Fathers day

Its not a happy fathers day this year. My poor husband didn't get one last year. I completely forgot in my grief last year. And coming from the years of the over doing it pinterest wife he married, its unfair to go from that to nothing. 

He made a joke about waiting for this fathers day, expecting the biggest and best. Knowing full well it will not happen. Humor is his way of coping. And he does anything to get those smiles back on my face these days. They are so few and far between. 

I have not been much of a mother or a wife lately. But he has been the actual definition of the worlds greatest Dad. It is always the dad that gets overshadowed by the grief of the mother. Its just a different relationship. He didn't get to experience Anna in the way I did. I wish he had. To know how she was a morning baby, always waking me up with kicks. He got to feel her dancing at night. The first time he felt her kicks was during the oscars this year. I thought she knew her father was a film maker, and it was a special touch. Such few memories they share. Now I cling to them all like they are gold, and hold more importance than they ever would have. 

Watching your husband hold your precious baby who has passed, brings a love that cannot be described. His gentleness and tears mixing together over something only the two of you can create but never replicate. Something breaks and a newness between you is made. 

When the nurses and doctors finished caring for me, he stepped in. Sometimes holding the full weight of my body because I couldn't stand on my own, emotionally and physically. Writing the words I couldn't, to announce to the world that Anna was here, if only for a moment, but gone too soon. He was the one who spoke the words to our children, telling them a nightmare. He is the one who continues to both work to support us, and to keep our lives afloat, as I break more with each day. He grocery shops, does all the cooking and cleaning, he cares for the kids, takes them to swim lessons, arranges play dates, he is the mother I can't be right now. But he is also the Father. Two roles colliding in one human. 

I used to think I understood the role of a father. The forever fun one, who always seems to make the kids more wild right before bedtime. That says yes to sugar when I would have said no. That wrestles on the floor and tickles them till the laughter turns silent with joy. Who always pushes them higher on the swings. Who makes funny faces for hours. Who tells the most ridiculous jokes in the car. 

But now I know he is the one who stands tall on the hardest of life's days and loves everyone through them when no one else can. The father's who have faced childloss are often the voiceless. In the shadows of grief themselves, but not allowed the grace that comes for the mothers. They are the true strong ones. 

We have been through some hard days in our marriage. But we have always been okay. I found this song just yesterday and along with the melody, the words reminded me of our love, as a husband, and as a father. "You're amazing, and you have me, it doesn't matter whatever comes to be, we'll be okay"

a very Unhappy Fathers Day Brandon. Maybe next year we will celebrate the amazing man you are in grand splendor. This year I will put the kids to bed for the first time in 4 weeks, so you get one tiny break. It seems like the smallest thing I can give you, and yet in my world its monumental. I wish I could give you the world, as you have done for me for 10 years, and especially for the last 4 weeks. I love you. We'll be ok. 

With love, lissa

Expecting Unexpected Emptiness

In grief you can go from good to bad in a split second. Time is never longer than when you are grieving, because you continue to move away from the moment you want to most go back to. So it is the actual split of a second. Its so fast that it is actual whiplash. One minute of peace in the chaos and the next you are spinning. 

Thats how fast the actual event is. Life is normal and then its not. There is a clear divide of whiplash, it happened then and it continues to happen in smaller bursts. But it continues to take the breath out of you with each reoccurring grief bomb. Dropping with no warning. 

I spent today writing, these days its the only thing I find solace in. Emptying the words from my mind, so they don't suffocate me from the inside out. A swirling vortex of words that need to be said. With each one that goes down on paper, or typed, it puts air back into my lungs so desperately seeking it. So know that I do this not for anyone other than myself. In vain I hope it helps another soul seeking these same words in comfort. But mostly this is to document what the days were like, when I was in so much shock, I was the most rawest human experience. I will not remember it unless I spill these emotions as they come. 

I spent the entire day writing in my bed, and decluttering the room I now spend the most time in. Focusing my minds first sight of the morning with a clear and comforting image, rather than the mess that was happening without a mothers touch.  Then I helped the boys clean their bedroom and playroom. Slowly bringing the house into order helped clear my mind, and I continued writing. 

Brandon is so overworked these days. He takes on my roll during the day and continues to his roll at night. It appears effortless but the weight is heavy as he tries to give me the space, and time, and anything he thinks might possibly make my day easier. I can see it. I can see the toll its taking. So tonight I felt the strength to give him the tiniest break. I put the kids to bed for the first time in 4 weeks. For the first time since May 20. 

Up until now the kids crawled into bed with me. My effort so long that I would turn on a happy children's movie and the three of us would drift off together in a tangled mess of limbs. Sawyer has become so dependent on being near me, and physical touch. If he is not cuddling me in order to find the comfort of sleep, he is rolled to the other side almost protectively wrapped around Max's small frame. But Sawyer is sick with a cold, and I cannot compromise my body as it continues to heal both mentally and physically. Sometimes I forget how extreme a toll almost dying takes on your body. So tonight I went through our old normal routine of bedtime. 

I dressed them in pjs and they ran around wild like only little boys are. I think to myself how different a girl would have been. Contrast. My voice tries to calm them and put them to bed, but it is too soft, they are used to a mom voice from these lips. I got them to crawl under the covers, and I bent to kiss Max goodnight. And just as whiplash, it hit me. Anna should be in the way. after 34 weeks, she slowly grew into a tiny human, always with me, ever growing, and ever in the way of crawling down to the bunk bed on the floor level. It was so hard to bend down those last days, the effort was huge each time, but I did it every single night. It was worth it. 

