October 2009, I became a mother and I started to feel the my empty cup, I'll call 'more', starting to fill.  While motherhood in the early days was trying and exhausting, it was more than I could have hoped for.  My son has filled my life with love and happiness.  Nurturing him was and is a delight and my pleasure, even though the exhaustion.  Knowing that his tiny, precious life, was dependent on me was a huge responsibility.  The pressure is immense.  But, as he grew and hit milestones, I knew I was doing a good job.  When I feel defeated as a mother, I look at him and his gentle nature, his ability and his carefree attitude, and know I am doing something right.

Still a nagging feeling remained.  What should I do, how can I do it.  What will give my life more meaning, more depth.  After all, one day my son will be a man, and I will be an old lady.  What makes some older people happy and others not? Healthy or ill? I believe the answer to that question is purpose.  We need to have a purpose.  Without purpose our spirit is week and can wither.  Maintaining purpose in life to me is key.  But, I still haven't found that purpose, that 'more'. 

Strangely, I since the loss of Gabriella, after the initial shock and numbness that is, I am feeling more whole than ever before.  I feel I have something to offer. I feel my more is my ability to nurture, love and give back.  All the things I have loved doing my whole life are things that directly and indirectly fall into these categories.  Why hasn't it been obvious to me? Why couldn't I have seen it before? I am to nurture, love and give back.  I am being called to service and love.  It is so simple and yet it took a terrible loss and for me to see it.  It took that sacrifice of my daughter in my arms for me to see.  It is amazing to me that she is the teacher.  That I pray to her to intercede with God on my behalf.  That she is the stronger, wiser one of us. And that she is the one who is guiding me to fulfill my 'more' and be the person I was meant to be.  My children both actually are my teachers.  They give me more than I could have imagined one person could give to another, and they do it with unconditional love and without judgement.  I am so blessed to have them both.  I can never imagine my life without both of them, Dominic in my arms and Gabriella in my heart.  I will always carry both of them close to me.

Writing

I haven't written in so long.  I tend to forget that I haven't written here on this blog, because I write all the time in my head.  So many things have happened and have been going on in my life and in my head since I last posted that I can't hardly start to talk about it all.  I mention this because if entries start to come in and seem to be out of a chronological order, it is because it is.  Some posts to come are likely to be something I jotted down as these months have past.

Now, with it just 6 weeks until the one year 'angel'versary of the loss of my daughter, I think now I must make an effort to write again on a more regular basis.  I don't know what to expect as this weeks approach, I only know that the simple fact that a year has pasted is amazing to me.  My heart still broken, the questions I may have once had, have given way some type of acceptance and frustration is fading.  All still, my daughter is gone and I miss her everyday. 

Am left with the sense of gratefulness that I can't even begin to explain right now.  The other day at an All Souls Mass, where my daughter's beautiful name was read out loud, the pastor used the phrase a, "terrible blessing." At the time I could absorb his message, now I identify with it.  This all has been a terrible blessing that you all have shared with me.  I thank you for sharing and caring.  While, I know the 'terrible' is easy to see, it is the blessing part I am challenged with identifying.  While, I can see it a lot of the time, there are times it is much more difficult and hazy to make out the good from the bad.  But, isn't take always the way in life? Making out the good from the bad. 

I want to say that while this was never the life I would have chosen for myself this is the life I have and have been given, and I am grateful.  Grateful for the blessings I do have, and grateful for the opportunity to help others.

My life is never going to be the same, nor will I ever be the same person.  I am okay with that.  I just hope and pray that the life I come to is one where I can serve and love.  I will take the good with the bad, but mostly I hope to take and give the profound love both my children have taught me.

Judgement

Sometimes I wonder if I am wise to blog and publish my thoughts. I wonder if being so public exposes me to unsolicited judgements of my greif. But on the other hand, others seem to get something out of reading it. What to do?

Repairing My Soul

There are a thousand things that have happened and continue to happen on a daily basis that breaks down my soul.  I still feel so very often feel a thousand mini daggers in my heart and throughout my day that make me sad inside and break me down.  They are from the littlest things to the biggest.  No one hurts more than the other, it is just a constant and dull sadness and pain that constantly exists inside of me.  I know 9 months has past by my heart doesn't know the time has past only that a piece of it is missing.

