Nap Time

Nap time is quiet.  Typically, I use the quiet time for my personal time.  I can read a magazine, exercise, plan our week’s meals, or let’s be honest, shower or use the bathroom!  Today’s nap time was a little different.  I got Addalee down for her nap with little to no effort, one benefit of playing until she can barely hold her eyes open!  Then I went into my room and surveyed the space.  My eyes were drawn to the picture of Arthur and me kissing Caroline’s precious little face that I have on my nightstand.  My chest actually hurt with the sorrow of missing her.  I broke down.  I sobbed.  I haven’t allowed myself the time to really let it all flow in quite some time, so I guess I had a backlog to catch up on.  Don’t get me wrong, I never stop missing her.  But I just usually don’t let myself slow down enough to really concentrate on the hugeness of her absence. 

I keep a toy box in our room that has Caroline’s name on it.  It was a shower gift.  It’s happy and pink and has flowers.  Exactly what I think she would like.  Instead of being filled with toys, it’s filled with little pieces of memories.  I’ve kept things from the pregnancy, little outfits that were never shared, all of her monogrammed bibs, burp cloths, cuddlies, etc.  And then there’s her baby book.  I started it a couple of weeks before she was born.  I never dreamed she wouldn’t be staying to fill up those monthly updates and immunization records.  There are also sympathy cards that we received from some truly amazing people.  I read them all again today.  That might sound strange, but to know that people recognized my sweet one’s life and passing is comforting.  To know they were sad with us, cried with us, hurt with us is encouraging. 

Caroline’s super special things are actually in a fire safe at our house.  They stay in a different place because they’re irreplaceable…the clipping of her hair, her chubby hand prints and footprints, the bracelet she wore, and her ultrasound dvd.  I actually watched it once, just to see her heart beating, her “breathing.”  Just to remember what it looked like to se her living.  I probably will watch it again someday, but I couldn’t do it today.

Nap time is so different than what I envisioned when we originally bought that crib.  The baby sleeping in it now isn’t the one that we’d planned on.  Things may not be as we planned, but they’re definitely happy (albeit with a decent dollop of sadness).  I will forever miss my first baby, my little Caroline.  And I will be forever grateful for her little sister, the ray of sunshine that she is.

When Addalee woke up from her nap, she saw my red eyes and looked at me strange for just a second.  Then she reached up her chubby little arms for me to pick her up.  She smiled, and giggled and cooed…exuding joy.  She is like salve to my soul, exactly what I needed.   

Caroline's Spot and a Follow Up

I wish that visiting Caroline’s grave was easier for me.  I wish that I had that sense of peace and closeness to her that I thought I would have.  But honestly, seeing that tiny headstone and the bright flowers and tiny white fence, it rips my heart out.  It’s a reminder.  It’s not like I ever forget that she’s missing and that I’d give my own life to have her, but visiting her spot makes it hit me again…it’s real.  It really happened.  She really lived.  And she really is gone. 

Even though it’s emotionally difficult for me, I feel like it’s important to visit her grave as often as I can.  This past weekend was a special opportunity though.  As I’ve said before, Caroline is buried in a family cemetery.  I’m always thankful for this because I know that she’s always surrounded by the love of her/our family since she’s always close by for them.  Currently there are only 2 family members buried there, Arthur’s grandfather, and little Caroline. 

Arthur’s uncle has built a fence around the cemetery and asked the family to come and write our names, or whatever we’d like, in the concrete on top of the posts.  So, the whole family came up to do some clean-up and decorate the posts.  We were given the post closest to our sweet girl’s grave. 

We put Addalee’s hand prints.

And Caroline’s name with a little butterfly.

Overall, it was a great experience.  I’m thankful that Arthur’s family has worked so hard to make it such a beautiful place. 

And now a follow-up from last week’s post:

 

I have to admit, I didn’t expect to get nearly as many comments on my last post.  I wasn’t really sure that posting about this particular personal struggle would be a good thing, but it has been!  I feel so encouraged and loved!  Thank you!

It did my heart good to hear from each of you who responded with your own struggles and advice.  Somehow I had convinced myself that while I wasn’t alone in my grief of losing Caroline, I was in this particular struggle. Thank you for showing me that isn't the case, it means so much to me.

And finally a picture of Addalee…mostly just ‘cause I want to :)

 I just realized that it almost looks like she's giving a thumbs up! 

Sip & See

We are blessed to have people who wanted to do something for us in baby shower form before Addalee was born.  We’re even more blessed (in my opinion) to have so many wonderful people understand why we weren’t comfortable with that.  So, my sweet friends suggested we have a Sip & See.

I’d never really seen one, but understood the concept, and I was thrilled!  So, we showed up, and I was blown away.  It was all so pretty!  Everything was awesome!  The food was great and the friends were amazing! 

There was a special little moment too – while sitting at a table and chatting, I looked around and we were pretty much all moms who were missing a baby.  We talked a little about our kids that weren’t with us, shared some tears, and lots of love and support.  What a special gift!  I was so happy to be able to bring Caroline so much into this event that was centered on Addalee.

Simply blessed.

