Right where I am 2012: 8 months 3 weeks and 3 days.

8 months, 3 weeks and 3 days ago our baby left my body in a missed miscarriage. That is the exact moment my life divided into a "before" and "after". BP - Before Pip and AP - after Pip. 

Before Pip, I was so incredibly excited to be an expectant mum. I was naive and so innocent about the miracle of life. I don't think I took it for granted, but not knowing the million and twelve things that could go wrong makes one drift through pregnancy on the hazy cloud of bliss. After Pip, every day is a miracle. A very scary miracle that I am well aware could be snatched away at any time. 

Before Pip, my life hadn't been without it's challenges. But After Pip, all of those experiences paled somewhat in comparison. Before Pip, I was secure in the knowledge that I was surrounded by family and friends who loved and supported me. After Pip, I am anchored in that love and support. Yes, there have been people who have drifted away, people who did not know how to act or what to say and so said stupid things and acted in a hurtful way, but for every person I lost, I feel that I have gained at least 2 new friends who humble me with their gentle compassion and quiet support. I am still meeting new friends everyday, other women, mothers, grandmothers, sisters, fathers and husbands who are trying to make sense of things the same way I did at the very start. The people I meet who are further along their journey give me hope and the assurance that yes life continues and no, your heart never forgets. Then there are those who have endured multiple losses. What you have survived and healed from seems nothing short of miraculous to me. One baby dying was horrible enough, I cannot imagine how heart breaking and horrible it would be to experience that loss again and again and again. Your strength and courage humble me. 

8 months, 3 weeks and 3 days ago I had no idea how I would survive this. The pain was so big. It felt so much bigger than me. It was oppressive, it was overwhelming and I couldn't look past it to see a future that could ever have happiness in it in the same way. And I was right. In a way happiness isn't the same. I don't think it will ever be the same again. But happiness is there and it does exist. Slowly, slowly the little things that used to make me happy are making me happy again. The laugh my husband loves has returned. There may be fewer tears and now I can think of my girl, say hello, I love you and I can say thank you for giving me the opportunity to have been your mummy for those short weeks. 

For reasons that we will never know, our Pip stopped growing in-utero at 6 weeks and 5 days. My doctor said that there was no reason. Sometimes these things just happen. There may be no reason, but I want a reason. I need a reason. Why did this happen? What did I do? Or what did I not do right? How can I make sure this never happens again if I don't know what to avoid or what to do? 

Right now it's especially frightening as we recently found out that we are expecting baby #2. Some people probably think I'm crazy for saying that, you know - as if we have a baby #1! Those people don't understand that I will always have a baby #1 and nothing can ever change that. No matter how many children we have or don't have from here, I will always be Pip's mummy and she will always be my first baby, just as this baby will always be my second. If they can't see that, then they are the ones who are not seeing clearly.

My cycles have always been irregular but are mostly around a 26 day cycle mark. That means that I could even be 7 weeks and 3 days along today. For a traditional 28 day cycle, it would mean that I would be 6 weeks and 3 days along today. We won't know for sure how far along we are until we have our first scan, so we're falling onto the 6 weeks and 3 days mark until we know better. 

Here we are in a new country, trying to make a new life in a foreign land. I didn't dream that we would fall pregnant again this quickly. I am overjoyed and I am terrified at he same time. I was lucky enough to find a good ob/gyn who was recommended by a friend. But still the trauma and horror of loosing one baby has never truly gone away. When my new doctor asked about Pip, I cried. Which is silly because I knew she would have to know and that she would ask. I was prepared enough to bring a copy of my medical notes from my GP. In the pile is a note sent by my previous ob/gyn to my GP back home stating that I had a "non viable intra uterine pregnancy. She (i.e me) prefers to wait for spontaneous resolution and has chosen not to have a D&C". I cried when I talked about my baby because to me she wasn't a non viable intra uterine pregnancy. She was my baby. She was a little person with organs, tiny hands and feet and a little heart. I cried and they were not gentle, graceful, delicate tears. It was the ugly cry that makes it impossible to speak past the sobs, the ugly cry that makes you sound like you're suffocating and the ugly cry that you never ever want to cry in front of another person. It was not one of my best moments. But my doctor listened, passed the tissues and told me that she can relate, as she herself had experienced two miscarriages. I was in the company of a kindred spirit. Thank you universe for bringing us together. 

I am mostly okay now, but I have never forgotten. I am blessed to see my baby everywhere. Some people call their babies angels, I do sometimes and sometimes I don't. I can see how she might be an angel now, but I can also see that maybe she's just who she always has been. I don't need a concrete definition to love and hold my baby in my heart. Whenever I see things that have an apple design, especially apples with little pips in them my heart smiles. Whenever I see anything about angel babies, I remember and I send a prayer of peace upwards. The other day I was in an accessories shop, just one of those generic shops that sell necklaces, earrings and other bits and bobs. I found a little leather bracelet with silver charms hanging of it. Each silver charm said either "Peace" or "Dream". My mind immediately thought of my little Pip. I hope she is at peace and I can now dream of a future. I bought the bracelet because it made me smile. Right there in that shop I said hello to my little girl, thank you and I hope you're at peace now. I love you and I blew her a little kiss. 