The absence of it tonight was deafening. I retreated to the hallway in defense. To cry where they could not see me. They see it too much these days. Such a simple act of my daily life. It brought my to my knees. My mind broken because it cannot wrap itself around the idea of that vast absence. This is one of the first times its been such a massive blow. But it won't be the last. 

Thats what the feeling of loss is, accepting to expect the unexpected emptiness. 

with love, lissa

Thank you

A theme I am coming across in grief therapy, whether talking to other loss moms, a therapist,  books written by the subjects experts, and accounts dedicated to the cause, is that in grief comes isolation. One book I am leaning on heavily is by Alan Wolfelt PhD, and he describes it as a rule of thirds. One third of your friends will be supportive when you need to mourn, One third will make you feel worse, and one third will neither help nor hinder. 

It has been exactly 4 weeks. Which means we meet another milestone. One month. We entered the month she was supposed to arrive in our arms. We turned days into weeks, and weeks into months. A countdown has continued up instead of down to her birthday. Time is simply moving wrong for me. I am lost in it. though I know its been one month, I am still stuck in that day. I replay it over, and over, and over, and over again. So I cannot be expected to move forward when my life is playing on a loop. 

Our society believes that in order to grieve and mourn, we must also move on. Push those feelings aside and live for our lost. Its a wonderful notion. It's only believed by those lucky enough to not experience loss. And if you are one of those people, O how I hope you truly treasure not knowing this feeling. It's so easy to take for granted what others would do anything to have. I used to be one of those people. And I was learning through grieving my sister, how fortunate we were. I believed myself to be aware, but child loss brought an even deeper, possibly the deepest form of this feeling. Its the only loss of a physical and emotional relationship in the sense of creation. 

However, I find myself reading these books, and talking to other people about grief, and seeing that though I do still feel alone, I have never been more connected to people. I had an instant community online, of strangers who reached out in knowing. Making the first days while I was still in actual shock, bearable. I have had people around the world donate daily to a cause that is in Anna's honor but also saving the lives of people they will never hear the thank you for. I have 8 people's blood in my veins, I will never know their names, but I owe them my life. Friends who have come out after years of silence. Neighbors I barely knew, now my only entrance into joining the world a piece at a time. A book club I started a year ago on a whim, now my personal therapy sessions with open arms. Messages that flow in because people are choosing love over worrying about saying the wrong thing. People that allow me the space to voice my emotions online and don't shy away from it, but embrace it fully. 

"You need someone to hold your hand while you stand there in blinking horror, staring at the hole that was your life. Some things cannot be fixed, they can only be carried." - Megan Devine. 

In this new world I have been thrown into without choice, many people unfortunately find themselves being told by everyone around them to 'get better.' And I have found the actual support instead to work through this at my pace, and my way. There will never be full healing, there is a part of my heart that died that day with her. Something that like her, can never be replaced. But I have begun to find pockets of safe keeping. And I am so grateful to be able to share both my living and my loss. 

No one will be untouched by loss completely. My new favorite book, 'IT'S OK THAT YOU'RE NOT OK' begins with a foreword by Mark Nepo. "If we commit to love, we will inevitably know loss and grief. Yet powerfully and mysteriously, knowing both love and loss is what brings us fully and deeply alive." I know I will unfortunately welcome others to this type of loss, some I know, some strangers that were like me, screaming into the void to be heard. And I am able to see that future, any future, because I am being allowed to grieve now. To everyone who is on this journey with me. I see you, each one who has been by my side, in all and every way. Though sometimes I am not able to say it, thank you.  

with love, lissa

Metal Marvels

I’ve posted about Metal Marvels before. This is a company that has become so dear to me. I encourage people to shop small because you get a personal touch and @katieseller has gone above and beyond for me. Only 6 year ago, Katie created this business out of nothing, and has turned it into an empire. Her customers rival anyone else's with loyalty. She owns who she is in a way most people only wish they could. An incident in high school crushed her self esteem, something I think a lot of women can relate to. Years later she was able to see no one else's opinion of you matters. Fully embrace who you are. She began the company because there was no jewelry she felt she could identify with, a huge emotional heart, that curses like a sailor!

Katie also gifted me the ‘be brave and keep going’ when Kimmy was in the hospital last year. We barely knew each other then, the minute she found out, a bangle in that phrase was mailed to me unexpectedly. She moved to Las Vegas and our friendship grew. I was supposed to be at her house that Sunday, not the hospital. I vaguely remember telling Brandon to text her and tell her I wasn't going to make it to feed her cat. You have some really weird thoughts when you go into shock. Again the minute she found out, she went into full fundraiser mode and raised $1500 for us in one day. She is an amazing person, with a good heart, and a great company.

I happened to be wearing the ‘scars are evidence we have lived, & Nevertheless she persisted’ bracelets on the morning of May 20. I am choosing to see that as a sign. I have a new scar, the ones where Sawyer, and Max came before are gone. Each one cut out for the newest arrival. This scar is only Anna's. It marks me where she was brought into the world. She was only here a moment but the impact and good she brought with her will be felt my whole life. She is a legacy in the most pure way. She is gone but nevertheless she will persist. 

