Infant Loss Remembrance Day

No time for a long post today (or any day for that matter lately!).

Today is Infant Loss Remembrance Day. A day to think about all the babies who were taken too soon. A day to remember them and realize how much they touched our lives in their short time with us. A day to think about those mothers and fathers who have missed out on so much with their little ones. A day for those of us that have lost our sweet babies to spend some time openly loving them and missing them. A day for those of you who know us to grieve with us and let us know that even though our little ones are not with us you still think about them.

As my life gets more hectic with a preschooler and toddler I find that I do not have as much free time to devote to this blog, the support boxes, or just thinking about Benjamin. But when I do sit down and think about him it still tears my heart apart. I think about what I don't get to do with him. I think about all the lost memories with him. I think about what he would be like now as his 2nd birthday approaches. I think about how I don't remember him as well as I used to. I think about how active he used to be in my belly, especially when I was sewing for him. I think about how perfect his feet were. I think about how much I love him, even without watching him breathing and living. I think about him as only a mother can.

I love you Benjamin. I miss you.

Terrified of death

I'm assuming it's normal that since I've lost a child I am terrified of losing another one. I know the pain firsthand. But how do you shake that constant nagging fear in the back of your head? How do you not read a story of a baby or child dying and immediately feel that all consuming fear of the exact same thing happening to your child? I realize it's irrational. I realize the chances of Lexi or Jackson dying is minimal. I know more kids live than die. But I've been there. I've been that rare statistic.

A few months ago I got an email about an almost-three year old boy in England that was abducted by two 10 year old boys and then tortured and murdered. The story sickened me and affected me so much that every time I think about it I cry. I just imagine that little boy being Jackson and him being so excited that these older boys want to play with him that he'd go with them. Then to have all of that horror happen to him? Just leaves me with such a heavy feeling around my heart. That poor boy and that poor family. Even though I know that cases like that are incredibly rare it still makes me so fearful that something like that could happen to Jackson. Not to the point of wanting to put him in a bubble or never leave the house, but just fearful enough that my heart skips a beat whenever I hear of children dying.

Then today a friend of mine posted that a friend of hers lost her one year old daughter. She choked on a piece of an apple she found while crawling on the kitchen floor. Something so random and her beautiful daughter is now gone. Just breaks my heart. And of course my mind soon went to the fact that soon Lexi will be crawling and getting all the random stuff on the floor (crumbs, cat food, small toys, coins, etc). I know that we will child proof the house and there won't be stuff that she can choke on just lying around, but with a 3 year old you never know what you will find at any time. I'm sure my friend's friend also child proofed their house. You just can't always be on top of everything. And look what can happen.

How do you deal with this? How do you block out all the fears? How do you read stories of babies and children dying and not immediately internalize it? I know one solution is just not to read the stories, but I cannot do that. A big part of me wants to read them because I feel that the more people that read them then the more people that this too-short life has touched. If I can be a little more cautious with Jackson, or be more mindful of stuff on the floor with Lexi then it makes the other losses a teeny tiny bit less tragic (okay, not really, but you know what I'm saying). But every story makes me bawl and then stirs up all those fears. Is this normal?

Congratulations C&L!!

I know that I've mentioned that I co-founded a support group in town for bereaved parents (specifically stillbirth and infant loss). The turnout for the group has been surprisingly minimal, but there are a core group of about 5 of us that attend the meetings and keep in touch. It's interesting because of the 5 of us we have one mom who lost her baby girl at 19 weeks, another who lost her baby boy very shortly after birth, another who's son died a few weeks after birth, another who lost her baby girl at term, and then me. There have been many meetings where it is just the other full-term loss mom there with me. We've talked a lot about our loss, but also about our hopes for the future and our day to day lives. I feel a real connection and bond to this woman.

So I could not have been happier when she told me that she had started the process to adopt a baby who was to be born in June (this was back a few months ago). It was not something that she told many people because they were, understandably, scared that the adoption wouldn't work out and they'd have to face another loss. We talked a lot about how a new baby changes your life after you have lost a baby. I told her the different emotions I went through when I was pregnant with Lexi, and then when I gave birth to her. I told her the conflicting emotions I felt when I had that first ultrasound that told me that this new little bean I was carrying was a girl, not a boy. The confusion, heartache, and excitement that created. It was as if in that second Benjamin died again, I could no longer pretend that I was carrying him again and he was getting that second chance to live. Now I was carrying a brand new baby. That was exciting but also heartbreaking. When my friend went with the birth mom to the ultrasound and they were told that the baby was a boy my friend later told me that she was better prepared because she remembered what I had told her about my experience. I'm glad I was able to help. You never know how much something can affect you until you live it.

