She was for Daddy too

I survived fathers day. Some may not like that I might sound like I'm making father's day about me. It wasn't my day. I wasn't the one who should have been falling apart as the church talks discussed wonderful father-child memories. Well I wasn't the only one at least. I actually got through mother's day better than father's day. I'm going to try to explain it. I don't really expect many people to understand. Those who have suffered infertility will probably relate to what I'm talking about.

All my life, I wanted to be a mom. First I would get married. I figured around 20-21. My plan worked. I got married when I was 20. After marriage, I decided I wanted to have my first child around 21-22. That worked too. But I never imagined this could happen to me. I couldn't be the one to have a miscarriage, or have a handicapped child, let alone a child that would die. It was not in my plan. It shouldn't be in anyone's. What was really the most flawed in my plan though, was that "I wanted my first child". Well Addison was not mine alone. She is ours. Mommy's and Daddy's. So I should have said, "After marriage, I hope WE can have our first child by the time I was 21-22." Because Addison was not just for me. She was for Daddy too. I wanted to give Daddy a child. I wanted to see him hold her and kiss her. I wanted to see daddy toss her up in the air as she giggled and screamed for more. I wanted to watch Daddy read a book to our little Addy and watch her head fill with wonder. I wanted to see her run to the window when she would hear his car come in the driveway. I wanted to watch her melt his heart as he let her brake Mommy's rules. I wanted to watch him dress up for her tea party's and then teach her how to shoot a gun in the same week. I wanted so many things for them. And now Daddy doesn't have his little girl. Sure, he has me. But I'm not who I used to be. Not without Addison. And sure, he has her, but not in his arms. I know Daddy adores me. I know I will get to see him do those things with her and also with our other children. But I just wanted Daddy to have his little girl. He should get to have his baby. Especially on Father's Day.

Yesterday I posted this poem to his wall. I hoped that I did enough to make him feel like the amazing father that he is. I'm very thankful for those who wished him a Happy Father's Day. It took some of the pressure off of me.

A Father's Grief

It must be very difficult
To be a man in grief,
Since "men don't cry"
and "men are strong"
No tears can bring relief.

It must be very difficult
To stand up to the test, ...
And field the calls and visitors
So she can get some rest.

They always ask if she's all right
And what she's going through.
But seldom take his hand and ask,
"My friend, but how are you?"

He hears her crying in the night
And thinks his heart will break.
He dries her tears and comforts her,
But "stays strong" for her sake.

It must be very difficult
To start each day anew.
And try to be so very brave-
He lost his baby too.

Author Unknown

 

Remember Her

I went to the church mingle the other night. Every Wednesday hot dogs are provided and the rest is a pot luck. I used to love going to these things. I actually once even played in the rain with the kids. Well, I really contemplated going for about 2 days. I wondered how many babies would be there. How many people in general? How many people who have said inappropriate things? How many of my go-to people.

I guess I didn't contemplate enough. 5 out of the 6 babies were there. The crowd was small. They were hard to avoid. I stood in line with my back to the crowd so I didn't have to make eye contact with them, the babies. 

What was I supposed to do once I got my plate? Where was I supposed to sit? The babies had started to be passed around. I guess most of them are old enough for that now. Addison would have been old enough. She would have turned three months on Wednesday. So now, not only did I have the literal babies that were getting carried and passed around, but I also had to avoid their families. By families, I don't mean the people exactly. I mean the location of their car seats and strollers and blankets and pacifiers. So really, where was I supposed to go? I walked down the hill to sit on the bench. Nathan went with me. We just sat there. The two of us and River. It was embarrassing. I wanted to go. No one talked me into it. I honestly thought it would go well. And it didn't.

My baby died. She should be in my arms. More than that, she should be in yours. She should be adored and passed around and I should have to worry about who has her. She should need a stroller and car seat. She should be cooed over and tickled. One of the things I hate is not knowing what she would have been like at 3 months now. I have no other children to know or compare to. Could she role over? Could she hold her head up? Could she sleep through the night? How much should she weigh? What size clothes would she really be in? There is one way I can know. One way I can get an idea of how she compares to mile markers. And it hurts too much. I don't want to look up on the internet what a 3 month old baby can do. I don't want to look at all the church babies and see what she can't do.

How can anyone help? What can you do? I feel like I've said it, but maybe not directly enough. REMEMBER HER. Well what does that mean? Reading this blog is HUGE to me. It really is the biggest thing anyone can do. Secondly, somehow tell me that you are still reading. I don't expect anyone to read every day. Not everyone's life can revolve around mine. But it really does bring so much joy to me when someone asks me a little more about something I wrote recently. Or I get to read a comment that said you hear what I'm saying and feel this loss as well. I trust you people who read my blog. That is a big deal. Especially if you have one of those 6 babies. I feel like I can hang out with you and you will be able to be careful about my triggers and know where my heart is. And please, never stop asking about Addison. Ask if I have felt her recently. Ask if I am working on any more memorial projects. Ask. And know that sometimes I might cry, not because you have hurt me, but because I have gotten to share my memories with you. They are the biggest burden of blessings I will ever carry and I am nearly begging just to have someone to share them with.