And then, there moments like this morning.  A morning starting off like so many others.  I didn't get to sleep well, didn't start asleep well, and got up way to early to a little boy full of life ready explore the world around him.  These mornings, which tend to be most mornings are difficult and a challenge.  How do I wake up full of the life and energy I need for my son, when my heart is so broken, my spirit weary and my body empty of energy.  I like most just 'do it' because we have to, and it is our life.  This is my life, a constant struggle and challenge to keep my head above water, wondering if I will ever be the same again.  Last night, I think I may have come to the conclusion, that 'no' I will not ever be the same.

Getting to the business of my morning emails is part of the routine. Usually it is a barrage of advertisements, groupon offers and junk.  Delete, delete, delete... and then this morning, an unusual email is there.  I had to take a double take.  A late night email from a dear friend, Laurie.  I have written about Laurie, before, she is a high school acquaintance turned dear friend, with an amazing talent for photography.  I thought it must have been an old email.  She kindly had done me the favor of emailing a picture of Gabriella, since I am away in Florida and didn't bring one.  I thought maybe that was the email I was noticing, but no, it wasn't.  She, this brilliant, humble and sweet girl, had taken a picture of my dear baby, one from the hospital, that until now I could not see fit to even look at much myself, let alone share with others, and touched it up.  A miracle was transformed in front of my eyes.  My daughter, as she would have looked in the best of situations and without any alteration to her appearance.  My heart stopped for a moment and the tears welled up.  It is my baby. It is my girl.  It is how I want to see her, remember her and love her.  My restful, peaceful, sleeping, little angel.  There she is the missing piece of my heart, there in black and white. 

My soul is still so broken and while this morning didn't magically 'fix' it all.  It is indeed a step in the right type of direction in repairing my soul.  I thank Mrs. Laurie Arends with all my heart, even the missing piece, for the gift she has given me, the gifts she has given me and with all the love in my heart for her talent and generosity. And while there is a missing piece of my heart there is also, know a new part of my heart that belongs to her. Thank you my friend, a million thank yous aren't enough, just know my heart aches with thanks and gratitude. 

 My sweet baby girl, Gabriella Eve, December 19, 2011. Shortly after delivery.

The Ticker

I noticed my ticker today and it is sadly moving along and getting closer to the end of the line which represents one year. I am not ready for it have been a year. It has been 9 months and 3 days since we said good-bye. So sad. My heart hurts.

The Shower

I have come to realize my shower is my safe haven. The place I go to unwind, relax and escape the cruel realities of life. I realized this today when after an especially hard day I took a second shower to as a precursor to relaxing on the couch with my husband.

As I was in the shower, the issue that was plaguing me most of the day and that had boiled over by dinner, was stuck in my head. Over and over again I tried to make sense of it all and how it could possible resolve itself. I began to pray. I prayer for the grace and the peace of the Lord to entire my heart and take away the anger and resentment I had at the situation. I found my clarity. I was to nothing more than pray about this situation and accept what will be. And so my attention turned from rerunning the situation in my head to praying on the situation. And so I did I prayed and prayed. At until it hit me, this is where I prayer for my daughter, before we found out she was gone. I should there in that very spot and prayed for the same grace and guidance. It dawned on me that the last time I prayed in that spot in that way, my daughter was still inside my body warm although lifeless. I don't know if I will ever look at the shower the same again, at least that shower.

I know while it may seem my prayers were not answered that day in December. Some many say but she was taking from you. And true she was, but my prayer was for grace and guidance and that I got. The grace I was given that night has carried me over many months. I am grateful. Now I pray the same loving spirit of God comes to me again to help in this new and very different situation. I trust it will, even if I don't like the outcome again. I will still pray and hope for the best as that is my nature.

Strength

This poem was read at my bereavement group this month.  It touched me and I wanted to share it.
I don't know 'where' I am at in my grief, but I can identify with each stage in some way and I can say I have seen myself moving through and between the stages.  I don't know that I know much about anything anymore, but, I do want to believe I am strong, even though I don't feel it.

Strength

In the early days of my grief,

a tear would well up in my eyes,

a lump would form in my throat,

but you would not know-

I would hide it,

And I am strong.

