Closing the book on 2015

As we now reach the last day of 2015, I am finding I have mixed emotions with closing this chapter.   I often thought, about how I was excited to say good riddance, and maybe even "F you" to 2015 but as we come closer to officially ending this year, I have some things I don't want to turn the page on.

2015 was by far the hardest year of my life.  It began with the last days of our journey on carrying Elisa despite knowing she likely would not live.  Those days were hard, trying to find joy and cherish the time we had, while also being overcome with worry and sadness of knowing our child would likely die.

And then there was her death.  Even though we knew one of our appointments would likely begin with an ultrasound with no heartbeat, nothing can ever prepare you for when it actually happens.  Then being told that you have a choice to go straight to the hospital and deliver your deceased child, or if you want to go home and gather your things and come back to the hospital.

We chose to go home, gather our things and some of Elisa's things and went back to the hospital. I labored through the night and into the early morning, and at 11:05am, 20 days in to 2015, our daughter was born still.

The hits of 2015 kept coming, when in July of this year, Mark's oldest brother Serge passed away.  Mark has lost so much in these last few years, his father, two daughters and then his brother.  Mark is my everything and to see him go through all of this loss is excruciating.  He is an amazing man, and has kept his core, loving, caring personality through all of this, but he shouldn't have to, he has seen enough sorrow for one life time.

2015 also knocked us down in our continued journey through infertility. We've been back on the road to trying again for 8 months now, and still no luck.  We know it takes time, but after each of our pregnancies taking us a while to get pregnant, and then each of those ending in loss, it is really hard not to wonder if it will ever happen for us.

Despite all of these hits in 2015, as we get closer to 2016 I am finding that there are certain things in 2015 I don't want to leave behind.

2015 was the last year that Elisa was alive, she lived for 19 days in 2015, but her heart will never beat in 2016

2015 was the first and only time I was able to hold Elisa in this world.  As much as January 20th, 2015 was the hardest day of my life, to go through labor knowing she was already gone, and to have to say goodbye forever that evening, that day was also the best day of my life, because Mark and I were able to hold, kiss and just be with Elisa.

This is the 4th New Years Eve where we have been waiting in hopes of building our family.  I am discouraged to think 2016 may be another year of sorrow, but I also can't help but hope....

Art and quote from Frachesca Cox

Christmas Split Between Heaven and Earth

This is now the 4th Christmas in a row where we have been longing for a child, but do not have one here with us.  Three Christmases ago we were naive, hoping for a baby and expecting that it would happen quickly. Two Christmases ago we had lost Luca earlier that year, heartbroken that she wasn't here with us, and beginning to worry that it was taking us long to get pregnant again.  Last Christmas was the only Christmas I have ever spent with my baby physically here, although not born yet. We did the best to make the best of our Christmas with Elisa, but we were worried about her.  We knew it was very likely that 2014 would be the only Christmas we would ever spend with her living, and we didn't know how much time we had left with her.

Putting up the tree and lights this year, also reminded me of where we were at last year.  Last year, at this time of year, I was on full bed rest, only allowed up for 15 minutes total a day. Mark so lovingly put up the tree and the decorations and my dad put up our Christmas lights.

This year I was happy to be able to help with the decorating, and to put up the tree with Mark, but it also reminded me of what I could not do last year, because I was fighting so hard to do anything to give Elisa a chance.

Despite the better sweetness of this, we did our best to continue our Christmas traditions, like we know our girls would want us to.

We decorated the mantel and put up the stockings.  In 2013 I made stocking for Luca, but I never hung it up, partially because it was too hard, and also because before losing Elisa, I didn't really open up about our miscarriage with Luca.  This year I also made a stocking for Elisa, and so I decided to hang all four up. Some might think it is weird, or odd, but to me, I wanted to include our girls in our holiday traditions.

We still have the whale themed flags from Elisa's gender reveal party on our mantel, so we decided to just add the holiday decor around it

We also decorated the tree.  In 2013 I bought a baby's first Christmas ornament for Luca, And this year I purchased a first Christmas Ornament for Elisa.

My brother and his wife bought us this beautiful Christmas gift of this beluga ornament.

It warms our hearts so much when people tell us about, or send us whale themed things.  As a mother, knowing that someone is remembering and thinking of my child.

And then a very good friend of ours also bought us special personalized ornaments for both Luca and Elisa.

We are doing our best to hold our traditions, make new ones, and honor the loved ones who are not here with us.    Mark's mom and brother came up from California to spend Christmas with us.  Mark's family typically has Christmas dinner on Christmas eve, so that is what we did today. And this year at our little Vega family Christmas we had Mark, Myself, Mark's brother Dave and Mark's mom, all physically here around the table, and Luca, Elisa, Mark's dad and Mark's oldest brother Sergio celebrating with us in spirit.   A family with as many of us in heaven, as we had around the table.

Diagnosis Day

A year ago today was perhaps the hardest day of my life.  Yes, Elisa's 'birthday' was hard, but at least on her birthday we were able to hold her and spend time with her.

Diagnosis day is a day I will never forget, it is burned into my mind, my soul forever.

A year ago, we knew going in that this day a year ago that it would be a hard day, but we had no idea how hard it would actually be.  We had back to back appointments at the high risk doctors from 9am all the way through until 3pm.  Ultrasounds, Doctors visits, meeting with the social worker, meetings with the genetic counselor.

Although I knew it was going to be a hard day, I really don't think I believed it could be as bad as it was.

I thought maybe something was wrong with Elisa, but that all it meant was perhaps a growth delay, maybe that she would be special needs, that we had our work cut out for us, but we would have her, so it would be worth it.

But that wasn't the case.

The ultrasound technician was nice enough, but she didn't talk very much.  She just took her measurements and pictures, recorded blood flow.

It was when we met with the doctor that everything came crashing down.

As soon as she came in I could tell it wasn't good. She sat down on the rolling stool between the computer and us and asked for details on our history.  We talked about losing Luca, the time it took us to get pregnant again with Elisa, and the bumpy road we had already had with our pregnancy with Elisa, the bleeding, bed rest and all.

After we were finished, she started to explain the situation.  Our baby had severe IUGR, Intra Uterine Growth Restriction.  IUGR it self is not a huge problem, it is not that rare, and is actually quite common in twin pregnancies.  But in most cases IUGR does not onset until late in the pregnancy, closer to 35 weeks so they are able to induce.  The baby has a risk due to being a preime, but they are able to be delivered, better out than in. but Elisa was diagnosed with early onset Severe IUGR.  She was nearly three weeks behind in all measurements, and it had onset at 19 weeks maybe even sooner. It was way to soon for her to be delivered.