Today I did some retail therapy and picked up some new reminders from her 'I AM' collection. Each bangle benefits a different charity, Katie seriously is one of the most giving CEO's ever. I chose, I AM STRONG, I AM KIND, I AM NOT FINISHED YET. These bangles show my hardest days, and I wear them trying to move forward, knowing she’s behind me every step of the way ❤️ thank you Katie, I’m ever so grateful for your friendship. Please give her a follow and remember the next time you need to give a meaningful gift. I have included a link to get 15% off your next order. Because trust me, everyone needs these affirmations in their life.

www.metalmarvels.com
Use coupon code LISSA15

with love, lissa

bringing anna home

Yesterday I didn't sleep again. I take pills now to drown out the world and bring me to peace. But sometimes your body's instinct fights pills. And it wakes up at 3am to feed the baby that isn't there. It was training for that instinct for 8 months. So exhausted, I slept from 9am-11:30. I woke up to my husband at the end of the bed, gently rubbing my leg to wake me up. Decisions have to be made. Life doesn't wait. The funeral home that waited for Brandon to get home from a work trip, wasn't able to wait any longer. We had already been to that building once. We had to make decisions no parent should ever make. Cremation or burial. What to dress them in. Do you want to identify the body or use hospital ID tags. And this morning, would you like to witness the cremation. 

I went from asleep to panic attack immediately. How do you make this decision. I said yes to witnessing it immediately. Because as a mother, you do not ever want your child to be alone. I am alone without her, I don't want her to be alone without me. It feels like betrayal. I shut down, I couldn't think. My husband offered to make the decision for me, and let him handle it, seeing it was too much for me. More guilt for feeling like I can't even make my own choices anymore. 

I turned to the newly found community I have. To the mom's who have had to make these decisions before me. I will be one of them one day to someone who joins these waters. Forever drowning in them, but lifting each other up for air. Was it better to witness it, or choose to not be there. They asked me if it would be healing to be there, or renew the hurt in some way. I didn't know. I'm always unsure of myself. My trust in myself is shattered and that is something hard to live with, without all the other emotions and grieving going on.

But then they ask this, do you want the last image of anna to be the ones you already have, or today. As a mother, of course you always want one more moment, no matter the cost. I felt like I needed to touch her one last time. Because there is only last's for us. But I also didn't want to ruin the image I have of her that day. The few memories we made. Her perfect face. I learned the hard way, that when babies pass, they dehydrate faster than adults. I was warned she wouldn't look the same. And my poor husband had to remind me how hard that would be to see. So after hours of reading online, asking friends, and weighing every possible option, we chose not to witness the cremation. 

We drove the empty urn to the other side of the city. The gaping hollow hole in it, mirroring my own heart. My dad, her grandfather, carved it out of wood. On one of the first days, he wrote me and offered to make it just for her. I can tell you, you never dream of picking out an urn for your child. I spent the next hour trying to find what I wanted, but didn't want. I finally settled on a picture of a wooden heart. It was not an urn. But my dad took the picture, and the few words I used to describe my desire. And over the next week, spent hours perfecting this image I had in my head but couldn't describe. Yet it's exactly what I pictured. A light colored wooden heart, carved with fullness, sealed with a metal heart, her name and date engraved with remembrance. With every decision, I was 2 thoughts behind, and by the time I asked about something, he had already predicted my request. I asked how he knew, and he told me in 30 years, I would know my children that well too. 

Wood is unique in every piece, and while carving it, he found a string of brown dots came up and he could not buff them away, no matter how hard he tried. Instead he imagined this meant Anna would have shared my freckles and it was her way of showing me we were so alike. 

Today we picked her up. I will never have to drive to the funeral home and make these choices again. The drive there I distracted myself with conversations with a friend. She talked to me and let me show a photo of Anna the last time I saw her. It was comforting to show her in how I remember her, not simply in this urn, forever the rest of her life. That one moment I have of her as truly my Anna. 

And then we drove home, and I wept, not cried, not sobbed, but wept. Pure emotion rolling off my cheeks and into my hands holding this wooden heart. That feels no heavier than it was when we dropped it off the day before. But yet it now contains my most worldly possession. Anna, in her pink coming home outfit, with a bow, and her bunny. Brandon holding my hand, and holding it together for both of us. He is so strong in all of this hell. 

We brought our baby home finally. The day every parent dreams of. I have done it before in such joy. Today I did it with such pain. My feet barely moving as I carried her inside. Up the stairs. And placed her gently on my side table. Near me but never again close enough. And I crawl back into bed, because part of me died that day, and though I continue to heal physically, my heart will never be whole. 

Because part of it sits in a wooden heart beside me. 

with love, lissa

The heart of a wildflower

I hope you are blessed with a heart like a wildflower 🌿
strong enough to rise again, after being trampled on.
Tough enough to weather the worst summer storms.
And able to grow and flourish,
even in the most broken places 🌿

I had booked a mother daughter photo shoot with @mywildbeautifulheart this summer. We had dreamed up a beautiful girly set, sunset & floral crowns. I had shared this dream of a daughter with her over the years. She has 2 and understand the relationship is different, special. I love my boys but there is an indescribable feeling between a mother and a daughter. And I had always wanted to share that, I started to share that with Anna, it was already there.

I daydreamed about the session in my head all the time. It was the last thing I pictured before everything happened that morning. I was standing in the shower dreaming of it, I really began to worry about her lack of movement. She always danced away in the shower. Its why I spent so much time in the bath and shower during the pregnancy. I loved feeling her move. But she was still.

I still picture her with me in that moment. I go to a place in my mind where the garden is full of greenary, the birds melodies are playing softly, the sunlight dancing between the leaves swaying in the breeze. Sometimes I picture her as the plump baby in my arms. The 6 month old as we lay on a blanket looking at the clouds. Sometimes she's the little girl I always imagined, flowers wound into braids, we look the same, I spin her with one arm, we laugh together like a dream. Because it is just a dream. 

