Bad Memories

When I was a first-time expectant mother, life was full of possibilities. We became pregnant right away, and we were thrilled! I had taken the day off work to have a mental health day with my best friend who was moving to Georgia. When she got to my house, I told her I wasn't feeling well. I decided to take a pregnancy test, and it was positive! I am a worrier, so I called the doctor and had a blood draw just to make sure. Then I called my husband at work, and we promised not to tell anyone else until it was safe. By the time he got home, he had already told his work friends, so we decided to tell our "circle." We knew that some people have miscarriages, but we really didn't know anyone that had happened to. I vividly remember a hailstorm sometime that week, and my husband was outside watching. I told him to be careful, and he quipped, "I am a father now. I can do anything!" We were invincible.

Appointments came and went, and then we had a regular checkup. I hadn't gained any weight and the nurse couldn't find a heartbeat. That happens sometimes, they told us. So we had an ultrasound. When the tech said nothing, we knew it was over. I was supposed to go golfing with my dad. I had plans for lunch. They all stopped. After they moved us to a different room, we heard the doctor talking to a colleague outside the door about how she hated this part of her job. I told my husband we had lost the baby, but he was still being optimistic. When she finally came in, we were really just in shock. After she left, I did the required blood work. My husband, trying to be an optimist still, said, "Well, we weren't sure we could afford daycare, so maybe it will be okay." As we rode the elevator down, it was immensely symbolic. We arrived full of hope and left with sinking emotions. It was all too much. I passed out right there. When we arrived home, I was able to call my family and tell them what was going on. We would wait to see if my body would "take care of things" or if I would need a D&C. The next week was torture as I waited for my surgery. The only two things I really remember from that week are that my medical chart labeled the loss of my child as a spontaneous abortion and waking up from surgery and asking for my husband. The nurse told me I should still be asleep, but I very clearly explained to her that I would do whatever needed to be done to get out of there.

Since it was summer, I had no job to attend. I tried not to hate myself and my body for losing my child. I played mini golf on the Playstation and watched Food Network. I avoided my friends and prayed for time to speed up. My best friend moved away, and life continued. Wal-mart moved its baby section closer to the check out for the ease of parents. I had spent virtually my entire life checking out strollers and bassinets. My sister and I spent hours pouring over the JCPenny catalogues picking out baby items from the time we were small. Now baby paraphernalia made me burst into tears. I quit doing the shopping. If we went together, I made sure I had a plan for a quick escape. I still visited my sister-in-law. She was due with her second child the two weeks before me. I suffered through watching her grow my nephew and prepare for his arrival, a very real-time reminder of what we are missing. I tried to see a movie, Salt, with my husband. Right before the lights went out, I lost it. I had a panic attack. I am not sure I knew what it was at the time, but I felt like every patron in the theatre knew, somehow, that my child had died and I was out watching a movie.

In October, I received an invitation to a ceremony for "all parts from conceptions" from the hospital. We did not attend since I had already planned a trip to Florida, but I felt strangely uncomfortable as I vaguely remembered signing that the hospital could take care of the "remains" and that I wouldn't be there for the burial. It was easier for me to think of the miscarriage as a medical condition rather than a lost child. Avoidance and denial was the name of the game during that stage of the grief cycle.

Then we became pregnant again. I was a nervous wreck. Rather than testing biology again, I was leaning towards adoption, an option we had discussed for several years before even trying to become pregnant. My first doctor, who I really did love despite the whole situation, had switched practices. My new doctor was not willing to do the things my first doctor had discussed such as progesterone, regular heartbeat checks, and early ultrasounds. She said, "There really isn't any point in any of those things until we see if this baby lives." After that appointment, I never set food back into that practice again. I found a new doctor willing to work with and help ease my fears. The waiting room was hell. All of the very pregnant glowing mothers with their entourages in tow, finding out the sex of their child or counting down the days until the birth while holding hands lovingly. My husband and I were cowering in the corner squeezing hands tightly in fear. Blood draws and ultrasounds were a regular torture we endured. I didn't drink a sip of caffeine, I took care of myself in every possible way. I even went so far as to wear a special necklace someone had given me in order to help my body be strong. Seriously. For a month, we knew that our numbers weren't good. They were going up but not doubling. There was nothing to be done except have hope and wait. My doctor told me that things did not look promising but that she had seen all things in her time as a doctor and that nothing was beyond hope. One day we finally got a picture of our baby on the ultrasound! A real printout and everything! A few days later, on a Tuesday, I started bleeding. Since I had appointments about every three days, I had an appointment that afternoon. As I went in for an ultrasound, the necklace I had been wearing for luck fell to the ground and broke. The ultrasound tech wouldn't tell us anything, so we knew the drill. This time, instead of a surgery, I was able to miscarry on my own at home. The amount of pain was quite intense, cramping beyond belief. I imagine it is probably worse when actually giving child birth, but the adrenaline of knowing you are about to meet your child probably dulls some of the pain and allows you to make it through. Miscarriage pain is not only physical, but emotionally and mentally painful. The cramps were bringing me a bundle of joy, they were tearing my world apart again. My child was unceremoniously "passed" at home still in the egg sac and all. I am truly ashamed to say that my baby, my tiny little baby who had just become recognizable on an ultrasound, was flushed down the toilet. It took me ten minutes to write that. And now I am crying in shame. What could I have done? We lived in a town home so there was nowhere to bury him or her. There isn't a "thing" to do when you miscarry. To most people, it isn't even a baby, just tissue, nerves, and lots of blood. Was I supposed to take the "remains" to the hospital to be buried? Should I have contacted a funeral home? I still don't know what options there were. The doctor had sent me on my way, assuring me she would check in and see how I was doing. She never warned me or asked me about what was really going to happen.

