A Day to Remember

A year ago today, I blogged about losing my baby for the first time.  Today is the day yearly when baby loss mamas and those who love them remember their lost babies and try to raise awareness about pregnancy and infant loss.  I wrote here that I didn’t know there was such as thing as Baby Loss Remembrance Day and I wished I didn’t have to.  A year has past and so much has changed.  I am glad I know about today and have the opportunity to get loved on and supported by amazing friends and family.  The reason I know about today is the part I can’t get over.

Since I am somewhat obsessive about dates, it’s been surprising to me this year that significant dates have not been as traumatic for me as I’ve read they would be or that they are for many others who’ve been in my shoes.  This could be because I have such a cute little distraction underfoot at all times and a squirmy baby girl in my tummy.  Whatever it is, I am grateful that as I feared last year, the 6^th and 7^th of every month do not send me to bed to wallow in my grief.  So, when I did the ugly cry all the way to school this morning, it surprised me.  My tears came out of nowhere.  I tried to blame them on lack of sleep (Baby A had me up off and on all night) but that didn’t make much sense.  Finally, I gave into the knowledge that today is a special day in the lives of parents like us.  I spent the ride to school remembering my baby boy and wondering what he would’ve been like as a 13 month old and praying like crazy that his sister arrives safely in a little less than three weeks.

Part of “celebrating” Baby Loss Remembrance Day is lighting a candle at 7pm to “light the night” all over the world in memory of all the babies we’ve lost.  My Face.book newsfeed already had several pictures and references to the day at 7am this morning from my friends in other parts of the world.  A big part of me did not want to light a candle tonight.  A big part of me doesn’t want to be in this club anymore.  I want to be in the “I lost my baby but I am over it thankyouverymuch and I am having another baby and this time nothing is going to go wrong” club.  But the closer I get to the induction date and the farther out we get from losing Levi, mornings like this remind me that this is my club, these are my people.  I can do with it what I wish, but I cannot change it.  I am a baby loss mom.  My baby died.  I never got to meet him and I am most certainly not over it and no amount of adorable kinky headed babies calling me mama or brand new little girls with their brother’s initials will fill the hole that losing Levi left in my heart.  I like who I am now even more than I liked who I was before.  I am more compassionate.  I am more willing to talk to others about things that are hard.  I know who my true friends are and I try desperately to deserve them.  I appreciate my husband more.  I am a better mommy to Baby A and more sympathetic to those who want desperately just to see two pink lines on a stick.

I randomly came across a quote today that had nothing to do with baby loss, but reminded me so much of the last year of our lives: “Rejoice in the struggle, because when we choose to rejoice, the struggle becomes pretty.”  Now there have been many dark days that have felt anything but pretty, but when I think about the time that’s past since last September, there’s a whole lot more pretty than anything else.

And speaking of pretty, here are a few photos from precious friends that lit candles tonight for our boy.  Many others (including a bride/client of Skip’s that I’ve never even met) sent sweet texts and emails today letting us know that Levi has not been forgotten.

CJ made this for us.  The four sides spell out Levi. 

 It was perfect for tonight.

Therapy

In the very first moments after I learned of Levi’s death, I knew I would write about his life, our loss, and the aftermath of it all.  What I didn’t know and have struggled with ever since is IF I would share my inmost thoughts on paper with others.  Today, on Babyloss Remembrance Day (a day I never knew existed and so wish didn’t have to) I have come to the conclusion that, yes, I do want to share with anyone who wants to read because I have been so impacted by others who were and are willing to share. And, writing is cheaper than therapy.

I have found such comfort in the blogs of other babyloss moms (yes, that’s what we’re called).  I found two that really resonated with me just a week after we came home from the hospital.  “Bythebrooke” is my favorite and is written by an English professor in St. Louis who lost her daughter Eliza almost three years ago.  “Deeper Still” is written by a woman named Larissa who’s in Australia and lost her baby Ariella just 32 weeks before we lost Levi. I can’t begin to tell you how much comfort I find in the words of these mamas.  I’ve emailed back and forth with them both and their words have been a salve to my shattered heart.

I think what pushed me to just sit down and write was my lack of participation in any of the Babyloss Remembrance Day “rituals” and my overwhelming guilt about it.  I spent a lot of time last night reading about the day and what other moms had posted that they would be doing to honor their babies today.  One mom even listed our sweet baby boy as one of the babies she would be lighting a candle for.  I even LIED and said I would do the same for her Zia.  And when it came down to it, I did nothing.  I didn’t want to light just any old candle.  I didn’t have the energy after school to go purchase a special “dead baby” candle(s). And, I rationalized with myself all day that I do not need a candle nor a day to remember my baby or my loss.  If I have one moment of the day that I don’t remember, it is fleeting.

But now that 7pm has come and gone, and I have done nothing but cry and post a picture on Face.book that I stole from a mom who did light a candle for her lost girl, I am overcome with guilt.  They say (they being people who’ve either gone through this or help counsel people who’ve gone through this) that the guilt us mamas feel after our loss is one of the worst side effects, and I’d have to agree.  Guilt that is not rational or deserved, but guilt nonetheless. Even in the moments when I feel like I am drowning in my grief and my guilt and I realize it’s not logical to feel the way I feel, the feelings come anyway and I am broken by things I could not do to save him or have not done right since he’s been gone.

So, I did not light a candle.  I do not have any pictures or special mementos displayed in our home (yet).  I did not even tell my husband or my mother or my best friend that today existed.  And I feel pretty crappy about it. But, I did make it out of bed this morning.  I taught 85 kiddos without having a breakdown. I made it to the gym, fixed dinner for my husband, and stuck to the crazy diet I’m doing this week.  I did some laundry and paperwork for our business.  And I missed my baby every second of today.