*The Sip&See actually happened at the end of January, and somehow I haven't gotten this posted until now.* 

Sweet Caroline

Here lately, I’ve been thinking so much of Caroline.  I’ve been missing her somehow more than I had been…and it’s always so much.  Sometimes her absence is felt so much more strongly.  Sometimes I feel like I could crumble under the weight of the sadness.  Grief is so very lonely and she feels so desperately far away sometimes.

But something interesting has been happening.  Other people are mentioning my girl.  She’s been brought up, talked about, openly missed by so many others recently.  It’s really doing this happy/sad mama’s heart good.  During the course of this week, 2 of Caroline’s great aunts have mentioned her.  One of them mistakenly called Addalee by Caroline’s name.  She cringed a little when she did it, almost like she was afraid that it would hurt us.  But I just smiled and told her that I was thrilled that Caroline’s name is so easy to come to mind.  I love the fact that she’s on the hearts and minds of those we love.  The other one emailed me a devotional about if people in Heaven can hear us and see us down here.  I talk to her regularly and ask Jesus to tell her all kinds of things.  But to know that Arthur and I aren’t the only ones who think of our girl…that is such a blessing.

I think one reason things might be weighing a little heavy is that we’re having Addalee’s baby dedication this weekend…which I’m thrilled about.  But when you get to the “events” of life, you start really thinking of what “should have been.” 

I am a musical person, love music, wish I could play it!  I’ll be honest; I hadn’t even really ever given Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond a decent listen before we had Caroline.  So, if you ever had a question if her name came from the song…the answer is no.  I don’t love the song, but now appreciate that it says my girl’s name.  I pretty much have to cry every time I hear it, how lame is that?!  Oh well, it is what it is.  But there’s another song, it’s by Brandi Carlile and it’s called Caroline.  I’ve been tearing that song up lately.  It’s a happy little song, about a little girl (her niece).  The chorus:

Caroline, I'm on my way back home to you

Can't imagine what I'm goin' through

Without you by my side

It's been a long long time

Oh won't you say a prayer for me

I hope you will remember me

You're always on my mind

My Caroline

Now, to find a song that says Addalee! :)

Caroline's First Birthday

October has come and gone.  I have to admit, that I’m glad it’s behind me.  October was a month that I was dreading for a while.  It held so much emotion that I was scared to face it.  The thing about most situations is that you can’t avoid them forever.  Even if I had tried to avoid Caroline’s birthday and all the emotion attached to it, the day still would have come.  So, I chose to try to embrace it as much as I could.  Some days were better than others, but overall it wasn’t quite as hard as I thought it would be. 

I couldn’t decide what I thought we should do to honor our sweet girl’s first Heavenly birthday.  It was a lot like picking out her headstone in that nothing seemed good enough.  I saw something from a fellow BLM that really seemed like something I wanted to do.  I went to Hobby Lobby and picked out some fabric that I thought was pretty, and flannel to line them, and made some blankets.  I made 2 boy blankets and 2 girl blankets.  I prayed for the families who would receive these blankets while making them and after they were completed.  I included a letter that Arthur helped me write that shared our sympathy and offered some helpful resources and Bible verses.  We all delivered them to the hospital the day after her birthday as a family.  It was nice to visit the L&D floor not as a patient (I delivered Addie at the same hospital).  I would love for those blankets never to be used…

With Caroline, we actually have 2 anniversaries: the day we got the worst news ever, and the day we got to meet our girl.  So, October 19^th is the saddest day.  I found that the lead up to that day was the worst for me.  I couldn’t help but cry at the drop of a hat.  Thankfully, my awesome husband took off work to spend the day with me that day.  He woke me up with Addalee in his arms and told me that we were going to just get out of the house for the day.  So, I got up and got ready and we spent the day shopping and around town.  It was a welcomed distraction.  We still talked about Caroline and how much we love her and miss her, but I didn’t sit and focus on the sadness of the whole situation. 

On her actual birthday, we went to the cemetery and put fall flowers on her grave.  We spent some time talking to her and telling her about our lives now and about her little sister (I wonder if she can hear us).  It was hard to visit that grave, and that tiny headstone, but it is each time.  I have to say though, that it was really tough to see October 20, 2010 on the stone and know that an entire year has passed since I held that sweet little baby girl.  It’s tough to acknowledge that we’ve spent each and every day of the last year missing her, yearning for her, and thinking of her…and it doesn’t stop here. 

I guess I tried to put a timeline to things – let me explain:  You know when a task is too daunting; you break it down into smaller tasks or pieces.  I had taken on a “one day at a time” kind of existence after we lost Caroline.  It became this even more so in my pregnancy with Addalee.  I dealt with Caroline and Addie together and separately.  The grief with Caroline was so painful that I had to only handle anniversaries as they came. I couldn’t think of anything in the future.  Just like now, I can’t imagine being 5 years away from her.  I couldn’t fathom what it would be like to be out 1 year from that horrible night.  I don’t know for sure how to make this make sense to the rest of the world, but I’m going to give it a shot…it’s almost like I thought that it would get better at 1 year.  Like maybe a little part of me felt like I’d either get her back, or just stop feeling it when I met that mark.  Maybe I felt like if I met that goal, the 1 year mark, I’d have completed the mission and I’d get the reward.  Of course, I know now, and really knew then that it would just be an anniversary and that nothing would change from the day before it to the day after it, except getting to really recognize her.  I think it has helped me though, to know that I’m still standing, and standing with more assurance than I was in the days following losing her.  It helps me to know that we’ve lived through this year.  We’ve done all these firsts and lived to tell about it.

