A Picture Worth a Thousand Tears

We got to see photos that were taken from Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep after Calvin was delivered. I am so grateful that we were able to have a photographer come in and capture a few precious moments with our son. These photos will be treasured forever.

But I am broken all over.

And I am disappointed. In the weeks of waiting, expectations managed to creep into my subconscious convincing me that these photos would be of something that didn't exist. That somehow our baby would look less like he did on August 17th and more like he should if he were full-term and healthy. That somehow within the past ten weeks, our reality that day consisted of a baby that the girls could have visited, should have visited. That somehow our photos would conjure the same warm-hearted feelings I get when looking at professional photographs of families walking hand-in-hand through falling leaves, little hands pressed with eager anticipation on a mother's round belly, moments of happiness and joy that I am so used to being posted everywhere I turn.

I look at these photos and a numbness settles over me. Is this really us? It is so strange to vividly remember sitting on that hospital bed posing for that picture, yet feeling a disconnect to who that person was. I know that these are the exact people we were, he is the exact baby that I remember delivering, and yet it's like an entirely different universe. It feels like yesterday and a lifetime ago.

I am ripping in two.

I think part of my disappointment is simply grief. Looking at all these photos opens the wound that was scarring. It is fresh and raw. I have been so eager to get these photos back that I didn't stop to think of how hard it would be too.

But I am incredibly thankful for what our photographer gave us. Even if she could magically make our photos different, I would never want her to. The photos are perfect, I know, because they capture our reality. They capture our time with Calvin just as it was. They capture the three of us in the moments we shared. They capture our heartache. And our love.

xoxo, christine

The Windy City

I had a long weekend in Chicago with my husband. With everything we've been going through, it was some much needed uninterrupted "couple" time. The last time I was in Chicago was in high school, so it was fun to do some exploring, but I discovered a few things too.

First of all, I could totally picture us living in Chicago. Do you ever do that? Whenever I go somewhere new I try to imagine what it would be like for our family to live there. Some places I can see the possibilities and other places all I can see is "Oh, hell no." The only problem with Chicago is that if we ever actually lived there I'd have to take daily dramamine just to get around. That L Train is crazy for my inner ear. Holy motion-sickness, Batman!

Also, as much as I enjoyed myself, it was very hard to be away from the girls. I'm kind of assuming that it's because of everything we've been through with losing Calvin, but I just want to keep my girls close lately. I still have moments that I fear I am going crazy (as in, give me a break from mommying all day!), but at the same time I desperately want to keep them physically close to me right now. It's like I have to hold on to what's important, and they are most important.

Another thing: while traveling without kids has it's benefits (mostly that it's way easier), I found myself thinking about what they would enjoy about Chicago. And all the cute photo-opps we'd have.

Finally, I love love love to travel, and I love love love home just as much. Being in Chicago renewed in me a desire to go to new places while simultaneously reminding me of my appreciation for having a place to call home. A place that is comfortable and happy.

xoxo, christine

Also? Apparently I actually like deep dish pizza. Who knew?

Blurry Vision

Now that October is here there is an increase in the weight on my shoulders with each passing day. As we inch closer to the end of the month, closer to my due date with Calvin, the days are heavy and cloudy.

I tried to explain to my husband last night how I've been feeling -- like everything is tainted. Like every experience has a little bit of dust, a little bit of gray covering it. Like I am viewing the world through a pair of glasses with the wrong prescription. Everything is a little blurry, and my eyes have to work super hard to focus, giving myself a headache, and then they just can't do it anymore and I have to give my eyes a break and close them, until I am strong enough to open them again and start all over.

Except it's not my eyes, it's my heart.

It takes a lot of work and energy to function in a blurry world and so after awhile it catches up to me and I have to give myself a break from being strong. This is grief. And I think it is all part of the normal process. But to anyone who worries, you can rest assured that I am seeing my therapist regularly, so if I do happen to lose my footing, she will be there to help break my fall.