On June 10th I got the email that I had been excitedly waiting for. My friend's new son was born!! You could feel the joy and love just coming off the computer screen through her email. I could not be happier for her and her husband as they welcome this little baby into their lives and hearts. I have only known her since her daughter was born last September and I can't wait to see her happy and holding this new little love of her life. I'm sure her daughter would be proud of the mommy that C gets to be to this baby. She's been a mommy for almost a year now, but now she gets to show the world outright the wonderful mom that she is.

Congratulations C&L. Both little K's could not have better parents.

19 months

Benjamin should be 19 months in two days. He would now be older than Jackson was when Benjamin was born. I remember how old Jackson seemed to me at that time. Barely a toddler anymore, more a boy. An older brother. How can it be that my sweet baby Benjamin should not be a baby anymore? He should be able to talk, run, jump, throw temper tantrums. He should be able to chase Jackson around and have matches to see who can yell the loudest. He should be here to help Jackson look after their baby sister. He should be Lexi's other proud older brother who is so excited for her to be able to play with him. The three of them should be our terrible trio; the three wonders who make us so happy to be parents and naively believe that parents do not outlive their children.

I love all my children. Some days I honestly believe that Lexi has, in a way, replaced Benjamin. Whenever I think that it makes me sad. I don't post on here very often because it makes me wonder if I am a decent mom to Benjamin. Do I mourn him to the extent that I should? Have I now had my 'rainbow baby' and thus pushed him to the back of my mind? Was he just a brief period in my life? One that is now overshadowed by the yummy baby in my arms?

I talked to a friend yesterday who has a friend that lost a baby at 3 days old. His birth and anniversary of his death are next week. Every year this friend sends a card to the family, to let them know that she still thinks about their son every year. While I talked with her I surprised myself because I found myself thinking that this woman who has lost her 3 day old baby has more of a rite to mourn her son than I do. He was born alive and then died. Why am I always stuck on this? Why do I think that just because Benjamin was not born alive then I don't have the rite to mourn him? I know that his death was the saddest day of my life. I know that I have a rite to mourn. I do, I know all of this. But I suppose since I never saw him alive then I have, in some way, convinced myself that he was never mine to start with. Does that make sense? Not really. I 'knew' him while he was safely tucked away inside me. I knew him as only a mother can. And yet, I don't feel I am 'allowed' to mourn him as I would a baby who was born alive. In the back of my mind I question whether I really feel that I lost a baby, and not 'just' lost a pregnancy. And trust me when I say that that belief pisses me off when other people have it! I know he was a baby, he was a big baby, he was perfect in every way (other than that pesky living part, yes I use dark humour to cope). I think a lot of it is societal. People don't talk about stillbirths. No one wants to acknowledge the horror that they are. And so we parents are left to wonder where our grief falls. Is it a 'true' loss, or is it mostly just the loss of what should have been?

I don't know.

But I do know that I am truely missing what should have been; my second born son who DID exist and should look similar to this right now...

(Jackson at 19 months)

What to say...

I'm at a loss as to what to write about on this blog lately. I think that may be obvious by the lack of updates on here. Life is busy around our house and I barely have time to respond to emails, let alone come up with an entire blog post. Plus I know that if I routinely take time to post on here then I risk opening up old wounds.

And I know that's stupid. I know those 'wounds' have never healed and will never heal. But it's nice to have some days of sweet ignorance. Ignorance that I am not the mommy I was before Benjamin. Because as much as I love being his mom and having had him in my life, some days it feels easier to pretend that I am the mommy of two living children. And that's it. Yes, when I think about it (and especially when I actually write it down) it seems horrible. Horrible to say that I want to pretend my sweet baby boy never existed. But really, that's not what I am saying. Or is it? I don't know any more.

It's been 18 months since Benjamin was born. He would now be the same age as Jackson was when we had Benjamin, actually about a month older. When I realized that it sort of took my breath away. I feel like it was just a few months ago that my life changed so drastically. But it was a year and a half. A whole year and a half. That is just insane. And I remember thinking that Jackson was such a big kid then. Not a little toddler anymore, but a full out boy. I look back at photos from then and he still had the chubby little features of a toddler, but in my mind he was my oldest son, so he was a boy already. Now to think that Benjamin should be that age too just makes me sad. So I shut it out. Move on to something else.