After Caroline’s funeral, we had the whole family to our house.  It was October 22.  Those hours were the only time for quite a while that I remember feeling okay.  Having all those people around us, loving us, loving her, was healing to me.  I didn’t feel like myself, but I did feel like the haze lifted at least momentarily. Well, this year, October 22 fell on a Saturday, so we opted to have everyone over!  I was thrilled that the family was interested and it was wonderful!  We had soup and chili and good conversations.  It was a beautiful clear and sunny day, so it was so nice to be outside.  I got pink, yellow, and white balloons for the balloon release.

They were bright and cheerful and sweet.  We all gathered in the back yard, we all got our balloons and then I said a few words.  Then we released our balloons…

You could see them forever!  It was beautiful!  Happy birthday, little Caroline!

We had this little sweetheart to celebrate big sister’s birthday, which sure was a blessing to this broken heart!

Also – Happy Halloween!

 

The Heartbreak of Infant Loss - by Laura Schubert

I saw this article today and thought that I would share.  It seems that she put into words so much of what I feel and have felt.  I think that many people would do well to read this to possibly understand a little more what it's like to walk this lonely path.

Did you know that October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month? I'll bet not. Despite the infant mortality crisis that's been at the forefront of Milwaukee's public health news for months, the only people who have more than a cursory comprehension of what it means to lose a baby are those who've lived it.

Infant loss is nature's cruelest practical joke. It's investing all of the required time and effort into pregnancy, only to be robbed of the result. It's cradling a body that grew within your own and trying to reconcile the cold, lifeless form in your arms with your memory of the baby who turned double flips in your womb.

It's worrying that you'll forget what your child looked like and snapping an album's worth of photos that no one will ever ask to see. It's sobbing so hard you can't breathe and wondering if it's possible to cry yourself to death.

Infant loss is handing off a Moses basket to the nurse who's drawn the unfortunate duty of delivering your pride and joy to the morgue and walking out of a hospital with empty arms.

It's boxing up brand new baby clothes and buying a 24-inch casket. It's sifting through sympathy cards, willing your foolish body to stop lactating, clutching your baby's blanket to your chest in hopes of soothing the piercing ache in your heart.

It's resisting the urge to smack the clueless individuals who compare your situation to the death of their dog or who tell you you'll have another baby, as if children are somehow replaceable.

Infant loss is explaining to your 7-year-old that sometimes babies die and being stumped into silence when she asks you why. It's watching other families live out your happy ending and fighting a fresh round of grief with every milestone you miss.

It's being shut out of play groups for perpetuity. It's skipping social events with expectant and newly minted mothers because, as a walking worst-case scenario, you don't want to put a damper on the party.

It's listening to other women gripe about motherhood and realizing that you no longer relate to their petty parental complaints because, frankly, when you've buried a baby, a sleepless night with a vomiting toddler sounds something like a gift.

Infant loss is pruning from your life the friends and relatives who ignore or minimize your loss. It's recognizing that, while they may not mean to be hurtful, the fact that they don't know any better doesn't make their utter lack of empathy one whit easier to bear.

My baby girl would have been 5 years old this month. I don't know what she'd look like, what her favorite food would be. I've never had the privilege of tucking her into bed, taking her to the zoo or kissing her boo-boos. I will never watch her graduate or walk down the aisle.

Infant loss is more than an empty cradle. It's a life sentence.

Laura Schubert of New Berlin is a mother, teacher and two-time breast cancer survivor. Emailljschubert@aol.com

I know that life is still beautiful, and that there are still so many blessings.  I mean, God didn't guarantee that I'd get to have Caroline's little sister here!  But here she is, our little Addalee, beautiful and healthy...a living miracle.  The problem is that even though there is immeasurable joy having her in our arms, there's still the heavy sadness of what is missing.  Our family is missing a member.  A family photo will never be complete.  We'll never be "all together," here anyway.  We will always have a space open...as long as we're on this earth.  But if I can't have Caroline here, I'm going to cherish her spot.  Of course I'd give my own life for hers, but that isn't possible.  So, I will hold her place in our family just as important as Addalee's or their Daddy's.  So, in some ways, it's not a life sentence, but a way of life.  True, it's incredibly painful, but I can't focus on the horrible parts of it all the time.  It's the the way of life I would have chosen, but if the alternative is that we never would have known Caroline at all, I'll take the way it is.

Dragging Feet

Have you ever wanted to keep dragging your feet so that you don't have to face something?  Did you normally find that once you did, you had relief?  Perhaps because it wasn't as bad as you had anticipated, or maybe just to have that particular thing behind you lifted weight off your shoulders?