At this point, they didn't know what was causing the IUGR, it could be genetic for which we would have blood draws later that day to find out that it was not genetic, or as we found out later, it had to do with a problem with the placenta.

The doctor explained that the only real solution to save a baby from IUGR is to deliver the baby, but because Elisa was only 19 weeks, she could not survive yet.  She needed to make it to at least the weight of a  25 weeker, which would likely be around 28 weeks for her.  The doctor explained that she would likely die before she reached the size where she could be delivered, that she had a less than 10% chance of survival, and if she did she would have a very long stay in the NICU and could very possibly pass away very shortly after birth.

It was as if a bomb was dropped on us.  Those who know me well know I don't really cry in public. In fact, Mark and my mom are really the only people who see me cry.  Don't get me wrong, I cry, and after losing Elisa I have cried A LOT, but for some reason I can't cry in public.

This was the exception.  As we were sitting there, the doctor explaining our situation, and options, tears fell like a waterfall from my eyes.  Silent, but nothing could stop them.

After the doctor finished explaining things, she moved on to what "we wanted to do"

She suggest termination, but Mark and I knew that was not what we wanted to do.

After everything was explained to us, the doctor said that if we were not going to terminate, then we didn't need to meet with the genetic counselor.  They only thing left to do was head back to the waiting room where they would call me back for my blood draws.

I know we were only sitting in the waiting room for probably about 5 minutes, but it seemed like an eternity.  As we sat there, tears flowed from my eyes in huge streams.  It wasn't the gasping, wailing cries that I do now that Elisa is gone.  But silent, hopeless tears, with the reality that there was nothing that I could do as a mother to save my baby girl.

We sat in the lobby as another women, nearly full term walked by to go in to her appointment and as she walked in, another women was being rolled out in a wheelchair as the doctor discussed with her that they would like to induce within the week. I knew logically that both women were obviously having a hard time too, or else they wouldn't be at a high risk doctor, but I wanted to do anything to be that far along with Elisa, to have the hope that she might make it home from the hospital.

After the blood draw we headed to the car to go home.  As soon as the door closed in the car, I broke down.  I couldn't believe that this was happening.  After all of our heartache of losing Luca, and of trying to get pregnant again.  All of the worry in the first trimester with Elisa.  We though everything would be ok.  But it wasn't going to be ok.  It was very likley we weren't going to get our "rainbow baby" that we were going to losing another child, and there was nothing we could do about it.

The Vancouver Beluga Whales

For my birthday this last weekend Mark planned a trip for us to Vancouver BC, specifically to see the Beluga Whales.    Getting out of town was a much needed change. With all of the upcoming anniversary dates, my birthday and the holidays I have been really down these last few weeks. It was good to get away.

I don't think I even need to say how much whales mean to me, especially beluga whales. Elisa was our "little baby beluga" and anytime I see anything whale it seems like it is a little "hello" from her up in heaven.

I knew seeing the belugas would be uplifting, but it was even more wonderful that I was expecting.

Not only did we get to see the belugas at the aquarium exhibit, but Mark was amazing and booked us the "beluga experience". We were able to explore behind the scenes of the Vancouver Aquarium and at the end, meet and feed a beluga whale!!  Mark was so wonderful to research and organize all of this.

It was amazing. These creatures are so beautiful and awe inspiring. And it felt like including my girls in my birthday. My heart was filled.

Here are some pictures from our day. Photo credit to the wonderful people at the Vancouver Aquarium

Aurora and Qila are the two belugas at the Vancouver Aquarium.  They are a mother-daughter pair, which also made this experience even more special for me.  We interacted mostly with Qila, the daughter,  shown here

This was so cool!

Mark got to shake her hand :)

They asked us how "in to it" we wanted to get, and we all agreed we wanted the full beluga experience.  That included being splashed by her big tail!

We included "beluga" in this last photo with the trainer, our guide, and the two other women who were in the Beluga Experience with us

Another Year Older

Today was my birthday. I know I'm supposed to be happy, and celebrating getting another year older, but this year was hard and I don't feel much like celebrating.

A year and two days ago, November 18th last year, was the day we first found out something might be wrong with Elisa. It was supposed to be a joyous day, the day we would get the ultrasound where we would see if we were having a boy or a girl. We had even planned a Gender Reveal party for later that weekend. Mark;s mom was flying in to Seattle specifically to come to the party and see if she was going to have a granddaughter or a grandson.

But that appointment didn't go the way we thought it would.

Looking back on the ultrasound now, I can see how the technician was taking more measurement than she may normally do, that she was being very quiet.

But to Mark and I we were just super excited to see our beautiful baby on the screen, and waiting for when the technician would tell us to look away, so we wouldn't accidentally see the gender (we wanted to wait and see with everyone else at the party).

So after the ultrasound we sat in the lobby for about a half hour while they reviewed the ultrasound and we waited for our check up with our OB.

We sat there looking at the ultrasound photos, being so happy that we finally made it this far. That things seemed to finally be going our way.

But when we got to see our Doctor we knew things were not right. She came in, sat us down and very sweetly said, "things just have to be so hard" she sat down and put her hand on me to comfort me as she continued to explain the situation. Our baby was three weeks behind growth targets, which was not normal, and they believed something was wrong. They didn't know what, or why, the equipment they had couldn't tell them enough, so we would have to schedule to be seen by a high risk doctor the next week.

We left the appointment shell-shocked. That an appointment that should be joyous and exciting turned in to dread, and that we would have to wait until the following Monday to figure out what was actually wrong.

So two days later, when my birthday rolled around, I did not feel like celebrating. I was worried and depressed about what might be wrong with my precious baby.

Now this year, as my birthday rolls around again, I don't feel like celebrating.

Those who know me well know I am a planner, and I like to have things in order. When I looked at my "life plan", I though I would have two children by now. I do, but no on sees them, they aren't here with me, and I have the ache in my heart of two losses. Even after all of that, I had hopped I would at least be pregnant again by now, and have the hope of a younger brother/sister for our angels. But even that hope was crushed.

I have succumbed to the fact that I cannot have a life that follows a plan, but I still grieve the life I wanted. Getting another year older with an empty house and  no light in sight that it will happen soon is hard. That and knowing that Elisa's official diagnosis day is just around the corner, coming up on Tuesday, I don't feel much like celebrating

Capture Your Grief: Day 31 - Sunset

Today brings an end to the 2015 Capture Your Grief Project.  As I wrote yesterday this was a healing growing experience for me.  Thank you to everyone who followed along on Facebook, and for those who have taken the time to read here as a glimpse into our world of life after child loss. Your continued love and support is very much appreciated!

