Oliver's jammies

My only experience on dealing with a funeral home has been for Oliver. We asked the hospital to do a full autopsy, so it was several days between leaving the hospital and having his little body sent to the funeral home. They told us to give them something to dress him in.

We had so many things. So many outfits for a baby so anticipated and so loved. But they were all too big. All for the chubby full term baby I was expecting, not the 4 pound 18 inch 31 week baby.

My mom went to the store to pick something. I couldn't do it. I call David "Ours" which is French for bear, so we referred to the baby as the bear cub. My mom found a preemie sleeper at babies r us with little green stars and a bear on it. It was perfect.

I put it on the stuffed monkey we had bought ( one of all too many toys) and I snuggled that outfit, knowing it would be the only thing my baby would ever wear. I didn't want it to smell like the store, or like clean laundry. I wanted it to smell like the mommy who will always always love him.

When we went to the funeral home to say goodbye, they had dressed him in the sleeper. It was still big, but it was just for him. Not a hand me down like the rest would be. The jammies he would wear to be cremated. My baby. With the sweet bear and little stars.

Elliot came very soon after we lost Oliver. Surprisingly soon. So soon in fact, that there was still a sleeper, sized 6 months from that same collection left in toys r us. I almost didn't buy it. I almost let the green stars belong only to Oliver, but I wanted to do the thing I had wished for for the other sleeper: put it on my baby. My living, breathing, eating, smiling baby.

Tonight I did that. I put the larger star sleeper on to Elliot and I watched the stars fold as he twisted. Rubbed the soft fabric while I nursed him. Made him laugh.

Elliot tonight- 4 months old

It makes me cry to see those stars, and think of the cremated ashes of that sleeper sitting in the urn on the piano, with the ashes of my baby.

I don't believe in heaven, or that Oliver still exists somewhere, but I do believe I can keep putting the love I have for him out into the universe. I can give some to Elliot, who won't understand why I hold him just a bit tighter tonight. I can honor his memory, and carry that with me. And someday teach this baby about his brother. And looking at the matching sleeper makes me feel like they are connected through me, and through all the love I feel for both of my sons. Both of my little bear cubs.

My one year old.

If everything had gone right I would have a one year old today.

I try not to think about the hypothetical, because if i had that one year old baby I wouldn't have the beautiful 3 month old who woke up all smiles this morning. And today might not have been Oliver's birthday anyway. But I woke up this morning with thoughts of what if. what if I had carried him to term. What would my life be like? Would we be thinking about a second baby? Would we be going crazy from exhaustion as our mobile baby zoomed everywhere? Would he be a good sleeper like his brother?

The only thing I know for sure is that if Oliver had lived he would have been showered with love, just like Elliot is.

Happy would-be one year birthday Oliver.

Love mama

Mother's day

Mother's day last year was the hardest day of my life.

In most cases, giving birth on mother's day to your first baby would be cool. You could celebrate becoming a mother. We celebrate mother's day to honor that day, and every day that a mom spends parenting her baby.

But it didn't work like that for me. Mother's day will forever be the day that I met my baby, who never met me. The day I didn't hear him cry. The day I didn't get to feed him. That was the day I spent looking at his perfect, still face and wishing my life could be different.

And now the whole world celebrates. Kids make pictures of flowers out of handprints. Breakfast in bed. Brunch. Everyone takes this day to celebrate. TV. The internet. Stores. It's mother's day everywhere. Elliot will grow up to make me cards. Do projects at school. He won't understand that the picture he drew for me, and the breakfast he helped make and the flowers are all for a day that marks the hardest day of my life.

I also have something to celebrate now. Having Elliot here, literally in my arms as I write this brings me joy. And I'm glad to have a day to celebrate him. Two years ago on mother's day I was just someone child. Last year I was a grieving mother. This year it's more complicated. I never knew joy and grief could coexist so seamlessly, or that I could feel both with the intensity that I do.

So I will focus on the joy. I'm going to celebrate the one day I had to hold Oliver. The 31 weeks that he existed. The fact that I got to feel him kick. The way that he changed my life. Made me a mother. This mother's day I'm going to celebrate having both of my sons. This mother's day I'm going to celebrate the two beautiful boys I gave birth to, even though only one of them is alive. I plan to celebrate the tiny hands pulling my hair and the tiny hands that never got to feel my touch. The tiny eyes that look up at my face and the tiny eyes I never got to look at. Because I am a mother to both of them.

Elliot and Oliver

Dear Oliver,
You have a brother now. I want to say little brother, but it doesn't quite fit in my mind that way, because he will grow up and you won't. You will always be my baby and Elliot will age.