Amy gave blood this morning for the first time this morning, part of my #GiveLoveForAnna and sent me this quote, and a photo of a shoot we did together 2 years ago. This summer I imagined Anna in my arms, but I will stand alone. Some days I won’t be able to stand at all. But one day, that wild flower heart will bloom again.

with love, lissa

Do small things with great love

People have been asking what to do in lieu of giving blood, since restrictions stop everyone from participating. Tattoos, blood conditions, medications, and I just found out today, I will also not be able to donate on June 26. I will not be able to donate blood until May 20 2019. One year from the day Anna died. I cannot donate because I had a transfusion myself. I had 8 transfusions of whole blood, + plasma + platelets + something else because my body wouldn't stop bleeding out. My body needs time to regain its blood count and become healthy enough to donate again. I was a gold card holder for donations in 2017. Now I will not be able to donate till 2019. So I must also find something to do in place of blood donation. 

I couldn’t think of something specific. But I often found on my hardest days of Kimmy’s grief, that spreading just the smallest kindness made the days easier. I paid for the Starbucks behind me, sometimes I just left a big gift card to pay for as many as possible behind me. Sometimes I enjoyed seeing their faces look forward in recognition, sometimes I drove away with a smile on my own face, before I could see theirs.
 

I stopped to talk to a homeless person. I wrote a whole story about a particular experience - 
  "I tried to put some good into the world by delivering some hot chocolate and a croissant to a homeless man near my house. I was caught off guard when he turned me down because he didn't like the taste of Starbucks hot chocolate and croissants. I assumed he would be grateful and take it regardless. I judged a book by its cover and was wrong. The more I talked to him, or he talked to me. I realized he was lonely, not hungry. And I wished I had more time to give. As I've learned this year, time is more valuable than anything. I posted the story and got a TON of responses, of all kinds. Laughter, similar stories, disbelief. And that's when I realized that maybe that feeling I felt about putting some good into the world, and changing my crappy day wasn't in giving food. It was taking 10 min to listen to someone who needed it. And in return I got to talk to all kinds of friends who I hadn't heard from in awhile. The universe knew better than me and returned my love tenfold. ❤️ I hope I see him again so we can talk longer next time. As I'm grateful for the lesson he taught me, instead of thinking he should be grateful for my help."

I wrote a friend I hadn’t talked to in awhile.

I told a stranger a compliment.

Gifted photo shoots to people.

I really listened to someone who needed to be heard, something our society has a hard time with these days. We listen to reply, not to listen to a friend.

I gave someone a true hug. 

I spread tiny kindnesses, feeling that in the smallest of ways, I had shown love to the universe, made someone’s day. There is so much ugliness in the world. People have lost sight of what truly matters. We let things ruin our days when really they don't affect our lives.

Someone paid for my Starbucks the Saturday of my baby shower, 24 hours before everything. It hadn’t happened in so long and I thought, how special it was that it was on such a big day for me, and the universe was acknowledging it. Another piece in the perfect day. Every little detail of that wonderful day will be remembered. Even the person who happened to be in front of Brandon that morning, who left at that exact moment because I let him sleep in, feeling he needed some love that morning too. Everything lined up to be that way. One last perfect day. Maybe you can be that person to someone else about to face their worst moments of life. If you cannot donate blood on June 26, but still want to #GiveLoveForAnna simply give some love back to the world. Make people believe in the good people again. #DoSmallThingsWithGreatLove

with love, lissa

I never knew I could write poetry

You think your arms are tired
the weight of a child in them
growing
crying
up all night
endless days
you think your arms are tired
they aren't
mine are empty
and the weight is unbearable
- alissa

June 14 2018
3 weeks since we held you in our arms. 

Compounded Grief

You might think it is unfair to lose a baby and you are right. But what really feels unfair is all the circumstances around my loss. 

Its not the first one. I wasn't finished grieving the loss of my sister. Anna was the thing pulling me out. I often felt guilty that I cried so much during her pregnancy. She was supposed to be the rainbow after the cloud of grief had settled on my life. I was just beginning to feel some peace with that grief, the week before was the first week I noticed I wasn't crying as much. It took 14 months. And I know this loss is deeper. So when its hard to get out of bed, and people tell me its been 4 weeks, I should be doing more, I can't because the looming years of grief ahead of me seem so daunting, because I know whats coming. 

I know the drives to preschool drop off come with tears the entire way there. Thinking my kids don't see it because they are behind me. But then my six year old says, "Is it because this song reminds you of Auntie Kimmy." Wise beyond his years that one. 

I know I cried in the baby section of target the first time I realized I would never be an auntie to another of my sisters Children. I have fully avoided target in this grief because it was where I found so much joy shopping for Anna. That baby section will wreck me. 

The stupidest things will pop up and remind you of grief. Often unexpectedly. Taking the breath from your lungs. And that was a sister I knew was struggling with mental health. That wasn't a baby who is full of hope and newness. In your naive mind you think babies don't die. It goes against the order of nature. I worried about everything, but I never worried about her NOT coming. Because that just doesn't happen. But it did. 