In the middle days of my grief,

I would look ahead and see that wall

that I had attempted to go around

as an ever-present reminder of a wall yet unscaled.

Yet I did not attempt to scale it

for the strong will survive-

And I am strong.

In the later days of my grief,

 I learned to climb over that wall- step by step-

remembering, crying, grieving.

And the tears flowed steadily as

 I painstakingly went over.

The way was long, but I did make it,

For I am strong.

Near the resolution of my grief,

a tear will well up in my eyes,

a lump will form in my throat,

but I will let that tear fall- and you will see it.

Through it you will see that I still hurt and I care,

For I am strong.

By

Terry Jago

Break Downs

Breakdowns happen! I know to some I seem to be okay and put together about this whole situation, well, I am not as strong as I seem.  I breakdown and it usually happens and hits me at the most unexpected of times; like today.

While at a local nursery/petting zoo, with my husband and son, I saw a little boy.   This little boy first caught my eye because of his red, red hair.  The kids were playing in the toddler bouncer and having a good time.  Then suddenly, I noticed the little boys t-shirt.  It read, "I'm going to be a big brother".  My heart sank.  My wonderful bright and sunny morning started to turn to gloom and anxiety.  I actually zoned out.  So much so, that my husband had to call my name to regain my attention.  I was a zombie.  I couldn't believe the things I was thinking.  I am not even sure if it is okay to express those thoughts here.  But, I am willing to throw caution to the wind and share my inner most thoughts at that moment.  I honestly, couldn't help but think, "I hope so. I hope you are the big brother you and your parents want you to be." I couldn't help but feel sorry for them and how naive they were.  "Don't they know?", I thought.  "Don't they know how terribly wrong things could go?"  "What if their baby dies? What will they do with that t-shirt?"  Rough, I know.  My thoughts were not conscious, censored or kind.  I was not the usual me.

I wanted to feel something other than what I felt in those moments.  I wanted to be happy for that family and for that little boy.  But, the truth of the matter is it stung.  It stung me in a way I haven't felt before.  I was a bit angry.  I was feeling bad for myself.  I just felt to my core, it just wasn't fair and I miss my daughter.  It threw me in an unsettled mood.  On my way home, I decided to stop by the cemetery.  Dominic was sleeping soundly in his car seat, so I left him in the car, and I walked up to my baby.  I haven't felt the same there since the time I went there to discover her things were stolen.  In my own type of rage, I decided to clean up her grave site and throw out everything old and faded looking.  As I ripped the stuff out of the ground, I just wanted to pound my fists to the ground and cry.  Not the type of cry where the tears roll gently down my face.  I wanted to cry, and cry hard.  I wanted to scream about how unfair it was.  I wanted to do all those things, but, there was a couple there nearby with their baby.  I composed myself and thought my rage out and calmly tended to my business.  I thought about her laying there in the ground and how just a couple of feet below me was her lifeless, breathless body.  I couldn't help but feel like this is all useless.  She is dead.  All the flowers and decorations in the world won't bring her back.  I can decorate garden all I want but, nothing will change.  I thought why do I come here and do this.  I started to understand those parents of the lonely graves, the ones who seem to be abandoned.  Maybe they, the parents, just didn't want to be themselves anymore.  Maybe they just don't want to be part of the group of bereaved parents.  Maybe going is being stuck in a moment.  But, unfortunately, when you lose a baby, all you have is a moment.  My memories of Gabriella are not plentiful.  I have to hold onto a feeling.  Without that feeling, it would be like she didn't exist.

Breaking down is not my favorite thing to do.  Not every breakdown is therapeutic, like today's.  Today's just sucked.  It hurt and it was unfortunate.  I never know where and when something is going to strike me and cause this feeling.  Preparing for it is impossible. When it does happen, it is all about survival.  I can't worry about dishes, laundry, dirty floors, dinner, bills or anything else.  I usually have to just do all I can to 'get through' it.  I take care of Dominic and then myself.  Life has to get simple in order to survive.  It has to be just me and Dominic, and everything and everyone else has to wait.  Some breakdowns are good, and a good cry helps sometimes, not today. I could have done without today.  The day was going great and as I think of it now, this event is overshadowing the fact that my family had a great morning together.  I understand that sometimes life give you lemons, and yes, we can make lemonade, but, sometimes, it just sucks.

