Gabraella

In 24 hours from now it will be the one year angelversary of Gabraella Joy. At 9:32 pm on April 25th, 2012 I gave birth to a perfect baby girl. She was beautiful in every way, even in her silence. I held her hand and hugged her close and touched her soft round cheeks. I watched her pink lips slowly turn to blue. And though I wished that I be taken in her place and for life to be breathed into her tiny little body, she still remained an angel. I will never have the reason. I will never be okay that she is gone. But the end of the caterpillars existence is the beginning of the butterfly, so in her stillness I created love. I would give up everything I've started if I could have her back. But once a caterpillar is changed, the butterfly cannot turn back. So I go on for her. I have tried to make sure she is still around, that her beautiful colors of love are seen everywhere. I don't know if I've done this, I think I have.

What I do know is, that because of her there are flags of angels raising awareness for the pain and sorrow of parents like me all over western New York. I hope I've made her proud of me. I hope that my love for her flutters like butterflies to her.

I will never be the same, no one can remain unchanged when they have had dreams for a lifetime, and had to give them all up to hold an angel. For some reason I was chosen to birth an angel. For as much as I would have given myself for her, that wish is selfish. If this is the pain of losing, I would rather live forever with it than to allow my loved ones to feel an ounce of it if I were gone.

Hug your babies. Love your babies. And be thankful and feel blessed that you may never hold one in your arms who became an angel.

My angels on Earth

Since the terror in Boston and the explosion of the fertilizer plant I've heard said over and over a quote by Mr. Rogers about looking for the "helpers" whenever tragedy strikes. The tragedy of losing a full-term baby is no different in its abrupt world-shaking effects. It tests your faith, stamina and emotional stability. However, even in the darkest hours of grief, the world still moves on.  But in the moving of the world, people move.  They move to help, they move to hug, they move to hold.

The morning she stopped moving, my sister dropped me off at the hospital, and felt tremendous waves of guilt for having left me at the hospital because she had thought I was by myself.  And then, in the weeks and months that followed, and even still, she always checked to see if I was okay.  Always asked what I was doing or if I needed company.  She loved Gabbie before she knew her and worried about her before she knew she should worry.  I know you worried, C, and I thank you for loving me, and caring, and for taking Gracie until more help would come. 

Then we heard the news, and the family rushed to be with us.  My mom, a raging mother bear when she entered the room, tried to have someone do something, anything, though it was already too late.  Then it was about me, and D, and Gabbie.  I thank you Mom, for staying, and holding her.  I thank you for telling her you loved her, and that you love her still, always.  I thank you for the fight you put up to have someone rescue me, rescue her.  If love could have saved her, she'd be here still.

My in-laws came, and took Gracie and cared for her when we could not.  And they cried for her, and cry still.  They find me butterflies, and wish her Merry Christmas, or give an angel bear for Easter.  They acknowledge that she's here in little ways I love.  I love you both.

My brother came, to the hospital, though he isn't good at stuff like that.  He came, and hugged, and left, and that was enough.  He's suggested ways of healing, of looking for the light in things, his way of helping me to heal in the only way he knew. I love you for that B. 

My Father came from Ohio, to hug me to hold me and tell me it'll be okay.  My stepmom, hugged me and told me she loved me.  A week later they sent a tear drop in heaven necklace to remind me that there are no tears in heaven. 

My Stepdad, always my cheerleader, looked me in the face at the funeral and told me I could do this.  He hung an angel on my neck and told me she will always be with me.  So far, he hasn't steered me wrong.

When she was delivered, my best friend came running the instant that I called. And though she was newly pregnant she held my fully developed sleeping baby to whisper how she loves her and wishes she could stay. She keeps Gabbie's tree safe in her garden and tends it lovingly because she knows its meaning, like she'd care for Gabbie if she could. I can't possibly explain my gratitude to this woman  who was given to me as a friend so long ago. Cyn, I am so thankful for you (and for your hubby who helps in so many ways too).

My sister R is my shoulder to cry on. In the weeks following she would listen to me cry. She would give advice and find me butterflies. In the weeks when school started and I cried on my way to work each morning or sometimes on my way home, she would hug me when I walked in the door because she always knew. She always knows. I love you, R, for knowing, always, and for not having answers but trying anyway. 

Then there was D's brother, S.  He told me he was proud of me for just keeping going... it was just a moment in the driveway. But it means so much.  His wife, my sister-in-law, went for a couple walks with me when we went camping and discussed Gabbie, and trying again later.  The conversation was simple, but the gist is this: "I don't know how you do it, or even if I could."  W... I do not feel as strong as you make it sound I am, but I love you for the thought. 

My MECHS family, no words can possibly explain the amount of love and gratitude I have for the outpouring of support that you all rallied with.  When I started back, you were my saviors.  You talked me down, and back, grounded me, and raised me up.   I am indeed blessed to be working with such sweet people.

My friends everywhere, your texts of concern, of thoughts and prayers, the random butterflies, the comments and support.  For as much as the loss hurts, each and every one of you have made me feel stronger than you possibly could know.  The random acts of kindness, the love from each of you, brings light to my sometimes very dark days. 

To each of you, any who I may have missed, each time you reach out, to hug, to say you care or that you are thinking of me, you do lighten my heart.  I am sorry if I have been aloof this last year.  I am sorry if I am changed.  Please know, that no matter what, I appreciate you, love you, and am thankful to have you in my life.  You are my helpers, my angels on Earth in my time of tragedy. 

And D... as we come to this year's first angelversary, know I love you from the bottom of heart, through my soul, with my entire spirit.  I would walk through darkness for the rest of my life it meant having you with me.  Gabbie may be our angel, but you are my rock.  I hope that I am as good to you as you are to me. 


