The Evolution of my Loss Thus Far

The pain of my loss has evolved in a way that I can't understand. I carry it with a strong and hopeful heart. I am learning to accept this unwelcome and tragic event into my story, and to let it to shape my story from here on out. I am healing and moving forward, but what I can't understand is why it hurts more now than ever before. How can the pain be more bearable each day, yet bring with it deep and vivid reminders of what will forever be gone?

Every moment of my day I think about how life would be different if she were here. I don't wake up weeping every morning, but I do start each day with a stark realization that my life is not what I had planned.

I continually let myself drown in the should-bes. I should be starting my mornings in her nursery, smiling wide and cradling her in my arms. I should be watching, with immeasurable joy, as she plays on her mat and discovers the world around her. I should be kissing her cheek every few moments, just to remind her that she is the most precious baby on Earth. I should be dancing around the kitchen, laughing with joy at the miracle in my arms. I should be rushing out of work the minute I'm allowed to leave so I can get home to my beautiful baby girl. I should be exhausted, not from grief, but from waking up during the night to nurse my daughter. My life should be so different.

All of these should-bes have made my loss so real and so vivid. Charlotte is no longer a baby that I am dreaming about, trying to picture, fantasizing about the wonderful days ahead. Charlotte is now the baby that I have lost. The daughter whose beautiful face is forever etched in my mind. She is so much more real now. I can picture, with more clarity than ever before, all the times that I am missing with her. I can feel the emptiness in my heart, in the deepest of ways. I can feel her and see her more than ever before.

My loss has become easier to bear. I am stronger now than I was even a month ago. But, it is so much more real every day. Real with the saddest clarity that she is gone, and I won't get her back.

The Dreaded "Really Bad Day"

Yesterday sucked. It had been a few weeks since I had my last really bad day. I mean of course I have had days where I cried more than usual or got more angry than is typical, but yesterday was just one of those really bad ones. I woke up crying. I showered crying. I mopped my floors crying. It was a day that felt like I was completely cloaked in sadness and despair. Nothing made me laugh or even feel the slightest bit joyful. It was like I was back in October-unable to see or feel anything but the pain of losing her.

At around noon, my husband called me and needed me to drive up to where he was working to bring him the tools he forgot. I hadn't even showered or changed out of my pajamas. I was just laying on the couch crying. But, I dragged my ass out and did my wifely duties.

When I pulled into my garage afterwards, I completely broke down. It was one of those intensely physical sobbing moments. It was loud and uncontrolled and completely reminiscent of the moment I learned she died. After about 10 minutes, though, the sobs softened and the whimpers waned. It was as if I just released weeks of built up tension and sorrow. It hurts like hell to feel the need to cry that intensely, but it also feels so much better when it's over. It was a healing moment, and I'll take those when they come.

Today is my grief hangover, so to speak. I feel drained-mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. My body used all of it's energy yesterday being suffocated in sadness, so today all I could do was lay around, eat crappy food and feel sorry for myself. Maybe tomorrow will be a refreshing new start. Maybe I'll be on the up-climb again before I go crashing back down once more.

So Frustrated With My Ovaries

It's just not fair. I had to lose my first child. Not fucking fair. I have to use medication to induce a normal cycle so we can try for our 2nd child. Not fair. I have to use another medication so that my body does what it's supposed to. Not fair. I have to find out that said medication didn't work so I have to wait another 16 days before we try it again. So not fair. 

It BOGGLES my mind that some women just oops! wind up pregnant and subsequently bring home a breathing baby. How does that even happen? How the hell does that happen?

As I was sitting at my computer this morning, I finally I got the call I have been waiting for from my doctor. I was on Clomid this cycle and on day 21, Friday, I got a blood test to check my progesterone levels to see if I ovulated. The results came in--apparently I didn't. That was a really crappy way to start my morning. 

I was so hopeful yesterday. I had moments where I even thought to myself, I just know I am pregnant. I got pregnant with Charlotte after one round of Clomid, so why not this time around, too? Well, I didn't even ovulate--even though I swore that I did. Now I have to wait until I get my period, or day 40, to take a pregnancy test and call the doctor. I might actually take the test earlier, just in case there was, by some divine intervention, a mistake on the test and I actually am pregnant...ha...like I would be that lucky...