One of the things I realized early on that I would be very sad about is her name. Addison's name was hand picked, even before she was born. I just loved it. I wrote it a million times. My calendar, my school notebooks, any scrap paper always had me practicing writing her name. I hate that I hardly get to use it now. Maybe I still use it as much as I would if she was alive but over time, I think that will change. Not as many people will remember. Not as many people will know. That beautiful name for my precious baby. I know it wasn't wasted. She deserved a beautiful name. But I just hate that I don't get to say it, or won't get to, as much as I wanted. And you won't say it as much either. Not in the long run.

Today is her 3 month angel day. I don't know why it is that I remember these days more than her birthday. I worked all day in the yard. It was a good distraction. On our way home from dinner, we stopped for fathers day cards. Sorry dad, I just couldn't get in the right mindset to get you one. I was focusing on getting a card for Nathan. I don't suggest you ever try it, but it really is quite a challenge to get a card from a child that has passed. I'm sure it is also very difficult to get a card for a father who has passed. And a father who has not been a father. Where is that section at the hallmark store? Where is the unfair father's day section? I think these holidays might be even harder than Christmas.  I don't really have a plan of how to get through tomorrow. Not like I did on mother's day. I guess I will just rely on people's prayers to get me through.

Very soon the dates are going to start recurring. The day Addison was conceived (July 6th), the day we found out we were pregnant (I think the 18th), the day we took announcement pictures (our anniversary the 28th)  the days we announced to our families (about August 18th), the day we announced to the world... and so on. I don't think its the numbers that will bother me the most. It will be the feelings. The things I was doing a year ago on those days...

Anyway, thank you guys for reading. I know I don't write as much. That doesn't mean I don't have as much to write about. But sometimes I need to process it myself before I tell it to you. There are a lot of things going on right now. Things I want to share but am nervous to. Sometimes even the happing things are incredibly overwhelming. I don't want the slingshot effect.

With Love,

Addison's Mommy

Compare Not Compete

Compare not compete. Compare not compete. Compare not compete...

Tonight I met with several other angel mommy and daddies. It was wonderful. It was awful. I am one of them and we never wanted to meet each other. Not like this. It's not some social group to talk about books. It's not some team where we practice our skills. Our babies died. My baby died...

I always knew no loss was the same. Tonight I learned that on another level. Some babies were lost early. Some were full term. Some lost twins. Some have a lot of support. Some seemingly almost have none. I know I'm not alone. That's what this is supposed to be about. Unfortunately though, there was one thing I found myself jealous of. It's hard to understand being jealous of someone else's loss. It's easy to be jealous of someone who has not lost...

Addison NEVER cried. She NEVER moved. She NEVER opened her eyes. I do have a video of hiccups. And some might think "that's movement". But that's not voluntary. She never had the opportunity. I will never know her voice in this life time. I will never know her eye color. I don't get to remember a quivering chin or a desperate hand reaching out for someone to hold. IT SUCKS. It's so stupid!!! She was there, she was in that body. She moved in me. She stretched and grew. It was so unfair that she didn't get to show off what she practiced. Blinking. Sucking. Breathing on her own. She didn't get to because.... because....

She died. My baby died. Addison died.

Alive

I wish I was tired. I thought I was. Now Daddy is falling asleep though. What would I be doing right now if Addison was alive? I feel like I should specify and say "alive" instead of "here". Several people have said to me "she's right here with me". Maybe she is. Maybe she isn't. No one can prove where she is exactly. But if she was alive, if I'm really honest, I would probably be fast asleep, trying my best to rest between feedings. Or I might be in her nursery, rocking her in the glider with only a lamp on so she didn't think it's was day time...

Lately I have noticed the phrase "______ is in heaven right now". But who they are talking about is not dead. They are very much alive and joyful. It's almost a cruel phrase. They're child or baby is not in heaven. Mine is. My daughter had to go through death to get there. Heaven is her reward. I don't think there is anything on earth deserving to be "in heaven" than to die. I pray no one ever uses this phrase on me while I'm on earth. In a lot of ways, I would rather be in heaven. That's where Addison is. But I can't get myself there. I won't try. 

I take words very literally now. Heaven. Angel. Baby.... Unless you are speaking litteraly, those words hurt out of context. Those words should not be joked about or said lightly. Not around me atleast. 

When I was a teenager, I went to a camp in the summertime. There was a boy there who liked to tell cruel jokes. He was "cool" and so I tried to be friends with him. But he told dead baby jokes. I pray you have never heard these. Now they play in my mind though. How could anyone joke about such a tragedy? A true nightmare? It takes a lot of effort not to hate people sometimes...