It seems fitting that we could barely see the sunset today, due to the rain storm.  While today marks the end of this project, it also marks the beginning of several dark milestone and remembrance dates for us.

October 31st last year we received the first test results that hinted something might be wrong with Elisa.  Our 1st trimester blood test results came back with a 1 in 2 chance that our baby could have down syndrome.   We spent Halloween day at the doctor's office getting more test done that would confirm for sure.  Obviously we would have loved and been grateful even if our baby had Down Syndrome, it just meant a shift in what our image of parenthood was going to be.  After a long weekend of waiting for the results, we found out she did not have Down Syndrome, it was a false positive, something that happens 5% of the time.  (We found out later, that it was likely the placental problems that caused Elisa's IUGR that triggered the false positive in this blood test).

So today marks the end of the Capture Your Grief Project, and the beginning of some of the hardest times in our lives.  Less than a month from now will mark a year from when we received the news that Elisa would likely not make it to birth.  And her first birthday is less than three months away.  In addition to this, we have the holidays, which are supposed to be joyous and exciting, but they are hard for us, as we know our two girls are always missing.

Thank you for following along these last 31 days. I hope you will come back again soon.

Capture Your Grief: Day 30 - Reflection

The Capture Your Grief Project was a new thing for me this year.  It was challenging, but it was fruitful.

I have tried to be very intentional throughout my grieving process, to use my grieving as a way to move toward healing, and as a way to sit with and learn who this new person is.  Who I am now after our miscarriage.  Who I am now after carrying our second daughter, what was supposed to be our "rainbow pregnancy"  knowing she would likely not live. Who I am now knowing nothing is guaranteed.

This project helped me be even more intentional than I thought I could be.  It focused my writing on topics, some of which I have been wanting to write about, like my gratitude and intentions with sharing our stories, and others that stretched me in to writing things I wanted to talk about, but didn't know how, like secondary grief.

This project also gave me the opportunity to share my blog, something I have been wanting to do for a while now, but I was scared.  Scared of what people might think, how they might judge me.  Self conscience about my sometimes inventive spelling, that spell check doesn't even catch :) and my less-than-perfect grammar. Uncomfortable with the thought that some might think I am being dramatic or wallowing, when really I am just doing my best to be honest and real.

Despite my fears, I am so glad this project gave me the medium, and the courage to share my blog.  In a self-giving way, in honor of my girls and in hope that I can help others who are in this life-long, unwanted club of baby loss. But also in a self-caring way, in the hopes that I can help those close to us understand what Mark and I are going through, so you can know us better and in all humbleness, so we can ask for your loving support on this journey that is our life after loss.

Capture Your Grief: Day 29 - What Heals You

What Heals You

Carly Marie, the woman who set up the Capture Your Grief Project does a grief work shop called "What Heals You"

She says instead of asking "WHY" ask "What Heals You?"

I catch myself asking why a lot still, but I know that I won't find an answer. Or if I ever did, nothing, nothing, would be reason enough to lose my children.

So it isn't a productive question.

What Heals You, is productive.

What Heals Me, is talking about our losses, telling our story, telling our daughter's stories.

What Heals Me, is connecting with people, opening myself up and offering myself as a connection for others who are traveling down this road of baby loss.

What Heals Me, is being able to be honest about my feelings, to be authentic in everything that I do now, because life is too short and too fragile to mask who I really am

Capture Your Grief: Day 28 - Reach Out

After Elisa was diagnosed I balanced between wishful thinking and fear, between hope and utter despair.

One of the things that kept coming through my mind during all of the hard times was how I did not know how I could keep going without the loving support of those around me.  I was lucky to have the support of family, a warm home to come home to, health insurance and a job where I could work from home to continue working while on bedrest.

Shortly after Elisa was diagnosed,  I read a blog post of a woman in a similar situation as I was in, in that halfway through her pregnancy, the doctors told her the baby would likely not make it.

The difference was, at the first hint of trouble, her partner left her. She could no longer work due being on bed rest.  She didn't have any other family support. Things crumbled around her and when she left the hospital after her daughter was stillborn, she spent the night alone, sleeping in her car, because she didn't have anyone or anywhere to go.

I was heartbroken for her. I remembered the paralysis and helplessness I felt after Elisa's diagnosis.  Thinking I didn't know how I could go on without her.  It was the love and support of friends and family that kept my hope up, to move forward every day.  And then after she passed away,  the only reason I ate was from Mark or other family members cooking for me.  I was able to get out of bed by the encouragement of others.  I could not imagine how sad and alone that woman must have felt.

To many people, the homeless are seen as people who must have done something wrong in their lives, got in to drugs, committed crimes, and that is why they lost their jobs and their homes. That they somehow deserved the life the now had and that something like that could never happen to us. But as I read that woman's blog, in the depths of my own grief, I realized how that could have been me on the streets too, had circumstances been different.

Had I not been lucky enough to find a man who stuck by my side as we faced the oncoming storm, I would have had to endure the loss of a baby and of a partner.  Had I not had a job that allowed me to work while on bed rest, I would have had no income beginning November of last year.  Or a job that  paid me and guaranteed me a job back while I was on "maternity leave" I would have had no way of being able  to pay for my medical bills, light bills, rent.  Had I not had the support of family and friends, helping me to get back on my feet I could have lost everything.

I know that is a pretty extreme scenario coming from where I am, but it did make me think, how different my life would be, how my loss experience would have been had I not had the immense network of support I have today. I made a vow after reading that woman's story that I would not judge what brought someone to the situation they were in.

At that point in time, the only opportunity I had to get out of the house was our weekly or twice weekly appointments to our OB and to our High Risk Doctor's office.  Both of which were on first hill in downtown.  On the James street exit, we often saw homeless people asking for money or food.

It was November, it was cold and rainy.

So Mark and I decided we wanted to give back how we could.  We went out and bought a bunch of fleece blankets, and safeway grocery cards.

Every appointment we went to from then on, we handed out a blanket and a safeway card to each homeless person we saw.

I now keep safeway cards with me, and blankets in the back of the car all the time, so that we can reach out and give back in honor of Elisa our little fighter   With each card and blanket we give out, I wonder what sorrows each person has been through to end up where they are now any my heart aches for them.

