Terrible Assumptions

This afternoon I had lunch with C, her daughter, A and son, M. As the two of us tried to manage both of them while chatting, the server walked up to talk to A. She asked who belonged with whom. C said they were both hers. The server looked at me and said, "I was trying to figure it out. You haven't wanted to give this a try yet?"

I just plastered a fake smile on my face and made a noise in my throat, all while concealing my protruding belly under the table. I suppose I do look like I'm behind the times when compared to C's two 16 months apart.

C said that was the first time she had seen one of these assumptions made and asked how I usually handle them. Thankfully the situation has not arose too much. I have only been asked once if this was my first. I mostly respond by trying not to answer directly.

I did have a situation where I felt the need to address it. A client wished me a "Happy Mother-to-be Day". I have worked closely with this client for the last several months, so I explained the situation. Thankfully she was incredibly compassionate and said she would be praying for our pregnancy.

I'm trying to learn myself to not make assumptions. I think our society is far to prone to them. I want to be open to the hurting in the world and embrace them from the start, not have them explain themselves to me.

An emotional weekend

The grief came back in a big wave this weekend. We committed ourselves to a number of gatherings that we were looking forward to. It was in the moment though that I felt the absence of the one who should be with us.

Friday night we celebrated R's 3rd birthday. Tim and I love R and the group of friends gathered together. R in particular has a been a source of joy for us, because she is able to interact with us, enjoys hanging out with us, and is a girl!!

Our friends are so sensitive to our pregnancy, talk about Cara and this new little one. But it was as I was taking a picture of the four children there that I realized what I didn't have. Our little girl should be eager to get her arms around the delicious little baby boy. Our little girl should be the dark haired one in the midst of light haired girls.

On the way home I tried to reconcile my feelings. I have heard a lot of parents after loss talk about their subsequent children. "If I hadn't lost this child, I wouldn't have had the next child and I can't picture my life without him (her)." I can't do that. I simply can't. I will always want Cara to be here with us. This little one wasn't in the plan, and I wholeheartedly believe that this one will bring us joy. I just can't say I'm ok with giving up Cara to get to this one.

This struggle of reconciliation continued into Saturday. Saturday we celebrated my brother's graduation from college. My parents' house filled with family and friends. I heard the hugs and excited greetings of those who only see each other at our family gatherings. Unspoken went the last gathering we all were together at - my daughter's funeral.

At 20 weeks pregnant, my belly was object of much attention. Lots of pats, rubs, comments. An out for those who didn't want to acknowledge the grief, the sadness, the loss, which subsequently was everyone. There was only one conversation that centered around my daughter. Everyone was outside enjoying the summer night, and I sought solace in the kitchen. My mom's best friend joined me at the kitchen table. She, having lost a baby, allowed me the space to share what I was truly feeling.

I realized that my pregnancy gives others the opportunity to cope with our loss and not far from my thoughts is how much more will this child allow that. The (not) replacement child. As she is passed around a crowd, will her big sister be mentioned? She isn't now. How could she be then?

Sunday brought more tears as my friend L preached one of the most amazing sermons I have heard on the day her son was baptized. She used birth analogies to connect the birth he receives at the waters of baptism and the rebirth he will continually experience through his life.

The replacement child

Last week Tim and I had our final joint counseling session with David. We have been meeting with David since two days after I delivered Cara. I remember that first walk up the steps to his office. The steps were narrow and steep. I walked up them slowly in tears from the pain of delivery and the weight of my grief heavy on me.

Our times with David have been the calm in the midst of the storm. It is there we have gone for affirmation in our grief, clarity of thought, and direction for the future. He has been one of the greatest blessings of our past year. The sessions started with grieving Cara, but eventually moved to our marriage, our relationships with others, and the hardest to process, ourselves. Tim and I often had talked about seeking counseling before losing Cara. Her death was the final push we needed.

We met with David weekly until about the end of last year. Then it became every other week, then once a month, until this last session we talked and there was silence. We asked David if there was anything else we should touch on again from previous sessions. His basic response was "no, I think we have finished." He went on to affirm the process we have been through and shared something I will always remember.

He told us the story of a colleague who wrote an article called, "The Replacement Religion". This individual had a very unique perspective, because he had been the replacement child. His parents lost a baby as infant, and he was the subsequent child. Their grief was such that they named this man the same name as his dead brother and essentially lived into all of their dreams for the first child.

David said, "I don't think this will be the case with your next child. Cara has a unique place in your lives. You have made a space for her, and she has become a child in her own right in your family."

I'm not entirely sure it was by design. I wanted to get pregnant right away after we lost Cara. I wanted another child so desperately to ease the pain. But it didn't happen. What we got instead was long cycles that would not support a pregnancy, a miscarriage, emotional cycles of infertility treatment and finally a glimmer of hope.

In that time, grieving Cara was very, very difficult, but it was also necessary. We found ways to remember her as our child and to honor and celebrate her.

Our excitement in learning that our next little one is a girl could also seem in a way to replace Cara, but that could not be further from the truth. We are excited to live out some of our little girl dreams, but we are already making new ones. Cara could never be replaced. However, we do expect that this little one will teach us to love Cara even more, in ways that we had not previously known.

A Glimmer of Hope

Tim and I learned that we are pregnant with another little girl this week. Our little bean is due October 26th, and we couldn't be more thrilled. It has been a whirlwind pregnancy already, and we can only hope that the next 18 weeks pass as quickly as the last 18.

She's still here...