I know that I shouldn't get too down about it all. This was our first cycle of actively trying to conceive since losing Charlotte. I know a lot of women try for many, many cycles. But, I was already getting some extra fertility help. I thought I had a head start. Now, I have to just wait around and pray that time moves quickly so that we can start another round. I hope that one day I'll look back on this time and think, wow, everything happened so quickly. I lost my beautiful baby Charlotte in 2014 and was pregnant again with (insert our next miracle's name here) in 2015! Someday this time will seem short, but for now, each day feels like an eternity.

Comfort in Music

Music has an unbelievable ability to tug at the heart strings. It can make you smile or weep and feel strong or weak. It brings out a lot of emotions, especially when you are grieving the loss of your child. There have been many, many songs that I have connected with since the birth of my beautiful girl. Some of them are specifically about losing a loved one, some are about break-ups (but the lyrics still speak to me missing my daughter), and some are about being grateful for the life you're given. I want to share two songs that have been especially comforting to me in the months since I have lost Charlotte. I hope you can find some comfort in them, too.

One Day You Will by Lady Antebellum

  You feel like you're falling backwards

Like you're slippin' through the cracks
Like no one would even notice
If you left this town and never came back
You walk outside and all you see is rain
You look inside and all you feel is pain
And you can't see it now

But down the road the sun is shining
In every cloud there's a silver lining
Just keep holding on (just keep holding on)
And every heartache makes you stronger
But it won't be much longer
You'll find love, you'll find peace
And the you you're meant to be
I know right now that's not the way you feel
But one day you will

You wake up every morning and ask yourself
What am I doing here anyway
With the weight of all those disappointments
Whispering in your ear
You're just barely hanging by a thread
You wanna scream but you're down to your last breath
And you don't know it yet

But down the road the sun is shining
In every cloud there's a silver lining
Just keep holding on (just keep holding on)
And every heartache makes you stronger
But it won't be much longer
You'll find love, you'll find peace
And the you you're meant to be
I know right now that's not the way you feel
But one day you will

Find the strength to rise above
You will
Find just what you're made of, you're made of

But down the road the sun is shining
In every cloud there's a silver lining
Just keep holding on (just keep holding on)
And every heartache makes you stronger
But it won't be much longer
You'll find love, you'll find peace
And the you you're meant to be
I know right now that's not the way you feel
But one day you will

One day you will
Oh one day you will

See You Again by Carrie Underwood

Said goodbye, turned around
And you were gone, gone, gone
Faded into the setting sun,
Slipped away
But I won’t cry
Cause I know I’ll never be lonely
For you are the stars to me,
You are the light I follow

I will see you again, whoa
This is not where it ends
I will carry you with me, oh
'Til I see you again

I can hear those echoes in the wind at night
Calling me back in time
Back to you
In a place far away
Where the water meets the sky
The thought of it makes me smile
You are my tomorrow

I will see you again, whoa
This is not where it ends
I will carry you with me, oh
'Til I see you again

Sometimes I feel my heart is breaking

But I stay strong and I hold on cause I know

I will see you again, whoa
This is not where it ends
I will carry you with me, yeah, yeah

I will see you again, whoa
This is not where it ends
I will carry you with me, oh
'Til I see you again.

'Til I see you again,
Oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh
'Til I see you again, whoa
'Til I see you again,

Said goodbye turned around
And you were gone, gone, gone.

Grand Distraction List of 2015

I'm not one for New Year's Resolutions, but for 2015 I have resolved to do one thing: distract myself. I'm still riding the intense waves of grief and missing my daughter more than I ever imagined was possible, but I am also trying really hard to move forward and keep living. And the biggest part of keeping living is staying busy and distracted. If I let myself, I would be drowning in tears one minute, obsessing over my possible ovulation symptoms the next, replaying the traumatic events of October 5th (the day before Charlotte was born--the day we learned she died) the next, frantically reading about success rates of Clomid after that, and then sobbing once more. However, I can't live my life like that, so I have resolved to distract myself.