It is hard not to think about what we don't have. That I am not pregnant. That we do not have to get the nursery ready. That I do not need to buy boy baby clothes. That we need nothing baby-related anymore. And even though we have no reason to believe I can't get pregnant again, we have no reason to think we won't be blessed with another baby, I find myself with the attitude that we can't and we won't. That we might as well just get rid of all our baby things now.

I wish that things were different. In so many ways, I wish things were different. I know that I control what is written here, but writing is also reflection for me, and as much as I don't want this place to be gloomy, it feels fake to pretend. I want to be able to focus on the things that bring me joy, because there are many things that bring me joy. But even amongst the joy, my heart is heavy. And so I write what is on my heart, even when, day after day, it is sorrowful.

I love October. I love the fall. But with the new season of crisp air, apples, and sweaters looms the day I should have brought my son into the world - ALIVE. They day we should have met and cried and gazed into each other's eyes saying,

There you are. I know you. I love you.

I miss him.

xoxo, christine

Thin Skin

Thursdays are rough, I think because we're tired from getting through the first three days of the week, and also because it's a really busy day with preschool, Kindergarten, and dance class. Today, though, was the roughest Thursday we've had yet.

It's a long story, but basically I made a decision that I hadn't thought out, and then shortly after changed my mind without thinking it through again, which then caused Hope to be very upset. I mean, EXTREMELY upset. I made a mistake. I was wrong. This was a not-well-thought-out decision, and it was made simply because I was tired. And I feel awful that I caused her pain. That I hurt her. So, once she calmed down we talked about how I was sorry and that mommies make mistakes too. I suppose it was a good learning moment, for both of us.

The thing is, what makes me the saddest about the whole situation is that I caused Hope's first field trip to leave a sour taste in her mouth. And when people ask her if she had fun, she tells them no, not because she didn't have fun on the actual field trip, but because of how the day ended. The first experience I got being a part of Hope's Kindergarten year and I messed it up. And that breaks my heart.

And that she is mad at me, and that she told me she does not want me to go on a field trip with her ever again, break my heart. I mean, it really breaks my heart. Of course, I know this is just a blip on the radar of our relationship. There will be many, many moments in her childhood and adolescence when she is mad at me. But I think this particular situation hurts so much because I know I was in the wrong.

I have a hard time getting over that. I have a hard time forgiving myself for those mistakes.

But then I wonder, if I'm having a hard time handling this little moment now, when she's five, how in the world will I have a strong enough heart to make it when she's a fifteen-year-old screaming that she hates me?

I'm not sure my skin is thick enough for teenagers. Of course, as long as I don't beat myself up for the next several years, I do have those same years to build up a thicker skin. There might be hope for me yet.

But until then, I will ask for forgiveness and try move on. And really try to keep myself from repeatedly asking Hope if she's forgiven me and if I can come volunteer at her classroom again. Because whether she wants me to or not, I'm gonna be there . I'd just rather that she want me there too.

xoxo, christine

There's an Elephant in the Room

I have a hard time knowing how to answer when someone asks, "How are you doing?" It's not necessarily because I don't want to talk about what's been going on or how I'm feeling, but just that I don't really know what to say. I don't always know how I'm doing. And most of my processing, crying, and thinking things through occur at night with the stillness and quiet of laying in bed.

Also, I've discovered that I've become the friend who makes outings awkward and uncomfortable. I don't like to use the word "hate" very often, but I'm pretty sure I hate that I bring a big elephant into the room with me. I drag it around behind me, my elephant who is chained to my ankle (or rather, my heart), and everyone is keenly aware he is there but no one wants to say anything. My "baby-who-died" elephant. I don't want to make people uncomfortable, but he is a part of me now. And I hope that at some point my elephant becomes less awkward, and even though I hate his awkwardness, I guess you could say that I love him. Because he is my story. And I would rather have my strange and difficult "baby-who-died" elephant than nothing at all.

(Am I losing you here as I delve deeper into this whole "elephant" thing? I'm getting a little caught up and carried away in this the symbolism.)

