Day 2: Who They Are | Capture Your Grief 2016

2. WHO THEY ARE | Share about your beautiful children today. Who are they? When were they born? How long did you have them for? What is their name? 

-----

Elisa Josephine, stillborn at 7 months January 2015. She was our "little baby beluga". She had her daddy's nose, ten perfect little toes and ten precious fingers and such a fighting spirit. I could not imagine the grief and pain that came with losing her. She was our hope, our rainbow baby after losing Luca, but she couldn't stay. The little time we had with her at the hospital are some of the hardest but most treasured moments of my life. 

Luca Adriana, miscarried august 2013, she was more of a mystery, here with us for 12 short weeks but forever in our hearts. We don't really know if she was a he or a she because we lost her before we knew, but Mark and I both had a strong feeling she was a girl. We named her Luca Adriana because Luca means light, and Adriana means darkness. So much light and love in the time we had her and so much sadness and darkness in losing her.

 

http://carlymarieprojectheal.com/capture-your-grief-2016

Well hello again

It has been quite a while since I have written here.  There are a lot of factors that have gone into that, perhaps due to summer mind - taking a break, partially that our journey through infertility is actually harder for me to write about than my feelings of grief and loss with Elisa and Luca, and most importantly because the ultimate goal of this blog was/is to help me process through my grief, and for the last few months writing hasn't really been what I've wanted to do. So I didn't do it.

Learning to take care of myself you could say is one of the "positives" that have come out of the mess that is child loss.   Of course, like you hear many loss parents say, I would give back any progress to have my children back, but I thank Luca and Elisa every day that if the can't be here, that they have left me with the gift of their love, through self-care. I have learned that grief changed me and will continue to change me. And how I feel or what works for me right now might be completely different than it was two months ago, and again might change in another two months. And that is OK

So over the last few month's I have written.  But now I feel like writing again.

We are coming up on October, pregnancy and infant loss awareness month.  And I look back to the last October when I participated in the "Capture Your Grief Project"  That was an incredibly helpful and healing process for me.  To talk about my babies, but also to have focused prompts on what to write and think about that.

So with that, I plan to be involved again this year.

I can tell you already, I know this year will be different.  Last year I was still very much in the phase of early grief.  The sadness literally engulfed me. I needed to do the project. I NEEDED to talk about my girls and I needed to talk about my pain.

This year I go into it with a different mindset.  Don't get me wrong I still miss Luca and Elisa every day, and I still wish every single moment that things had gone differently, but my grief has changed, and I imagine, if I decide to do this project again next year, it will change again.

So with that, I dust off my blogging, and you can look forward to some more consistent writing from me, at least through the month of October :)


The Capture Your Grief Project will begin October 1. Head over to Carly Marie's Project Heal to see more details

http://carlymarieprojectheal.com/capture-your-grief-2016

University of Washington Pregnancy Loss Study

One in 4 pregnancies ends in miscarriage, and one in 160 ends in stillbirth. According to the CDC 24,000 babies are stillborn in the United States every year.

Although some pregnancy losses can be caused by known genetic issues or birth defects, very often, as it was with both of our losses, a cause is unknown,

Along with awareness around pregnancy loss, research is another thing I have become very passionate about.

With that, I wanted to spread the word about a study occurring at The University of Washington. Their goal is to investigate any links in pregnancy loss with the hope of being able to provide answers to couples in the future.

For anyone who is interested in joining the study, please see details below, or reach out to me with any questions:

University of Washington - Division of Medical Genetics: Pregnancy Loss Study

You may be eligible to participate if :

• You have had 2, or more, first trimester losses OR 1 or, more, loss(es) after 12 weeks
• Your most recent loss has occurred after 2010

Participation requirements:

• Take an online survey about your pregnancy losses for data gathering
• One-time review of your medical history (via phone) with research lead
• Provide a DNA sample to the study (blood or saliva).  
• You don't need to be in-state! Kits will be provided and can be mailed, no travel or meetings are necessary.
• It is best if both male and female partners are able to provide a DNA sample, but we know sometimes that is not possible.  If that is not possible, the researchers will request that other family members (grandmother/grandfather of baby) enroll so that a history can be created
• Information will be kept secure for use only in the study
• There is no cost to participate

If you are interested in participating, please contact PregLoss@uw.edu or call 206.685.4530.

