THE DREAM

I've missed people in my life. I've been separated from people I love, and my heart literally ached. It felt like part of me was missing.

After Brenna was stillborn I said I missed her, but the truth is I didn't truly miss her.

How could I miss someone I never had in my life?

I mourned her. I love her. I wish she was here. My heart hurt, but it hurt in a different way than it does when you miss someone. It hurt in a way that your heart hurts when your dreams are crushed. When everything you had planned suddenly changes. When you know your life will never be the same. That is not missing someone. That is realizing your dreams won't come true.

From the moment a woman finds out she is pregnant she begins dreaming big dreams for her baby. What will he/she look like. What will they be like. What kind of life you will have together. We form a picture of the future in our minds, and when a baby is born safely the picture usually changes, but we still dream for them.

When you lose a baby you lose the dream.

Everything you imagined comes to a screeching halt and you realize that you're dreams will never come true. Everything you had planned is crushed. The life you envision for yourself and your child will never happen.

That is hard to accept.

It's harder for some people to accept than others. My personal feeling is it's easier if you have another child; it's more difficult if you can never have more children. But no matter what it's still hard to let that dream go. The dream dies will your baby.

I love my daughter, and I grieve for her. But what I miss most of all is the dreams I had for her.

ACCEPTANCE

There has been something weighing heavily on my mind that I haven't shared on this blog. Mostly because I don't think what I'm about to say is easily accepted in the baby loss community.

It seems to me that the social norm of deadbabyland is that we forever grieve out babies. We are expected to never "get over" our child's death. We are told over and over again that we will never get over it, and that's normal, and that's OK.

So where does that leave the mothers, who like myself, have "gotten over it"?

Where does that leave the moms who have found a way to move on, who've accepted it, and who are actually happy with their lives now.

I feel like there isn't a place for them in the baby loss community. I don't feel at home here anymore.

When my daughter was stillborn I was racked with grief. I've never felt anything so painful in my entire life. Every day was a struggle. Every. Day. I truly don't know what I would have done without the Baby Center mom's and without the other people from these blogs. I really do mean that. I say it again and again: blogging is what helped me heal.

But now, I feel like I don't belong here anymore. Because I no longer grieve for my daughter.

The definition of grieve is to feel great grief or sorrow, or to distress mentally. My daughter's stillbirth no longer causes me to feel either of those things.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not happy about it. But I've accepted it, and I have (gasp) moved on.

Her stillbirth is no longer a stabbing pain in my heart. It is, in fact, something that I have learned to embrace.

I have a very large scar from her birth, spanning from my pubic bone to my breast bone. I would not give that scar up for anything. Everyday I look at it in my mirror with love. It reminds me of my daughter. I wear it like a badge. I'm actually proud of it.

Her birth is sort of like that scar. It changed me. I am not the same person I was before she was born. I am glad she existed. I'd go through it all again if it meant I got to be her mom. My life has changed in many ways since I gave birth to her. There are many people in my life that I did not know before her, and who I would not know if she had lived. I now know who I can count on, and who I can't. My relationship with my husband has changed immensely since her stillbirth. I believe our realtionship would be very different if she were alive. I wish it didn't take losing a child for us to grow this close; but it did, and I accept that.

Even though she is not alive, she is still part of my life. Her picture is on my wall, her name is tattooed on my foot. I think of her everyday. But I am OK with her not being here.

I know that is going to be tough for some people to swallow. In the movies mother's are always depicted as going crazy when they lose a child. We are lead to believe that dead babies equal crazy mommies. But that isn't always true. Sure, in the beginning I felt like I was never going to be happy again. I couldn't figure out why this happened to my family. What did we do to deserve it?

I should have been asking myself what I did to deserve to be her mom. What was so great about me that I would be blessed with her? Why was I chosen to have this precious person all to myself. No one got to know her like I did. No one else in this entire world got to feel her kicks. No one else got to experience every second of her short time on this earth- except for me. Why look at that like it's a horrible thing? Why can't I look at it like it's a wonderful thing? She had a short life, but it was fantastic. She never knew pain, or heartbreak, or disappointment. All she ever knew was me, and my love for her. When I used to think about her stillbirth, I would feel pain for me not her. I thought about her in a very abstract way. "I want my baby" But truthfully, it could have been any baby and I would have been happy (or at least thought I was happy). It was all about me, and not about her.