So I compound my grief. Something unimaginable because pressed into your heart on top of everything else completely devastating. Thoughts swirl into your head with no where to go, so they spin you deeper. I felt sad that I was finally having a daughter and I couldn't share that joy with my sister. But now I cannot share my sorrow of losing a child with my sister by my side. I think about how my parents could have lost both their children in the span of just 14 months. Too close my dad told me, the thought weighs on them too. I think about the time my sister was so adamant that I knew she would surrogate for me if I ever needed it. In my youth thinking, this was such a stupid thing to talk about because of course we could. But now that that might be gone, Its all that I could think about, two options gone at once. I wasn't finished processing once grief, but now a new one is so much stronger that I can't even think about Kimmy most days You're brain can only process so much. 

They are forever tangled together. This incredible gift I was given to bring me out of the worst days of my life, had turned into showing me that they can get worse. It wasn't the end of the storm with a rainbow waiting just beyond. I have entered the eye of the storm, the cold isolated numbing center of pain. And to get out I must again walk through the other side. Knowing what it cost me before, knowing it will be worse this time, knowing that I will change and can never go back, again. Knowing all that I know about grief, and knowing nothing at the same time, because this is different. I hate knowing the loss of a sister, and now a daughter too. 

With love, lissa

walking through hell

I have had a Csection twice before. 

They told me it will hurt more this time. Because the pain is the same. But there is no baby to bring joy between bursts of pain. A Csection without a baby has to be one of life's cruelest things. 

But the punches keep coming. First your milk comes in to feed that baby that's gone. Its incredibly painful as you wish away the thing that would have given your baby life. 

Your body wakes up all night. Because its designed to wake up for a baby, and care for it. But you wake up to more emptiness. 

These things your body does automatically. Instinctually. As a mother. 

But mine is only doing the after. It didn't give me the baby I was carrying all those months. That needed these things. Now I do them alone. 

I went to my OB's office yesterday. I was led in through a side door, as a kindness to avoid all the other happy mothers. Maybe for me, maybe for them. I talked to my OB who kept repeating how rare it was, that she was PERFECT. Healthy and thriving, that most babies can survive and abruption. But mine was severe, and mine was hidden, and mine left her no chance. 

I think it makes it worse to know she was completely healthy. It hurts to know she could have lived if I had just shown a sign of bleeding and got her out in time. Had I not been used to being so sick, this pregnancy, and thought of how sick to my stomach I was. It hurts to have held a perfectly developed baby in your arms, but who's skin has turned blue. 

So I sit in my OB's office, they prescribe me anti-depressents and sleep aids. They tell us we can try again. But they cant guarantee it wont happen again. They will do more tests. They will watch so carefully. Its incredibly rare for it to happen again. But then, it was incredibly rare what happened. That I will be the case they remember. 

The story no one forgets. 

6 Year Cranioversary

Scars are evidence we lived.

June 6 is an anniversary for me. You might not see his scar. The years and the hair have grown over it. But the memories are just as fresh. 6 years ago on this date we handed over our baby in a hospital OR. But I knew they would give him back. A painful difference now. My kids have always been fighters. But Anna wasn't given that same chance. It was too fast for her. For Sawyer he spent 6 hours in surgery, and then 6 more days in the PICU recovering.

Those were long hard days. I foolishly thought, this is the hardest thing I will have to do as a mother. How could I have thought that, I had only been a mother for 8 months. Its what worries me now, that this might still not be the worst thing I go through. Whats next, if they keep making this cranio journey seem like a walk in the afternoon sun.

Sawyer also needed 8 transfusions that day. Like his mother, did couldn't get his blood to clot and stop the bleeding. So he required them more than a usual CVR, they didn't plan for that many. We have benefited from blood donation numerous times.

We both have scars. We both have someone else’s blood that saved our lives. I will heal, just like he did, and one day people won’t know this scar I carry. 

hank you to everyone helping us honor Anna this month and donating with #GiveLoveForAnna You hope it’s never your family who needs it, but sometimes it is

I remember thinking craniosynostosis would be my world forever. Its not anymore. There is just a reminder. A scar. I know this won't be my world in 6 years. I know those smiles will come after the grief. I know these things. I will simply have a scar of where she last was. 

with love, lissa

A visit from heaven

Today at the door of the therapy appointment there was a little white feather. I didn’t pick it up, I wish I did, but I noticed it out of place. I don't see that in vegas usually.

Then when we came home there was another one at my front door. This time i did bend down painfully slowly, still recovering, and picked it up.

I don’t have a religion. And I didn’t want to see signs. I wanted her here with me, not a sign. Other loss moms told me I would see them. If you just look. I have found comfort in the arms of other mama’s around the world. Friends quickly made by the words, I know, us too. An unspoken bond of trails and tragedy. You dont want to be friends, you dont want anyone to join this club, but its massive. Far greater, and scarier than I thought possible.  Strangers on instagram suddenly the people who know you best. A language you cannot learn, but immediately speak when you are trust into this life. 

I still don't want to see signs. I just want her.

But there was something comforting in these tiny white feathers today.

with love, lissa

The room in our house

There’s a door in our house that everyone keeps closed.

A bright hello that was never greeted, hanging on the front.

I picked this room because it had the most natural light. And I wanted my baby to bathe in it when she arrived. In my mind it was the dancing light of daydreams. Those magical slow motion memories. Something that you can see already but is untouchable. Literal magic.

Inside is all the stuff that was waiting for her. The crib her big brothers shared. It's what I planned the whole room around. A cactus print to match the mint green. My rose in the desert. Blooming into the summer, That never got to bloom. 

The clothes I had finally started buying. Finally feeling close enough to feel safe. I didn't buy them for months after knowing she was a girl. I was so worried I would jinx it. But when I did, the feeling of buying those tiny outfits was pure joy. Each one I saw her wearing, us together. Me kissing her all over. Each one chosen for a season. Summer, winter, fall, spring. A first birthday tutu with pom poms between the tulle. Hung up in a closet, never to be worn. 