I was now a "spontaneous aborter" because I had miscarried twice. What an awful phrase. As if I wasn't suffering enough from my first "spontaneous abortion," I now had a history of it. It was what I did with babies. It made me feel like a teenager sneaking into a shady clinic to meet a scary doctor to hide the evidence of my sins. I felt dirty and ashamed, like I was covered in the blood of my child, a scarlet letter of sorts.

Theses memories are the worst of the worst for me. I know there are more that I have forgotten, but after five years, these memories still remain; painful, raw, and shameful. I don't talk about them in these details. It makes people uncomfortable. I get a lump in my throat, tears in my eyes, and my blood feels thick. Bad memories.

The Ranch

Big D has his first job, at the ripe old age of 7, as a ranch hand. Let me explain. For the past two years, he has had a mentor, like a big brother. This mentor comes at least once a month, sometimes more depending upon his work schedule. Big Brother, as I will call him, is patient, attentive, and really helps to provide extra support our son. For the first year and a half, D spent his two or three hours at each visit showing his mentor every game, toy, and idea he has ever had! About two months ago, I was nearly knocked right over when D invited his little brother to go to the park with them! His growth and maturation were just shining through in that one simple invitation. As is usually the case, life changes. Big Brother told us he is going to move over the summer. This was quite a blow for D. We didm't really see it coming. We have a few months to prepare for the loss of Big Brother. Here we are right back in the middle of the grief cycle again. D isn't the only one morning the change. I have been fretting about what this will do to him to lose such a solid support figure in his life. I mentioned it to an out of state friend, but I have kept it pretty quiet.

Then my phone rang. It was a family friend we met through our neighbor. She was talking in circles, and I could tell she was leading up to something uncomfortable. I took a deep breath and waited to hear another piece of unsolicited parenting advice or sales pitch. Instead, I heard an answer to prayer. She and her husband have grown children, but she has always wanted more. As a compromise of sorts, they had called to offer D a job on their ranch. He would be responsible to gather eggs, feed the chickens and goats, learn how to feed the cows, and take care of their horse. In reality, he would be working on the ranch and growing another root to help stabilize him as he grows. Just as Big Brother leaving left the potential for one area of D's life to become stagnant, another part popped up ready to grow. What a blessing! They have a special spot for his work clothes. The cupboard is stocked with treats that are perfect for a 7 year old, and they are ready to love on him!

We went out there once as a family to check out the job. He was so excited that someone needed him!  He gladly accepted the position...and then asked what they were going to pay him! "Well, since this is a job, you are going to pay me, right?" He loves his job, and is thrilled with the $0.50 he earned last time. It truly takes a whole village to raise a child.

I will always be your mother

Yesterday I posted about our exciting adoption finalization. I wanted to highlight all of the excitement and memories we will have forever! I forgot to mention the low point of the day. We invited the foster family that the kiddos had lived with for two years, and the kids loved seeing their foster mother and her kids. It was a great time of hugs and playing, but it was tarnished by the mom's behavior. Upon seeing her, the kids shouted her name and ran to greet her (except my daughter who was NOT interested in reconnecting). When she pulled them in for a hug, she very sternly said, "You do not call me by my name. You can me mom. I will always be your mother, and you will ALWAYS call me mom." Huh?!?!?!

First of all, I am a foster mother. I have foster three kiddos, who I have seen after they have moved on (either back with parents or with another relative). I never told a child to call me mom, and I definitely tried to keep the confusion to a minimum by helping them understand that I would always love them and be their foster mom, but that I didn't expect or want them to continue calling me mom when they left. In the photo album, we labeled everything with our names. One mother asked if the kids could call us "Aunt and Uncle." We told her they could call us whatever she thought was best. Yes, it was hard, especially with the kiddo we had for a year, but that is how fostering goes.

What bothers me the most, though, was how confusing that was for our kids! They have already lost their biological parents, gone through several sets of foster parents, and transitioned to our home. I am sure they were confused and emotional anyhow because of the finalization and seeing their foster family again. Why would she EVER say that they have to call her mom, especially ten minutes before their finalization?

Now, I tend to be a bit sensitive, especially if it comes to my children, but I feel like this was way across the line. I actually feel like talking to the worker and explaining why the kids may have limited contact with her for a bit. Lots to think about. I know it is food for the kiddos to have connections, but not if those connections are adding confusion and pain, right?