He is aging already. the bottom drawer of the dresser is full of newborn clothes that he has grown out of. They are mostly clothes I bought for you. But I bought them for him too. We know we want a big family, so they were always going to be hand me downs, we just didn't know they would be new.

He doesn't look like you. You had your daddy's nose and my chin, and he has it backwards. He was skinny at birth, not as skinny as you but skinny. He is getting fatter now though. And you were both born tall. He was 21 inches, to your 18.

Oliver

Elliot

The biggest difference between you both was not the birth, or even the recovery days, but leaving the hospital. When you walk out of the hospital clinging to a memory box, it is the exact opposite of leaving the hospital with a tiny baby strapped into a car seat. When we left the hospital with you, it was the end. I knew I would never get to hold you or sing to you or touch your perfect little nose, ever again. We said goodbye to you and I walked out of there empty, with nothing in front of me except missing you, and days of pain.

When we left the hospital with Elliot, it was the beginning. It was his first time being in a world that he will get to know and explore. But he won't do it alone. As he grows up, I promise you he will learn about his brother. You will always be there with us. Playing in the snow, going on a walk, snuggling and reading stories.

Elliot isn't you. Lots of people want him to be. They want it to be over. Want things to be happy again. That is what I wanted too. The reason I got pregnant so fast was that I was desperate for a baby, to cry and feed and care for. I wanted him to be you, and to take your place. But it doesn't work like that. I could have 10 babies and  would still miss you the same amount. Probably more, because each baby would remind me exactly of what I am missing.

I miss you every day and I love you always.

Love mama

I love you forever

When Oliver died we didn’t just lose a baby. We lost his first day of kindergarten. His first tooth. We lost his high school, college (and maybe more) graduations. We lost the family he might have someday had and the adult he would become. And for a few months, sitting in the dark in my bedroom, I mourned all of it. Not just the diapers I wouldn’t change and the milk that piled up in the freezer, but his entire future.

 

This morning I read a blogpost about the book “I Love You Forever” by Robert Munch. The article described how the book was written for his stillborn children and it suddenly made sense.

 

 

 

In the past, reading it, I always thought it was creepy that the mother broke into her adult son’s home. I’m fairly certain that is restraining order territory for most adults. I always thought it was written for children, just like his other books, which take things to an area of hyperbole that doesn’t make sense for adults.

 

Now I read that book as a loss parent, and I see it in a whole new way. The mother rocking a baby who she can’t hold. Who won’t ever try to flush a watch, or be a teenager, or have a family. Her rocking him like a baby makes perfect sense, because that is all he will ever be.

 

I love that for most families, that isn’t the message of the book at all. Most parents I think just respond to the poem.

 

“I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
as long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.”

 

It isn’t exclusive to babies who are lost. Any parent can identify with this love, and this feeling. I’m grateful today for this book, because it articulates something so hard to explain.

 

Dear Oliver:

“I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
as long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.”

Love Mama

Dear Oliver

Dear Oliver,

It has been 288 days since we lost you. It isn't a particularly significant chunk of time. In fact, I had to look it up to find out the exact number. Somehow the number doesn't seem very important anymore. the difference between yesterday and 50 years doesn't seem to matter. What does matter is what we have missed together, but there is no point in adding it up. I don't need the subtotal of what I have missed so far, because I know the sum at the end. A lifetime. All. Everything.

Somedays it feels like it was stolen from me. Like you were stolen from me. I find myself wondering about the what ifs. Would you be 9 and a half months old today? That is how long it has been since I delivered you. Or would you have stayed put until your due date. Would you be 7 and a half months old today? How big would you be? Would you have hair yet? What songs would you like? I can't even miss those things because I will never know, so it feels like I lost them all. Every baby you could look like. Every life you could have had.

The only thing I know for certain is how much I love you, because fat or skinny, bald or hairy, no matter what I would love you. Alive or dead. It doesn't change, not after 288 days, not after all the days.

All my love,
Mama

You don't have to tell me.

BabyCenter, you don't have to tell me.
I don't need to look at your description of what a baby looks like at 31 weeks. I know he has a perfect beautiful face. I know he is so big compared to that little speck, or poppy seed we saw on the first ultrasound, but still so small. I know he is long, and not very fat. That he has perfect little fingernails. Perfect tiny hands. Perfect tiny feet.

This week I don't need a description.
 I know what it feels like to hold a baby that size. I know that his skin is soft, and delicate. That there is just enough fat in his cheeks to make them perfect. That his little bum is so tiny. That his chin, and nose, and legs, and ears have already decided which side to take after.