That's how it has typically worked in my life.  I think back to school when I'd have a book report or speech due...I would dread that like the plague, and then feel like I had a new lease on life when it was behind me.  In "adult life," I have had several dreaded things that I've come through.  I have tried to handle them with dignity and grace.  I always thought that I'd be able to.  Being a planner, I figured that I had prepared so that I could handle most any situation that could arise with dignity and grace.  That dignity and that grace went out the window when Caroline died.  My daughter died.  I couldn't muster any dignity, and I lost all my grace.  The only way I have survived to this point is by the sheer grace of God.  I actually feel kind of like I'm running on borrowed strength, under someone else's power.  I feel fairly weak, fragile, broken.

I was blessed to be able to experience so much good since we lost Caroline.  We experienced so many good things in our dark days following her death; little miracles to a crushed family.  Then we got a great big candle in the darkness, our Addalee.  She is such a blessing to this broken mama.  I know that Caroline helped me to love Addie with a love that I didn't have before.  I am incredibly thankful for this.  Caroline brought so many beautiful things into my life, through her life and her death.  She still brings a smile to my face (and a tear to my eye) each day.

Now back to the foot dragging I was talking about earlier.  October is so close.  October.  It used to be one of my favorite months, and autumn one of my favorite seasons.  Now, I'm dreading it.  I'm ignoring it, well, as much as you can ignore the inevitable.  You see, autumn is a wonderful season.  The air is crisp and cool, the leaves are beautiful, there are football games, hay rides, ghost stories, bon fires, trick-or-treating, and in our family, it's birthday season.  My husband, mom, and I all have birthdays in October.  We didn't feel like it was a happy coincidence that Caroline was going to be an October baby too.  Just another person to celebrate!  However, now October holds something I dread.  Each year, will be another year further from her.  Each year I will celebrate how much I love her, how much she changed me, how much I miss her.  Each year I will reflect on where she "should be" this time around, what milestones we're missing with her.  This is hard to face.  I don't want to face it.  I want Octobers not to roll around.  I want an October-less year.  I know this can't happen, and that really, I don't want it to.  I don't want to take the easy way out, Caroline deserves more than that from me, as does Addalee.  But it's so hard to stand up tall, take a deep breath, and just walk into this when all I want to do is cry and cover up my head.

So as I stand here, nearing the end of September, and looking over the edge of October, I'm scared.  I'm scared, but I'm still moving forward.  That's what I have to keep doing...one foot in front of the other.  Not each step is pretty, but I keep taking them.

Having this girl here makes it seem a bit easier

Introducing...

I am pleased beyond measure to be able to introduce Caroline's little sister, Ms. Addalee Elizabeth.  She was born at 8:34pm on August 22.  She weighed 5lbs 5oz and was 19.5 inches long.  We are so thrilled that she is here, safe and sound and that God blessed us so much.  Of course, we still think about our sweet little Caroline girl, and miss her all the more.

I want to thank each of you for your love, support, and prayers during the waiting game of this pregnancy.  I am so excited to be able to continue sharing pieces of Caroline's family's life with you.

All our love,
Caroline's Family

Wonderful Promises

Rainbows...do you remember getting excited to see them when you were a child?  I do.  Somehow, their awesomeness was lost on me as a teen and an adult.  This isn't something that I'm proud of.  It's almost like it was something that I grew out of, for whatever reason...the amazingness of the world and the creatures living in it.  I lost sight of so much, because I got so busy living my life.  I wasn't even living the life I truly wanted to be living, the "end goal" kind of life...but I was working the plan, doing the best I could to do what I was supposed to do.  I'm not saying that I wasn't happy in my life.  I've been extraordinarily blessed, I want to always make that point.  I'm thankful to have been able to go to college, graduate, and get a good job.  I'm thankful for a wonderful husband, our second house, a couple of nice cars, and a comfortable life.  I'm thankful for my family, my friends, even my dog!  But I had missed something.  Some of the beauty that is in the world, and in life.  I was so busy living that I didn't see much.  I saw chores, bills, and deadlines...that's where my priorities were!  When we got pregnant with Caroline, that started to change.  Now, my priorities were preparing for her, mentally, physically, emotionally.  I was her mama and I needed to be ready for that role.  I did whatever I knew to do.  Then.  We.  Lost.  Her.  She slipped out of the world, waking to the glory of Heaven before she ever even opened her eyes outside my womb.  I realized then how much living I've been missing.  I realize that I missed some of her life because I didn't think that I needed to cherish those little things...at least not as much as I wish I had.  Hindsight being what it is, I would have done things differently...but, we don't get do-overs.  So, after she passed away, the world looked different to me.  And in these 9 months (and then some) that we've been living in this world without our little Caroline, I saw my first rainbows yesterday...and they were beautiful.  They brought tears to my eyes.  Now, I know that anyone around who looked at the sky would have seen that double rainbow, but I kind of felt like it was created by God, just for me.  Kind of a little message from Him straight to me...and I'm thankful for it.   I snapped a couple of pictures with our little digital camera (not the nice camera, but the small point and shoot...not that I can take good pictures anyway!), and thought I'd share a little of the beauty with you! :)

More Stuff to Keep Me Busy!