Capture Your Grief - Day 17: Secondary Loss

This post is out of order, days wise, because it has been incredibly hard for me to write.  It has been mulling around in my head since I first saw it on the project list in September, before I started, and it has sat in my draft folder, half written since the actual day, 10 days ago.

This is hard because there are so many secondary losses with pregnancy loss.

Loss of future, loss of milestones.  I have various friends who have children that were born near each of my babies due dates.  A cousin who has a daughter born just days before Luca's due date, and niece born a month and a half after Elisa's due date.  They are constant reminders of what would have been, what could have been. 

In some ways, having these family members with ages so close to what my girls would be is nice.  I think every day about what my girls might be doing, if they would be walking yet, talking yet, and these girls show me just that.  I would be thinking about it anyway, they are just the physical reminders.

On the other side though, I will admit it is hard.  I see them and I wish my girls were here too playing with them, learning to roll over with them, smiling at me, with them.  It just hurts that both of my children are not here, that I don't get those experiences.  I will never see them walk, talk, roll over, have  a first day of school, a first date, get married or even have their own children.  All of those are losses.

The other type of secondary loss that has been so hard is the loss of relationships.  Especially losing Elisa, has changed our relationships with people. Being on bedrest limited our social outings, and then once she died, I did not feel like being social for a very long time.  We lost connections with people.

Also it was eye opening to us in the days and months after our loss, how grief changed us, and how some people were OK with the "new" us and for others it was more difficult.  Some people were incredibly supportive, others maybe didn't know how to comprehend the loss themselves, or maybe didn't like to see us sad.  Regardless of the reason, as a result they either saw us less, or when they did see us, suggested or insisted that it was time for our grief to be over, and for us to continue on as we were before.  But the thing is, we aren't the same as we were before.  We have been through one of the hardest things in life and we are not the same people we were before.

Relationships were also changed with friends and family members who had children around when Elisa was born.  I grieve that our niece and Elisa will never be best friends, the way my cousin and I were growing up.  I grieve the loss of the closer relationship I would have had with my sister-in-law had we both been on maternity leave together. I still catch myself daydreaming of what it would have been like had Elisa lived.  Going out the four of us, or visiting each other and exchanging stories of late night feedings and blowout diapers.  Watching our relationship as sisters grow, as we watched our girls grow together. 

Right now my grief is still so raw, and what could have been is still too hard for me to deal with every day of what is. 

I love our niece so much, I wish Elisa were here to share in that love.

I want so much for things to be different.  I grieve what would have been, what should have been.

Capture Your Grief: Day 27 - Self Portrait

When Elisa was first diagnosed, I searched the internet to find books, support groups and blogs that might help me navigate this hell of knowing we would likely lose another child.  One thing I constantly ran in to was the concept of "new normal" .  Once you have experienced a loss like this, you are never the same.

Yes I am still Maria, but I am a different Maria.

I am am the Maria who can no longer say "it won't happen to me" or that "things always work out"

This experience has changed me in so many ways, down to the core.

In some ways I have changed for the better,  I am kinder, I am more patient, I try to see the struggle and the battles every other human on this earth  is fighting, to not judge because I don't know what they have been through.

I do my best to enjoy every day I have with Mark, with my mom, with loved ones, because I know all too truly how quickly things can change and all can be lost.

I am strong because I know I have already been through one of the hardest things in life.  I am continuing to live after my child has died.

In other ways though, I have lost joy, some of the glimmer and nearly all of my innocence in life.

Things that were once important to me, no longer are.

I worry, even more than I did before.

The little voice in my head that says "what if Mark gets in a car accident on the way home?" is harder to silence.  Before, I could say, "that is silly, that is very unlikely to happen".  But a death of a child is also unlikely and it has happened to me, so what is to say something else bad can't happen?

My faith has been crushed,  My faith used to be a core strong part of who I am,  we went to church every week, we met in church choir of all places....but I don't have that faith anymore, I can't have that faith.  I am not saying I am giving up on my faith all together, I am working at it. But with so many of the platitudes I have heard, coming form people who are from a religious view, like "God has a plan for this"  "it was God's will" "everything happens for a reason" I just can't take those anymore.  I do not believe in a God who would will this to happen.

My self portrait is so very different than what I expected it to be by now.  By the time I was almost 30 (one month away!) I though I would have at least one child, and one more on the way, if not two. I do, but they aren't here, I am invisible as a mother by most people.  Couple our losses with our infertility and here we sit, 3 1/2 years after trying to start a family, with no living children, and the fear that we may never have them.  Trying to keep hope, but finding it harder and harder with each month that passes.

Slowly over time, I am finding my new normal.  Coming to terms with my new, very different life. Trying to wrangle in my thoughts of worry. Getting up each day, trying to live for my children who never had a chance to live.  But the reality of the situation is that I will never be the same person I was before all of this happened.

Capture Your Grief: Day 26: Gratitude

Although the last few years have been incredibly hard, I am forever grateful for so many things.  The best thing I think I can do here is just list them

• For Mark - he has been my rock and my strength through everything we have been through.  Losing Luca, Losing Elisa, our struggles to get pregnant.  He is the most loving, compassionate and caring person I have ever met and I am lucky to call him my husband.  He lets me cry and has been by my side in the most gut wrenching devastating times of our lives.  He also knows just the right time and when to make me laugh
• For My mom - right behind Mark in my line of support, has is my mom.  She fixed us meals when neither of us had the energy to do so, we were so engulfed in grief.  She stayed by my side during those first very vulnerable weeks after Elisa died.  I am so heartbroken at the loss of my daughters, I cannot imagine her grief in seeing her own daughter so grief stricken, but knowing she can't fix it
• All of our friends and family who have shown us support.  People have come out of the woodwork, friends we haven't talked to in years have written us notes.  Others send us random emails or texts to just check in or say that they are thinking of us. Even how we can tell a friend or family member is hugging us differently because they know this is hard.  Just acknowledging our pain helps so very much. To those of you who have done that, thank you, we will never be able to fully express our gratitude
• Friends who have traveled this road before us who helped us to not feel so alone.  Those who shared their stories, so I could reach out to you, and other who told their stories after.
• Our doctors, specifically our OB and our fertility doctor who have held our hands during some of our hardest days
• For access to healthcare, although we have had some bad experiences (excluding our OB and fertility doctors mentioned above who have been wonderful) even with the instances of insensitive care, or non-personal care, at least we have access to care, something that many other people don't have
• Health Insurance, without which we would be hurried in 10s of thousands of bills
• A home to come home to after all of the sad days
• People who "get it". Those who have walked this road before and know what it feels like, and those special souls who have not been down this road of child loss, but still have the words (or no words) that show they truly get our sorrow
• Anyone who reads this blog, or has followed my Capture Your Grief journey here or on Facebook.  For allowing me to be me, to be a mother who is grieving her lost children. For allowing me the space to process my grief without judgment.  For supporting me.