You don't have to tell me about the kicks. That there will be more, and that I should be feeling them all the time. I'm aware of every second that the baby isnt kicking. The poor thing probably just wants to sleep, and here is me, drinking cold water and poking my belly, just so I can be sure.

From here out it is all new. I won't know next week, what to expect at 32 weeks. But anything is better than numb. And empty.

All the back pain and round ligament pain, and heartburn. The possible insulin shots, and stretch marks, and running (waddling) for the bathroom, all of it is so much infinitly better than chosing a funeral home. Choosing an urn. Saying goodbye.

Next week you can tell me. About how fat he is getting. and how he will continue to change. But this week, I don't need to read it. This week I know.

Nearing 31 Weeks

Dear Oliver,

Your brother will be 31 weeks along on Sunday. That is the oldest you got to be. From here on out he will get to do things you didn’t get to do. He will keep growing and be born alive. He will get to cry in our arms. He will get to open his eyes and learn to see. He will get to hear our voices with no fluid in the way. He will eat all the milk instead of giving it away.

 

I have been afraid of this moment since I got pregnant again. I was afraid he wouldn’t make it, that I would have to say goodbye again. I was afraid people would think that it was a setback, but that things were “ok” again. Things will never be ok again. Not wholly. Not for our family. But they will be good, and I am afraid of that too. I’m afraid that this new baby boy will show me exactly and in excruciating detail what I missed out on with you.

 

In fact this is what I am afraid of most of all. I know what it felt like to deliver you. To hold you. To touch your face and to know I couldn’t keep you. But I didn’t know what it felt like to feed you, and nurture you and watch you grow. And now I will know. I will know what I missed with you.

 

I’m sorry that you couldn’t do those things with me. I think I tell you I am sorry in every letter that I write. I will never stop being sorry for whatever it was that caused you to die. I am sorry that we will never know, and that I couldn’t save you. That I couldn’t protect you. I am sorry that at this time last time I didn’t know what would happen. I’m sorry to your brother that this time I know. That his birth will be bittersweet, because I will think of you. And miss you.

 

All my love,

Mama

I took this the day before Oliver died, to show how huge I felt in relation to this comically small watermellon.

Dear Oliver

Dear Oliver,
This last week has been better. It has been easier to go out in to the world and do things. More than once I have gone the whole day without crying. I still miss you every second of every day, but I'm starting to look forward now. I have to. I have to think about going back to work, and the future.

At first the idea if the future offended me. The idea that the world could just keep going without you was horrible. How could people just go to work and do things and live their lives? I was mad, that the whole world didn't end just because mine did.

In the last week it has been easier to think of the future. I hate that you won't be in it. I hate that when we buy a house you won't have a bedroom. When I have another baby you won't get to know your brother or sister. When I think of our future in 5 or 10 years, it hurts knowing you should be there. But when I do those things I will carry you with me. When we buy a house you will be in all of it. We will put your pictures up on the walls, and think of you in every room if the house. When I get pregnant again, we will make sure that the brother or sister you have, knows about you.

Right now I am just thinking about you and how beautiful you made my life and how much I love you. Tomorrow you would have been full term. You would have been huge, and I should be waddling uncomfortably around the house right now. There are so many things that should be. You should be here. I'm sorry that you are not. But here it not I will always love you.

Love mama

Dear Oliver

Dear Oliver,
Fridays are hard for me. Before you died Friday was my favorite day. You were due on a Friday, and every week I would look forward to finding out how you had changed during the week.

Now Friday reminds me of what should be. Today you would have been 35 weeks along. We would have had your stroller by now. Your room was all set up for you. Everything was ready. All your diapers were delivered, and I would probably be buying you clothes every day. You were hard not to buy presents for.

Your due date is 5 weeks away. Thinking about how close we got makes me cry. I should be pregnant and uncomfortable and counting down the days until I got to meet you.

Oliver this morning I miss you more than any words could ever say. I want you to know that I am wearing the locket with your ashes inside, and that I take you everywhere with me.

I think of you constantly. I wish I could watch you grow and make you birthday cakes and drop you off at school. I wish I could change your diapers and teach you songs and read you stories.

Instead I will wear you close to my heart and carry you with me always. Every story that I read or place that I go you will be with me.

Love mama

Dear Oliver,

Dear Oliver,
This week is not going well for me or your daddy. We both miss you so much, that it makes everything worse.