And it's hard. It's hard and uncomfortable and awkward, for all of us. I don't blame anyone, because I'm sure before all this happened I would be the exact same way. And maybe not all people who've lost babies and loved ones would agree, but I say just bring it up. Don't be afraid that bringing up my baby will remind me of his death because he will always be in my mind. I know that you might be afraid that I don't want to talk about it, but that's okay. Please. Ask. (Just choose gentle words.) And if I don't want to talk about it I will let you know.

There are so many things about this that are hard, I am continually being taken by surprise. I suppose if I had thought about it, I would've realized that I have an elephant permanently attached to my heart, but of course I'm so stuck in my own head and my own world that I didn't even notice when he appeared.


xoxo christine

As an aside: I can't decide if I like using this elephant analogy or not (even though I keep using it). We bought a stuffed animal elephant for our baby while we were in San Diego this past spring. It was long before we knew anything other than that we were happy to be adding to our family. The elephant is Calvin's and will always be his. I used "elephant in the room" simply because everyone knows what that means, but if Calvin's animal is an elephant I'm not sure that I want this ache (and awkwardness) to be associated with that. On the other hand, maybe I can think of my heartache as his stuffed elephant always being with me.

The Universe and Hobbes

I have been trying to write a blog post all week. There are so many thoughts and emotions tangled together in my mind, every time I get started I don't seem able to put down a coherent or cohesive text.

The service we had for Calvin felt good. We had our immediate family together in a small chapel with a few meaningful songs and comforting words spoken. I know that he didn't need any of it to be welcomed into heaven, but it sure brought some peace to my heart and soul. In fact, it felt oddly refreshing to cry together as a family.

It is still not easy, though. I think there is something to my thought last week of never healing but just feeling less broken. Or maybe you do heal, but it's like a scar where the injury itself is healed but the area is never the same. The skin is more sensitive and a reminder of the pain.

I don't know. Just a thought.

Yesterday at Paige's dance class I overheard a cute little pregnant woman mention that she had six weeks left. Masochist that I seem to be, I immediately checked the calendar to confirm that yes, she is due the same week I was with Calvin. When I got home Adam informed me that a coworker of his is adopting a baby that was born on August 17, the day I delivered Calvin. These things, they sting. It hurts, not because of what they have, but because of what we don't have.

Sometimes I wonder if the universe is trying to tell us that we weren't mean to have three children here on earth. Sorry guys, three's just too much for you, so STOP TRYING. I know it's more than a little ridiculous, this thought, but it still creeps into the corners of my mind sometimes.

Anyway, we're all doing okay, I guess. Taking one day at a time...every day.

And yesterday we got a package from a friend who made a Hobbes for our Calvin. Because every Calvin needs a Hobbes.

Happy Weekend.

xoxo christine

Less Broken and Broken and Friday Photos

It was a bit of a rough week. We marked one month since delivering Calvin on Tuesday, and my emotions took me by surprise. (Although I'm not quite sure why, as anyone who knows me well will agree that I'm an emotional person.) The following day I got a tattoo of Calvin's footprints on my wrist. My first tattoo. It feels like a step in the right direction of Healing.

But of course Healing is a process. (And maybe one is never "healed" but just "less broken"?)

Tonight I had a meeting where we wrote down the members of our families. When I took a paper for each of my girls I thought, this breaks my heart. It felt really unfair that I didn't need another piece for Calvin. (In fact, I felt like I should even have four.)

I feel incredibly sad and empty tonight.

And now I have no way to transition into photos from our week. So I'm just going to dump them here and pretend that this post is really well put together, even thought it's so obviously not.

She had her first day of tennis last week... and loved it. 

I finally got around to setting up an area with some of our reminders of Calvin. The elephant we bought for him in San Diego, the hat he wore at the hospital, and his tiny footprints.

It's their favorite place to eat lunch.

A beautiful memorial to my son.

xoxo, christine