Please also feel free to reach out to me directly with any questions.  I have been working directly with the research lead to help get the word out to get more participants.

--The brochure from the UW research team is below for reference---

Once a Mother, Always a Mother

Mother's day this year was hard.  Last year I escaped from it all. I was literally  miles away, sheltered from social media and hallmark adds, on a  plane in transit to Ireland.  Mark and I took that trip last year as a way to get away from it all and we strategically planned to leave on Mother's day.

This year was hard. As much as I would like to be able to be on a plane to Europe, it is not feasible, both emotionally, and financially to hop on a plane every time I want to avoid a date....although that would be nice :)

So this year I was forced to face the day head on.  There were parts that were wonderful and parts that were downright hard.

A few weeks before Mothers's day one of my baby loss friends and I had tried to decide what we wanted to do to get through the day.  She was wonderful and invited Mark and me over to brunch with her and her husband.  We could be together, with no need to pretend to be happy, but also, neither of us had to just hide at home alone.  Misery loves company, right?  And we thought it was nice to give our husbands a break. They have been so supportive of us, it would be nice for the boys to talk, and for us girls to cry and talk through all of the motions of the day together.

It was nice to have something planned, but also know that if either of us didn't feel up to it last minute, we could cancel on each other and there would be no hard feelings, only love and support. It was a wonderful way to spend the day.

The hard part, however, was waking up on Monther's day, remembering the past Mothers days, and the number of years I have been saying "next year must be better"

Four years ago, we were a few months into our journey of trying to grow our family.  I thought I was certain to have a child (and of course it would be a living child) by the next mother's day.  After all, it seemed that is how it worked right? You tried, and you got pregnant and you had baby.  I expected to have a child BORN by the ext year, not that I would "just be pregnant" and I certainly didn' think that pregnancy could end.

Three years ago we gave Mark's mom a mother's day card telling her she was the best grandma, as we announced to her we were pregnant with Luca....3 months later, Luca was gone

Two years ago, I woke up early.  We had been trying for nearly a year after losing Luca, and I though, maybe it would be a turning point, a sign, that maybe I could find out I was pregnant on Mother's day...but nope, another negative test.  Now I avoid testing on important days like that, knowing full well I am likely to be disappointed.

One year ago, I was newly bereaved again. Elisa had died just three and a half months earlier.  I was still living in in the haze of new grief,  and trying to navigate in a world without two of my children. But, in some way, I still had the hope that by the next year I would at least be pregnant again.

But here I sit, on my 5th Mother's day since trying to grow our family, still with empty arms and an empty womb. My life is filled with doctor's appointments and unanswered questions as I navigate this world of "unexplained infertility and loss"

Despite the sadness of this year, and feeling like I just keep getting hit down over and over again, I am so grateful for the support I have received.

The text messages, facebook messages and emails acknowledging me as a mother, and thus also acknowledging my children, filled me with joy.  I found some people were not sure what to say to me, that they were worried about reminding me or offending me.  Although today was not necessarily a "Happy" Mother's day, being wished that by anyone actually helped me (I know other loss moms feel differently,  and if you know other loss moms, maybe ask them how they want to be aknolwgeded).  And those who acknowledged the complexity of this holiday brought me even more gratefulness and joy.

I am incredibly lucky that I have the support from friends and family that acknowledge me as a mother, And to all of you, thank you from the bottom of my heart

See you again

I have heard the Song "See You Again" on the radio a lot recently. The version I have heard has always been the one with  Charlie Puth singing, and Wiz Khalifa adding rap verses. So I had only ever heard the refrain.

"It's been a long day without you, my friend,
and I'll tell you all about it when I see you again.
We've come a long way from where we began.
Oh I'll tell you all about it when I see you again."

I've loved that refrain but haven't really been able to connect with the rap verses. They were written specifically for the Furious 7 in tribute to Paul Walker so they were more about friendship, and the celebrity lifestyle (all the planes we've flew...brotherhood comes first etc.)

Then last night on the radio I heard another version, with sung verses from Charlie

And oh wow has it hit even closer to home. Especially this line:

"I know you're in a better place and it's always gonna hurt.
Carry on, give me all the strength I need.
To carry on."

So for other's who haven't heard the original, here it is, and the beautiful lyrics:

Charlie Puth - See You Again - Original Charlie Puth (no rap)

It's been a long day without you my friend,
and I'll tell you all about it when I see you again.
We've come a long way from where we began.
Oh I'll tell you all about it when I see you again.

