What can I say?

[lightlost183]

My daughter was born and passed away April 14, 2012. I was 22 weeks and 6 days pregnant with her. I wasn't supposed to be able to have children, so we were very excited, the whole family was. I thought Abby Lynn was going to be my miracle baby, but turns out I also have an incompetent cervix along with everything else. I feel like I've let everyone down and that I didn't do enough for my daughter...I'm doing all I can to stay strong for my family members and my husband right now, but honestly, underneath everything I feel like I'm slowly losing my mind and myself. I had all of these plans and was just so damn happy, and now she's gone and taken it all with her. I want her back so badly it hurts, and every time my husband and I are alone I cry. He wants to know what he can do, but what can I say to that? What can he do that will bring our baby back? Nothing...and I'm so sorry to make him feel more helpless. I love him. I want our marriage to be okay after all of this. I want us to be happy again at some point. We haven't even gone back to the apartment we were living in except to grab clothes...we're staying with family. I feel like everyone is so loving and supportive, but I just don't want them around. At the same time I don't want to be alone to see her image in my head...and I feel guilty for that too. She was so beautiful, but I hate to see her so still, so...quiet. She never even made a sound. 24 hours I held on after my water broke to buy more time...so we could make it to 23 weeks and they could give me the damn steroids because then her lungs would be a little further on. But she came anyway. I'm so angry that I fought so hard, and we still lost her. I don't want to keep asking why, but I want to know, and I know no one can tell me. I just want to stop, but I know I can't do that...I want to make my daughter proud, show her I'm strong, but sometimes it's just so fucking hard. I guess I want to know what to say to people to just leave me alone. They keep asking me if I'm okay...I'm not okay. I wish they'd stop asking me that. Or just stop saying "You're young. You can try again." Try again and fail again? Make a life only to have it feel pain as my body rejects it? I don't just want another baby anyway...I want her. She was my beautiful little baby girl. The worst part is not knowing what parts of my anger and sadness are actually grief or just more fucked up hormones. I guess mostly I just want to vent...to cry...to miss her and not have anybody saying "It'll be okay. You'll have children someday." Is that so wrong?

[Susie_q512]

Abby Lynn's Mom - I am so very sorry that your sweet baby was taken from you. My heart broke for you as I read your words. There is so much pain and anguish when we lose a child, regardless of the age or circumstance. I was also never expected to have children, and lost my first pregnancy. I miscarried much earlier in the pregnancy than you, but I remember that heartache and the fear of possibly never being able to carry a child to term. I was later blessed with 2 beautiful daughters, but my youngest was killed in a car accident 7 months ago. She was 16. If people ask if you are okay, tell them the truth.....that you are not okay, and know that it is okay to not be okay. You have lost a child that you love and wanted. You have lost your hopes and dreams. You have lost the opportunity to develop relationship. You have not lost the need to be her Mommy, and that is a tough thing to deal with. The maternal bond is unbreakable, and whether our children are with us or not, we still possess the strong need to protect and care for them. So very much is lost when we lose a child, and the pain is so very deep that it penetrates our souls. Please be kind to yourself and allow yourself to grieve for your little girl. People say some really stupid things to us after we lose a child, but most people are truly well intention-ed and mean us no harm. Grieve for your baby. Your grief is an outward expression of the great love you have for her. Maybe when people ask what they can do for you, you could tell them that you need to be allowed to grieve properly and completely? We hurt so deeply because we loved so deeply. My heart to you as you struggle to find your footing.

Susan

*Anger is a very natural part of this journey. So is shock, disbelief, denial, pain and depression. I did a lot of reading on the different aspects or stages of grief, and it helped me to better understand that what I was thinking and experiencing was normal.

[lightlost183]