The first thing on the Grand Distraction List of 2015: card making! I have always loved to do crafty things and have dabbled in a few different crafty hobbies, but card making is one that I am super excited about. I spent way too much getting started, but hey, what else does a grieving mother have to do if not to spend lots of money? I bought different patterned papers, some paper punches, stamps, washi tape, buttons, and a lot of other embellishments. I've made a few thank you cards, some encouragement cards, and 5 Valentine's cards so far. I've got my dad's birthday, my goddaughter's 1st birthday (which we happen to share), and my mom's birthday coming up, so I will be busy busy in the crafting department. I even went and ordered a personalized Erin Condren address book. ...God I love spending money... So, instead of wallowing in my grief and obsessing over ovulation, I will be making homemade cards.

Next on the list: finishing the house decor. We own a beautiful farmhouse that was built by my husband's great-grandfather. It has been in the Larson family since 1922 (minus the 7 years before we bought it). It's in great condition, but we have had to work on each room one by one--painting, buying furniture, and decorating. Our downstairs rooms are all done and everything is cozy and country-chic just the way I like it. (Yes, I know I sound like a douche-bag when I say country-chic, but that's the best way to describe our house.) Now it's time to leave the poor college kid vibe that we have going on upstairs.  Well, most of the upstairs. The nursery is quite beautiful and peaceful....and empty. Anyways, we are going to finish our bedroom first. It has a god-awful "always kiss me goodnight" painted above one of the windows...in red paint....wrapped in green vines. It kind of looks the the previous owner painted it in blood...creepy! When we moved in I said that had to go PRONTO, but here we are almost 3 years later and it's still there. In the year of distraction, it is finally going to go. We're going to paint, finally hang up the headboard for the bed, buy new window treatments, and find a cute vanity and chair. We'll also repaint and decorate the bathroom and upstairs landing. YAY for not being embarrassed by our upstairs anymore!

Third on the list: be an awesome teacher. I really enjoy teaching and I spend a lot of time outside of school working on things and surfing Pinterest, but for distraction's sake, I will be doing even more school work. This year's kids are pretty lucky! ;)

Fourth, I am going to dabble in a little violin playing. My mom is really into music. She sings in a choir, plays guitar and piano, and is taking cello lessons, so she is very excited about this distraction. In college, I took about 2 months of violin lessons because I thought it would be a fun hobby, but I was so busy then that I didn't keep it up. Well, now that my number one goal of 2015 is distraction, I will be trying the violin again. I just feel bad for my husband and dog who have to suffer through the practicing....

It's going to be a long, hard year, but hopefully with a little bit of distraction, I will make it through. I will still be pretty preoccupied with trying to bring our second child into the world, breathing, but I am going to need to keep busy with other things, too, so that I don't drive myself over the edge. So, I'll work on my Grand Distraction List of 2015 by taking a deep breath, making some cards, spending some money at Home Goods, surfing Teachers Pay Teachers, and squawking along on my violin. This will be an okay year.

Hello and Goodbye

2014 was the year of Charlotte. For most of 2014, my every waking moment was consumed with blissful fantasies of raising my baby girl. All I thought about, talked about, dreamt about, was her. I was happier than I had ever been. Each day brought new joys and excitements and bigger plans for our future together. In October, her year changed. I was no longer consumed with glee and anticipation, but drowning in grief and loss. I spent the last months of 2014 in survival mode. Struggling my way through each day, grateful for the arrival of sleep and a short respite from my grief. But whether I was feeling immeasurable bliss from hearing the thump of her heartbeat or the aching arms of a grieving mother longing her child, 2014 was her year--the year of Charlotte.

Now I have to say goodbye to her year and hello to the next. This first day of 2015 has been bittersweet. I feel deep sorrow for leaving Charlotte's year behind, but also great anticipation that this will be our year of hope and healing. I pray this is the year that welcomes happiness back to my life. I hope that this year brings us comfort, peace, acceptance, and love of our life as it is.