The truth is I'm happy with my life. Even without her in it. I know that is going to rub some people the wrong way, but that is the truth. I like where I'm at and I would not change it.

Her life, and death, forever changed the course of my life. I am a better person than I was before she was conceived. I'm much more compassionate than I used to be. I never let an opportunity pass to tell my family I love them. I'm more health-conscious. I'm thankful. These are all things that I contribute to her.

I will always be thankful for my daughter's life. But in a way, I'm thankful for her stillbirth, too.

And I believe that's OK.

Hello God

I have been thinking about this post for some time. I'm home alone right now with nothing but my dogs, so I thought it would be a good time to post. I'm going to try to choose my words carefully, because I don't want this to sound wrong.

I grew up in a Christian home. I went to a private school, which was faith based. I have always had a relationship with God. I have always held Him close to my heart. I've never been one of those people to shove my religon or beliefs in your face. I am a very private person, and I hold my faith close to my heart. That doesn't mean that I don't talk about God, because I do/will. But I'm not going to knock on your door and tell you about him. That's just not me.

I've always trusted God with my life. Always. I've always believed that if I "put it in his hands" everything will happen as it's supposed to. When I got pregnant at 19 (which is a whole other story!) I did not want the baby. No that's not true, I didn't know I wanted the baby. I remember panicking, and not knowing what I was going to do. I remember considering abortion for a millisecond (I knew I couldn't do it, but I now understand the frame of mind of young girls who feel it is their only option). I felt like it was the worst thing that ever happened to me (boy was I wrong!). Later, when I found out I was infertile my husband said to me, "God has a plan doesn't he? If we wouldn't have had that accident, we wouldn't have Brendan right now". I knew God was leading me.

Even when times were rough, I felt like I could rely on God, and he would take care of us. He always did.

When I was pregnant with Brenna, and I was bleeding, I remember thinking, 'God, I'm just going to put her in your hands.' When my Ob called to tell me that my blood tests came back and he was worried about possible Spina Bifida, I didn't worry. I cried for a minute, but then I said, 'God, I'll take what you give me'. I thought, if she has it she has it and we'll deal with it. I always believed the saying, God never gives you more than you can handle. Whatever he gave me I could handle. I truely believed that.

When I was in the hospital, getting prepped for surgery, I told my husband I wasn't worried at all about the baby. And I wasn't. God was taking care of her. When I woke up, the LAST THING IN THE WORLD I expected to hear was that my baby was gone. It never entered my mind for even a second that she was going to die. Never. It was the first time in my life that God had let me down.

My heart was broken. I was mad. I was furious. Laying by myself in my hosptial bed, I remember asking God to show me the lesson. What was I supposed to learn from this? Why did it happen? I still trusted in him. Still.

Grief has many stages, and I've went through them all. Anger was a big one. I remember one day in particular being so mad at God for letting my little girl die. How could he do this to me? He knew how much I wanted this baby. He knew how much she ment to my family. How could he let this happen? I just couldn't wrap my head around it. I was pissed that no one else got to know her like I did. I was mad that my family was hurting so much. I was pissed that my mom didn't get to have her grand-daughter that she dreamed of, I was mad that my step-daughter lost a sister after God had already taken her mom, I was angry that my son never got to see his sister, and I was mad that God would let us all go through this pain. I was mad. Sometimes I still am.

But, as time goes on and I think about it more I've come to realize some things.

The hardest part in all of this had been the effect it's had on my son. I can handle the hurt, but it breaks my heart to see my child in pain. Then I realized...

God loves him too.

If he's going to have this happen there has to be a reason. God wouldn't take my baby and hurt my son for no reason. He loves us, and there is a reason for it all. I truely believe that. I don't know what the reason is, but I do believe it's there.

I always go back to when I was 19 and getting pregnant was the worst thing in the world.

Now, it's my biggest blessing.

God knew what he was doing.

He knew then, and he knows now.