6 weeks and 3 days is a terrifying time right now because our first baby died at 6 weeks and 5 days. I haven't stopped hoping and praying that this little one will beat the odds and keep growing past the 6 weeks and 5 day mark. Please keep growing way past that mark. 

My heart is in two places. I have definitely come to terms with our loss and mostly I feel peace and hope now where there was pain and hopelessness before. But I also feel like I'm just a step away from hearing those dreadful words again. "I'm sorry there's no heartbeat". Where most people happily announce their pregnancies to the world at 12 weeks, I know that we probably won't until at least 20 weeks, if we even do at all. After the NT scan and after we know that signs are pointing towards a healthy and growing baby, maybe. Even then, knowing so many families whose beautiful babies have died at 22 weeks, 26 weeks, 34 weeks, 38 weeks and even at 40 weeks, I know that there won't be any real guarantee until my baby is in my arms. Happy, healthy and alive. And even then, is that even a guarantee that you're past the "danger" mark? 

For now we're going back to the basics and breaking it down to small pieces. For now all we're focusing on at our scan is a baby who is alive. Please God let our baby be alive. 

This is life at 8 months, 3 weeks and 3 days. My words don't sound very happy and cheery for that I'm sorry, perhaps I haven't spoken of the good moments enough but there are other posts on this blog which do that. What have I learned? I have learned that hope does exist. Tomorrow can and may be a brighter day, but it may also be a horribly shitty day. I have learned that there are no guarantees in life. I have learned to live in every moment and to have hope for the future, but to also make allowances for when everything goes to hell. Life can and will get better, but I have learned right where I am that peace and hope are possible. For today, that is enough. 

Angie at still life with circles started this blogging project called "Right where I am". She wrote a post last year and this year at the same time, she reflects on what is different and where she is now. Last year at this time I had no idea what I was in for and I didn't know that this baby loss community even existed. This year, I'm glad to be a part of the project. I am so grateful every single day for this community and for the love and support I have found in your words, your stories and your generous hearts. 

5 things that helped me heal

I have not written in a long while for many reasons. I have decided that I will share one last love letter on this blog in the coming weeks and will probably write more about the quilt in the near future. The need to write comes and goes as usual, but today I feel that perhaps it might be useful to share some things that have helped me personally. I would love to hear what has helped you! 


1. I got support 

I think most of us as human beings are able to feel some sadness and empathy when we hear about baby loss, I know I did before I experienced it for myself. But once I went through my own experience, I understood what it was like on a whole other level. An experience like this rewires a person in a way that I cannot describe adequately with words. 

At the perfect moment when I was so lost in my grief, a friend linked me up with a parenting group online and through that group, I found others who had been through similar loss experiences. When the pain was so raw and unbearable as it was for me in the very early days, these ladies understood.

Finding other mums who had experienced the pain I had gone through and lived to heal gave me so much hope. Through my journey with them they have shared their own stories, offered comfort, wisdom and an unconditional love that continues to humble me on a daily basis.

Online support worked the best for me. I read factual websites, I devoured blogs, I found organisations that have an online presence. There is so much support, understanding and wisdom on the internet, not to mention the convenience factor. Being able to sit at my computer in my pajamas at an ungodly hour of the morning or night, whenever I needed something is completely unbeatable.


2. I poured all my love into something I loved doing

 There was so much love in my heart for my baby when I was pregnant (and there still is). At times I literally felt that it was too much to contain, so I needed to channel it all into something. What that expression is will differ for everyone. For me, I have always expressed myself with art. So it was natural that I reached for my quilting.

All the quilts I've made have been given away to others, only because I love giving more than keeping. But this time, this quilt was all about my baby and it would be for us to keep and treasure. Quilting, like any other creative process is for me about the making as much as it was about the final product. A lot of thought goes into every aspect of the quilt, the colours, the design, the layout, the meanings I want to convey. Each element tells it's own story and so the final product as a whole is very meaningful. Pip's quilt is still in progress, hindered somewhat for the time being by an upcoming international move. But I am quite happy to take my time with this quilt, making sure that every piece is exactly as I want it.

I have seen beautiful and haunting works of art by other parents who have loved and lost. Paintings, art journal entries, websites, poems, books, figurines, jewellery, memorial gardens...whatever it is that helps your heart heal the most. I think the most important thing is to create something that is perfect for you. Something or some way that helps you feel at peace. (And sometimes, peace is not felt until a ways into the project), so keep going for a while and see if it's making a difference for you.