Capture Your Grief: Day 25 - Earth Remeberance

After Elisa was stillborn a friend who also had a loss sent me a "seeds of life" tree.

It came as a kit, with a pot, some soil, a single oak tree seed, and a little bit of moss to keep the seed warm and protected after it was newly planted.

We planted it the day after her funeral, and watched it slowly grow.  From a tiny little vulnerable  sprout, to a stronger stalk, that then grew larger leaves.

Now, today it is thriving in a little pot we have on our front porch, the first thing we see as we get home.

Our hope is to eventually make a memorial garden to honor both of our girls, and this tree will be an integral part of it.

Capture Your Grief: Day 24 - Choose Your Breath

The Choosing Your Breath Grief Workshop, from where this topic stems, is not something I have done yet, but one of the things that it focuses on is intentionally and actively working through grief.

This is something I have been passionate about, if you haven't noticed from my facebook posts, articles I share, or especially this blog :)

I have learned, and I know in my heart grief is not something you can hide from, avoid, or "trick" into getting around.

Although others on the outside may think I am "wallowing" in my grief, or maybe oversharing, I don't think that I am.  I apologize if I make anyone uncomfortable, but to be honest, this isn't about anyone except for me, Mark, and a few close people who have climbed down into the pit of grief with us.  Barring causing triggers for other giving (loss of a baby, loss of a family member, or any grief my posts my trigger) or drastically offending someone to their core, I don't really care what you think.

That is hard for me to think, and even harder for me to type and have in black and white.  I am usually the person who tries to accomodated everyone, to make everyone comfortable and welcome.

But my grief has taught me to put myself first.

And one of those ways is being active,  intentional, and open with my grieving process.

It doesn't help me to pretend everything is rainbows and butterflies, when I am really feeling down in the dumps.  It doesn't help any of the other women who have experienced loss either.  For me, masking my feelings only reinforces the world's view that grief is a linear process, something to "get over and done with"

But grief is something to be incorporated,  or another way I have heard it, "grief has to be carried".

Grief exists because love existed.  It can't be ignored. If you try it only comes back more powerful.

So my choice is to face it head on.  To embrace it.  Not to let it take me over, but to allow it help me in my healing.  The only way out is through

Capture Your Grief - Day 22: Dreams and Rituals

I wish I had more dreams about my babies, but at this point I haven't yet.  The one dream I did have was before Elisa was born.

It was shortly after her diagnosis, and I was worried, really really worried.  I would have to say that her diagnosis day is up there on the top list of the worst days of my life.  Only very shortly behind the day of her death.  I cannot explain in words the agony I felt in my heart being told that my precious baby had less than a 10% chance of survival, and that they suggested termination.

Those few days after diagnosis were very dark days.  Holding on to a glimmer of hope that she would be OK, but knowing I was probably being a fool by hoping.  I had many sleepless nights, worrying and unable to sleep due to pure sorrow.

One of those sleepless nights, when I was finally able to fall asleep, I had a vivid dream of a humming bird coming up to my bedroom window, and just hovering.   (Humming birds are special to me because there are always something my family has associated with my grandparents after they passed away.  When we see them we think of them sending a little "hello" to us.)

In the dream, the hummingbird just stared at me, and I felt  an overwhelming sense of calm come over me.  It stayed for what seemed like minutes, just "being with me".  I woke up and felt more at peace than I had been since Elisa's diagnosis. In that moment I knew I wasn't being promised that Elisa would make it, I actually had a strong feeling that she wouldn't, but I felt at peace. That I knew I couldn't do anything to change that fact, and that I would just do my best to treasure and cherish every movement I did still have with her. That yes, it would hurt like hell to lose her, but that I was so grateful for her existence at all, and that I got to be her mom

Capture Your Grief - Day 21: Sacred Space

We have two "sacred spaces" in our house that are devoted to our children.

In our living room there is a shelf devoted to our memories.

Our memorial shelf in the living room

It has two angel figurines, one for each of our girls.  Elisa's last ultrasound where she was still alive, the models of her footprints we had made and a glass baby with the name "beluga".   It is also where we put our "adventures with baby beluga" stuffed animal when she is not out on adventures with us.


The second space is Elisa's nursery.  Since we lost Elisa at 7 months, we had already started making her room ready for her.  First we had emptied out all of my craft supplies, since it was my craft room before, and that was quite a feat!  We painted the room (Ellie Grey of all colors :) ) Had a rocking chair put in.  That was as far as we got before her diagnosis.

We have had some wonderful people give us whale artwork that we is now on the wall.

 

The artwork people have given us.  

On the left a whale picture a friend found on Etsy that made her think of us and Elisa.  It warms our hearts when people associate whales with Elisa and remember her :)

Middle is a drawing Mark's cousin made for us.  It is a whale and a star representing Elisa and Luca, being held up by mine and Mark's hands.

The far right is drawing another of Mark's cousins drew for us, with a whale and a star and the sunset.

When his cousins gave us these drawings, we were so surprised, and humbled.  They are beautiful and brought us to tears. Tears of gratitude that so much thought and love went in to these drawings. That  they remembered our girls, and took the time and care to create these beautiful works of art in their memory.  We are so grateful for the love and support that people have showed us over the last 10 months.

 The door to her nursery stayed closed for a long time after she passed away.  It was too painful to open it, to see everything that was supposed to be.  But over time we opened the room back up again, and now it is now place where Mark and I go to sit and reflect on her life.

Capture Your Grief - Day 20: Forgivness & Humanity

Today marks 9 months exactly since Elisa was stillborn.  I will admit, I am am still not in a place of forgiveness yet.  No one specifically caused this, it wasn't anyone's fault.  But I find myself angry and feeling betrayed, by God.  God is the one I am not able to forgive yet.  I don't understand why all of this has happened.

My faith has always been an important part of my life. And an important part of Mark and my relationship, we met in church choir of all places....

But this whole experience.  Really everything over the last few years, Mark's dad getting cancer and passing away in 2012, our miscarriage, our struggle to get pregnant again, Elisa's diagnosis and death, and then Mark's brother passing away this July....it all just seems like too much,

And perhaps that is part of being human.  I may never know why this all happened.  There may never be a reason that I understand.  And even if I did find a reason, I don't think it could ever be worth the lives of my children.  Because even if I change the world through my experience (which I am not expecting to do) I would still give it all up to have my children back.

