Not for the Faint of Heart

October needs to be done.

I'm tired of these firsts. Part of me thinks the seconds are going to be harder, despite what 'they' all say, because I was ready for the firsts. Well, not all of them.

I wasn't ready for my family to tell my niece she could only talk about Analin in certain situations, even though it wouldn't have been a problem had Analin lived. My niece hasn't talked about her much, since.

I wasn't ready for when someone offered me photos of the sky lanterns we let off at the Memorial, but they weren't sure I wanted them because it had been so long. I could only reply that two days prior would have been her eight month birthday as I stared at their few months old son.

I wasn't ready for the world to be so willing and able to keep my baby a secret, despite the fact that so many women have lost.

I wasn't ready for not knowing what to say to my best friend about her loss, even though our losses were just a few weeks apart.

I wasn't ready for the anger I felt at my best friends' daughter's birthday party when I was the only one who wrote the lost baby a card, who (besides the parents) seemed to remember there were supposed to be two.

All birthday parties were hard, regardless of the birthday person's age. My daughter would never have one of those.

I'm so angry the doctors have 'decided' what happened to my baby despite the fact there was no proof, but the 'decision' is to protect any future pregnancies I might have, so it seems so foolish to feel that way.

I can't stand when someone says they wish babies would just stay little. I have that, and wish with all my being she would have grown up instead.

I'm fed up with not writing on this blog just because I don't want to hurt someone's feelings because of how they inadvertently hurt me.

I have an entire future ahead of me, one child short.

My life is not hard. I am not debilitated by Analin's loss. I understand and accept there was nothing I could do about it, and there is nothing I can do about it but carry the pain with me day after day after day. People 'help' with words barbed in ways they simply can't understand.

This is not for the faint of heart. October just has to end. Then I can let you know about the rest.



Dear Analin,

I'm really tired, baby. Maybe I'll be better in a month or so. I love you so very, very much.


Your Mommy.
<3

Bubba Misses You, Too

Dear Analin,

My mom asked me the other day if it was too late to send a sympathy card a week after a colleague of hers had lost her father. I told her absolutely not. Sometimes those delayed sympathies can mean more than the ones that come right away. They're a reminder to us that we're not the only ones who remember, and it reminds us we're not alone even though our grief goes on beyond that week of 'bereavement leave.'

At the beginning of the month I received a sympathy package from my beautiful blogging buddies, +Tena Carr, +Leanne Sype and +Nicole Pyles. It was full of different keepsakes, but the one that has been used the most is a beautiful throw. Joshua got it out with a big smile and I told him about the box it came in. The blanket had come with it's own note - when you wrap this around your shoulders, we hope you feel yourself wrapped in a hug. Joshua immediately covered himself neck to toes and announced, 'I feel Analin hugging me, Mommy!'

Sympathies and condolences can be too heavy right after a loss. Honestly, at that time, silent presence and support may be more the answer. Later, when the pain still hurts but isn't quite as raw, when sympathies can be heard with less of a bitter ear, that may be when they are needed most, yet not given because they'd been spent too early.

In our case, it was another reminder for your now 5-year-old brother, and a way for us to help keep you alive in our family through memory. Another memory we could make with you, even though you're not here. And that is what's so special about other people remembering you. That is why I love talking about you. Because the more people know and remember you, the more memories that can come from it.

Here's to a million more memories and then some.

Love,

Mommy.

Re-Introductions

Dear Analin,

I've been reminded lately about a blogging challenge somewhere out there where we're meant to re-introduce ourselves. It's in part for new followers of the blog and in part to help reconnect us to those we've known for a while.

I'm beginning to feel like I need to re-introduce myself to the people in my every day life. I've written before how losing you has made me really look at myself. I've become more opinionated - not because I never had opinions, but because I was more content to keep them to myself before. I've become bolder - reaching out to people where I usually keep to myself.

For example, we were at Cedar Point this past weekend and I saw a man with a baby footprint tattoo and a name on his forearm. I asked him if he'd lost a baby, and he said no, it was his little girl's footprint. He has his other daughter's on the other arm. I told him it was beautiful and apologized. We'd lost a baby recently, so that's why I'd gone there. There was no conversation after that. I kept waiting for the embarrassed feeling I usually get for chatting with a stranger and feeling like I overstepped, but I didn't. I wasn't embarrassed for reaching out, or even for talking briefly about our loss. It was just something I needed to do in that moment, and it was fine.