Gabbie.... My angel in Heaven.  I don't know if Heaven is all around us, or somewhere far away.  I miss you every second I take breath and every waking moment.  I miss you in my sleep too.  I love you with all the parts of my heart that are now empty because when you left a part of me left too.  That emptiness holds you here, it must because that emptiness is so very heavy, but your butterflies let you soar.  Soar sweet baby, my love will tether you to me so you can always find your way back home.  For you, I can carry the sadness forever. 

Birthdays and time

Tomorrow is Gracie’s birthday party. My princess turns 3 and is so excited.  I however am sad.  Tonight she doesn’t wear diapers, she’s in pull-ups.  Tonight it’s as though she’s aged more than years and for each year she seemingly aged, my soul aged decades.  

Tomorrow, she and only she will blow out candles on a birthday cake.  She will not fight for the spotlight with her one year old sister because her one year old sister isn’t one.  Her one year old sister will not be seen around the table, she will not have her own mush cake to eat.  She will not toddle around the house or steal hearts with a gummy smile.  Gabbie died.  She died.  Her heart stopped.  She died a year ago in 6 days before she even took a breath, and I sit here in streaming tears wishing with every fiber of my being that I were taking pictures tonight of the two of them and not just my princess with a bear.  I sit and cry and wish.  I wish I didn’t care about butterflies, or rainbow babies, or teddy bears.  I wish I had her and was mediating battles between three spoiled girls instead of two.  I wish I had more wrinkles from less sleep and late nights with baby tears instead of late nights with soggy pillows and broken hearts.  I do not know if it will get easier after the first year.  I know that nothing in my life could have prepared me for what this last year brought, and that I still reach, and ache for her.  Without a doubt, the heaviest thing a person could ever hold is baby whose heart no longer beats.  I wonder if this weight will stay forever.  I am guessing that the weight within my heart is simply her, her spirit stays within me, connected to me, and I am the ballast that holds her here.  Perhaps that is why I feel so heavy, perhaps that is why sorrow for an angel baby weighs so heavily on a heart. 

I can honestly say I do not know how a year has passed.  The tears are perhaps less, but my heart is still broken. 

But Time

You may think me strong, but I am not

I exhale the sorrow like air

But time does not wait for breath

You may think me brave but I am not

I’d curl up in covers and not come out

But time does not halt for cowards

You may think me sad but I am not

I am torn and shattered and beaten

But time does not care for hearts

You may think me healed but I am not

I am forever broken

But time does not stop for broken souls

(A chance meeting)

In cold rain and wind

You did not flutter by me

My sweet butterfly

Documentation

This weekend is Gracie's birthday. A year ago when Gracie turned two we were expecting her little sister soon so we had her birthday party earlier rather than later. 3 days after her birthday party and one day before her actual birthday Gabbie stopped moving, the world came to a halt and April, and life changed forever, and yet didn't change at all. At Gracie's birthday party pictures were taken. They are the last documentation of a promise for life that will eventually be voided as if she never happened, as if I never carried her for 38 weeks and a day. I have decided to apply for a certificate of stillbirth. Not that it matters per sae but it's a legal document saying she existed. A legal document that says I am not losing my mind, I lost a baby.

Happy Birthday to my monkey. I am going to look forward to taking new pictures of my beautiful 3 year old with Gabbie in my thoughts instead. Wow life is hard.

On auto...

Two weeks from today. Gone gone and still gone.

I have been going about my life these last few days on auto. Up with the alarm or thereabouts though so exhausted I have to fall out of bed. In the pit of my stomach is a burrowing anxiety, fluctuating between hyperactivity and steady twitching. I want to go back a year ago to when I went to the doctor's and there was still a heart beat. I want to go back to a year ago to the time when life was still pleasantly uncomfortable and innocence and dreams were still real.

But those days are gone and so is she. no one can remain unchanged when they've held a still baby. So now I have a new thought each morning I awake: I wonder if I'll have a sign from her today, I miss her so completely.

My babies aren't babies anymore.

I had a dream last night. I came out of the grocery store and a baby bottle was on top of my car. My initial reaction was "oh great I ruined her bottle" then I remembered it can't be hers. It made me sad so I went home to crawl in bed. In my dream I lay down but heard a baby cry and again, getting up from bed I realized the crying isn't for me. Forlornly I lay back down with the lights off and in my dream drifted off to sleep. I was woken again later though to the sound of crying but it was only the cat. It is dreams like this that leave me empty inside.

We talk about finding a bigger place to rent in case might try again. I plan birthday parties for 1 instead of two. Everywhere I turn she's there, but no where is it the face of a nearly 1 year old, though I see pictures of birthdays for 1 year olds we'd have gone too if it had been a different life we lead. Gracie turns 3. Last year I was very pregnant for her birthday party. This year, I plan just one. Gracie is getting bigger (as planned of course) and Sky is too, with training bras and tween behavior. A year has changed so much, and yet so many changes are so hard to adapt to.

Everywhere I turn she is but isn't there, even in my dreams. I reach for her but my arms are empty, and my babies aren't babies anymore.

April 1st.

Today is the start of April. It IS April. April 1st. April. I am sick today, literally with a sinus infection and also to my stomach. Damn you April and the snow you bring. Some days it feels like my butterflies are gone forever just like she is.

I have to plan a birthday party for Gracie. This I love. I love waiting to see her excitement.

I am also planning an angelversary celebration (no, that's a misleading word; there is no celebrating). This I hate. Despise. It's unfair. Others get to watch their babies gummy smiles as they open gifts and eat first cake. I get to try to ignore it. Try to hold it together. Sigh. I'd hate April if it weren't for being glad it brought me some of my loves. Why is it still snowing?