Why do you have to leave so soon?
Why do you have to go?
Why do you have to leave me when I needed you the most?
Cause I don't really know how to tell ya without feeling much worse.
I know you're in a better place and it's always gonna hurt.
Carry on, give me all the strength I need.
To carry on.

It's been a long day without you my friend,
and I'll tell you all about it when I see you again.
We've come a long way from where we began.
Oh I'll tell you all about it when I see you again.

How do I breath without ya?
Feeling so cold.
I'll be waiting right here for ya till the day you're home.
Carry on, give me all the strength I need.
To carry on.
So let the light guide your way, hold every memory as you go.
And every road you take will always lead you home.

It's been a long day without you my friend,
and I'll tell you all about it when I see you again.
We've come a long way from where we began.
Oh I'll tell you all about it when I see you again, when I see you again.
When I see you again, see you again.
When I see you again

Happy Birthday Elisa

Happy Birthday Elisa. I cannot believe it has been one year since we said hello and goodbye to you. That day simultaneously feels like yesterday and decades ago all at once.

I remember holding you, your perfect 10 toes and 10 fingers, your daddy’s nose, just like it was yesterday. My heart overflow with love and joy thinking of that very short time with you. Although it was agonizing and hard, knowing you weren’t alive, I had and still have all the feelings of a proud momma holding you that day.

Thinking of what we have been through, what has happened since we lost you is what makes it feel like an eternity has gone by. Although my grief is not “Over”, it will never be Over I can look back at the last year and see the progress I have made to take on the grief, make it part of who I am, and integrate it in to my life and I owe so much of that to you. You, my dear, fought and held on much longer than any of the doctors thought you would. You held on for 10 more weeks after they told us you might leave us any day. You were a strong fighter, and I continue to fight in this life because of your fighting spirit.

But those first few months without you were agonizing. I couldn’t get out of bed for days, weeks. From the physical pain of your birth, and from the emotional pain of losing you. That time was a blur, a dark haze of the shock of grief. Other than your birth and your funeral I don’t remember much of January. A coping mechanism I guess.

As time went by I was forced to return to “normal life” Going back to work, social outings. But nothing was normal anymore. I didn’t feel comfortable in my own skin. I was walking around and living in a world where you should be alive and with me, but you weren’t. Small talk and social outings seemed useless. How could I talk about the weather when I felt like my heart had been ripped from my chest and lie broken on the floor.

Months went by, and there were many, many nights that I cried myself to sleep. Deep guttural sobs, begging that this was a nightmare, that I would wake up and you would still be there, but no

More months went by and we started more and more adventures with baby beluga photos. Our way of continuing your legacy. A way of journey and documenting our grief, and I way of making the world know you and your sister were real, are real, and will forever be our beloved children.

Now the evenings of deep despair are farther and farther apart. I still miss and think about you every. Single. Day. The thoughts now lean more toward the beautiful life you had for the 7 months you were here, and less toward the deep pit of grief. But I am still sad, and I think I will be every day. Every day I think of you and I am happy, I am sad. I am proud and I am humbled that I was chosen to be your mommy.

You help me to know I can do anything, because through you I have loved more than I ever thought possible and I have endured more pain than I ever thought possible. And I would do it all again to have one more moment with you.

On our trip to Sequim we lit a lantern in your honor

The Body Always Remembers

I remember when I was younger and learning to play the piano, I would practice small measures over and over again, to get the notes in my muscle memory.  So each hand could play independently. but together without thought.  To this day I can still sit down at the piano and play Fur Elise without even thinking.  The body always remembers. The mind can try to re-work, or even try to forget, but the body remembers.

Body memory is something that I have heard a lot about in the loss community. It happens very often after a loss. And I had it too. The weeks and months after Elisa was born still, the phantom kicks I would feel reminding me of what was, what should have been

What I wasn’t prepared for was the body memory that would come around at important dates and anniversaries. I have been preparing for a while that this week would be hard. Elisa’s “first birthday” is on Wednesday. I knew January would be hard, I knew this week would be hard and I knew the actual day would be hard. I took her birthday off of work, and Mark and I even got away this weekend for a little trip to Sequim, where “adventures with baby beluga” began

I knew this time would be hard, but I figured it would be for the typical grief ways. What I wasn’t prepared for was how it would swing me back to the ways I felt shortly after her death.