Thank you for your advice. I'm sorry for your loss as well, both of them. My daughter is supposed to be cremated sometime this week, but I have had no response from the chapel in charge of the services. It's been frustrating to say the least. I just want to bring her home. I know it's not really her, but it will be comforting to bring her home all the same. I don't know what services you chose, but how long did the process take? We've held her memorial with an empty urn, and now I'm growing impatient I guess. I'm going back to the old apartment today to just face things. We've decided to move, but we still have to get our things out, and I'm the only one really who has time right now. I feel like there's too much time now between healing physically and going back to work. My husband says he feels like he's giving up by moving away, but I really can't stand being there without her...the neighbor's baby cries and I can hear it through the walls, and it's like the whole place is screaming "Abby's not here. You're baby will never be here." He says he'll move for me, but should I try to stay even so? I don't know what the right thing to do is anymore. I used to be the decision maker. I used to be the one that was level headed and sure. But there's been too many decisions lately...When my water broke, the doctors gave me something to stave labor off and something for the pain. It made me groggy and my thoughts were fuzzy and a bunch of other things. That part was fine. I could handle that. But then Abby started having some distress. I don't know if it was from the whole situation or the drugs, but I thought it was the drugs. I eventually told them to stop everything except the IV. They did. I dealt with the pain and the inevitable contractions, and she was calm through it all. She wasn't panicking or scared anymore, or so it seemed. I eventually finished out my labor, and she was gone. Now I wonder all the time if the decision was the right one. Was it selfish of me to assume I knew what no one could possibly know and strip her of the one slight chance we had? Would she even have lasted through her stress if I hadn't? So many questions bombard me because of the decision I had to make. My husband was there. He agreed with me...but he's always agreed with me. He says he doesn't blame me, and I know he's being honest...I just can't seem to face him with the doubt I'm carrying. I love my baby, and I would never have done anything to hurt her, but I'm so scared I did. Has anyone else had to make this decision?

[Susie_q512]

Abby Lynn's Mom - I can only speak from my own experience. My daughter's funeral and burial were held very soon after her death. She was killed in the car accident on a Tuesday afternoon. Her funeral and burial were held on that Friday. I felt rushed in the process, but my older daughter's 19th birthday was that Saturday, and we would not chose that day for Shannon's services. My older daughter needed it to be done prior to her birthday as she did not want to try to have that birthday dealing with the services, so for her, we had to move rather quickly. I wish that I had had more time to make arrangements and adjust to my daughter's death, but my living daughter's needs took precedence. I am not sure about the length of time involved in cremation. Others here have chosen that option, and they would be better able to answer that question. As to moving out of the apartment, only you and your husband can make that call. I was cautioned early on in my grief, not to make any major decisions during that time. Seems our judgement is not working to our benefit during the intense emotional struggle we are experiencing. Others here may have a similar experience and be able to offer better input. I will tell you this: after the death of our child, we question everything. We drive ourselves crazy with the "what ifs" and "if onlys". We replay those days and moments leading to the loss of our child....always searching for the changed outcome. We beat our heads against that wall til we are numb and exhausted, and then we get up and start at it again. It is a futile effort to try and change what has happened....to keep our child safe and with us. It's a normal part of this process, and it sucks, because we are powerless to change anything. We cling to anything and everything that connects us to our child. We are driven by desperation. Wish I had better words to offer you, but all the things you are experiencing are normal aspects of grief. There is no way around it, only through it. We are not given any choice at all. Those who are farther along on this journey, tell me that it does get easier with time. I have to trust that they are right. Prayers for you.

[lightlost183]