But what is that doing? Am I not dealing with my grief? Have I dealt with my grief enough by now that I don't need to think about these things? Is Benjamin in his special place in my heart and my mind where I can think fleeting thoughts about him and not feel a pang of sadness or guilt. Are thoughts of him safe there? Every once in a while I have a moment where I get sad thinking about him, but for the most part he is just a reality to me. He is my 'stillborn son'. So clinical, so unfeeling. At least to those that don't know. A lot of people hear the word 'stillborn' and think along the same lines as 'miscarriage'. It was a sad loss, but not something that should really affect your life that drastically. It's not like your child died in your arms or something. Nothing to be saddened about for years following. Oh how misguided those people are. Benjamin did not die in my arms. I did not watch him die. To have watched him die would mean that I also watched him live. Sadly I did not get that joy. The closest I got to watching him live was the grainy distorted ultrasound image, or the way he'd make my belly contort and lurch. I didn't get to see his chest rise and fall in sweet baby slumber. I didn't get to see his chubby little baby fists jerking into the air as he startled over a tiny noise. I didn't get to see his eyelids flutter as he dreamed. I didn't get to see his toes wiggling as he belted out a baby goat cry. I suppose it's a good thing that I didn't have to watch him die. But to have watched him die would have meant that I got to watch him live. And some days I so wish I could have had both. To have known the moment that he died. To have been able to know that he was dying and give him a proper goodbye. To have kissed his warm forehead.

And that is all for today.

I'm going to be in the news

LOL, It's just our local free paper. But it is going to be an article about Benjamin Boxes and our support group. It also has a lot of information about my 'story'. I'm kind of excited about it. I'm interested to see how many people it brings to the Benjamin Boxes site and if it brings in any donations.

I am mostly excited just to get more awareness out there about stillbirth. It just blows my mind that it is such a silent topic. Everyone knows that it happens; everyone knows someone that has lost a baby. But NO ONE talks about it. No one wants to be depressing and morbid and talk about dead babies. But what does that ultimately do? It causes people to feel alone. Let's be blunt here. That's just fucked up. At a time when a person needs all the support they can get. All the caring, compassion and understanding. And yet people do not bring it up. Don't talk about her baby. You might upset her. She seems to be doing so well. Look at her smiling. She must have gotten over her loss. I mean, it's not like she lost a child or anything. The baby never even lived outside her. So shhhh, don't talk about it. She might cry again. Then what would we do? We'd have to listen to her talk about her dead fetus again.

I'm not saying anyone has said any of this to me. But I have heard from other people that similar things have been said to them. It just disgusts me. Absolutley disgusts me. Plus in all honesty, when I bring up Benjamin to some people I can see their eyes glaze over and I'm sure they are thinking similar thoughts.

So I say tell anyone you want about your baby. Who the hell cares if they don't want to hear about it. Who the hell cares if you make them uncomfortable. God forbid they have to hear about the pain and heartache that losing a baby causes. At least they don't have to live it. They can just walk away from the conversation and think of you as the crazy woman who won't just 'get over their dead baby'. But at least you get to talk about your baby. And sometimes that can make you feel so much better.

It's been a while

Other than the quick photo I posted for Easter it has been FOREVER since I updated this blog. It seems as though I have no time anymore for anything. I know I've taken on a lot of 'projects' and stuff in the last few months, but honestly it's more that I am just getting run down.

First off, I am by NO means complaining about my life. Apart from the obvious, I love the way my life is turning out. I have a wonderful husband who loves and respects me (and vise versa). I have a fun loving almost-three-year-old who makes me smile numerous times a day. And now I have a sweet little bundle of goodness who is discovering more about the world everyday, and reminding me of how 'right' things can be.

BUT I would just like a little more sleep. When Benjamin was born I remember getting so angry at people who had newborns who would complain about their lack of sleep because the baby was up all night. I remember thinking I would give anything to have sleepless nights holding my nursing baby. I remember thinking that I would gladly be up in the wee hours of the morning trying to calm a screaming baby. And so I have a lot of guilt.

I feel guilty when Lexi is up numerous times a night and I am annoyed with her. I just want her to sleep! But then I think about all the other moms out there who wanted nothing more than to hold their living, breathing, screaming babies, myself included, and I feel a little pang of guilt and disgust with myself. I should be cherishing every moment with her; good and bad. She is all I hoped for in the months following Benjamin's birth. So shouldn't I just be happy?