Hard to believe that summer is almost here. Time seems to be moving pretty quickly here lately, which I'm thankful for. And yet, I miss Cara more than ever. I've been writing this week about our time with Cara in the hospital and it's a bittersweet reminder of how much of a gift it was to spend that day with her, and what we're missing.

One of the lifelines that has helped me through this journey has been trying to tend and care for Cara like she's still here. Not in the physical sense, but in the sense that somehow, in ways I can't totally comprehend, her spirit is still here.

I've heard other parents at Compassionate Friends talk about this. Cynthia's Aunt was just sharing with us this weekend that she misses her daughter so much, while adding, "but she's still here with me."

I don't have a full-proof explanation for how someones spirit can remain, I can only offer these ideas...

Your child or loved one is still here because they are a part of you. Sometimes biologically or physically, sometimes through other bonds and unions. Your loved one was a part of you, a part of your very fabric and being. So they are still here, because for them to be gone would be like walking around with only one arm or leg. Without them, a part of you would be missing.

My second reason is because of things beyond my comprehension. For some reason, the movie Ghost has been playing in my head over the past couple weeks. I think because of Easter and other conversations that have brought up the question of how someone that is dead can still be alive. I started thinking about Ghost and the way in which the dead character in the movie was very much present in spirit. His spirit was there, in the room, walking next to his loved one wherever she went. I don't mean to get all spooky with tales of ghosts, but I do have faith in the spiritual and supernatural nature of this world.

I've felt flashes of things unseen, or holy moments, over the past year. Sometimes while working in the garden, in such a natural, beautiful place. Or sometimes standing next to Cara's grave early in the morning before work. It's as if somehow in these moments, I get a sense of something divine, something beyond me and yet right next to me at the same time.

I have faith that one day we'll get to commune with those we've lost, not in fragmented moments, but for eternity. Until then, I will look for Cara in the places on earth in which her spirit seems close, and deep in my heart because she will always be a part of me...

***

Coldplay - Fix You

Chris Martin wrote this song for Gwyneth Paltrow (his wife) after her father died.

A new project

I've been a quiet blogger lately. This is mostly because of a new project I've started to work on....

Over the past couple months, there's been something in my gut urging me to write, to get down on paper as much I can about our journey with Cara over the past two years. This urge and feeling, and I suppose what some would say is a "call" has surprised me. I've never considered myself a writer, but over the past year I've realized how much I enjoy writing. This blog is a sacred space for me to write and express my feelings, and connect to Cara as I do so. In the process of blogging, I also get to share my journey with those of you who are reading this now, and whose support through taking the time to read this blog means so much to us. We don't say it enough, but thank you.

So, I've decided that this summer I'm going to focus on writing a book for Cara. I'm going to spend some time writing before work (at 5am with coffee in hand on course!) and during lunch breaks and some evenings. My initial goal will be to spend at least 5 hours a week writing.

My primary purpose is to document our journey with Cara...from Cynthia and I starting to think about starting a family to one year later after her death. Cara means everything to us and I want to be able to specifically remember the ways in which she has changed our lives. I want to be able to share this book with our kids one day.

My secondary purpose is to possibly publish the book and share it with other people. I don't know of any books on stillbirth written from a Dad's perspective, so maybe this book could one day provide some comfort and hope to another dad whose lost his baby.

I told my counselor about this new project on Wednesday night as tears started welling up in my eyes. He responded by saying that it seems like this project was something very near and dear to my heart. He summed it up perfectly. This story is something that is etched on my heart and with me everywhere I go. Like I told my counselor, "Cara's story is something that I can't keep inside of me, I need to get it out." For me, it's a way to connect to Cara and let her voice be heard...a beautiful, little, quiet voice that always lives in our hearts and that has changed us forever.

Happy Mother's Day

Mother's Day is upon us again. Over the past day or so I've been struggling with the "happy" that often goes along with "Mother's Day." Part of my struggle with "happy" is from a point made by one of Cynthia's friends who also lost her baby...she said that for a while in her grief journey she didn't "do happy." I totally can relate to that.

I was talking with Cynthia today about Mother's Day and the Hallmark nature of it, when Cynthia reminded me of the original reason Mother's Day started. She wrote about this last year.

And yet, here we are again this year, trying to make the most of Mother's Day, but feeling empty without Cara here. We should have had her with us today as we made a trip to the local garden center and then spent all afternoon tending to the garden. She should have been here, a little over 1-year old, crawling around the yard.

I feel for Cynthia because I know how much she wishes that Cara could be here physically with us. And, without Cara here tomorrow, it hurts.

I want Cynthia to know that she is an incredible mother. I have watched her grow into motherhood from the day we found out we were pregnant with Cara, to holding Cara in her arms at hospital.  I want Cynthia to know that she still beautifully mothers Cara. Even though she cannot care for Cara in a physical, tangible way...the way she wishes so dearly could be...Cara is still alive, and she receives love and care from Cynthia just like any child would from her mother. I just have to believe that while Cara is up in heaven, she often smiles and basks in the deep, rich, incredible love she receives from her mother....and she tells her friends how lucky she is for such a wonderful Mom.

This afternoon, a Monarch butterfly was dancing around and feeding off a newly planted Verbena we placed just to the right of a garden stone with Cara's footprints. This butterfly stopped me in my tracks, because I felt that somehow God was showing me a picture of Cynthia and Cara's relationship. That it is a dance...and something that could almost go unseen...and yet even more beautiful and rich than a Monarch butterfly finding food and life in a vibrant purple flower.

We love you, Cara...what a wonderful Mom you have.