Feeling God

I'm reading this book called "Velvet Elvis" by a pastor named Rob Bell.  A friend actually loaned it to me following a long discussion one day about how tragedy can shake one's faith.  This book has been enlightening, to say the least.  I won't get too into detail, but many of this pastor's thoughts on Christianity really resonate with me.  Specifically, he talks about moments when you find yourself a part of something so much larger than words can describe, where you feel so overwhelmed with joy.  In these moments, we realize that we are all one, tied together by something massive and loving and transcendent. In these moments, we feel God all around us.

Yesterday, I had one of those moments.  As we began walking in the March of Dimes Walk for Babies, surrounded by thousands of other families who have all been affected by infant loss or prematurity, something ignited within me that almost brought me to tears.  Although I was in the midst of many families who've experienced pain and heartache, there was no sadness.  On the contrary, I felt tremendous love for all of these people, people who are relative strangers to me.  I felt joy and exhilaration.  I felt like I was a part of something so much larger than myself.  I felt God, there, with all of us, with all of our babies, both those in our arms and strollers, and those looking down on us from heaven.  It was truly a magical, emotional experience.

We walked with our friends Gregg and Lisa, who have become good friends of ours (we met through our support group):

Gregg and Lisa's son, Luke, is adorable.  He has such personality, and is such a little sweetheart (and he loves the ladies).  I am just in love with this kid!  

I have never seen an 11-month old who's so well-behaved and happy.  He started out riding on dad's shoulders...

...but then he became VERY sleepy.  

He woke up from his nap in great spirits, ready to rock and roll again!  We detoured near the end of the walk to a delicious restaurant in midtown for lunch...

...and with a full tummy, he was out again.  

I've been spending the remainder of the weekend recuperating (my morning sickness had me down so much for the first couple months that I put a halt to all physical activity so this mama is OUT OF SHAPE).  Since we got home yesterday, I've pretty much felt like Luke looks in that last picture.

But I wouldn't trade the exhaustion or the sore knees and hips for anything.  This experience was so incredibly powerful and wonderful.  I can't wait until next year.

Our Rainbow Baby

My biggest fear in sharing the news of our new pregnancy with the world is that others would look at me and think I'm suddenly "ok" because I am pregnant again.  Being pregnant again does not fix everything.  In fact, being pregnant again makes everything 10x harder.  The grief is more complex.  The excitement and happiness that generally comes with pregnancy is greatly diminished.  

Babies are not replaceable.  That seems like common sense, right?  Believe it or not, I've already dealt with a few insensitive comments from people are relieved that we are pregnant again.  Like maybe once we have a healthy baby in our arms, we can finally move on.  But it doesn't work that way.  We are not trying to fill the void in our hearts left by Virginia; only one person can fill that void, and we will always be without her.  A piece of our hearts will always be missing.  

{As an aside, I can't say strongly enough how passionate I am about making sure everyone who's important in my life understands that I am not trying to replace Virginia with this baby.  And those who have made comments about how I will be fine once I have another baby or once I "get over" this, are no longer a part of my life.  I don't expect everyone to understand how this feels, because you really will never understand unless you're in this position.  But I have absolutely no tolerance for ignorance or a complete lack of empathy.} 

I pray everyday that Baby Dos is our Rainbow Baby.  We need some beauty, some hope, and some light.  Please, God, let us bring this baby home.  

The "Normal" Life

Eight months ago,  I never thought I'd feel normal again.  I didn't even know what normal was anymore.  The thoughts running through my head and the crazy rush of emotions made my feel like I was the complete opposite of normal.  Insane?  I don't know if that's the right word (although my therapist may beg to differ in reference to one specific instance where hospitalization was mentioned).  Irrational?  Certainly.  Maniacal?  Sometimes.  Unhinged?  Without a doubt.  Unbalanced may be the best way to describe my state of being.  I still feel very unbalanced 90% of the time.

But over the last week, I've noticed a shift.   Let me start with a little back story.  Pat bought me a fancy new computer as an early birthday gift (and anniversary, and Christmas).  It's an IMac and it's AWESOME.  We've only ever owned PC's, so there's been a steep learning curve for both of us in figuring out how to operate a Mac.  Once all of our files and pictures were transferred, I began to do some exploring and ran across Photo Booth.  We played around with the different settings and took several pics of ourselves (most of which are far too embarrassing to share here).  We laughed until we cried at some of the distortions.  We made silly faces, and forgot about the sadness of our loss and the fear of what's to come.  We were just there, in that moment, with each other.  