Capture Your Grief - Day 19: Music

When Elisa was diagnosed, a friend shared the below song with me, "I Will Carry You".   It is beautiful and articulates so well all of our feelings with our choice to carry Elisa knowing she would not likely make it to birth.  The sadness of the thought of losing her, and everything we would not get to do with her, and the love we had for her while carrying her, and will continue to have for her the rest of our lives.

"I Will Carry You (Audrey's Song)"

There were photographs I wanted to take

Things I wanted to show you

Sing sweet lullabies, wipe your teary eyes

Who could love you like this?People say that I am brave but I'm not

Truth is I'm barely hanging on

But there's a greater story

Written long before me

Because He loves you like this

So I will carry you

While your heart beats here

Long beyond the empty cradle

Through the coming years

I will carry you

All my life

And I will praise the One Who's chosen me

To carry you

Such a short time

Such a long road

All this madness

But I know

That the silence

Has brought me to His voice

And He says?

I've shown her photographs of time beginning

Walked her through the parted seas

Angel lullabies, no more teary eyes

Who could love her like this?

I will carry you

While your heart beats here

Long beyond the empty cradle

Through the coming years

I will carry you

All your life

And I will praise the One Who's chosen Me

To carry you

Capture Your Grief - Day 18: Seasons & Symbols

Symbols: Well this subject is petty east for me.  The name of the blog makes it obvious.  Anyone who knows me, and knows our story, knows Elisa was our little baby beluga.  So her symbol is a whale.  And Luca, means light, so her symbol is a star.  Hence our Adventures With Baby Beluga whale and star :)

Seasons: This one is a little tricky.  I associate multiple different seasons with my losses.

Luca, the biggest association I have with her, seasons wise, is not really a season, but a weather pattern.  The night we lost Luca was an odd night for weather, even in Seattle.  It was a warm August night, but with the largest and longest lightening storm I have ever seen.  The duality of the weather, warm, summer air, mixed with the tumultuous thunder and lightening seemed to parallel how things shouldn't be going this way, we shouldn't be losing our child.  Whenever I see lightening, and especially the rare times we get summer storms, it brings me back to that night.

Elisa - Since I was pregnant with Elisa for 7 months, she was with us through multiple seasons.  I do however get more reminders of her in fall.  In the middle of fall, November, was when we received the news that would change our world forever, when we received world from the doctors that for no known reason, our baby girl wasn't growing and she had a less than 10% chance of survival.  After that appointment I was put on strict bed rest, and was unable to leave the couch, let alone the house.  Time seemed to stand still through the rest of fall and winter, wishing and hoping and praying that she would survive.

Needless to say, as the leaves are changing again this year, and we get closer and closer to her diagnosis day, I can feel my mind and body remembering what things were like this time last year...we are getting closer and closer to when our lives were changed forever

Capture Your Grief - Day 16: Creative Grief

I have always loved to craft.  It is calming to me, while at the same time, I feel productive, because I am getting something done.

While on bed rest with Elisa, I did a lot of crafting, because well, I couldn't do much else, except for watch TV, work, or read.  I spent a lot of time doing cross stitch, knitting, and other crafts....yes I sound like I am 80 :)

After Elisa passed away, I had a hard time getting back in to crafting.  Everything I did brought me back to the days on bed rest, wishing and hoping that she would be OK.  It took a few months for me to get back to doing anything creative, and when I did, I only did a few things at a time.

On of the first things I did, was this shadow box.

I knew I wanted to do something for Elisa, to spend my time and energy on something for her.  I also knew all of her stuff from the hospital. was still just sitting int he box they had given us.  I was too afraid to take it out for too long, worried the papers would rip, or her blanket would get dirty.

So the shadow box was a perfect.  It was in honor of her, and allowed me to take her things out and highlight them where I knew they would be safe

Capture Your Grief: Day 15 - Wave Of Light

Tonight across the globe we light candles for pregnancy and infant loss wave of light. We light ours in memory of Luca, Elisa and all children gone too soon.

Capture Your Grief Day 14 - Express your Heart

This is my place to be honest, to be real, to be raw.  And if I am expressing my heart today, then I am going to express the truth, that my heart is broken.

When we lost Luca, our hearts broke.  Our innocence in what pregnancy would be like was shattered, and our hope was gone.  We had seen only weeks earlier the beautiful flicker of her heartbeat on the ultrasound and we heard the pounding of her strong little heartbeat. Then just a few short weeks later it was gone, she was gone.  It didn't seem possible that my heart could keep beating after my child's had stopped, but it did.  

We grieved, we grieved a lot, and we still do, but we got the strength to try again.  Except it didn't happen, month after month it didn't happen.  And we began to grieve the old thought that getting pregnant came easily.

Then, finally we found out we were pregnant again.  Elisa, she was our pregnancy after loss, our rainbow baby,  the beautiful happy sign of hope after the dark times of miscarriage.

Except our rainbow was taken from us. My worst fears during a worrisome pregnancy after loss, came true.  Our baby wouldn't be OK, she wouldn't make it, she wouldn't be the reassurance that most pregnancies go fine.  I didn't think my heart could break anymore after losing Luca, but I realized it could break again when once again I was told my baby no longer had a heartbeat.

I know I will never "get over it" This grief, these losses are part of who I am now.  But I can take my grief, and turn it in to something.  

"The truth is, that hole in your heart shaped exactly the size and shape of your child will never, ever go away. But the love that oozes from it has more power to change the world than anything I've ever known. ~Angela Miller

Capture Your Grief - Day 13: Regrets and Triggers

The time we had with Elisa I did my best to enjoy every moment with her.  We talked to her we sang to her, we took her places.  It took every ounce of strength for me to continue to take our weekly baby bump pictures after her diagnosis, knowing we were likely taking them for a memorial book, rather than  a baby book,  But now that she is gone I am so glad I have them.  I am grateful and proud of everything that we did for her, so I am lucky to not have too many regrets.

Despite feeling at peace with the time we had with her, I do have two regrets:

1. Not telling people about our situation earlier

2. Not speaking up enough at the hospital about what I wanted

We were told Elisa had a 10% chance of making it to birth in November of last year.  We told immediate family and then slowly told friends.  It wasn't until weeks later, in January that we decided to tell "the general public" and make post on facebook. Less than a week after we told everyone...she was gone.  I regret not telling others earlier, so others could have known more about her, and we could have had more support, because once we did tell everyone, we felt so loved and supported.

