I wrote this post a few nights ago and I debated sharing it. Not because it is overly personal but because it is honest and it acknowledges the pain I’m pretending not to feel. I pretend not only for myself but for others. I don’t want everyone to worry about me. Or to think I am a constantly quivering pile of mush that cannot go on with life. I am alive. I am living. But I also need to be…
Last week was Thanksgiving, and surprisingly, this year I felt more gratitude than I ever have before. My first instinct is to say that I’m grateful despite everything that has happened to me this year, but truthfully, I think I’m more grateful because of what happened. Ava’s death gave me the opportunity to see firsthand what I already knew in my heart; I am incredibly blessed. Today I would like to really look outside of my grief for a moment…
When I was rolled out of the operating room Ava was resting on my chest, and the first thing I did was look at her ears. When a baby is developing in utero the kidneys and ears develop at the same time so often times a congenital disorder with one can be seen in the other. Ava had no amniotic fluid left when she was born which suggested a problem with her kidneys. I traced my fingers over her tiny…
Today I got triggered. I didn’t even see it coming. Since Ava died I’ve been asked no less than a dozen times about my children. It is never phrased quite the same but its usually something like, how many children do you have? or Do you have just one? or Are you going to have more? or Don’t you think Logan wants a sibling? Mind you, these aren’t questions from friends who know about Ava and are asking the informed question…
Have you ever had a really good cry? You know, the one where you just let go and sob and your stomach heaves and your shoulders crumble and sometimes you even lose your balance and have to sit down. The one where the sadness is purged from your body one teardrop at a time until you run dry, and when you’re done you take a deep cleansing breath and suddenly the world feels right again. That cry that is so…
Sometime during the day, after Ava died, a purple ribbon was placed on the outside of my door which would serve as a signal to anyone who passed by my room that my baby had died. I had been marked. I think that ribbon scared a lot of people. I think I scared a lot of people.
I knew before Ava was born that I wanted to pump and donate our milk. Logan and I were milk donors and I felt very passionately about wanting to do it again. I felt like I had been given such a blessing in the form of an over-abundant milk supply and I wanted to show my gratitude to the universe by giving something back. It never occurred to me that this blessing would become such a burden.
When I held my still baby in my arms I heard a loud crack as my world shattered, followed by silence. I could not hear or see anything going on around me, it was as if I was trapped inside my head, drowning in my own thoughts for months. When Ava died the world did not stop, people continued to live their lives just as they had the day before, but in my heart time stood still. The world kept…
The first 24 hours after Ava’s death are a random collection of foggy memories for me. Between the lack of sleep from the previous night, the narcotics, the grief, and the loss of blood I was no longer able to process anything that was happening.
I haven’t posted in almost two weeks but I’ve had this post sitting in my draft bucket for longer than that. I don’t know why I haven’t put it up. I’ve edited it so many times that I’m actually just reading it over and over without making any changes, but still I’m hesitant. I’m not ready to tell the story of my c-section and Ava’s brief life before everyone reading has some understanding of what we were thinking and feeling about…