So, time keeps on ticking (ticking, ticking...) and I'm still here!  Everything is actually going very well.  The anxiety is staying mostly in check.  I've only had a couple of rough patches/days.  We're making progress, and I'm thrilled about that.  I'm a little nervous, because we are getting to the end of this pregnancy, and I know that the end of pregnancy doesn't always mean you get a beautiful little baby to take home.  I don't want to sound morbid, because I do believe we are going to get to bring Caroline's little sister home, but it is still so scary that we're this close again.

So, one thing I try to do, as I've mentioned before, is keep myself occupied.  I love to make things.  So, I've been taking on some new projects here and there.  I've also been cleaning my house like a fool!  I don't know if this is nesting, or what, but I'm proud of how clean I've gotten it!  Now, if it would just STAY that way!

I have a sweet friend who just had a little boy.  I made her this diaper clutch, burp cloth, and pacifier clips.  I haven't gotten to give them to her yet, but I can't wait! 

This is a little burp cloth and pacifier clip set that I just made while I was working on the others.  I thought they were fun!

This is the wreath I made for my Granny for her birthday!  I hope she likes it! :)

The World Has the Nerve to Keep on Turning

This week is not my friend.  These last few days have been emotionally brutal.  And for the first time in a very long time, I'm not referencing the soul crushing grief that has been so very present since losing little Caroline.  I'm talking about the stress of this thing called life.

I guess I should really say that nothing that bad has happened.  We haven't lost our house in those awful storms that raged through our region, our cars were neatly parked in the garage and didn't have any hail damage.  We still have our health, our sweet baby Addalee, our relationship, the everlasting love of our Lord and Savior.  So, yes, I am incredibly blessed.  I don't want to come across ungrateful or whiney (although I'm probably being whiney).

My problems have been in the form of frustrations...frustrations at work, frustrations with people.  Since we lost Caroline, so many things about me have changed.  Yes, I still try to make jokes at inappropriate times and I talk even more when I'm nervous, but I used to have a thick(er) skin.  I used to be able to let some things roll off my back.  I am now finding that I have lost that ability.  I might just be hyper-sensitive, or people might just be that insensitive.  Honestly, it's probably a combination of both. 

I feel like there is a night and day difference of my life on October 18, and the late evening of October 19.  It's just a profound change.  It angers me that others have not experienced a change.  It bothers me that it truly is the same people up to the same pathetic things.  It sickens me that people behave the way they do.  I sometimes feel like I should be immune to this kind of behavior because of the hand we've been dealt in losing our sweet girl.  I feel like people shouldn't pick on me, and find reasons to complain about me to others.  I feel like if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.  I mean, I know this is a statement that has been around for so long, but it seems even more applicable when you've been forced to live in this kind of alternate reality, or Plan B.

I'm not going to go into details, I feel like that would be stooping to the level of this poor soul.  But I do want to express here how I really feel.  I am angry.  I am hurt.  I pity this person.  What a sad life it must be, to skulk in the background and hide behind anonymity.  I think it's pretty stinkin' pathetic that you don't have anything better to do with your time, and your life than find ways to hurt other people...what a sad existence.  I'm sorry that you feel like you've been dealt such a horrible hand, but look around you, so many people have it worse than you (and worse than me - see, not whining), you really need to find a way to live your own life.  I pray that you find a way to do that.

On another note, this pitiful person isn't going to steal our happiness.  We simply can't waste any more time feeling this way.  So, we're letting it go.  I needed to vent, but I'm not holding on to it. 

Tomorrow is going to be better. 

Caroline's Little Sister

Yes, that's right world, Caroline has a little sister!  And let me just say, her Daddy and I are thrilled!

This journey of carrying a new baby while longing for the one gone too soon is...well...what can you really call it?  It's scary, so incredibly scary.  It's hopeful.  It's sad.  It's happy.  It's a connection to my baby Caroline.  It's a reminder that she's gone.  Some days it makes me feel closer to Caroline, and others it hits me how much further away I really am.  Please don't misunderstand me; I am beyond thrilled to be carrying Caroline's little sister.  I couldn't be happier that we're parents to a second child.  But, and this is something that all of us who've lost children say, there is no replacement for our babies.  And some would think that since we're having a girl, we are getting a type of "replacement."  This couldn't be further from the truth.  Yes, there will (Lord willing) be a little girl living in our house, even in Caroline's room, but it is never going to take away the missing of her that we do.  Caroline is a part of our daily lives.  She is included.  She is a member of our family, and just because she didn't give to stay here with us, doesn't discount her life at all.  This little one will know that she is not our first child, that she has a BEAUTIFUL big sister who lives in Heaven.  She will know that her parents love that beautiful girl who isn't here.

I (almost) wish that I could say that all of this news really makes me feel completely better.  But that simply isn't true.  I do feel a hope and a joy that I didn't know I would ever be able to feel again, but there's still a bitter pain there too.  I long for Caroline.  I ache to hold her and smell her.  I miss her so badly that my body hurts sometimes.  And because of our experience with losing her, I don't have that blissful ignorance of pregnancy that I had with her...and I miss that too.