Before we lost you I was an optimist. I would say relentlessly positive. I tried to find the good in everything. I always thought that if I worked hard and did the right thing that things would work out. That it would all be ok.

And then we lost you. Now I am afraid if everything. I'm afraid of losing anyone else that I love. I have never really lost anyone before. I had no idea it could happen so fast and be so sudden. It makes everything seem more fragile and it is terrifying.

Before you died, I was looking forward to everything. I couldn't wait to show you everything. And now I feel like you have touched all of those things and they just make me sad. You were supposed to be a stampede baby. I was going to plan huge birthday parties for you and take you on summer trips with your friends.

We were going to go to the lake, and take you sledding and go on walks and enjoy every second of every day. And now all those things remind me of you. When I see the bike at the store that I wanted to buy for you, or the park we were going to go to every day, it just makes me feel like my world is over. Everything I wanted is gone,

I will miss you every day for the rest of my life.

Love mama

Family

Dear Oliver,
This is your family. Your grandma took this photo, after trying to take it and taking about 10 videos by mistake.

This was a beautiful moment where we were able to smile.

Right now I am having a hard night, but I want to focus on the love you gave us, and the fact that although I will always be sad that you are gone, I will always be grateful that we had you at all.

Love Mama

Dear Oliver

Dear Oliver,
This morning I woke up and you just felt like a dream. A perfect wonderful dream. It took so long for me to get pregnant with you, sometimes it felt like it would never happen. Sometimes i think the more I want something the harder it is to get. 

Your daddy and I knew we wanted to have a baby a long time ago. After trying for 2 years, I finally took Clomid to see if that could help me get pregnant. It didn't work the first time, so the second time I took it I was worried it would never work. 

During the 2 weeks before I could take the pregnancy test I was away for work in Toronto. I knew I couldn't handle taking yet another negative pregnancy test alone in a hotel room, so your daddy and I decided that we would be together when I took it. I flew home Friday night and my plan was to take the test on Saturday when I woke up. 

Saturday I was so excited I woke up at 5 am and took the test. I didn't wake up your daddy first because if it was negative I wanted to go back to sleep. But it wasn't. It was positive. I ran down the stairs to the bedroom where your daddy was sleeping and i woke him up yelling "It's positive! It's positive! You are going to be a daddy!"

Your daddy was so excited and happy. It was the best moment- together at 5 am realizing our dreams could come true and the baby we wanted for so long could be real. 

It was such a snowy day and we decided to go for a walk through the park by our house. As we walked we talked about how happy we were to have you in our lives. We talked about telling our friends and our family- and how happy we were that you were finally in our lives. We talked about what to name you, and how much fun we would have taking you to the zoo and the park and to the lake. 

That morning was perfect because we had all the possibility in the world in front of us and you made us so happy. Happier than I ever knew I could be. From that moment that i saw that test- I knew that being your mommy was the most important thing I was ever going to do. Being a parent is what we are built for. Oliver I was so excited to teach you about science. Biology is what runs our life. People think it is fate or some sort of plan, but it is all biology. Biology is what makes us want babies, want partners, want shelter and food and comfort. It makes us a herd, and we turn those herds into communities. So the first moment I found out I was pregnant, it was like I had finally fulfilled my purpose. Your daddy and I were on our way to being a family. 

Writing this now, and knowing that all those dreams for you are just over, is really hard. I think about how I am never going to be able to take you to the zoo or the park or the lake. You will never get to grow up, or have a family of your own. I want you to know that on that morning, before you were even a person, you were just a bunch of cells, doing what your biology said to do- but we loved you already. You made us happier than we had ever been before and the love we felt that day for you and for each other, we will get to keep that always. 

Love Mama

Dear Oliver

Dear Oliver,
I'm missing you a lot tonight. Some times I feel peaceful, like I can be at peace with the fact that you were never sad or cold. Sometimes I tell myself that if something was wrong, it is better that you didn't have to be in the nicu alone or in pain.

But not tonight. Tonight I miss you more than I ever knew I could miss anyone. I imagine what it would be like to hold you alive in my arms and plan for your future the way we should.

Tonight I would give anything for one day, one hour with you. I'd you had been born alive you would be 2 weeks old, or maybe I would still be pregnant and you would be kicking around in me, keeping me awake and growing and being a healthy baby.

I miss you every second of every day. Even in the moments when I can catch my breath and feel like someday my life will be normal, I still miss you. I miss the way you kicked when your daddy sang. I miss your beautiful face that I only got to see for one day.

I miss you and I love you, so I will do what I can to survive another week in a world without you.

Love Mama