I want my daughter back more than anything. I have my good moments and my bad...Went and watched a movie with my husband today. 1) To get out of my in-laws' house. 2) To just not think for two hours. It worked, but it's like backlog coming out of it. I didn't cry for once today, but there's a part of me that wants to. I feel like there's a war going on inside of me -one part saying let her go, and the other part screaming to hold onto her forever. I can smile. I can laugh. But it all sounds so fake to my ears, false. Like it's wrong to try and be happy when she's not here. When I'm with my husband, I don't have to try so hard. He lets me be sad when I need to be, but he seems to know just what to say to make it easier to bear. I don't know what I'd do without him. I feel like this has brought us closer, and for that I'm thankful, but I'm scared that if I'm too happy with him I'm disrespecting my daughter. It still hurts, but being in his arms takes the sting out. Is that normal? Am I clinging to him now to keep from drowning? Maybe so...I don't know. I miss her so badly. I miss her little kicks, the little body malfunctions, God, I even miss the morning sickness...I thought everything was going to be okay. I thought we'd be a family and everything would be fine. I want to hear her cries for food, and smell that sweet baby smell. I want so badly just to hold her one more time and tell her I love her. I want her to know how much she means to me...I write her letters, and that helps. I made a scrapbook out of the pictures a nice RN took for me and all the ultrasound pictures. Sometimes I feel like I'm just not strong enough for all of this. I take it one day at a time, but the future is terrifying. How can I live not knowing if tomorrow I'll be sane or wailing for my baby? I'm really scared to go back to work now. I don't even know if they'll take me back the way I am. I'm supposed to be stable and cheerful. I honestly don't care anymore about much of anything except priorities. Get up. Take the dog out. Feed the dog. Deal with moving stuff. Set the next goal to automatically be done. I don't want to think or feel. I find myself purposefully numbing myself to all of it. I don't want to be like that, but I feel like that's the only way to bear it right now. If I let it actually touch me, I'll go mad or die. But how does it not touch me when I'm alone? I hear her calling for me, and I want to answer. I feel like her little arms are reaching out for me, and I want to just take her up and cradle her close. But I can't. She's ashes now, and all I have for my pain is a scrapbook of memories and her urn. It isn't fair. People keep telling me "Life isn't fair. You'll move on eventually." **** those people. I know life isn't fair. I know I only had her for about five minutes before she was gone. I know there was nothing I could do. But what the hell do I do with facts? What do I do now that she's gone? Where do I go from here? I feel like the future I wanted is gone forever. What family can I make after all of this that won't be tainted by this grief? It's never going to be gone completely. Any time I hear her name, I ache inside. Anytime I see a newborn, I want to scream "Keep that baby close. Love it forever. Keep it safe." I feel like people shy away from me as if my pain is contagious, or what happened to me will happen to them. I don't want them to be uncomfortable, but I can't pretend like it didn't happen. I can't pretend that it doesn't hurt like hell most of the time. How could it not? How could I not want her here happy and safe looking up at me with her Daddy's eyes and my smile? How could I not want her little body nestled against mine, while I planned what I could of her future? What parent doesn't love their child so much it's a pain all of its own, and to have it lashed back with their death? How can you really describe that to someone who asks how you're feeling? You can't...and honestly, you don't want them to know how awful it is. How raw it leaves you...I was never a very religious person, but I pray often now that He's keeping her safe. I can't imagine her just being gone into some abyss where there is nothing and she is nothing. If I go to that place, I'll be lost forever. I have to believe that she's okay where she is, and that there is family caring for her when I can't. I think about how it all happened sometimes, and I wonder if she felt pain, and in my heart I apologize over and over again. I'm so sorry, my little one, my baby girl. I didn't know that I would become a statistic. I didn't know my body was too weak to hold you, incompetent. I wanted you so badly, and I love you so deeply even now. How could I not? I carried you, and I love you forever. I miss you like nothing else, and your Daddy does too. You were beautiful and perfect even though you were so small...I can't understand how some people just throw their children away. I can't understand mothers who ignore their babies as they reach out and beg for their love. How can you not love them back? How can you not want to take their pain for them and give them everything and anything you can? What I wouldn't give to have what some people take for granted. I've been hearing about this woman my sister-in-law knows who just leaves her son anywhere and everywhere. He just wants to be with her and her tell him she loves him. He follows her as far as he can before she leaves, and when she's gone, he goes to my sister-in-law's to play with her sons and be loved by her. If Abby were here, I would hold her close and thank God every day for letting me keep her, for letting her be a part of my life. I'm grateful I had what time I had for her, but I swear I'd sell my soul to have her back. My priest would die to hear me say that, but I don't even care. I don't want to be damned, because then I can't be with her again, but I don't think I'd say no to have her back for even just a day. My husband...he means well, but today he said "To be fair, we might not have been able to give her everything she wanted in life." I wanted to slap him. No, we probably couldn't have afforded Disneyland vacations, or million dollar sweet sixteens, but we could have loved her with all of our hearts and given her a life to complain about. What child doesn't complain or yearn for things? Money couldn't buy her breath or a beating heart could it? I know he's trying to find what good in it that he can...I just wish he'd keep those kinds of things to himself. I just miss her. I just want her. And I suppose like anyone else, I wonder when it won't hurt so much...I love her. What else is there to say at the end of the day? You love your children, no matter the circumstances or what they do or don't do. You love them, and when they're gone, you still love them only you're so scared they can't hear it anymore or know it. God, I hope they do though. I really, really do.

[lightlost183]

I found out yesterday that after review of the circumstances surrounding Abby's birth/death, that I do not have an incompetent cervix after all. On the one hand, this gives me hope that I can carry healthy children to full term. On the other hand, it raises a whole new batch of questions that I thought I had an answer for. The doctor says I did everything I was supposed to do, and there were no signs to indicate this might happen. I just don't understand any of this. I want to know why, and if I can't know that, at least the how or have the situation explained to me. People keep telling me a lot of people lose their first babies, but that still doesn't tell me why or how. The doctor can't even say for sure. You'd think we'd take all the time/funding wasted on cosmetic surgery or male enhancement drugs and use it to figure out why this happens, but I suppose breasts are more profitable than babies...