Charlotte was my 2014, and I can only pray that Charlotte and her sibling will be our 2015.

Next Christmas Will Be Better

Christmas is finally over. It used to be a day that I would look forward to for months. I loved the entire Christmas season-starting the day after Thanksgiving and eventually coming to a close on New Years Day. I would be giddy over all the homemaker-y things that I love--baking, decorating, wrapping gifts, and sending Christmas cards. My husband loved Christmas, too. We would always cut down our own tree and then marvel over the gargantuan sized Evergreen tucked tightly into the corner. We would listen to Christmas carols and eat Christmas cookies until we felt sick.

This year was so unbelievably different.

I mostly ignored the fact that Christmas was coming, which was hard to do being that I am a second grade teacher and the #1 conversation topic in a 2nd grade classroom in December is the nightly mischievous antics of each personal elf. Somehow, though, everything I did in my classroom that even remotely revolved around Christmas bounced off my Grinch-style anti-Chrismas outer layer of steel and didn't make me depressed. We made Christmas ornaments for their parent gifts, I read The Polar Express, so obviously we watched the movie, too. I even printed out golden Polar Express tickets to give to each child. And oh how adorable it was when one sweet little blonde asked in the most fragile and awe-struck of 7-year-old voices, "is this for the real Polar Express?!" I was going strong. On the Thursday before break I ignorantly proclaimed to myself, I made it! I made it through 2nd grade Christmas. ... I obviously hadn't reached Friday yet.

Every year we do an all school sing-a-long in the gym. I usually eat. it. up. It really is amazing to hear almost 600 children singing "The Blitzen Boogie." Like I said, this year was so unbelievably different. Silent Night. The words were projected on the screen as we sang, "sleep in Heavenly peace." I had to leave. That was too, too much. After a good 5 minute silent sob in the girl's bathroom and few deep breaths, I made it back to my class just in time for the Penguin Polka. I survived, but it was so hard.

Christmas Eve was difficult, but I hosted it at our house and overall, I enjoyed myself. I love hosting and we played a fun grab bag and guess-which-celebrity-is-on-my-back game. I prepared way too much food, but that's ok. Now I don't have to cook today. Before we ate, we lit a white candle for Charlotte next to our nativity and had a moment of silent prayer. It was beautiful, peaceful, and perfect--just what I needed to get through the rest of the night.

Christmas morning at home was better than I expected. My husband loved his gifts, and that made me happy. We then went to my in-laws for breakfast and presents, and that was very hard. It was another moment that I specifically fantasized about doing with Charlotte. Walking in on Christmas morning, all smiles and joy, everyone fawning over our beautiful baby girl. It wasn't like that. She was missing, and I felt so empty, lonely, and sad. It overwhelmed me for a few minutes, but, thanks to my husband's strength, I pulled it together and was able to make it through the rest of the day.

Dan went to visit her grave at the cemetery and put out a Christmas floral display, but I still wasn't ready. Instead I played with Clyde and his new rope toy in the yard until Dan got home. We spent a few hours at his aunt and uncle's house, but getting cuddled up on the couch together that night was the best part of the day.

Now that Christmas is over I feel a little bit of relief. After coming off our miscarriage last October, we kept telling ourselves "next Christmas will be better." Well, here we are again. And although I am immeasurably more sad and lost this year, I still keep telling myself, "next Christmas will be better."

Some Sick Sense of Twisted Satisfaction

I've been living. Coping. Dealing. Just trying to survive the shittiness that is my life these days. Yes, I have worked my ass off to stay semi-positive--I have a wonderful husband, we will do everything in our power to have living children, I have a great support system, yada yada--but let's be real, my life is really shitty right now.

I'm angry a lot. Angry at everything and everyone for no particular reason. Well, there is actually a really BIG particular reason. My daughter died. Anyways, a really frustrating part of this shittiness is that my anger has no one specific recipient. So, I allow myself an inner dialogue of angry, bitter comments all. day. long. No one else hears them, but they always bring me some sick sense of twisted satisfaction.