Tough Day

Today was a weird, tough day. Maybe one day I'll write about it, but not today. Just pray for me. Thanks.

I Walk A Little Slower

I didn't realize that losing Gabriella has effected my overall prospective on life and what I place importance on, as much as it did.  Going to spend the night in New York City really brought this change to my attention. I'm in no rush. I don't care to walk fast, think fast or even talk fast. While I respect that people hustle through most of their day, I have no desire to do that.  My attitude is, I get there when I get there.

While walking through Penn Station, the subway and the streets of New York, I could feel an almost outer body experience.  There was all these people around me, hurrying, and I felt like I was floating along a street level cloud.  No one seemed to see me, but I saw everyone.  I took the time to see them.  The busy New Yorkers, the commuters, the tourists, even the babies.  I found myself wanting to engage people in idle chit chat.  I wanted to yield to the rushed person in Zabar's and make their day a little lighter.  Maybe even make them smile.

I can't say I was always like this.  I can't say I was never a rushed person.  In fact, now that I think about it, I probably spent most of my life rushed and hustling.  It was the rare occasion that I would walk at my leisure, taking my time to soak in my surroundings.  We miss so much when we aren't looking.  Now, that has changed for me and not consciously, it just happened, I just didn't notice it until now.  I actually have to say I like this new change.  Those of you who know me, know I try to find the "good" in this bad situation. And believe me it is hard.  This recent, unexpected discovery is in deed, in my view, a positive change.  My conscience level of appreciation for the little things is so heightened, I almost feel like my entire day has hidden little treasures in store for me.  Everything is precious. 

I breathe and love deeper now too. Each breath is a gift. Each breath has meaning.  Each breath counts.  My love for my family and friends is just as important to me as breathing.  I love my husband.  I mean I truly love him.  He has gone from being my partner in life to being my soul's mate.  My connection with him is so amazing that when I talk about it, it sounds unreal.  My son, Dominic, has awakened a part of my heart I didn't know I had.  On a daily basis he makes my heart bigger and better.  Every little moment with him is enough joy for a lifetime.  It is addictive, I want more and more of his joy.  If I could bottle up that joy and sell it I'd be rich.

When I think  about how Gabriella has changed my life forever, I have to say it is not all bad.  I miss my baby, I miss and am sad for all the hopes and dreams that died with her.  But, I know her life meant something.  I know she didn't die in vain.  She has given me so many gifts.  And it is through embracing her gifts I can survive this loss.  Her gifts have changed me forever and for that reason I know she will always be with me.

Miscarrying: The First Time

I think one of the most difficult parts of any of my losses, the two miscarriages and losing Gabriella, was the shock.  I wasn't prepared for the fact that any of the pregnancies would lead to the end result being live child.  Growing up, I remember my desire to get married and have kids.  I don't remember anyone ever preparing me for the fact that things don't always turn out that way.  I am certain I don't remember it, because no one ever does.  No one ever looks into a child's hopeful eyes and says, 'one day you'll grow up, get married, and have a miscarriage or lose a baby.'  No one ever asks a glowing newlywed, 'how many times do you think you'll be pregnant and how many living children do you think you'll have?'  We simply don't talk about these things.  Not even the medical professionals.  No doctor ever told me that I had a 1 in 200 chance of having a stillborn.  I was not prepared.

When I had my first miscarriage, my husband and I were wildly in love and not even engaged yet.  The pregnancy was, for a lack of a better term, an 'oops.'  After 3 at home pregnancy tests and the shock of the fact that I was indeed pregnant wore off, I came to terms with this new little one growing in side of me.  And like every new, expecting mother, I began to plan and imagine life as a mother.  Little did I know that 11 weeks later, my pregnancy was going to be called a "missed abortion".  A term to this day I think is completely inappropriate and heartless. 