After Elisa was born I had very strong PTSD. It is common after the loss of a child. I was jumpy, skittish. I couldn’t be in places with loud noises. The noises would leave me in a panic, overwhelmed emotionally and I would break down. I stopped going to sounders games because the sound and the claustrophobia of the crowd was too much. I declined events where I knew there would be loud noises. At work when someone would come to talk to me at my desk, I would jump, my heart would start racing and it took everything to hold myself together.

Over time, and with the help of my counselor, I have come very far in my recovery from PTSD. There are still times when a loud noise scares me, but I am able to rationalize it, and it doesn’t make me come unhinged…

That was until just the last few days. I can only attribute it to the fact that we are coming up on Elisa’s birthday and like I said, the body knows, it remembers and returns to old pathways.

We were watching the Dark Night, and I had to ask Mark to turn it off. One small loud noise in the movie and I was crying in fear.

Later I was in the older room and I heard a fire alarm on the TV. I panicked. Because if I live in a world where my unborn daughter could die, then I also lived in a world where a siren must mean our house is going to burn down, and I would lose Mark too.

Mark accidentally dropped his phone on his way to bed, when I was already asleep and I shot up immediately as if I heard a gunshot.

I am using my coping mechanisms that I have learned through counseling and I know I will work through this, just as I did before, it was just an unexpected reminder from the body that I live in a different world than I did one year ago.

Last January

Yesterday I went in to get a flu shot.  It was on my list of things to do while I was off work for the holidays, and I procrastinated until the last day.

I went back to the pharmacy and put in the order, and they gave me a form to fill out.  Typical: name, date, birthday etc.  Then the question I always hate, "are you pregnant?"....why no, thank you for rubbing it in.... But then they added a follow up question "are you planning on getting pregnant in the next month?"  I circled it, because yes, we are trying, but gee if only you could plan to get pregnant and actually get pregnant, wouldn't that be nice....sigh.

I waited and they called me back in to the little room where they give the shots and the pharmacist came in.  He looked like he was about my age and started some small talk as he looked over the form.

Then he got to the question: "so you are trying, but you aren't pregnant?" "yes", "Ok well it is good to get the shot before you are pregnant, so that is good" ...pause...  "Will this be your first?".... and my mind starts rushing, do I lie to save him, or do I tell him the truth....I took a deep breath and said "It's a long story, but our daughter was stillborn in January".

He actually didn't seem panicked about my response which so many people do, but he did seem to feel bad for asking.  Then he responded "my wife is pregnant and due in March and we worry every day about something going wrong"

As much as it was hard for me to hear about his pregnant wife (It just hurts to hear about anyone who is pregnant or has a baby because it is what we want so much) but it was nice that he actually admitted his fears to me.  Most strangers I tell about our loss panic and change the subject, as if not thinking about it means it didn't happen, or won't happen to them, but he fully admitted that it can happen to anyone and it is scary. Although I don't know this man, and may never see him again, I appreciate his honestly.  That kind of genuine response, genuine feeling, is one of the things that I have found is the most helpful to me. Just having others acknowledge that it is scary, and sad, and incredibly hard is helpful beyond measure.

Another totally different realization came to me through this experience as well.  As I left after getting my shot I realized it is January 2016.  I can't just say "my daughter was stillborn in January" anymore, I have to say she was stillborn last January.  I know we are coming up on her "birthday" and I am fully aware that it will be one year since we've lost her.  But I have finally become comfortable with my response "my daughter was stillborn in January" I can say it without much hesitation, or panic.  But now I have to change what I say because we are no longer in the same year in which she died. It is now "my daughter died a year ago".

I know I will have to keep changing my response, because life changes.  As much as it will be hard to hear the question, I do hope to hear "is this your first" if I am ever lucky enough to be pregnant again, because it will mean I am lucky enough to be pregnant again.  And I will again have to re-asses my response if we are lucky enough to eventually have a kindergartner to decide how many brothers or sisters they tell the class they have.  But keep finding on this journey through loss, that just when I think I am getting comfortable, or have things somewhat figured out, that I actually don't. There isn't a handbook for "getting through" loss.  There are coping mechanisms, and healthy ways to grieve, but they are different for each person, and different on different days. And really, we just have to take it a day at a time.

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 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.