My Evangeline
I received our medical reports. It mentioned that when I bled at 11 weeks it indicated a risk of loss due to PPROM, rupture of membranes. I feel extremely guilty because I was working out when I bled. Although the OB said that I could work out and that what happened had nothing to do with it, I can't help but feel guilty. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. It tears me up thinking that I did. If I could do anything to change what happened I would. I just wanted to protect you and it hurts me to think that I may have hurt you. I am so sorry. Only God knows the truth. I hope that you know how much I love you and how sorry I am. Regardless, something went wrong in my body and I can't help but feel responsible. Forgive me my baby. I pray that you can feel the love that I am sending you in heaven.
I miss you so much and I love you more than I can say.
Until we meet again my angel,
Your mama
Friday, January 31, 2014
Thursday, January 30, 2014
Ordered my Ailey bear
The support for parents with angel babies is incredible. There is an organization named "Molly Bears". In 2010 these parents lost their baby Molly. They decided to start a nonprofit for bereaved parents. They create bears for parents who have lost a baby. They do this in an effort to fill the void of empty arms. The weight of the bear is made to the exact weight of your baby. They also take any special requests that you may have for your bear.
I placed my order today for my bear. The length will be 12 inches which mimics Evangelines length perfectly. Ailey is the middle name I picked for Evangeline. It means light. So I will name my bear Ailey. The wait list is long, over a year, but I am looking forward to receiving it. It will be so sweet to hold a bear that weighs what my angel did. It'll be like holding her again <3
I placed my order today for my bear. The length will be 12 inches which mimics Evangelines length perfectly. Ailey is the middle name I picked for Evangeline. It means light. So I will name my bear Ailey. The wait list is long, over a year, but I am looking forward to receiving it. It will be so sweet to hold a bear that weighs what my angel did. It'll be like holding her again <3
Friday, January 24, 2014
Found our place
My Evangeline,
I have been looking for a place to live since you were with me. I wanted it to have space for us and our dog Bella. Since we said good bye I have not looked until now. I found a place. I am looking forward to starting over but I am sooooo sad that you won't be there with me. I was looking for the perfect spot and now that I found it, I don't have you. It breaks my heart. It feels so empty. Now the one thing that I am looking forward to is being able to create a dedicated space for you. Creating a space for you in our home <3
Until we meet again my angel
Love, your mama
I have been looking for a place to live since you were with me. I wanted it to have space for us and our dog Bella. Since we said good bye I have not looked until now. I found a place. I am looking forward to starting over but I am sooooo sad that you won't be there with me. I was looking for the perfect spot and now that I found it, I don't have you. It breaks my heart. It feels so empty. Now the one thing that I am looking forward to is being able to create a dedicated space for you. Creating a space for you in our home <3
Until we meet again my angel
Love, your mama
Friday, January 17, 2014
Why you didn't fail as a mother
This article touched me. I do feel like I failed, as though
my body was not strong enough to keep my baby. So when we read this in group
last night it really spoke to me. It made me realize that I did everything for
my baby girl and am still doing everything I can for her. I am mothering my
baby who passed away <3 and although that makes me feel sad it also makes me
feel that I am not letting Evangeline down. Which is the most important thing to me.
I have to tell you this. You didn’t fail. Not even a little.
You are not a horrible mother.
You didn’t choose this. You didn’t want this to happen. You didn’t do anything wrong. It just happened. To you. Despite your begging, pleading, praying, hoping against all hope that it would not. Even though everything within you was screaming, no no no no no no no no no no!!!!
God didn’t do this to you to punish you, smite you, or to “teach you a lesson”. That is not God’s way. You could not have prevented this if you: tried harder, prayed harder, or if you were a “better” person. Nor if you ate better, loved harder, yoga-ed more, did x, y, z to the nth degree or any other way your mind tries to fill-in-the-blank. You could not have prevented this even if you could have predicted the future like no one can.
Even if you did nothing more, you are already the best mom there is because you would have done absolutely anything to keep your child alive. To breathe your last breath to save theirs. To choose the pain all over again just to spend one more minute with them. That, is the ultimate kind of love. You are the ultimate kind of mother.
So wash your hands of any naysayers, backstabbers, or anyone who sprinted in the other direction when you needed them the most. Wash your hands of the people who may have falsely judged you, ostracized you, or stigmatized you because of what happened to you. Wash your hands of anyone who has made you feel less than by questioning everything you did or didn’t do. Those whose words or looks have implied that this was somehow your fault.
This was not your fault. This will never be your fault, no matter how many different ways someone tries to tell you it is.
And especially if that someone happens to be you. Sometimes it’s not what others are saying that keeps us shackled in shame. Sometimes we adopt others’ misguided opinions and assumptions about our situation as our own. Sometimes it’s our own inner voice that shoves us into the darkest corner of despair, like an abuser, telling us over and over and over again that we failed as mothers. That if only this and what if that, it would never have happened. That you woulda, shoulda done this or that so your child would not have died. That is a lie of the sickest kind. Do not believe it, not even for a second. Do not let it sink into your bones. Do not let it smother that beautiful, beautiful light of yours.