I also am struggling with accomplishing things in "normal" life.  I don't know if it's a depression/grief thing, or if I'm just at a stalled out place.  I guess I just feel like I'm not making any progress.  I don't feel like I ever really accomplish anything.  And scarily enough, I'm not really even that bothered by not accomplishing much.  I think I'd honestly be okay to hold up in my house, or my back yard on the pretty days, and not have to face much in the way of responsibility.  I'm finding that I'm wasting so much time now.  It's not that I'm sitting around watching TV or anything...but time goes by, and I'm not really sure where it went.  I have to literally push myself to get my chores done.  And it's painful to actually face work each day.  It's intimidating, this thing called life.  I used to feel like I could handle most anything that came my way.  But now, all my energies are spent on actually surviving.  I'm terrified that something "big" can happen, and I'll just crumble under the pressure.  I guess, I'm finding it more true than ever: Life is hard.  There are many great things about life, but it is still so hard.

On a happier note, I wanted to share our "Baby Carolines" and her little sister's booties.  These little flowers were given as bulbs at Caroline's shower.  It's been so precious, because the people who planted them are calling them their Baby Carolines.  So I've gotten emails and texts saying that their Baby Carolines are blooming, and it makes me smile each and every time!

How Many Kids Do You Have?

People love to find out that you’re expecting. The world as a whole seems to get excited at the idea of people having babies. I mean, it’s a happy time. It’s full of excitement, joy, expectation…and some fear. If you’ve ever lost a child, at any stage of pregnancy, there’s likely to be a lot of fear. For me, I know that the fear is definitely there, sometimes it’s only lurking in the background, and other times, it’s in the forefront, making my chest hurt with anxiety.

It’s been a busy and bustling few weeks. But, we’re still here! I’m in my 12^th week now. Things seem to be progressing healthfully and normally with Baby Ramsey #2. We’re thankful to God for all He’s done to bless us to this point, and pray that He will continue to look out for the baby’s health, and mine as well. I’ve actually felt the morning sickness more intensely this time around, and the fatigue has seemed worse too, but I’m not complaining. I’m sleepy and green faced, but not complaining! I’m excited to move out of the first trimester and get that burst of second trimester energy!

The pregnancy talk brings me to my main reason for posting today. The question: How many kids do you have? It’s not a difficult question. It’s actually considered polite by most people. Why should it make me cringe? Why should I actually have a mini panic attack at the thought of someone asking me? Well, that’s simple…my life isn’t standard in this area. I’ve actually been very average in most areas of my life, but not this one, not even close. I don’t want to offer my entire life story (i.e. Caroline’s life story) when someone asks me such a well-meaning question. I don’t want to NOT tell them about her. It seems like a lie not to include her in the count. More than that, I want people to know her. I want people to know that she existed. Yes, she passed away before she was able to live outside the womb, but she LIVED. She was my buddy, my constant companion during those months I carried her. I talked to her, she kicked my ribs, it was our thing! She loved getting to see her Daddy at the end of the work day. When I’d lay eyes on him, she’d kick…she loved him so. Those are real memories, from our real child.

So someone asked me today. My answer, “This one is number 2!” And I felt okay with that answer. I didn’t bring her down into the dumps by telling her that our first child was stillborn in the 39^th week (see how that’s just a major downer!?). I didn’t lie and say that this was our first. I just told the truth. The truth as I know it. The truth as it is. And I feel good about my answer.

Christmas in Heaven

Well, I’m thinking it’s probably time for my weekly update. I have been meaning to write about this week’s events for a few days now, but just haven’t gotten around to it. Maybe I’m lazy, maybe I’m a procrastinator, and maybe I was scared. I very much want to document this whole journey, all the good days, all the bumps in the road. But I have to say that sometimes it’s hard just to reflect. Reflection allows me to stop DOING and actually FEEL. That’s hard to do. Sometimes, it’s downright painful. Sometimes it’s rewarding. All the time, it’s necessary, at least for me.

On Tuesday, the hospital where Caroline was born had a memorial service for all the infants that passed away over the course of this year. There were 35. Most of them were miscarriages early on, but at least a few were lost after 20 weeks. It was so nice. They called all the babies' names, we lit candles for them, and got to keep them. After the service, there was a reception. All the families were able to chat and share their stories. I was also able to speak to one of the nurses who was just precious to me. She continues to be precious. I’m so thankful for people like her in the medical field…compassionate and loving.

The weather here has been interesting. There has been snow and ice. And I have to say that as Southerners, we’re not accustomed to such things. The news was telling us to stay off the roads, power was out all over the place…and a couple of “snow days.” So I really can’t complain.

We’re pretty well done with our Christmas shopping now. That leaves all the wrapping to be done though. I already did a good wrapping shift today, but will probably have to hit it again to get everything done. Christmas is less than a week away, after all.