It's hard to come to terms with everything. Some days it hits me that I don't think about Benjamin as much; don't ache for him like I used to. I know it's normal, I know it's the passage of time. But I feel like I am moving on. Away from him. I don't want him to be a distant memory. Something that happened a long time ago. Someone who was here and then he wasn't. I want him to still be a strong presence in my life. If not physically, then at least emotionally. In a way I miss those days that I would think about him and be reduced to a sobbing mess. At least then I knew how much I missed and loved him. Now when I think about him it barely affects me. It's like I have put him in this little compartment in my mind and my heart and he is safe there. Safe in the memory of what he was and what he should have been. Safe but never forgotten. But is that healthy? Has having Lexi done the unthinkable? Has she replaced him in my mind and my heart? Deep down I know that's not possible and not true. But some days I wonder if I did both of them an injustice by having her so close to him.

I have a friend who I've been hanging out with a lot lately. She has a son close to Jackson's age and they are best friends. She also has another son. A son who was born about 2 weeks before Benjamin was born. We didn't know each other back then so her son has never really reminded me of how old Benjamin should be. This weekend they came over to my house for an Easter party and I mentioned to Brian beforehand that her son is the same age as Benjamin would be. During the party I saw Brian really watching him and I asked him if he was thinking about Benjamin. He said he was and that it was hard for him. It only started affecting me the last few times we've been over to her house. Her son is getting more vocal now and being a typical 17 month old. Jackson is becoming more comfortable with him and starting to treat him more like a little brother. That is hard to see. It's hard to see this little bundle of energy and not think about who is missing in our life. How our life is different than it should be. What Jackson is missing out on. I find I can't get close to my friend's son. I want to because he really is a sweet little boy, but some times it's just hard. I've never talked to her about it, I'm not even sure she's put it together that Benjamin would be the same age. I don't want it to be awkward. I'll just continue trying to ignore that elephant in the room.

I was on another blog a few days ago and the author was talking about how they almost seek out opportunities to talk about their son who has died. I totally get that. In some ways it's like a wound that you just feel this urge to constantly pick at and in other ways it's more of a desire to scream to the world that babies do die and everyone needs to stop being so bloody blind to that fact. I find that I am constantly wanting to tell people about Benjamin. I know a big part of it is just that by talking about him I get to be his mom, I get to get his memory out there. But there are less and less opportunities to talk about him. Less times when it casually comes up. I don't want to be that crazy lady who talks about her dead son everytime someone says hello. If I could do that some days I would.

Two years ago I had just found out I was pregnant with Benjamin. Two years ago I was blissfully naive. It never occurred to me that in just 8 months my life would take such a turn. Two years ago his short life had just begun.

So I just hit 'publish post' and had gone on about my day, reading some other blogs. And then the tears started. Shit. I guess this is how it is. You think you are fine, you've put things in their neat compartments, you wonder if you aren't feeling enough. And then some random comment on another blog, by another person, sends you for a tailspin. It was this post (http://wednesdayswithmalou.wordpress.com/). Specifically the part about how she wishes that she had touched and kissed every single part of her daughter.

That is the one thing that haunts me. The one thing that I can't bear to think about without getting that lump in my throat and the burn in the eyes. When Benjamin was born they laid him down in front of me (to this day I have no idea where he was laid. Was it on my lap? Between my legs? On my belly? On the bed? On a table? I have no idea). We were able to see his entire body, naked. I was trying to see him through the freely flowing tears but all I could focus on was his beautiful face and curly dark hair. After a few minutes they took him to the side of the room to weigh, measure and clean him up a bit. Then they wrapped him up and brought him back to us. That was the only time I saw him naked. After that he was always wrapped in blankets. Except when Heather came to take photos and she unwrapped him. Then I got to see his perfect little feet. But I never got to see the rest of him. It breaks my heart that I don't know what his legs looked like, his belly, his baby butt, his bits. I don't know if he had any birthmarks. I don't know if he had long legs or knobby knees. I don't know what he looked like. A mother should know those things. All I remember of his body is that he was bruised and skin was peeling. I don't want that to be all I know of his body. A mother should not know that.

So I guess this is the moment I was just writing about. I guess I got what I wished for since now I am a sobbing mess thinking about him. And as horrible as it feels, it does also feel a little good. If you've been here, you understand.