Instead, breathe in this truth with every part of yourself: You are the best damn mother in the entire world.
The kind of mother who people write books about. The kind who inspires the world.
No one else could do what you do. No one else could ever be your child’s mother as well as you can, as well as you are. No one else could let your child’s love and light shine through them the way you do. No one else could mother their dead child as well as you do. No one else could carry this unrelenting burden as courageously. It is the heaviest, most torturous burden there is.
You have within you a sacred strength. You are the mother of all mothers. There is no one, no one, no one that could ever, ever replace you. No one. You were chosen to be their mother. Yes– chosen. And no one could parent them better in life or in death than you do.
So breathe mama, keep breathing. Believe mama, keep believing. Fight mama, keep fighting, for this truth to uproot the lies in your heart— you didn’t fail. You are not a failure. Not even a little.
For whatever it’s worth, I see you. I hear your guttural sobs. I feel your ache deep inside my bones. And it doesn’t make me uncomfortable to put my fingers as a makeshift band-aid over the gaping hole in your heart until the scabs come, when and if they do.
It takes invincible strength to mother a child you can no longer hold, see, touch or hear. You are a superhero mama. I see you fall down and get up, fall down and get up, over and over again. I notice the grit and guts it takes to pry yourself out of bed every single day and force your bloodied feet to stand up and keep walking. I see you walking this path of life you’ve been given where every breath and step apart from your child is a physical, emotional and spiritual battleground— a fight for your own survival— a fight to quiet the insidious lies.
But the truth is– you haven’t failed at all. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
You are the mother of all mothers.
Truly the most inspiring, courageous, loving mother there is– a warrior mama through and through.
For even in their death you lovingly mother them still.
Help turn this essay into a beautiful gift book for grieving moms.
I have to tell you this. You didn’t fail. Not even a little.
You are not a horrible mother.
You didn’t choose this. You didn’t want this to happen. You didn’t do anything wrong. It just happened. To you. Despite your begging, pleading, praying, hoping against all hope that it would not. Even though everything within you was screaming, no no no no no no no no no no!!!!
God didn’t do this to you to punish you, smite you, or to “teach you a lesson”. That is not God’s way. You could not have prevented this if you: tried harder, prayed harder, or if you were a “better” person. Nor if you ate better, loved harder, yoga-ed more, did x, y, z to the nth degree or any other way your mind tries to fill-in-the-blank. You could not have prevented this even if you could have predicted the future like no one can.
Even if you did nothing more, you are already the best mom there is because you would have done absolutely anything to keep your child alive. To breathe your last breath to save theirs. To choose the pain all over again just to spend one more minute with them. That, is the ultimate kind of love. You are the ultimate kind of mother.
So wash your hands of any naysayers, backstabbers, or anyone who sprinted in the other direction when you needed them the most. Wash your hands of the people who may have falsely judged you, ostracized you, or stigmatized you because of what happened to you. Wash your hands of anyone who has made you feel less than by questioning everything you did or didn’t do. Those whose words or looks have implied that this was somehow your fault.
This was not your fault. This will never be your fault, no matter how many different ways someone tries to tell you it is.
And especially if that someone happens to be you. Sometimes it’s not what others are saying that keeps us shackled in shame. Sometimes we adopt others’ misguided opinions and assumptions about our situation as our own. Sometimes it’s our own inner voice that shoves us into the darkest corner of despair, like an abuser, telling us over and over and over again that we failed as mothers. That if only this and what if that, it would never have happened. That you woulda, shoulda done this or that so your child would not have died. That is a lie of the sickest kind. Do not believe it, not even for a second. Do not let it sink into your bones. Do not let it smother that beautiful, beautiful light of yours.
Instead, breathe in this truth with every part of yourself: You are the best damn mother in the entire world.
The kind of mother who people write books about. The kind who inspires the world.
No one else could do what you do. No one else could ever be your child’s mother as well as you can, as well as you are. No one else could let your child’s love and light shine through them the way you do. No one else could mother their dead child as well as you do. No one else could carry this unrelenting burden as courageously. It is the heaviest, most torturous burden there is.
You have within you a sacred strength. You are the mother of all mothers. There is no one, no one, no one that could ever, ever replace you. No one. You were chosen to be their mother. Yes– chosen. And no one could parent them better in life or in death than you do.
So breathe mama, keep breathing. Believe mama, keep believing. Fight mama, keep fighting, for this truth to uproot the lies in your heart— you didn’t fail. You are not a failure. Not even a little.
For whatever it’s worth, I see you. I hear your guttural sobs. I feel your ache deep inside my bones. And it doesn’t make me uncomfortable to put my fingers as a makeshift band-aid over the gaping hole in your heart until the scabs come, when and if they do.
It takes invincible strength to mother a child you can no longer hold, see, touch or hear. You are a superhero mama. I see you fall down and get up, fall down and get up, over and over again. I notice the grit and guts it takes to pry yourself out of bed every single day and force your bloodied feet to stand up and keep walking. I see you walking this path of life you’ve been given where every breath and step apart from your child is a physical, emotional and spiritual battleground— a fight for your own survival— a fight to quiet the insidious lies.