Here are a few:

Student: Mrs. Larson, she took my pencil!
Me: Suck it up, kid. Death took my baby.

Coworker: I don't have enough time to do everything they are asking me to do!
Me: I don't have any time with my daughter. Your "problems" make me giggle.

Husband: We'll be okay, babe. I love you.
Me: Stop being so damn positive and logical! It's fucking annoying! But, I know. We will. I love you, too.

Random Citizen: (looking like they're having a bad day)
Me: Please, your day can't be that bad. A bad day is realizing your daughter died inside you. Get your shit together. Oh, crap, are you a bereaved parent? Are you grieving? I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

Coworker: These kids just don't care! I'm sick of it.
Me: They're breathing children. They are so freaking precious and you don't even get it. Shut the F up!

Coworker: I hate it this year.
Me: Seriously? Want to hear about my year? I gave birth to my daughter who was already dead.

Coworker: I'm just stressed.
Me: Ha. Stress. You mean like the 9 months of both Heaven and Hell that I'm going to face (hopefully) soon?

I'm starting to see a pattern. Maybe I need to become a hermit at work. Hmmm....

My life is pretty shitty right now. I'm angry, pissed, enraged, what have you. But hey, at least mind reading isn't a thing.

.......................

On a side note: I think that reading Gone Girl this week made me realize that I have an inner dialogue just like Nick and Amy Dunne (just not as sadistic, haha). And Oh. My. God. I could not put it down. I loved every second of it...until the last few chapters. If you've read it, you'll understand why I am particularly aggravated. Like, seriously? THAT is the outcome of their sick and twisted story? Ugh.

Grieving in Style

I just have to say how excited I am for being legitimately happy about something...something that makes me excited....something that makes me feel good about myself...and that something is......a new cashmere sweater! (insert ooohs and aaahs here) It's heather grey, super soft, and will look absolutely perfect with a pair of black leggings and tall boots. I'm actually looking forward to waking up tomorrow morning so that I can get dressed and admire myself in the mirror! Woohoo!

It's sad that I am proud of myself for selfishly spending money on clothes that I could be saving for something really important, like a new refrigerator, but when you're grieving, every little accomplishment counts. The fact that I am happy about anything is a major win.

So that is all I have to say today. I'm still sad. I still have a steady stream of tears waiting to fall at any given moment, but DAMN I will look good while I grieve.

Head vs. Heart

Every morning when I wake up, a flood of sadness overtakes me. When I fall asleep at night I am gifted with hours of respite from my grief, but then it all comes rushing back in full force the moment I open my eyes. My broken heart takes full control of my body, reminding me over and over again that it's broken and empty. I just lay under my covers basking in my sorrow. I can't breathe. I can't think. All I can do is feel the weight of my loss.

But then, after a while, my brain finally wakes up. It takes back some of the control and helps me start my day. My brain tells me that yes, I carry a life-shattering sadness, but I am still living. I finally get out of bed. I shower. I get dressed in an outfit that makes me feel good. I do some cleaning, some school work, or go out for a little shopping. I do the things that I used to enjoy because my brain tells me to. My brain helps me keep living.

My brain helps me know that my life will go on, and that I have many happy moments ahead. I know that my grief will become easier to bear. I know that I still wake up each morning in a beautiful home with a lovable dog and a loving husband. I know that we are starting the journey to bring home our next baby. I know that I will enjoy, although be scared out of my damn mind during, my next pregnancy. I know that I had an unbelievable tragedy happen to me, but I am still living life. I know that I brought a beautiful daughter into this world, and that she will always be a beautiful memory and forever piece of my life. I know all of this because my brain tells me so.

I know so much, but I also feel so much, too. My heart allows me to feel all the sadness that I carry because my daughter died. It lets me feel the hurt and the pain of a mother who has no baby to hold, kiss and love on earth. My heart lets me feel anger and rage before logical thinking takes it away. It lets me feel jealousy, too. I don't even know who or what I'm jealous of, but my heart allows it. I get to feel guilt. My brain argues that one big time, but I feel it. I feel an unequivocal love for my daughter. I could only hold her after she was already gone, but I feel love, pride, and joy in the beautiful child my husband and I created. I feel whatever it is that comes my way, and that's because my heart lets me.