3. I talk - if it helps

This one I've struggled a little bit with in a few different ways. Pregnancy loss is something that is still not widely spoken about, but yet is so common. Often it's not talked about because other people do not know how to react. I find it ironic that when one is hurting so deeply from this loss, suddenly you can find yourself protecting yourself from how they might feel about your loss.

People prefer to hear about happy and wonderful things, not sad and horrible losses. It really, really hurts when others do not understand and think that they are helping in terribly thoughtless ways. Their hearts may be in the right place, but the damage caused can be serious and long lasting. It's always a risk to share something that is so private and you do have to be prepared for reactions that may not be caring or supportive in the way you need. So I do get that talking simply isn't an option for a lot of people and completely respect that.

On the flip side, when the person you talk to does get it, it can be an incredibly healing experience. My miscarriage is not a secret. My choice after careful consideration was to be open about it. I have shared my story with many people who have sometimes surprisingly related stories of their own losses that I had no idea about. Regardless of personal experience or not, the genuine comfort and compassion offered by people who are supportive has been so valuable to me.

Blogging about it is another way I talk about it too. I guess in a way, I'm having an open conversation with the visitors to this site. One thing to keep in mind though is that blog posts in general are referring to moments in time. Posts do not necessarily reflect the entire reality of the blogger. For example, 95% of the posts on this blog are somewhat sad in nature. Those posts only reflect a moment in time. In that moment, yes I am sad. That is why I am writing. But what the reader does not see is that I feel better after posting and  go on to have other happy moments that I may not necessarily express on the blog.

Other blogger friends have mentioned that sometimes it's very easy for readers to think that the  blogger may be chronically depressed because of the nature of the content. I would say that the sum of blog posts (on my blog at least), does not equal the full equation. Among plenty of other things, there are private experiences my husband and I have had that we haven't shared which are loving, happy and encouraging. I talk about things if it helps me and I have noticed myself becoming increasingly selective about what it is I do share. So that is why I would listen to your heart /gut / instincts and be selective. Talk only if it helps.


4. I Remember often

At the start, it is all you can think about. But with time, slowly life will creep in again and giving yourself permission to keep living is something that is healthy and natural. I've found that doing little things to remember every now and then has really helped me to heal. I have found comfort in the little things that make me think of my baby. Angel figurines, custom made christmas ornaments, candles, cards...the list goes on. It brings me comfort to surround myself with little reminders of my baby. I know for others this only brings distress, so this again is a really  personal thing.

Sometimes I do something along with remembering, such as buying flowers, lighting a candle and saying a prayer. Other times I just remember my baby in my thoughts. Sometimes what I see in the world around me reminds me of my baby. At first those times were very difficult. It seemed like the whole world was pregnant except me. It seemed like everywhere I looked, there were healthy, happy babies, except for mine. It broke my heart (and still does) at the unfairness of it all to hear of families who hurt, abuse and mistreat their beautiful children where there should have been love and protection. What other people had became a painful reminder of what I had lost.

Now I can look at other pregnant mothers on the street and say a silent prayer for their health and wellbeing. Yes remembering can be painful, but for me not remembering would have been even more painful. My baby was a tiny little person. I'm more spiritual than religious and I do believe that it wasn't just a divine coincidence that my girl ended up with us. Her little life had a reason and a purpose. Remembering her helps me feel more at peace.


5. Hope: I believe that it can and will get better

Hope is my belief that there can and will be something better that can come out of all of this. That is not to say that there was nothing good in what has happened - even despite all the pain, suffering and heartbreak, I would never say that having my baby for the short time she was with us was a bad thing. I was so blessed to love and carry my baby for as long as I was able to carry her. It is not to say that "trying again" will erase her or replace her like she was some mistake. She could never be a mistake to me. I am not too keen on much of the linguistics surrounding conception, pregnancy and baby loss for many reasons, but I digress...

Hope for a better tomorrow. Hope for peace. Hope that my baby is somewhere where she is happy, healthy and safe. What has happened will always be a part of me for sure. Yes I have healed to a degree, but this loss will always be a part of my life, a part of my heart and a part of who our family is.

All the clichés about time being a great healer has been true for me. It gets easier with time to accept and integrate this loss into my heart. But healing is also a choice. A very painful choice for sure. The pain sometimes serves as a reminder that it all did really happen, especially when there is nothing tangible to show for your pregnancy. No ultrasound pictures, no memories of the sound of a heartbeat. Perhaps only a positive pregnancy test stick.

At the start I was afraid that with time I would eventually forget my girl. I had such a short time with her that I felt I had to memorise every second so that I would remember her forever. From my own experience I can truthfully say that while that fear is valid, one piece of comfort I can offer is this. A mother's heart never forgets. Never, ever, not in a million years. Some details may fade, but always the love remains.

Try it in little doses at the start. Allowing yourself to heal is something no one but you can do. With that healing comes hope that tomorrow can and will be good.