All the baby shower decor and gifts from the day before, that a kind friend came and took down. I had taken a photo after everyone left that day. I thought, I will leave this all up till she comes home. One month. We only had to wait one month.

Her ultrasounds framed, and waiting to be replaced with her sweet face. I joked she was the most photographed baby. So many ultrasounds. I took the for granted. Seeing her wiggling inside of me. Seeing and feeling kicks at the same time. We were so close Anna.

I loved sitting in this room and rocking with my hand on my belly. Dreaming of her. The only video I have of her moving is right here. I don’t keep this door closed. I still come to this room. I touch the things I was dreaming of sharing with her. It’s all that’s left. And it makes her real. Some people grieve by shutting it all away. But I grieve remembering every detail. She was here, with me. This room is still ours. 

with love, lissa

2 weeks

It just happened. And yet my husband just said 2 weeks to someone. Not just someone, the funeral home coordinator. I shake my head because it was minutes ago. Not days turning into weeks. Counting up to 2 since then, instead of down, the last 4 weeks before arrival. We're sitting in a small room in a funeral home being asked questions about identifying the body. And would we like to witness the cremation of our daughter. Our daughter who never got to open her eyes and look at her mother. We should be doing hard things like staying up all night, not being at a funeral home. 

The world around me looks familiar, but different. I sit in the car being driven between places like a funeral home, therapy, and the doctors. I'm just an emptiness being moved from place to place because this is what happens. Someone dies, and you follow a standard routine. Doesn't matter if that person is 89 or a baby. I thought my grandpa was young to lose at 72. Then I thought it was tragic to lose at sister at 28, to live out her life as a waste. But losing someone who you knew, you grew inside of you, who you held but didn't get to love, thats an indescribable pain. 

I’ve heard grief is measured as before and after. But I already had a before and after I was working through. Anna was supposed to BE my after. This isn't fair. Instead my shattered heart that I thought could not be more broken, that I was slowly mending after 14 months of grieving, turned to dust. Smaller than the fragments I had become used to. It almost feels like nothing anymore. Its reduced to the ashes that my daughters body now is.

Sometimes wonder if she ever existed. Kicking one minute. Gone the next. How is that possible? It must have never been. That’s the only thing that makes sense, because none of this makes sense. So my mind tries to protect itself. It’s still in shock 2 weeks later. Still trying to wrap itself around a life that’s missing.

with love, lissa

to good to be true

I liked to consider myself a happy person. Despite everything that had happened in the past. I loved just quiet days with the kids and endless smiles over simplicity. I didn't have huge dreams in life. I simply wanted a happy marriage and happy kids. I wanted to be a mother more than anything. And at the top of that dream, I wanted a daughter. 

It wasn't a secret. And I do love my boys like no other. And they love me fiercely in return. But let's not be stupid. There is a difference in boys and girls. And I wanted that difference. When they told me those three magics words, "Its a girl," my world stopped. I thought it was too good to be true. 

8 months later, it was. 

This is worse than never having a daughter at all. I had made peace with that, if that was my life story. But letting your heart sore with all the dreams of the future, is hard to real back when "Its a girl" and with "there's no heartbeat."

After all the doctor appts, ultrasounds, tests, everything was going well enough that I began to buy clothes. We started building a nursery. One month away, I thought we had made it through any scary moments and that this was home free. A baby shower to top it all off. With each tiny outfit I pulled out, I could see her in it. I could see all these moments. They were so close. 

Even that day walking up to the hospital. I still couldn't imagine anything but her being ok. I thought we might have a baby, or they would tell me I was being paranoid. But at the end of the day I would still have my baby. She was mine. We were already there. We were in a safe place. 

Now she is gone. 

Have you ever reached your highest dream in life? Its not usually done. But here I was with two amazing boys, waiting with excitement to be a big brother to a sister. A husband who supported me, and I supported him with his dreams. We were doing it together. All of us. And she was part of it. She was the literal bow coming into our lives to tie it all together. 

And now I am left to pick up the pieces instead. I wonder what happened? Why me? Why this late? Why when I was so attached already? Why couldn't they save her? She was full term. They save babies her size all the time. The haunting words my OB said, "She was absolutely healthy." Then why?  

She was this piece of my life already. Always will be. The thing that gave me hope after being hopeless. This light at the end of the tunnel. She made me dream of the future. Maybe it was too much weight for one person, one tiny person, to carry. 

with love, lissa

Strong

You’re so strong, I’m told. Over and over again. 

I’ve heard it since 2012 when we did our whole craniosynostosis journey. What I thought would be my hardest walk as a mother.

And the fact that I already have a Strong Like Mom photo shoot seems little unfair too. Last year I loved finding these shirts and thinking, we can take on the world if we do it together. 
 

I’m not strong, I didn’t get a choice in any of this. Trust me, I wouldn't choose this. I used to be able to find comfort in being strong, to be able to find the beauty of tragedy, a way to heal through them. I did it time and time again. it became harder each time. But this time I’m not strong anymore. I’ve given up, and I feel like I’m being dragged down this road, day by day, kicking and screaming. Begging to go back in time and change it, so I don’t have to be strong ever again.

No, I’m not strong anymore. You can’t be strong when a heart inside of you stops beating.

Baby month without a baby

I’ve counted down to June for 9 months.

I marked the weeks off, and marked her arrival time and date.