This morning, I awoke early to get myself showered and ready for church.  I booted up the computer, to mess around for a bit, and decided to look at the Photo Booth pics from a few weeks ago.  That's when it hit me.  These pictures represent the first time I've felt normal, like myself, in months.  The smile on my face in these pics is genuine.  After months of faking so many smiles and laughs, I lost count, it feels good to have these moments of genuine happiness.  

I had to share this one, because Pat loves how he appears as just a floating head in the background (ha!).  

Grief is so cyclical.  Moments of happiness are torn down by intense, all-encompassing sadness.  Eventually you pick yourself up and resume a reasonable level of functioning.  Emotions stabilize and life feels manageable again.  Then the fear and despair come sweeping in again, without reason or warning.  And the process starts all over again.  I won't say things have gotten easier, because this process is anything but easy.  But I've gotten so used to the grief being a part of my life that I still expect to have bad days.  The difference is, I also expect to have some good days.  I need those good days to remind me why I'm still here, still fighting this battle.  I have a marriage that's stronger than ever, and a child growing inside of me that needs a mommy who can smile and laugh.  I have experienced more than enough sadness and pain.  Now it's time to let the good feelings back in.

"The wheels just keep on turning,

the drummers begin to drum,

I don't know which way I'm going, 

I don't know which way I've come."

~Coldplay "'Til Kingdom Come"

The Reason for the Silence on My End

I've been purposely silent for the last couple months.  Not that I haven't had much to say.  Believe me, my brain is on overload these days.  The passing of time brings with it many new life changes and transitions, some of them wonderful, some of them bittersweet, and some of them downright terrifying.  Our most recent development is a mix of the three.

I thought today would be a fitting day to make this announcement, as today marks the 8 month anniversary of Virginia's passing, and I truly believe she had a hand in this.

Introducing...

Baby Dos, due 10/16/13

To answer all of the questions we typically get when we tell people we are pregnant again, no, we are not ecstatic.  Yes, we are grateful to have another shot at this, to have the opportunity to have a baby we can bring home to raise and love.  Overall, we are terrified, but optimistic.  Yes, this was planned.  And yes, we will be finding out the sex sometime in the next month or so.  

As if the grieving process is not complicated enough, this pregnancy has added a whole new layer of conflicting feelings.  Excitement about being able to give Virginia a sibling.  Sadness over the fact that this baby would not exist had we not lost his/her older sister.  Overwhelming fear that this pregnancy is going to end in heartbreak.  Extra anxiety and stress over every little twinge, every potential sign that something might be wrong, every bad feeling, every nightmare.  I've succumbed to the fact that I will be living in fear until this baby is alive in my arms.  So far, I've had some days where the fear subsides, but it's always there, lurking in the back of my head, weighing heavy on my heart (fear and grief are similar in that way).  This pregnancy is not fun and exciting and happy, like my pregnancy with Virginia was.  This pregnancy is all about emotional sanity and survival (neither of which I'm doing very well with at the moment).  

On the flip side, we are also optimistic.  We have hope that Virginia is watching out for all of us, including the baby in my belly.  I still cannot bring myself to imagine what it would be like to bring a baby home.  My brain will not even go there.  Does not compute.  I will not be having a shower, or even buying anything for this baby until he/she is here safe and sound.  I know that doesn't sound very hopeful, but in a way, it's been a blessing that I can't look too far ahead.  With this pregnancy, I am aware of every single day of how lucky I am to have this life growing inside of me.  Every day I thank God for this baby being alive.  I don't know how long this pregnancy will last, or that it will result in a baby we can bring home, but I do know that I will take NOTHING for granted this time.  I will appreciate every single moment I can, because I don't know when it could all end.  I will continue starting my sentences with, "If this baby comes..." instead of "When this baby comes..." because the truth is, tomorrow is not guaranteed.  What matters now is this day, this exact moment, not the past or the future.

Today has been 8 months since we lost our daughter.  And today, I am 13.3 weeks pregnant with a baby that would have never been conceived had it not been for Virginia.  Today, I am appreciating this very moment right now, because right now is all we have.