I clearly remember the night prior to going to the doctor's office to find out the news.  I was having cramps.  Up until that point, I still hadn't had an ultrasound.  I remember the cramps being uncomfortable and feeling that something was not 'right'.  I was in so much discomfort, I sent Thad, now my fiance, out for some Tylenol.  Not wanting to alert him to my condition, I down played my pain and tried to sleep.  The next morning I called the doctor's office.  To be honest, I don't even remember if I was bleeding at that point.  I got into the office as an emergency appointment and directly to the ultrasound room.  Boy I was naive.  I thought I was going be seeing my baby for the first time, and instead all I saw were the troubled faces of the two ultrasound techs in the room.  I was in the room alone, with no one to comfort me, and the techs would not tell me anything.  I was escorted to a regular examination room, where Thad and my mother joined me.  The doctor walked in and I was informed I was miscarrying.  The words ripped through me like a knife, a dull, serrated knife.  Thad was devastated.  His raw emotions were overwhelming.  He was just as torn as I was, just as hurt and just as heartbroken.  We were broken.  I remember my tears being so heavy, that I couldn't see out of my eyes.  Everything was blurry.  Just as blurry was my comprehension of the whole situation.

What was a miscarriage? Why do they happen? Why did it happen to me?  I was left with so many questions, and such a deep sadness. It hit me like a ton of bricks.  I never stopped to think, 'what if I have a miscarriage.' And aside from the doctor telling me on my first visit, 20-25% of all pregnancies end in first trimester miscarriage, I was completely oblivious to the idea that I could miscarry.  I simply was not prepared.  Losing the baby was hard, but not being prepared for this cold fact of life hit me hard. 

I was quickly whisked from one office to another.  And there through my blurry eyes and heavy head, a woman began to try to talk to me about scheduling a D&C.  I had barely absorbed the doctor's words and the heartbreaking news, and now this woman wanted to know if I can come in tomorrow for a D&C and how I was going to pay for it.  I was in between insurance and made too much money for state aid, so I was a cash patient, and this woman behind the desk wanted to know how I was going to pay for the procedure.  I was a wreck and couldn't even begin to think about these things.  Thad was just as bad as I was.  Luckily my mother was there and stepped in. I was scheduled for a D&C the next morning.

The experience left me feeling betrayed by my body, violated through medical intervention, and very sad.  Yet, life was to go on.  My world was rocked and yet it seemed as though it was no big deal to the world around me.  However, one of the most surprising parts of having a miscarriage were all the women who 'crawled out of the woodwork' to offer their support and share their experience.  Woman I had known for a significant amount of time to those I knew less than a year, came to me to let me know how sorry they were and let me know they have been there.  I couldn't help but think this is a silent epidemic.  It is happening everywhere and everyday and no one is talking about it, not openly at least.  I felt betrayed again.  Why didn't anyone warn me, I thought.  I think that was a pivotal point in how I unknowingly started to be prepared for losing my beautiful Baby G.  Not so much, preparing to cushion the blow, but I opened my mind to the idea of talking openly about my experiences.  I decided back then I was going to talk openly about my miscarriage, whether it made other people uncomfortable or not.  I was going to talk about it as I saw fit, in a hope that talking about it would bring some light to this sorrow so many women endure silently, sometimes never even sharing with their best friend... that they have had a miscarriage.  I have always worn my heart on my sleeve, those who know me know that to be true.  I decided to continue to do so, never knowing that one day almost 5 years later my candor would lead me to write about the most tramatic events of my life and how they have brought me to where I am today... this is my story.

"My best Customer"

I spent this weekend in Jersey with my son.  I visited my aunt, her son and another aunt came from Connecticut too.  Well, I enjoyed my time so much. I enjoyed Dominic so much.  My favorite part of the trip were the few hours we spent at Pt. Pleasant. 

My son is a happy kid.  He loves "rides".  He sees them and start, "rides... rides." I didn't know going around in a circle could be so much fun.  I loved it.  He enjoyed his ice cream too.  I can resist to get him a soft serve in a cone.  I think I like watching him eat it more than he actually likes to eat it.  He warms my heart, and I am so aware of my appreciation for him. 

Another great thing was my aunt calling Dominic her, "favorite customer."  He loves to eat and eat he does, especially this particular weekend.  Every time she offered him food, he was a taker.  She affectionately called him 'my best customer'... I loved it... too funny!!!! What a kid.