I am so glad I have both my brain and my heart working for me, even if they can be opposite forces. I need the logic and the focus and the planning that only my brain can provide, but I also need the feelings and emotions that my heart gives me. I need both.

I need both working together to give me what I need most right now, hope.

I can think and rationalize my way through our TTC process. I can read the statistics and understand the science behind a pregnancy. I can listen to my doctor's advice and updates and understand that another pregnancy is most likely going to be a successful and healthy journey for us. But, the thinking only gets me halfway there. That hope is also fed by the faith and love I feel in my heart. I feel that my God will bless us with more love and happiness. I feel that if I cling to the love I have for Charlotte and my husband that good things will come our way. I have to feel the hope for a brighter future as much as I have to think it.

And so, even though my head and my heart often work against each other, they also work together, too. They give me what I need to have hope for a happy future.

Positive Thinking

I have been so sad. The kind of sad that is so awful that it casts a dark shadow over my entire world. It hurts. My chest constantly feels heavy and tight. Each breath is deep and painful. My arms and legs feel weak. My stomach feels empty. All I want to do is curl up in a ball and go to sleep.

I still joke and smile when I am around people at work, but I think that is just my way of making it through the day without collapsing. The minute I get in my car and head home for the day, all the sadness that has been building up all day comes rushing out in a cascade of tears. It's exhausting. It's sad. I'm sad.

But, I still have my positive thinking. As devastated as I am, I still pride myself on being a hopeful and positive person. The hope doesn't make my sadness go away, but it brings a little balance back into my life. So, here are some positive thoughts that keep me going:

1.) My husband is amazing. He is seriously the best. He's sensitive when he needs to be and a hard-ass when I need that, too. He makes me cry with laughter almost everyday. And, ever since the birth and death of our beautiful daughter, his wisdom has taken my breath away almost everyday, too. I love him more every minute, and he and I are going to have many living, healthy children in the years to come.

2.) My dog is hilarious. He drools and farts, but it's so stinkin' funny. He also watches TV. When he sees any animal, even cartoon, he freaks! When they disappear off the screen he looks behind the TV to see where they went. He makes me smile.

3.) I have a wonderful OB-GYN. She kicks ass. She's sensitive and caring, but also very straightforward and blunt. I trust her, and that is awesome. She will help us bring home a living baby.

4.) We are trying to have another baby. It makes me sad that we are back at square one, all our dreams for Charlotte gone, but I am excited, too. I know that I will have just as much love for our second child as I have for Charlotte. It's pretty neat to know that my heart will grow twice as big, even though it will still hurt just as much.

5.) My mom and dad are the world's most perfect parents. They get me through each day. My in-laws are great. My friends are the best. I have so much love and support around me it's sick. I am truly blessed, even if my life does completely suck right now. (Ok, what happened to positive thinking?)

6.) I am a teacher and I love going to work everyday. I not only love the kids, but I love the work, too. Teaching is my passion, hobby, and job all rolled into one. That is pretty cool.

7.) My house is awesome. We have a beautiful farmhouse that is decorated just the way I like it. It is always very cozy and I am lucky that we have the means to enjoy a beautiful home.

8.) I have an angel baby. I might not get to love her here on earth, but I get to love her in Heaven. I would give anything to have her in my arms, but I am lucky to know the love of a mother for her daughter. Charlotte's birth brought the worst pain and the deepest love I have ever felt. For that, as much as it is painful to say, I am grateful.

9.) I will be a mother to a living baby someday. I will. I will. I will. I will be a mother to a living baby someday.

10.) (repeat mantra as stated in #9)

I'm sad. I hurt like no other. I sometimes want to sleep the day away, but I will stay positive. I will stay hopeful. I will make it through this, missing Charlotte every moment, but I will make it through.