The second regret is a little harder to talk about.  I am not ready to go in to depth here yet on our hospital and delivery experience.  What I will say is that our nurse was wonderful and our saving grace, but the on call Dr. was not compassionate, and complications in Elisa's delivery almost sent me to the O.R. and would have resulted in us never being able to have biological children.  Thankfully it did not end that way, but I don't think I will ever forget how distraught I felt in the moments we thought it was going to end that way.

So due to the chaos of the delivery, my wishes to how I wanted my daughter treated were not followed. Before she was born, I asked that when she was delivered, she be brought to me immediately and that Mark would cut the cord, just like we would do with any other child

After she was born, neither of those wishes were respected.  After she was born, they took her away to another table, and only brought her to me minutes later.  After carrying her for 7 months and not being separated from her, the minutes away felt like an an eternity.  And then to top it off , the Dr ignored our wishes and cut the cord himself.

To this day I still have nightmares reliving our delivery experience.  Not only the horrifying part which almost landed me in the OR, and unable to have more children, but reliving when she was taken away from me.  I wish so much that I could go back in time and insist that they follow our wishes, but it is something that I can't change. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 12: Normalizing Grief

There are two simple things I would like to share regarding today's topic - Normalizing grief.  One is  this:

Grief is not something that is linear, or logical.  You can't do "if this, then that" you don't make it to a certain point in progress, moving from step to step until you are finally out of grief.  It is cyclical, it is messy and you are flung many steps backward without reason and without warning.  You are never "over it" the loss becomes part of who you are as you wander through the messy progress of Grief.

Second is this:

No explanation needed, grief is not bad, grief happens because you loved, you still love. 

Capture Your Grief Day 10 and 11

I missed yesterday, because if I am being honest, yesterday was a hard day.  There wasn't really anything in particular that caused it to be hard.  Maybe it was just hard to be "on" after being "on" all week to get through the week.  Maybe it was the gloomy weather bringing out the sadness I felt. Or maybe, and most likely, it was just grief being its unpredictable self.  It hits when we least expect it and demands to be heard.  When that happens, I know I need to just focus on self care, and so one of the many things that went un-done, was yesterday's Capture Your Grief subject

So today I will do both yesterday's subject and today's.

Capture Your Grief Day 10 - Words

Losing a child is something that is so hard to put into words. You may have heard the saying  "A wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan, but there is no word for a parent who loses a child."

That is because it is not the natural order of things.  Parents are supposed to outlive children.  Pregnancy is supposed to be a joyous time, the journey of excitement and hope that is  meant to be a new beginning; the addition of new, perfect little life to a family.

But what happens when it doesn't end up that way?  No perfect, adorable cooing newborn baby.  No lifetime ahead of 1st steps, 1st words, 1st day of school.  

All joy, all hope is crushed, ripped away in an unfair unfathomable loss.  It leaves the parents behind, lost, trying to pick up the pieces.  Trying to live on in a world that doesn't make sense anymore.  

And despite it all, the rest of the world keeps spinning.  Not that I expect it to stop.  But the rest of the world  still sees all the joy and hope and "guarantees" in pregnancy and expected new life.  And I don't blame them, I was like that once too, and I wish I still was like that. I wish I could un-learn what I know about pregnancy loss, but then again, I don't wish I could un-learn it because that would mean we would have never known Elisa, and even despite the pain of losing her, I would go through all the heartache again, if it meant I could have one more moment with her.

I guess where I am getting at here, is that no amount of words on a page can explain the complexity of child loss.  But for my own grief journey, I try to explain it.  As sad and depressing my honesty might be, I feel an obligation to myself, to my children and to the loss community to "be real" and try to show my true self, even on my bad days.

So if I could pick one quote today, for how it feels to be a loss parent, it is the one below from Dr. Joanne Cacciatore of the MISS Foundation:  "When your child dies, everything hurts, every part of your mind, your body, your heart, and your soul - every cell in your body aches, from the tips of your hair to the tips of your toes.  It's as if every tiny molecule within you is screaming in protest "No, no, no this cant be true"

Capture Your Grief Day 11 - Glow in the Woods

Today's subject is about the resources we found that have helped us along the road of bereavement.  There are two in particular that helped me immensely, and I would like to both highlight, and thank them here.

First is "All That Love Can Do" it is a blog, and a support community on facebook of women who have chosen to carry to term despite being given a poor or fatal diagnosis for their baby.  After Elisa was diagnosed with IUGR in November of last year, I found this group.  It was a fellow blogging loss mom who recommended it to me, and I am forever grateful.  The blog posts on the main blog helped me on so many levels,  To navigate the complicated and emotional road that is carrying your child knowing the time you have with them in utero may be the only time you have with them while they are alive.  The sacred dance between love and grief.

The blog and facebook group helped me to not feel alone, and they still do to this day, as I now navigate life after loss.  The women in this group are some of the strongest people I know and so full of love.

The second organization that I would like to highlight is Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep.

Our Photographer from NILMDTS, Amber,  took the photos that have become some of our most treasured items.  She was so kind and gentle with us.  Not only did she take our photos with Elisa at the hospital when she was born, but just a few weeks before Elisa passed away Amber was able to take maternity photos for us.

Most photographers wouldn't take pictures that early in a pregnancy, since my belly didn't show nearly as much as it would have at a standard, later term session.  But we are forever grateful to have those maternity pictures.  Pictures we can look at, see Mark and I and know that Elisa was still there kicking up a storm, alive and well in my belly.

Those pictures, coupled with the pictures she took on Elisa's birthday are by far our most treasured items, and we are forever grateful for Amber, and Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep for providing us with these precious photos.

Capture Your Grief - Day 9: Family

After Elisa was stillborn in January, Mark and I felt like any picture we took was always incomplete always missing our two girls. We wanted to be able to include Elisa, and Luca in our photos. My cousin had given us a larger version of the below whale stuffed animal as a gift for Elisa at her gender reveal party. We searched online to find they also made a mini-version, the perfect size for travel and so began "adventures with baby beluga"

Meet Beluga Whale, she represents Elisa (stillborn January 2015) who was our 'little baby beluga', and she is holding a star to represent Luca (miscarried August 2013, Luca means light).

Capture Your Grief - Day 8: Wishlist

The obvious thing at the top of my wish list is to have my two daughters back.  To never have had to experience the all encompassing grief that came when we lost them. My number one wish...every.single.day. is  to have them here to watch them grow.  But no matter how hard I wish, that will never happen.  This is my reality, my life story and I can't change what has happened.