I've been a bit more aggressive with people these days, too. I'm not willing to put up with as much as I used to, such as when I feel taken advantage of, or more specifically, when I feel others I care about are being taken advantage of.

Heck, forget re-introducing myself to others. Sometimes when I look in the mirror and think about these changes, I don't really recognize myself.

Self empowerment, maybe. Maybe a touch of desperation. In ways, I'm proud of myself and I like it. In others, some of these tendencies are so outside my comfort zone I feel the need to stop myself and ask what it is I'm really doing, and what am I doing it for?

So far, no harm has come from it. I hope these changes settle down and settle in without taking me too far away from myself. Or rather, help me become a stronger and more steady form of myself. That would be nice. Being able to say no and mean it, being able to stand up for myself even when doing so might 'rock the boat' unnecessarily, these are things I think I could do more with. Perhaps your loss has given me the key to being able to find it.

Life happens, of course, and changes do as well. I guess your loss was just so big and these changes are so sudden ... it's all a shock. Some days I think I'm still in shock. Others, I know I am. I am sure it will all settle in. When and how are the questions.

Oh, but I miss you. <3 All these silly and not-so silly thoughts and it comes down to missing you. I know that won't change even with everything else going crazy.

Forever, Love.

Mommy.

Hiding

Dear Analin,

I know it's been a long time. I've been writing letters in my head, but they haven't made it to here for many reasons. One, and perhaps the most important, has been that I've just wanted to withdraw from the outer world. We've also been super busy, so there have been a lot of excuses to stay away.

Oh, the year has been tough. Sebastian's second birthday. Mother's day. Daddy got me two handmade owl notebooks from you with metal owls decorating the front. A wedding too similar to the one we'd been at the day we lost you, the day before you were born. My cousin's baby shower for her little girl - I only managed five minutes and yelled at Mimi because she asked me why I had to leave. Joshua's fifth birthday. Father's day. Family visits. Each broke my heart because you weren't there. Then there were the baby girls born to very deserving parents, but I can't escape the feeling it isn't fair.

I've been hiding, I admit. I haven't been online. I haven't blogged or checked my email often. I've stayed off social networking - some completely, others just a little less often. I don't want to hear sad news, or happy news. I like things being pretty even emotionally right now. But I know I can't hide forever, that I need to come out at some point and figure out the world again. I've forced myself out to some social events, but I'm terrified, always terrified, of the something that never comes, or rarely does, that makes it impossible for me to stay.

I'm thinking of ways to step out again without falling into the traps I'd walked into before. I'm starting to get a firm grasp on my priorities and I don't want to muddle them up again. I'm starting to be a little bit stronger in defending my choices when it comes to my priorities. All good things, things that came from losing you. That silver lining doesn't always shine, though, does it?

It will be nice when this year of firsts is over. Nice and shattering all on it's own. Bittersweet doesn't even start to cover it. But that heartbreak is for a different day. I have plenty enough that come with today to start borrowing from tomorrow.

I hope to start writing more now. I was asked by someone not to stop. I never really intended to stop. The letters just got lost in the shuffle. Here's to a new start, then, one that carries on for quite a bit longer.

Not so long now, then, and I'll be writing you again. All my love, sweet girl.

Mommy.

Tiny Burns

Dear Analin,

It's been one of those weekends. Nothing major happened, just lots of small things adding up to the point where breathing hurts a little bit again.

We put Christmas stuff away on Sunday. It was no where near as difficult as putting Christmas decorations up. When we put Christmas up, I was in a cloud of pain. I could barely see through it, keeping my face as relaxed as possible for the boys and family. I hadn't been able to believe, at the time, that missing you would hurt that much. I ended up blaming other things and other people. Everything built up in me until I couldn't stop the tears, but it was still a while before I sorted out it wasn't everything outside of me causing the pain, but what was inside.

Taking Christmas down was a piece of cake after that. Even folding away your stocking with all the others wasn't as hard as I was afraid it was going to be. The process wasn't pleasant, but it wasn't devastating.

We saw Athena this weekend as well. I got to feed her and burp her for the first time. I was such a proud (and lucky) auntie. I got her to eat her whole bottle before she fell asleep, and she burped so quickly and easily for me. She is a beautiful five month old baby who is right on target for a two month old size because she was born three months early. Athena is a true miracle and I get to be part of her life. I wish so badly that you could be, too. She's the daughter of my best friend who I've known since first grade. We had so many plans for you, Athena and Xavier, Athena's twin who didn't make it.