These are the things that slip into my head at night. Terrible, terrible things. How could anyone expect me to be ok? My life has become my worst nightmare. I'm just trying to survive... 

Addison's Mommy

I would have brought my baby

Do you know where I would have brought my baby? Everywhere. My baby would have gone everywhere with me. Because that's what babies do. You don't leave a baby in the car with the windows cracked. You don't tie them to a tree with a leash. Even when they are crying and screaming, you don't send them out of the grocery store. 

Well my baby isn't here. She is dead. Daddy and I took her off life support so that she could die in our arms instead of on machines. Machines that couldn't do enough to keep her alive because her mind was already gone when they resuscitated her. 

It's so lonely to go anywhere without her. I should have to lug around a huge car seat and worry about all the things I should have in the diaper bag. I should try my best to fold up that chunky stroller to fit in my car. I should be conscious of when the last time was that she ate and how many diapers I might need. 

Well I don't my baby, instead I have a dog. It's a poor replacement. But it's the best I can do to fill this gaping hole in my heart where my baby should be. I am getting sick of people telling me that I can't bring River.  I debate whether I should tell them. Can I even speak the words? My baby died. I would have brought her instead. Unfortunately, all I have to bring is my dog. Can she please stay? Can she please help me to not feel alone? At least I look like a mom when she is around. I have her bag of chew toys and extra dog food. I don't want to look alone. Even worse, I don't want to feel it. 

Currently, we are in the process of trying to get River trained as a service dog. PTSD is accepted as a disability in which a service dog can help calm anxiety attacks. Not many dogs qualify to become service dogs. First she must go through extensive training for obedience for about 3 weeks in NC. This costs about $1500. Then she must be assessed for her learning ability. 

I have spoken with the owner of one training facility. I am hopeful that River is capable of learning the skills to be a service dog. I was told that the best thing I can do is expose her to everything. They said not to sweat the small stuff like chewing and "sit". They will fix all that. Worst comes to worst, atleast I will have an incredibly obedient dog. But the best case scenario is that River can go with me ANYWHERE the public is allowed. This alone will help me tremendously. I could maybe breath when I go to the grocery store. I could relax at church. I could never worry about scheduling a puppysitter because "dogs aren't allowed" where I need to go. 

Anyway... If you know of some places or things I could expose River to, that's the first step in this process. Some things they have recommended aside from the ordinary are crowds, crashes, revolving doors, wheelchairs, diverse groups of people, other animals (not just dogs) and other things I can't think of right now. 

Another thought I have had is to my local grocery store, library, doctors office, and other common places to see if they would be willing to let me expose River to their environment. I don't know if I want to call. It might hurt too much if they say no. But it would mean a lot if they said yes. Let me know if you feel like calling...

With Love,

Addison's Mommy

All that I need

Lately I haven't felt like writing. But right now I feel like crying. But if I start, I won't be able to stop, so I'm holding it in...

For the past few days I have been reading. Not anything immaculate. Actually, I've been reading about you. Now really it's only been a couple people. But I wanted to see what you were doing during the hardest week of my life. Are there traces of comments you made to me? Are there joyous pictures of your family? Are there no posts at all? I'm not looking to be mad at you if your life didn't revolve around mine, but sometimes I just wonder if that week existed to others. Was it documented? Did it change you? I know we had and have a lot of support, but it's not in my face anymore. I have to look for people to be supportive OR tell people how not ok I am so they remember I need them. It's exhausting. I know I don't need to prove anything to anyone, but somehow that's the only way I feel close to people anymore. I have considered sharing the dirty details. The things that would make you cringe and give you nightmares. They are sacred and lonely memories of my baby. But I don't think you can handle it. I don't want to make you try. 

My baby died. That statement should provide all the support I will ever need. It should...

With Love,

Addison's Mommy

Baby Blessings

Yesterday was exhausting. I woke up with a head ache which evolved into a migraine. We went to church. It had been a while because I have been avoiding baby announcements and because of our trip. It's really hard not to cry at church. It's hard to be there at all. There are so many babies. So many little girls. And that's where her funeral was. We wheeled her casket into that room. That's where I saw her for the last time. 

I can't sing anymore. I used to love to sing. It's too hard now though. I have to predict if the words are going to trigger me and try to keep from crying. 

There was a baby blessing yesterday too.   I asked someone when they were going to be. I didn't expect one that very day. I knew I couldn't stay for it. When the time came for it, I bolted. Daddy stayed so he could text me when it was over. I went outside and sobbed. Addison didn't get a blessing for all to hear. She did get one. Right before we took her off the machines. Right before she died, we blessed her life. 

Today is Daddy's birthday. He is 27. I don't think he likes that number very much. At least this year he wouldn't have expected a gift from Addison. She wouldn't be able to color a picture or sing him a song. I think the future will be harder. 

I need to go back to visit the hospital soon. I need to. 

With love,

Addison's Mommy