It’s tough to think about Christmas without Caroline. It’s hard to think of a new year without her. It’s impossible to think of a lifetime that I don’t get to share with her. I don’t even know how to explain the empty/lonely feeling. Part of me is gone. Part of me went with her. There’s definitely a lot left to live for, I have to carry Caroline’s story. I have people to share my experiences with. I have lessons to learn, and life to live. But this life is not what I expected.

There is a poem though that I thought I should share. It was kind of special to me.

Christmas in Heaven

I see the countless Christmas trees around the world below
with tiny lights like Heaven’s stars reflecting on the snow.

The sight is so spectacular; please wipe away that tear
for I am spending Christmas with Jesus Christ this year.

I hear the many Christmas songs that people hold so dear
but the sound of music can't compare with the Christmas choir up here.

I have no words to tell you of the joy their voices bring
for it is beyond description to hear the angels sing.

I know how much you miss me; I see the pain inside your heart
for I am spending Christmas with Jesus Christ this year.

I can't tell you of the splendor or the peace here in this place
Can you just imagine Christmas with our Savior face to face?

I'll ask Him to lift your spirit as I tell Him of your love
so then pray for one another as you lift your eyes above.

Please let your hearts be joyful and let your spirit sing
for I am spending Christmas in Heaven and I’m walking with the King.

-Wanda White (1999)

So, with that, I’ll leave you with my sincere Christmas wishes. I hope and pray that each of you has a wonderful Christmas. I pray that those of you who have lost someone special feel His comfort and peace.

Merry Christmas and God Bless,

It Can Never Happen To Me...

Hello from a snowy December day. Things are plugging along. We're hurtling toward Christmas at an alarming rate. Am I done with my Christmas shopping? That's a big ol' NO! Am I going to stress over it? An even bigger NO! :) I have been embroidering some stuff to give as gifts, which is enjoyable and therapeutic. (Or as Barney Fife would say, "therapetic")

I was reading the Our Daily Bread devotional book. I found this devotional. It is written by Dennis Fisher. It kind of struck a chord with me. Before going through all of this with losing Caroline, I knew that people lost babies all the time. I mean, even my own grandmother lost her first child before he was a year old. We talked about Jimmy a lot, he has always been very much part of the family. I just knew that I would never be strong enough to go through something like that. And since I wouldn't have the required strength, I assumed it just wouldn't happen to me. It's not that I thought I was "too good" or that I was above something awful like this, I guess I just thought I couldn't possibly have to live through this. Also, I think most of us have gone through things that make us think, "This is the kind of thing that only happens to other people or other families." But, it does happen. Things happen to people all the time. And, I am trying my best to give my God, who has been so good to me, my gratitude and trust. After all, he will turn my sorrow to dancing.

Psalm 30:6-12 (HCSB)

⁶ When I was secure, I said,
"I will never be shaken."

⁷ LORD, when You showed Your favor,
You made me stand like a strong mountain;
when You hid Your face, I was terrified.

⁸ LORD, I called to You;
I sought favor from my Lord:

⁹ "What gain is there in my death,
in my descending to the Pit?
Will the dust praise You?
Will it proclaim Your truth?

¹⁰ LORD, listen and be gracious to me;
LORD, be my helper."

¹¹ You turned my lament into dancing;
You removed my sackcloth
and clothed me with gladness,

¹² so that I can sing to You and not be silent.
LORD my God, I will praise You forever.

Actor Christopher Reeve was paralyzed in a horseback riding accident in 1995. Prior to this tragedy, he had played the part of a paraplegic in a movie. In preparation, Reeve visited a rehabilitation facility. He recalled: “Every time I left that rehab center, I said, ‘Thank God that’s not me.’ ” After his accident, Reeve regretted that statement: “I was so setting myself apart from those people who were suffering without realizing that in a second that could be me.” And sadly, for him, it was.

We too may look at the troubles of others and think that it could never happen to us. Especially if our life journey has led to a measure of success, financial security, and family harmony. In a moment of vanity and self-sufficiency, King David admitted to falling into the trap of feeling invulnerable: “Now in my prosperity I said, ‘I shall never be moved’” (Ps. 30:6). But David quickly caught himself and redirected his heart away from self-sufficiency. He remembered that he had known adversity in the past and God had delivered him: “You have turned for me my mourning into dancing” (v.11).

Whether He has brought us blessing or trial, God still deserves our gratitude and trust.

I can always count on God, my heavenly Father,
For He changes not; He always is the same;
Yesterday, today, forever, He is faithful,
And I know He loves me, praise His holy name. —Felten

In good times and bad, our greatest need is God.

Always her mommy,

Jumping Hurdles

So, it’s time again for a little update. I survived Thanksgiving…with a lot of help from my family and grace from God. There were many tears, but it was nice to spend time with family. I have a great big hole in my life, yet I do still have very much to be thankful for. Despite the pain I’m going through, I have been, and continue to be very blessed.