Crumpled Heart

My second graders love to argue, and sometimes their word choices can be very hurtful. So, I sat down with our school social worker and made a plan. She read a story to my class about the words we say that can be hurtful, and we wrote them on a large paper heart on the board. We talked about how those words hurt our hearts, so she took the paper heart off the board and crumpled it into a ball. When she opened it back up, it was still a heart, but it was crumpled. Hurtful words change our hearts forever, they will never be exactly the same.

As I sat back and watched her teach my class this very valuable lesson about the power of words, I realized that I carry a crumpled heart. When my Charlotte died, my heart crumpled, just like the red paper heart in my classroom. It wasn't destroyed, but it was changed forever.

I truly do believe it when people tell me the pain becomes easier to bear as time passes. I believe that my heart will feel joy again. It still beats with promises of hope, allowing me to believe that I will one day be able to say that I am truly happy. But unfortunately, I also know that my heart can never completely return to where it was before Charlotte died. When it's crumpled, it's forever changed. No matter how much joy and happiness I am blessed with in the future, I will forever feel the pain of her passing. I will forever miss every moment we never shared. I will always wish things were different. I will always wish that she was here.

The creases and bumps and lines of my crumpled heart won't be this pronounced and painful forever, but they will never completely disappear either. We taught my second graders that words crumple hearts, and I realized that death crumpled mine. It's a hard pill to swallow knowing that I carry a crumpled heart, but I am slowly learning to accept it.

Ugly Snow

The snow came last night. It wasn't a pretty snow, just an ugly, wet, almost rain type snow. The sky went from grey, to dark grey, to black. No pretty sunset. No beautiful clouds. Just darkness falling.

I'm glad it's ugly outside. They say misery likes company, and so I like the company of the miserable weather. It makes me feel like I'm not the only one feeling empty and lonely. The whole world seems to feel blah right now-finally.

The days following Charlotte's birth and death were unbelievably beautiful. Our whole yard was full of vibrant yellows, oranges, and reds on every tree. It was usually about 70 degrees with bright blue skies and soft breezes. If my life hadn't just come to a sudden screeching hault, I would have been on cloud nine-either walking around in my cute fall maternity wear, or blissfully cuddling my new baby girl as I watched the leaves fall outside the window. Instead, I was feeling empty, lonely, and depressed. I was missing my daughter more than life itself and wishing it would rain.

So, I welcome the crappy weather. I like that it's grey all the time. I like that the cold stings my face. I like that finally the world outside is matching my world on the inside. I like the ugly snow.

A Bad Badge

I was proud of myself today when I needed groceries and actually resolved to make the trip to Target like a normal functioning adult. Grief is really good at making routine tasks, like going to the best store on the planet, feel like a root canal. So, I was proud of myself for bucking-up and getting myself to the grocery store.

I was standing in the deli line waiting to order some lunch meat. I banned all processed meat the moment I found out I was pregnant, so I figured hey, if I can't have my daughter, at least I can have some roast beef. The jovial man working the deli counter asked what he could get me, and I placed my order. "Only if you smile a little more. You need to smile. It's nice to smile, ya know." That's what he said to me. He told the grieving mother, the mother who lost her first baby 35 days ago, that she needed to smile.

OK, thanks. I'll keep that in mind. Smile more. Got it. I mean, come on! I've returned to work. I can go a few hours straight without breaking down. I only sob every other day or so. I actually laugh and make jokes sometimes. What else does this Target man want from me?! I'm trying to get back to living a "normal" life, but sometimes a smile is just asking a little too much. I so badly wanted to say to him, "You just have no idea the kind of pain I'm feeling right now. You have absolutely no idea." Instead, I let a few tears well up and stood patiently watching him whistle while he worked (literally).

As I stood there waiting, I couldn't help but wonder how many other people in Target at that moment wanted to tell someone "You just have no idea the kind of pain I'm feeling right now. You have absolutely no idea."

People are all around us, living life everyday with stories that we can't even begin to understand. Their stories are hidden deep within them. Pregnancy was a part of my story that everyone saw. My round belly and penguin-like waddle was like a badge of honor that I wore because I was in the Soon-to-Be Mama's Club. The My-Baby-Died Club doesn't have badge that other people can see. People don't know you're in that club. Its an invisible, deep, painful badge that only I know is there. Who else is shopping at Target right now wearing this awful badge?