Going Home...Coming Home

The first child my husband and I ever parented has gone home to his biological family. The two weeks leading up to yesterday were quite horrible. Stress, tears, and tantrums while still trying to make some great memories. When we first talked about this day as kind of a vague idea, we told our worker that she should just come pick him up one day and not tell us when it would be - that way we wouldn't have to dread a day for weeks before it came. Obviously that is not how it worked. We did make a few more wonderful memories, and we have a plan to see him again in a couple of weeks. It will be hard, but we want him to know that he will always be in our hearts.

Now we turn our full attention to welcoming our children home. I have organized their clothes and toys, and started some full-fledged "nesting." Next weekend I am making some crafts for in their bedrooms as well as the bathroom. I am also going to make them each a fleece tie blanket. Gives me something to do while I wait.

Today is a relatively good day. Busy and full of looking ahead. I am sure there are quite a few more down days as I mourn this vast loss and pine for new beginnings.

Faith

I admit that I have a high-strung personality, and I constantly operate with a state of stress running my life. I have always been like this, and it is my "normal." I am not sure I would ever get anything accomplished if I didn't  feel like this! It is the same type of stress that some people cite as reasoning for saving things until the eleventh hour. It motivates me and keeps me on track.

My current level of stress is something I cannot get used to. Waiting for the next task to complete in a series of tasks I have done over and over again, not knowing when my children will officially become mine, waiting to hear when I can meet them and bring them home. Add this on top of just the every day things (housework, parenting, groceries, school work), and I am tipping the scales of what I can handle. How am I supposed to get up each day and do what needs to be done while all I really can think about is my family? I feel like the right answer is to just have faith that things will work out for the best.

If I am honest with myself, the last two and a half years have been the biggest struggle I have ever had in my faith. I know the scriptures and cliches about waiting for God's perfect timing. They were quoted to me regularly over the last few years. I am supposed to be faithful and wait for everything to work out in a way that should overshadow all the pain and loss of the last chapter of my life. Once I have my family, I am suddenly supposed to feel thankful and joyous and understand why God chose to make my parenting journey such an intense struggle. I just don't believe this. God is good, and He is heartbroken as well. He is hurting because of our intense pain. He didn't decide my husband and I needed to learn a lesson or that we weren't good enough to be parents. Our babies died. God could have saved them, but that isn't what happened. He didn't make us lose our babies. I think the book Empty Arms  by Pam Vredevelt explained this best for me. After my first miscarriage, I was really struggling with people telling me that is just wasn't meant to be, and the timing must just not have been right. It made me feel like I was truly to blame for my miscarriage and that God didn't think we were ready. What a horrible way to make a person feel! I felt pressured to turn my frown upside down and pretend I was thankful that God was teaching me a lesson and causing my struggles. Some things just happen. God doesn't make them happen, but He allows them to happen. What we do with those struggles is what shapes us as a person.

So here I am, still waiting on my family. Worried that this will all fall through, for one reason or another, and that I will be back in a state of grief and loss, and stressed out to the max. I am trying to turn my fears over to God, but it is a risk. If I turn them over to Him and something bad happens, how will I process that? Will I feel like God is punishing me? Maybe it would just be better to avoid talking to God about it because then I don't have to worry about feeling abandoned. Am I supposed to act like I have no worries about everything going on, and that, no matter what happens, I will be full of thanks? The only thing I can do or control in this situation is to be honest with God and ask for His peace.

Father God, 

I don't know why things happen as they do. I am still hurting every day over many losses: my two babies, motherhood through pregnancy, passing on my genetics to my children (for better of worse), my innocence and joy related to pregnancy, the children I have fostered, and so much more. I refuse to believe that You would cause these struggles. I choose to believe You, as my loving Father, are hurting through all these things too. Even when I am silent for awhile, fearful of the future and putting my faith in You, You still love me and know everything I am feeling. You never leave my side. God, I need to release my stress to You and breath in Your love and peace. I ask that You intervene in our adoption process and help us jump through all the hoops we have in front of us. Renew my faith, and help me to be a witness to Your love and compassion despite my struggles.

Amen

October

October is pregnancy and infant loss awareness month. It is a time to remember babies we have lost or never got to meet. I did not know about this until this year. Sometimes I wonder why I never knew about it before, and if I still wouldn't know about if I hadn't lost two babies. Some people post on Facebook, some hold remembrance celebrations, and some people do nothing at all. We fall into that last group. I am thinking back to when we were invited to a ceremony for our first baby. I had already planned a trip with my friend, so I couldn't go. I don't think we would have gone anyway because the pain was too raw. Let's face it, sometimes the pain is still too raw, and it's been 2 1/2 years. But maybe I am ready to deal with the pain rather than run away from it. Or maybe thinking about the pregnancy loss is easier than thinking about having my foster child leave in a few weeks. Whatever the case, I hope that we find a way that less people can be affected by pregnancy and infant loss in the future. It is a loss beyond losing the life of a child. It is losing your dreams as well. Dreams of a family, dreams of happy pregnancies in the future, dreams of showers and nurseries and Christmas cards. It is good to have a time to remember and reflect so that we can move forward and hope.