The unknown is more disconcerting than the known was. It just doesn't make sense that a perfectly normal and healthy pregnancy just decides to end itself with a preterm labor. I can't accept that. I also can't accept the fact that it was "God's plan". Where does her death and our grief fall in this plan? If He wanted a soul to His bosom that badly, why not take mine instead? I would have gladly given it if it meant she could live and grow, laugh and smile, and be the light in this life I know she would be. I don't want to dwell, really I don't, but I'm frustrated and angry as hell now. Couple weeks ago, I seemed to have the grace, dignity, and strength to handle this, but now...To have all the statistics given to me, and the useless mewling about how it "happens all the time", and knowing that we've only come so far in the research...it makes me angry. Our children are our future, no? Shouldn't we do everything in our power to ensure their safety and health? Shouldn't we be able to find the money and time somewhere to find out how to save them? Or am I being unreasonable? Am I totally out of line to think that funding a new abortion clinic shouldn't take precedence to prenatal and neonatal research? I believe the majority of us want our children alive and well...

March of Dimes will come around again soon enough. I think as soon as I'm well, I'll start training again to walk it. If anyone from the League City area of Texas is interested in joining me, email me...It's the one thing I can do to make Abby proud, and the one thing that I can do to contribute toward the research preventing this from happening to anyone else, or at least lowering the risk.

It's never easy losing a child. There's a chance for it to warp your soul and mind, to drag you into a darkness filled with the voices of despair and hatred forever. Sometimes, it feels easier to stay in that place, to grip the name of your child and never look to those around you sharing your pain, or even to look into your partner's face falling towards you to the same end. For me, I totter on the edge hour to hour, sometimes slipping, other times just managing to hold to sanity and pull out of the pain for a breath of air. There will always be questions, I think, whether they were in this world for a minute or for 80 years...not many will ever be answered. As parents, we strive to protect our children, to let them know how much they mean to us, how much a part of us they are. They center our worlds, and while those on the outside may never understand the depth of their reach on our lives, we will always know. Their loss doesn't penetrate the skin or the tissue, but to the core of who and what we were, and often times we bleed alone a long time after others have moved forward.

Countless are the unspoken dreams, wishes, hopes, memories, and experiences that are lost when they leave. Unbreakable is the bond made between parent and child, and their call still rings in our ears when their voices are silent. Indescribable is the torment that ensues when at last the mind comprehends that this is it, they can never return. Whether you're religious or not, you know you carry them with you in your heart, that surely they watch over us and one day we may hold them yet again, if only for a moment more. What can we say to those prying eyes of the ignorant or unknowing? They think "Yes, you loved your children, no move on." But the fact is, we love our children, and we can only carry them on with us. We learn to endure despite the agony of the emptiness they leave, and in the moments where we find respite from the jag-toothed edges in the simple ache, then we can smile again and have some semblance of the happiness we knew. We can secure their memory in keepsakes and pictures, and I don't think any god would begrudge them or call them idols even though some people might. It's not that we're worshiping them, but rather cherishing and finding solace in what they left behind. In the things they touched, we maintain a connection, sometimes a whiff of their scent, or a stray strand of hair. In the pictures we can renew the contours of their faces when the memory begins to fade. It isn't wrong, though some may say it is. It's either that, or back to the black, and on that path only living hell awaits.

The number one lesson that I have learned is that when once a child enters your life, you are changed irrevocably. They mark you soul deep, and I don't think that time will ever make you or even let you forget. One day this will be a moment to look back and remember with bitter sweetness. My child will always be just that - my child. No other can replace her or make her less than what she was. However, I know that one day I may have another. One day this pain will be easier to bear, and when that time comes, I want to be ready. I don't want to make my daughter think that any of these tears are her fault. I will grieve, and I will hurt. But the time must come that I will have to attend to the years left to me, and I hope that she will look on me with pride and joy the way she never did in life.

You were perfect in our eyes from your head down to your feet.

And God knows that when we held you, we were finally complete.

But see, this world is filled with moments, grains of sand tumbling fast,

And yours was brief, barely a whisper - your first breath...it was your last.

The light you brought us burned so brightly, was gone too soon to comprehend,

But know that you were always wanted, that we loved you till the end.

No regrets in your existence, though the pain is hard to bear

You give us strength to carry onward, you will not lose us to despair.

You will always walk in beauty; God holds you now that we cannot,

And know this, our sweet baby, you will never be forgot.

Our bond is everlasting, we'll think of you each day,

We love you now and always. And now just one last thing to say...

This is only for the moment, more goodnight than a goodbye.

Sweet dreams forever darling, our little angel in the sky.