A fresh new month. The beginning of something new.

I couldn’t wait to turn that page. And announce “its baby month!!!” like so many of my friends are doing this month. I had planned the month, we would do swim lessons right up until baby week. Pass the time faster. I couldn’t wait. I wish she had.

It’s hard to see the time pass now. To see the kids start swim lessons after she’s gone. To begin the rush of summer, without the baby I had planned the summer around. Its makes me not want to go home this year. I LOVE going home for the summer. And this summer I could not wait. I was going to arrive with this baby everyone was excited to meet. And when you live in another country from family, seeing newborns its especially special. 

We were going to hang at the beach. Visit Daddy on set of his new movie. Go to all our favorite theme parks with a little sleeping thing in my new Solly baby wrap. I bought the pink one, it was one of the first things I bought her. And I couldn't wait to snuggle her in it all summer long. The whole summer was planned around her. So it seems achingly awful to do all those things without her. 

My calendar always fills up so fast. And somehow this month stays empty. And it could not represent my life more. 

with love, lissa

a balancing act

Its a fine art, balancing in a plank. Just kidding. In life and grief. (Is it weird that I made a joke. Because to me it feels both wrong and right.) I have some experience with it. I guess that's one of those stupid silver linings to Kimmy's grief. Its a guest who has been in my house before.

Things that used to bring me joy, are not right now. And that bothers me. Because if I had to lose this other joy, why is it robbing me of the other joys in my life. And on the other side, if something does bring me joy, like laughing over the WORST therapy appt, its quickly overshadowed with guilt. Its a roller coaster of constant emotion. I mean one of those roller coasters you built in those computer games in the 90's. You literally don't know whats coming next, even if you think you do. And sometimes that alone feels like it could kill you. You just want to get off already and throw up for days. 

I posted that picture on instagram with my honest feelings, and a new friend reached out. She had been there. Walking that tight rope with the same balance. And she sent me her blog post on it. I felt like she understood me completely. I want to share her words from Somethingrosier.com 

"But this, I believe, is simply just a "new normal" – the sadness will never go away, one just becomes accustomed to its presence. Often the "black dog" metaphor is used to represent depression (which I don't quite agree with because black dogs get enough bad press ey), but I think that for many this black dog is something one works on getting rid of, whereas those of us that have experienced this kind of loss instead learn to live with it.

Let's, instead, use it to represent our grief. It's huge. It's a tiger. It sits in our laps and we're not used to that. It crushes us, we can't breathe and we don't want to deal with it. We push it away and we don't want to look at it, don't want to think about it, but it's there, regardless, and we feed it and we water it every day, all the time. Then weeks pass and we become used to its weight, it no longer crushes us as it once did. Its weight hasn't changed but we're just used to it. And then, soon enough, we have lived with it for long enough that we learn to plan our steps around it. We're not tripping over it anymore, it's not so much in the way as it was when it appeared. We have learned that it doesn't need to be fed, but it will come for us when it wants feeding, and we can do it, or not do it. It's quiet, and it comes and goes. It pads alongside us all through life whether we see it and engage it or not, and, for me, I think it helps me to feel closer to my baby sometimes." - Farrah

It was so comforting to hear it from a fellow mom. She's ahead of me on this journey, and has graciously reached out during her grief to help me. A stranger across an ocean. And she spoke my language. The tiger is still suffocating me, its brother sitting in the corner, because hey two griefs are different and require different time. And he is on a time out right now. 

with love, lissa

Yesterday when max was giving me hugs, he said, oops sorry, I don’t want to hurt the baby in your tummy. Something I had told him for months, and he had finally learned this month. We seem to have this conversation a lot right now. And then he bluntly repeats, "the baby died," and runs away.

We went to the funeral home today to sign paperwork. I could barely write that sentence. How am I supposed to sign my baby over. every question seemed agonizing. I had somehow gone from planning her baby shower, to her funeral. In 24 hours. Life changes in an instant, and its never been harsher.

I had a full blown panic attack before we left. I was standing in her room, I didn't know if I should bring clothes for her. We weren't prepared for that in the hospital. But 5 min before we left, I had the mothers instinct to want to dress her for this final stage. And I mean I was just standing in front of that dresser screaming internally because I DID NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO. All of the emotions were coming out. Nothing seemed right. Nothing is right in these moments. I finally decided the outfit I had chosen for her to come home in, was still going to be the one she came home in. A simple pink sleeper with Hello written all over it. And a bow. She was still going to get these things I had dreamed of for months.

I also chose to include her bunny. My boys each have a jellycat stuffed animal that they became extremely attached to. They were given by the same person, but usually after birth. Hers came early, just like her. And she will forever be with it. 

As we drove to the funeral home I just kept thinking, what are we doing. You never stop thinking its a mistake. That this isn't real life. Im looking down at this outfit and bunny that I'm just leaving somewhere. Her arrival was supposed to be this new chapter of my life. And it is, in the worst way possible. I am just wandering it aimlessly. I don't know which page comes next, they are all awful right now. But Im trying, I really am. Even on the days I spend morning to night, curled up in bed crying. I am breathing. I am clawing myself along in this nightmare. One day it will be easier, but that day is not today, and thats okay. 

with love, lissa

The Kindness

I opened my FB today, and saw a picture of a beautiful family smiling back at me. It was the cover for a GoFundMe page. You see them all the time. Tragedy is never restless. 