Things have been pretty eventful since my last post. We picked out her headstone, visited her grave for the first time since the funeral, and had the 6 week checkup. So, I’ll begin with the headstone. I have to admit, it was something that I was dreading, and dreading badly. I’ve never picked out a headstone before, or even been with someone else who was picking one out. I’ve experienced deaths of family members, but have always missed out on that part of the process. I felt absolutely sick when we pulled into the parking lot. I think I might have lightly cried the entire way there…and it was a 45 minute drive. I managed to hold myself together while we were in the monument place. Thankfully, my mother and father-in-law joined us there and offered their opinions and support. Overall, I think we picked out a nice stone…if there really is such a thing. (If you want my honest opinion, there wasn’t one that would have been “good enough” for her. I wanted her to have so much, I had such big plans for her life, that it felt like it wasn’t enough just to pick out a headstone.)

From the monument place, we went to the cemetery. I’m pretty certain I cried the whole way there, and then I bawled when we got there. Just seeing that teeny tiny grave, the fresh ground, the beautiful flowers (thanks to our family), it was all so real. So final. So painful. So sad. So unfair. So scary. It’s not that I didn’t want to visit her grave and honor her, it just was something that was very hard to do for me. I know that she isn’t really there, only her body is, but I know that I still want to “mother” her. I want to put flowers (and a wind chime, because it sounds pretty and I wanted her to have the music of them), and make sure her headstone is just so…I mean, I still have her nursery all set up. I don’t have the heart to take it down. And to be completely honest, I don’t see any reason to try to take it all down. If for no other reason, than I like it that way. But I digress, we visited the grave, we cried together, we held each other, and I think we both did a little more healing. We’re just trying to take on the hurdles that are in front of us. Looking back, I can see that we’ve crossed many, and still have SO MANY more to go.

I have also had my 6 week checkup. Everything went well. It was definitely tough to go back to that office (directly across the street, I might add, from the hospital) and be met head on with all of those memories. But it was good to be able to sit down with the doctor, whom I love dearly, and ask my list of questions, and talk about everything. I asked what felt like a million different things…”Was there something I could have done?” “Was there something I missed that I should have been watching out for?” “Was there something I did wrong?” “What is the likelihood of this happening again?” Dr. V was very comforting and told me that there was nothing that I could have done. He told me that I did everything I could do for her, and that this was just a tragic accident. That is both comforting and unsettling. I’m definitely glad that I didn’t fail her in some way, but at the same time, I would love to be able to have the assurance that I will be able to avoid a situation like this in the future. We did find out though, that her cord was on the “short side of normal.” This combined with all the loops around her neck, body, and leg was the problem. So, with answers to my questions and a clean bill of health, that hurdle was behind us too.

We also got our pictures from the delivery…I am SO THANKFUL that we were offered that service. The pictures were hard to look at, simply because of all the emotions attached, but I am SO GLAD we have them. I have to admit, I definitely got a sense of peace when I looked at them. It was like part of her had come home. It was nice.

So, life is hurdling forward at an alarming rate. Most people have been completely unaffected by the loss of Caroline. I didn’t expect the world to stop. But mine did. Caroline changed my life. She taught me more in her 39 weeks and 2 days than I’ve learned over the course of many of these 28 years. My world stopped spinning when I was told that her heart stopped beating. I won’t lie; I wanted mine to stop too. I didn’t want to live in a world that didn’t have Caroline in it. I wanted to lie down and cover up my head and just let everything pass me by. There are a few reasons I didn’t do that…and those reasons are for another day, but while I didn’t stop living, I have lived a different normal. For one thing, I haven’t been back to work yet. And that’s staring me right in the face now. I’m going to have to go back to the “real world.” I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know what to do. When I go back to work, and sit at that desk, where I last sat, being kicked like crazy by my sweet girl, how do I go back to “normal”?

One. Step. At. A. Time.

That’s all I can do.

My sweet girl:

Thoughts and prayers,

Held

There’s a song called Held, it’s by Natalie Grant. It’s pretty amazing. It has a really great message.

Two months is too little
They let him go
They had no sudden healing
To think that providence
Would take a child from his mother
While she prays, is appalling

Who told us we'd be rescued
What has changed and
Why should we be saved from nightmares
We're asking why this happens to us
Who have died to live, its unfair

This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We'd be held

This hand is bitterness
We want to taste it and
Let the hatred numb our sorrows
The wise hand opens slowly
To lilies of the valley and tomorrow

If hope is born of suffering
If this is only the beginning
Can we not wait, for one hour
Watching for our savior

This is a song that I liked very much before all of this happened to our family. I never knew how much I would be able to identify with the lyrics. I wanted to share this in the hopes that maybe someone else might be able to get something out of it.

After all of this, and through this, we have been held. We have absolutely been held by our Lord and Savior. This is and has been the hardest thing we’ve ever been through. But God has not stopped holding us. I thought that He may have there for a little bit, I felt like He was far away. I felt like He had kind of forgotten about me down here. I felt like He ripped Caroline away from me and then left me to fend for myself. Now though, I can truly see how He held us in His hands during this difficult time. I see ways that He helped us, ways He didn’t leave us alone, ways He used many of you to encourage, to grieve with us, to just be there. I feel the prayers and support coming from everyone. I know that I am not alone. I know that Caroline has touched many lives already, and I hope that we are able to help others with her story.

We’ve still got a long road ahead of us to healing. And I’ll never stop missing my sweet daughter.