The Target deli man doesn't know that I am a forever member of the world's worst club. All he can see are the bags under my eyes and the lack of a smile on my face. He meant well by telling me I should smile. And I agree with him that yes, it is nice to smile. But right now, Target man, a smile is just a little too much when I am carrying around this heavy badge for a club I wished I didn't even know existed.

She Was Here

Sometimes, in the depth of my grief and heartache, it feels like my pregnancy was the world's cruelest joke. As if the entire 9 months of bliss were given to me only to be violently ripped away at the last minute. We were so close to bringing her home. Then this evil joke decided it had run its course, leaving me wounded to the brink of destruction. All the excitement, all the anticipation, all the joy; was it real or just a dream?  How do I make sense of grieving something that never was?

But then I remember, she was here.

She was here at 4am that cold January morning when I half laughed, half cried from the bathroom, shouting for Dan to come to my side. With two pink lines, she was here.

She was here with every kick, squirm, and stretch. Each movement she made brought a warmth to my heart that could only be because she was here.

She was here when we held her in our arms on her birthday. Already gone, but still she was here.

And now, she is here. In my heart, in the profound love I have for my husband, in the hope I have for living children, in my soul. She is here.

My pregnancy wasn't a cruel joke. It was real. It was perfect. It was the happiest time of my life. Even though she is gone, she was here. She is here.

4 (ish) Weeks

Monday she was born. Sunday we went to the hospital. The doctors tell me that she probably passed on Saturday. I was still happy Saturday (I was obviously oblivious to what was happening inside of me). I was still happy Sunday morning. I was a little concerned Sunday mid-day when she wasn't moving. I was getting anxious driving the 50 minutes to the hospital Sunday afternoon. I wanted to be dead Sunday evening. So, given the fact that that my world crumbled slowly over the course of 3 days, its been 4 (ish) weeks of Hell on earth.

My perfect Charlotte Ann was born still on October 6th, 2014 at 38 weeks and 6 days. She was the most beautiful child I have ever laid my eyes on. Obviously I am biased, I mean I am her mother, but she was absolutely beautiful. She had very dark hair and full lips. She had a cute little button of a nose, just like her dad. Actually, everything about her was just like her dad. I love that. I hate that time is taking me away from staring into that perfect face.

Time is a bitch. When you want it to speed up, it just trudges along. When you want it to slow down, it races ahead. But, as bitchy as time is, it always moves on, whether you like it or not.

The past 4 (ish) weeks have done exactly what bitchy time promises; they have moved on. I feel relief to know that I have survived this long without going completely, clinically insane. I feel proud that I have returned to work. I feel guilty that I have had moments (short as they are) where I feel OK. And I feel depressed that everyday I am getting farther away from the moment, the only moment, when I held my daughter.

She is the daughter I spent a lifetime dreaming about. The daughter I spent 9 months cuddling (I count the constant hand on my belly, imagining that I am caressing her back, as cuddling). The daughter I imagined would be my mini-me. The daughter I couldn't wait to see laying on Dan's chest each night on the couch as we had our nightly ritual of watching TV and eating snacks. The daughter I loved with every ounce of my being. Time is taking me away from my daughter.

But, time is also healing the gaping wound of grief that has all but killed me in the past 4 (ish) weeks. I can't say that each day is easier than the day before, but I can say that each day I feel just a little bit stronger. Time is making me stronger. It's also getting me closer to the moment when we bring home her living brother or sister. Time will get us to the happy, living family that Dan and I dream of having. A happy, living family that misses Charlotte more than meager words can express, but a happy family none the less.

4 weeks (ish) isn't a lot of time, but it is some. It's taking me away, but also moving me forward. There is no changing it and no going back. We just have to go with it. It will continue to take me farther and farther from the life I had with her, but the real Charlotte, her heart and soul, will always be with me. Time will never take her from my heart. Take that, bitchy time.