On Friday, I got a text from one of my friends. Her five year old daughter had accidentally let a balloon into the sky. "Mommy, is it going up to Joshua's sister?" Her mommy told her that it was. It made my heart so happy to know you were thought about, talked about, and I wasn't even there. It was beautiful to me.

So memories have been the culprit. Memories of what had been and what's been planned. Nothing new, but nothing painless. It's like when you hold your palm over a flame for just a moment. It doesn't hurt very badly. But then you do it again. And again. And again, a million more times. Eventually it starts to hurt, even burn, when at first it had just been a little too warm.

Of course, I am your mommy. A little burn would never stop me from thinking about you or missing you. I love you bigger than words or thoughts. Bigger than you could ever know.

Forever, little one.

Mommy.

Good Grief

Dear Analin,

Your daddy told me something that your uncle had told him. It's an observation he made about how we're handling our grief for you. He said something along the lines of seeing us accept grief as a part of ourselves -as if it were an arm or a leg - rather than looking at grief as something to tackle or to fix.

I think that's a very true observation. From the moment I found out you were gone, I knew I would be okay, that our whole family would. We would hurt, we would be angry, and we would miss you forever, but we would be okay. And we have been. We have been supporting each other through this in every way - pushing, dragging and walking along side each other with every step. Accepting grief as something that will always be with us, rather than something to try to patch over or forget.

I was feeling guilty, admittedly, for not obsessing over you every day, for not being angry or devastated, but for moving on with what I have left in my life, which is still full of love. So many people who have lost their own babies seem bogged down by it, heartbroken in a way that can't be fixed. But I don't think it's something to be fixed. Loss is something to be accepted. It doesn't mean you have to like it, or that all the negative emotions go away. It just means you realize there's nothing to be done, that you still have a life to live, still have others to love and others who love you.

All of this brings me back to how lucky we are. Daddy and I have your two big brothers, and possibly some little siblings to enjoy. I read an article yesterday about parents who lost their baby and cannot have another. I can't imagine the pain of that, or the struggle, and doubt my words here would be much help to them. Or at least, not comforting. Of course, I'm not trying to be comforting. Pragmatic, I guess. Definitely realistic.

Life is not meant to be lived in pain and sadness. I lived that way for so many years. I struggled through clinical depression and won. I felt loneliness cut deep even when I was with people who were supposed to be my family. Then I decided enough was enough and left it all behind to be criticized as I moved through it - another type of hurt.

Having lived through all that taught me so much about pain and grief, and how to find the silver lining, how to smile through it all and find something to be happy about. That's basically where we are now, I think. Even though we're sad, we're still happy.

I love you, baby girl.

Mommy.

New Year

Dear Analin,

We're minutes from the new year. It will be 2014 by the time I finish writing this, we're so close. It has been such a difficult day. I've been pretty terrified all day that 2013 wasn't quite done with us yet. Your daddy and big brother, Sebastian, have been sick. We've had a few trips out on semi-icy roads and I held my breath the whole way.

With this year ending, I'm becoming more certain your loss was for a reason. I know that's horrible to think, and that many people won't agree with me, but I can't help it. Perhaps it's the way your father and I met, or many other thing throughout my life, but I truly believe in Fate. I believe the road we're taken on is intended to be the best for us. Because I believe this, it means I have to see this as not only the best road for me, but also the best road for you.

It's such a hard end to the year. So many people in your family are hurting, but we hope and pray the new year brings us something different, something positive. We have all been beat up this year by many things, one of the greatest being your loss, and other babies. Loss of family units and homes. It's been hard and we are so looking forward to something easier.

We miss you so much at times like this - times you should be with us. But looking forward, perhaps, I'm seeing reasons why you're not. I don't like a single one of them. I don't believe for a minute we couldn't have met the challenges before us with you. Meeting them without you is quite a different challenge, as it is.

Ugh. I have to admit, I'm not entirely sober writing this, so I hope it's not completely crazy. Your big brother, Joshua, is begging me to take him to bed, his first real New Years Night. And all I can think of right now is writing you and letting you know that I miss you so very much it hurts every moment, but I also appreciate you in a way very few can understand, and will be able to keep going with just your memory.

I love you, beautiful girl, on this fantastic New Year Night as it heads into day, and all the others in front of and behind it. I have to take your brother to bed now.

Forever thinking of and missing you. Happy New Year, Analin.

Love from your Mommy.