What I can do is control my reaction to it.

I don't mean "bucking up" and "moving on" , I will never "move on"  but I mean what good I can make out of this horrible situation. In the words of Sheryl Sandberg after her husband died, I can "kick the shit out of option B"

My wish is that through my grief, through my posts on facebook, through this blog and in how I act in everyday life, that I can make an impact, however small, in honor of my babies lives.

My wish is to spread awareness of how common pregnancy loss is. Not to have it seen as commonplace, but to slowly chip away at the social stigma that it is something to not talk about.

My wish is that no woman ever feel completely alone in pregnancy loss, that she will know there are others out there who have been through what she is going through, and that we are there to hold her up when she can no longer stand on her own.

Capture Your Grief Day 7 - Memory

I don't have a picture for today's capture your grief, because the memory I have doesn't have a photo to go along with it. Instead I'll just share an update from our caringbridge page the first day we felt Elisa kick. It was such a scary time, after her diagnosis, but such an amazing feeling to feel her kick and show she was still fighting:


December 16, 2014

23 weeks today. Yesterday we had an appointment with our regular OB, Dr. K, as a check up. We are so grateful that baby still has a strong heat beat, 150 bpm. This was just a Doppler check and touch base with our Dr. so no ultrasound, but it was wonderful to know she is still holding on and fighting.

It was also really helpful to meet with Dr. K again, she knows everything we have been through, with struggling to get pregnant, losing Luca, and then how difficult this pregnancy has been. I am so grateful for her, and I can tell she really cares about us and hates that we are going through all of this. She let us know that even though my care has been officially transferred to the high risk docs, that she still wants to see me every few weeks, just to make sure I am doing OK. And that regardless of the outcome she plans to visit me at the hospital and help however she can.

On another note, last night at about 2am I woke up to what I was certain was baby kicking and moving! The high risk docs had said I might not feel her kick for a while, because she is so small, and  due to the placenta issues, it is so big that it would act as a buffer between us. Before now, I have felt little flutters of her moving, but nothing that I was certain of. Last night I could feel her pushing out, like she was stretching. I couldn't tell if it was her arm, her head, or her butt, but it was definitely her. I could feel it, and see it as it stretched my belly out.  I was so grateful that she was giving me a sign that she was still there and still fighting. I leaned over and woke Mark up so he could feel too. I apologized for waking him up (most of the time when I wake him up, I am kicking him because he is snoring!) but he was just as excited as I was. We both just sat there holding on to my belly and talking to her, telling her to keep fighting and how much we love her.

Capture Your Grief - Day 6: Books

Both of these books have been extremely helpful to me in my grieving process.

"I Will Carry You" by Angie Smith so perfectly articulates the difficult balance between the joy and love of still carrying your child, but the anticipatory grief of knowing they might not make it to live on earth with you.  When Elisa was diagnosed with IURG, we tried to stay hopeful that she would survive, but we also began preparing ourselves for the likely unthinkable outcome that she wouldn't. 

"Healing Your Grieving Heart After Stillbirth" was a wonderful resource I found after Elisa was stillborn and I know it will continue to be on this long road through grief.  It is full of hopeful and inspiring quotes, exercises to process through grief and words of comfort from other parents who have gone down this road before.

Capture Your Grief Day 5 - Empathy

Choosing a photo for today was difficult, not because we haven't seen empathy, but because we have seen so much. The amount of love and support we have received on our journey has been humbling; there is no way I could choose just once instance.

From friends who walked the road of miscarriage before me, who supported me and helped me to not feel alone after w...e lost Luca. To those who sent flowers, meals and cards after Elisa passed away. Those who attended or sang at her service, and honored her life with us. Friends who traveled far to see me, just to make sure I was OK. The remembrance jewelry made or given to me in honor of our girls. And of course, the little "glimpses" of belugas that people sent to us, and those who have made me or given me beautiful artwork to remember my girls.

You always seem to send something right when I am having a bad day, you unknowingly pick me up from a dark day while still allowing me my time to grieve. You lift my heart by knowing my girls are being remembered. Thank you from the bottom of my heart

Capture Your Grief Day 4 - Dark + Light

Luca means light. Adriana means darkness. Luca Adriana, our light in our darkness. So much sadness in losing her, and knowing she would't grow with us here, but light in the hope and joy she brought in her short little 11 weeks of life.

Some people seem surprised when we tell them that we named the baby we lost from miscarriage. It is easier to understand with Elisa, because she was 7 months along, people knew I was pregnant, they saw my belly and when she was born, she looked like a baby. But that is part of the secondary grief of miscarriage, many people don't know you are pregnant, so don't know you lose a baby. It is isolating and lonely. It is part of why we speak about our losses now, to share that no matter how long a child is here, 11 weeks, 7 months, or years, losing them is hard. The grief and experience is different for every situation, but the grief is there because the love was there.

Capture Your Grief Day 3 - In Honor

Simple, we are participating in this project in honor of our two babies in heaven: Luca Adriana, August 10th 2013 and Elisa Josephine, January 20th 2015

Capture Your Grief Day 2 - Intention: Love

This picture was taken nearly a year ago (at the same place Mark proposed years earlier) right after we received Elisa's diagnosis and she was given a less than 10% chance of survival. We made a promise to fill her life with love while she was still with us. She fought and stayed with us for 7 months full of love and now that she is gone we continue that love. Love for her, love for her older sister lost before her, and love to all.

Our intention is to fill the world with love. To show our love for our two babies in heaven by honoring their lives and to show love to others on this road of baby loss. To speak about our pain to normalize grief and let others know they are not alone.

Capture Your Grief - Day 1: Sunrise

The Subject for Day 1 of Capture Your Grief 2015 is Sunrise.

A silent acknowledgment of all loss parents waking up each morning, and seeing the same sun greet the day, as we each begin another day of loving and missing our children.

As a mother with no living children I find I wake each morning and have to make a deliberate, conscious effort to get out if bed. This is not to say that I wollow in bed every day, although I do have some days like that, but it is that I once again have to start a day in a world without my babies. Some days are harder than others, but the beauty in the sunrise reminds me that although they are not here physically, I hold them in my heart and every new day is a new chance to honor them.

Capture Your Grief - 2015

This year I am participating in Carly Marie's Capture your Grief Project.  A 31 day photo challenge for October, Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month.

You can learn more about the project here

http://carlymarieprojectheal.com/capture-your-grief-2015

I will be posting a picture each day based on the project, and providing some addition thoughts here, on this blog.

Thank you to all those who have supported us on our journey through grief