I know my brain is in shock still, trying to protect my heart. It took me a minute, really it did. To realize that was my family. I never wanted to be there, staring back from a screen. Perfectly dressed in matching outfits and smiles. I never wanted to be this family. You read a terrible story about and think, gosh Im glad that's not me. 

With each share came a story about how someone knew this family. It took me a long time to build friendships. And now I have them from all walks of life. All over the world people began to share Anna's story. I told a friend it was overwhelming at times, to hear people speak so kindly of me. That I never knew how much I meant to the world. She replied, "You have an army you built with love and support for others, and now they are here for you." I brought me to tears. 

Beyond the GoFundMe which has been incredibly giving, friends have organized a whole meal train, send packages of the most thoughtful things, send messages all through the day and night to comfort me, and even if I don't reply, sometimes I just don't have enough to give words back, its still nice to reach out. They try to visit, though Im not the greatest companion right now, and turn down a lot of visitors. I am at the center of a whirlwind of people trying to help in a helpless situation. 

A good friend who has been there since Sawyer had his cranio surgery, gifted our family tickets to the Golden Knights Stanley Cup game this week. But I couldn't bear the thought of stepping outside this house yet. I am cocooned in safety if I stay here my brain tells me. Instead Brandon took Sawyer to his first hockey game. He has been robbed of the joy of a baby sister, so it warmed my heart to see his huge smile with his Dad. Continuing to make memories as we trudge through this darkness together. 

There has been so much given to our family in time, food, gifts and kindness. I open messages to "I dropped something at your doorstep this morning" more days than not. Each one knowing they can't change what happened, or fix this broken heart. But they are chosen with such careful thought. Brandon has opened every one before me, just in case there would be something to upset me. He is so caring in so many ways. Then he carries them up to the bedroom and hopes one will bring that smile back to my face. And even though they are all so lovely and many are things I will treasure for the rest of my life, sometimes they make me feel guilty too. That I am only receiving these things because of this loss. I would do anything to not own these tender gifts of love. 

I'm going to list some of the gifts we've received only because it may be helpful to know what things to send someone in this position. If I don't list something, its not that it wasn't immensely appreciated, they all are because they come with such love. I simply am being overwhelmed with love and forgetfulness is a physical attribute to grief. (I literally lost myself in the middle of that sentence because I forgot the word forgetful.) 

The first thing that arrived was flowers. And while I have never loved receiving flowers because it was a reminder that all things died. Somehow these flowers were all reminders of beauty in the world too. And the feminine side of life. And even though they were sometimes painful reminders. I too have grown fond of seeing them around the house. A little beauty in such pain. 

This gift was so simple, unexpected and brought my to tears instantly. Brandon's aunt sent it, and it happened to arrive the day we came home from the hospital. I sat in the car unable to get out by myself because of the surgery. I had dreaded coming home. And I sat in the driveway and opened this small gift. Wrapped in simple white was a gift with the writing, "For your many tears." Inside was a simple white handkerchief. With anna's name and her birth date. I would have NEVER thought of this to give someone grieving. But what a timeless keepsake it is. 

Gifts that can be worn are a wonderful daily reminder. Maybe Not everyone likes the constant reminder, but I do. I even have the only doll I ever bought her, sitting in the room right now. Not because it makes me sad, but because it reminds me of the feeling I had when I bought it. Like everything was ahead of me and happy. I feel the same way about the jewelry, they are happy reminders of what I had been hoping and waiting for. Everyone grieves differently, but for me I like feeling it ALL. If some days it makes me cry all day, thats fine too. Thats just how grief works for me. These pieces are something I can touch and see daily. They make her memory real. 

This is especially essential for a grieving mom. Something people don't think about. You know there is no baby, but your body doesn't. So to add insult to injury, rub salt in a gaping wound, and bring even more physical pain while recovering from major surgery, you milk comes in. I actually thought I was having a reaction to my pain meds because my shortness of breath and pain in my chest. Nope just the milk coming in. A friend of mine is a midwife and brought this care package to the hospital right away. The bottom was covered in cabbage, because if you don't know, that old wives tale is absolutely true. I remembered thing why is sudafed in here? And even if this wasn't the intended use, I remember crying so much one day and realizing, o this will help clear my sinuses that are like a faucet right now. 

The blankets. Not gonna lie, I wont have to buy another for a long time. But I do love them all. I find the weight on me right now comforting. So pile them on. A friend wrapped one around me and announced it was a hug from her to me. This one was especially sentimental And currently hanging on the chair in her nursery. Not only because its a beautiful keepsake. But because it also benefits an adoptive foundation with each purchase. It will be my new go to baby gift. I wish I could have wrapped Anna in it. 

Gosh this post is getting lengthy and I haven't even covered half of it. I might have to break this into two posts. Especially because people continue to send care packages. Book for me, for the kids, food is in crazy abundance, a package of my favorite things. You all know I love baths, because I have bath bombs and salt for the rest of my life, or a month. I have thought it was especially kind to receive gifts for the boys. It gave everyone some moments of peace while they played with new cars, and gave them some joy. Candles, cream & Starbucks cards. Someone even gave me a super soft pair of pjs. But this is the most important. 

Time.

What a simple concept. But its the most valuable. I have had two friends make time during their vacations that happened to line up that week. I have friends and family who have taken the boys anywhere and everywhere. Friends who have sat and just rubbed my legs when the skin was SO tight from swelling that it hurt to just stand on them. Even the little messages I wake up to that say, I don't know what to say. Even if I don't respond, I read them all. Time is something you cannot buy, but if you genuinely give it, can be the most meaningful gift of all.  

with love, lissa