But the truth is– you haven’t failed at all. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
You are the mother of all mothers.
Truly the most inspiring, courageous, loving mother there is– a warrior mama through and through.
For even in their death you lovingly mother them still.
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Everything is changing
I am in the process of moving my things into storage and
looking for a new place to live. Although the hope of a fresh start is
exciting, I am also scared. My life as I knew it is over. The house that I
lived in for over 5 years is no longer home. The life that I thought was going
to happen is not happening. I am trying to hold it together so that I don't
break down. The best that I can do is try to not think of what is happening.
But sometimes the thoughts take over and I nearly break down. Saying goodbye to
a future I thought was certain is so hard. But then I remember that the
absolute worst has already happened. I lost my baby girl and it can't get any
worse than that. I wish that I could share my life with her. I know that she is
with me still. Somehow I am still receiving her strength from the other side.
Birthday and the meaning of family
I was very unmotivated to celebrate my birthday over the weekend. Why should
I celebrate my birthday when my baby was not able to? Then I remind myself that we did celebrate her birthday with her. We spent those hours loving her up. All that she knew of this world was love, laughter and kisses. Still, she is so special to me
and since I lost her, I almost feel undeserving of happiness. I told my family
that I was up for lunch but I did not want them to sing me happy birthday. I
knew that if they sang I would break down. Just thinking about it made me want
to cry. My family was very understanding. On my day I kept thinking that I
should be 7 1/2 months pregnant. I should have been pregnant during the
holidays and my bday. Instead I have an empty tummy and empty arms. I wanted to
share all of these experiences with my baby girl. I tried to push those
thoughts aside as much as I could so that I can show my family appreciation for
their thoughtfulness. I wasn't sure what to expect during our lunch together
but I certainly did not expect to be blown away. In an effort to show support
and love for Evangeline my family gave my money to be used for her head stone. My
birthday present was a present for her. I was elated. It is the best surprise and
gift that I could have received. To be reminded that they care about her and
love her is invaluable to me. To know that they came up with the best way to
support me leaves me speechless. I wanted to share my birthday with her and
because of my beautiful family I am able to. Words really cannot express how
happy they made me. I am blessed and so is my baby.
Thursday, January 9, 2014
Grateful for all of the support
It never ceases to amaze me how much support there is out there. Perfect
strangers reach out and help in any way that they can. We are all bonded by the
tragic loss of our little ones. And although we are all grieving, we find
strength to support each other. It reinforces the belief in me that there are
amazing people in this world that care for one another. I don't think that I
could get through this without that understanding and support. It also allows
me to fulfill my need to help others. When you've been through the absolute
worse, you find some comfort in trying to make it just a bit easier on someone
else.
Wednesday, January 8, 2014
Completely knocked down
You know you've been completely knocked down when what used to come so
easily, no longer does. My cousin, who was at the same gestation as I, went
into preterm labor. My immediate instinct was to take the next flight to go see
her. But the thought of being at the hospital with neonatal care really frightens
me. So I thought I'd wait; if things got really bad I would go. Luckily she and
the baby are ok. He has to stay in the hospital but it sounds like he will be
ok. I still get the inkling to go and be with them. But deep inside I know that
I am not emotionally strong enough. I've never felt like I couldn't be there
for someone before. It used to come so naturally. But I am so overwhelmed with
grief that I literally can't. I hope that one day I can heal and I can go back
to being a supportive person. That is my prayer.
.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Feels like home
My Evangeline, while I was visiting you today I had the strangest realization. I felt like weeks had gone by since I visited. But I only missed one day. When I am there I feel peace and at home. When I am not there my head is racing with thoughts and I feel homeless. It's no wonder why I feel like it takes too long before I am home again. It's so difficult to leave you behind. I wish that I never have to. Can't wait until the next time I am home again. Until we meet again my baby.
Your mama
Your mama
Monday, January 6, 2014
It's been two months and it feels like yesterday
My Evangeline,
it has been two months since we said goodbye. The memory of meeting you face to face is so vivid. Surrounded by our entire family, I was able to see the energetic little girl that was kicking around in my belly. I was humbled to hold the strong baby that survived labor against all odds. Your strength in heart and spirit completely melted my heart. I was given the opportunity to meet you and I could not be more thankful. We were all surprised at how long you were! Not sure where you were hiding my baby. I immediately noticed your hands. You had the Mendoza hands, small palms and long fingers. I was also shocked to see that you had my exact lips, chin and cheeks. I don't know why I did not expect that but I am honored. We all adore your little button nose. I couldn't kiss it enough. In all of the excitement I am glad that I remembered to give you an Eskimo kiss too. We took advantage of the time that we had together and wanted you to feel all of the love that we have for you. It is my prayer that you felt that love and that you felt safe. Baptizing you was a God send. I was given the opportunity to fulfill my promise to God and for that I am incredibly thankful. I have no doubt that he came to get you after that. It has been incredibly hard to let you go. I miss your kicks. I miss feeling your weight. I miss giving you kisses. I miss seeing your face. I will treasure the moments I spent with you for the rest of my life. Until we meet again my baby.
Your Mama
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