the odds are in our favour

It was a beautiful sunny day today.  The wind was cold, but the sunshine felt wonderful.  Driving home from school this afternoon I rolled down my window, and felt the fresh air on my face.  Spring is in the air.  Ever so slight, but it's there.  I had to go for a walk this afternoon.  I went and got Sassy and began climbing the hills.  It was my first walk with Sassy by myself since I was pregnant with Luka.  Michael and I usually go together, but he had an appointment.  I used to walk Sassy everyday in the last month before I was due.  While I was walking I would talk to Luka, and tell her how excited we were for her to come, and tell her to go easy on me in labour.  Today I chose to visualize and think about my next pregnancy and birth.  It is so easy to think of the negative and to worry.  There are so many questions that will arise with the next pregnancy.  Should we get genetic testing?  Should we have an amniocentesis? Will I have to have another C section?  Or, do we just trust.  The odds are in our favour, or at least I should hope so.  The geneticists, who are the experts, have basically told us we will not have another Trisomy 18 baby.  But there are all the other worries.  What about miscarriage?  Down syndrome? Will I be able to get pregnant again?  And then I look at Sassy.  She doesn't worry.  She knows that if I throw the stick, she will catch it and bring it back.  She enjoys every moment, and knows that life is meant to be lived.  We can learn so much from a four legged creature.  So as I'm walking, I remind myself of my new mantra - it will happen.  Whenever I have negative and fearful thoughts swirling around in my head,  I repeat my mantra.  And it allows me to think with hope.  I will hold a healthy baby in my arms.  I will have the birth that I want.  It doesn't matter how they are born, I know it will result in a beautiful boy or girl.  Or twins?  I will get pregnant.  I can get pregnant.  At home I cook supper, listening to Amos Lee.  Michael arrives.  We hug in the kitchen and begin to slow dance to the music.  Holding on to him, my heart is full.  In this moment,  there is no one I love more.  Our love has already created our beautiful Luka,  and in my heart I know that when we are ready,  it will happen again.

memories

I woke up this morning remembering.  The fog is covering the mountain, and I can't see across the valley.  Today it is comforting, wrapping me in a blanket of protection. Lately the memories have been strong and vivid,  like it all happened yesterday.  I go to bed with them, and I wake up with them.  They come to me as I'm teaching, while I'm on the treadmill, and when I'm driving in the car.  Sometimes they make me smile,  but mostly they draw tears to my eyes.  There are days like today, where I allow the memories to flood in and take over my thoughts.  In the book, Because of  Winn Dixie, (which I just recently read to my class), the little girl asks her dad for a list of ten things about her mother so she can remember her.   I've been thinking about those three days in July, and what memories stand out the most, the painful and the beautiful.  I've been avoiding writing them down, because it causes the well to overflow.  But today, I need to. So here goes. I'm shaking as I write this but here are ten memories that will stay with me forever.
1.  Waiting for the C-section.  Being in the hospital room, feeling Luka move, and wondering what she would be like when she arrived.  The mix of anticipation and disappointment that I felt from having to have this procedure, and the loss of my home birth in water.
2.  The little cry Luka had when she came out, and the instant knowledge from a mother's gut instinct that something was wrong.
3.  As they wheeled her out of the operating room, she turned her head to look at me, and we made eye contact.  I remember saying "She's beautiful. She looks just like Aline." (her grandma)
4.  Holding her for the first time.  Knowing that something was wrong but I didn't care in the least. I loved this little girl. And then watching Michael hold her.  The instant bond they shared.
5.  The ambulance ride to Vancouver.  No drugs, bumpy highway, listening to the Ipod. Thinking of her in the helicopter. Wishing she was with me. Trusting she was in good hands.
6.  Seeing her in the incubator for the first time in Children's.  Touching her little legs and arms, and her tiny chest.  Her soft skin.  Her tiny cry.  Her response to our voices.
7. The not knowing. The fear of having a disabled child.  The deep knowledge within me that I was going to lose her.  Finally hearing from a doctor that she wasn't going to survive.  Her having Trisomy 18.  The strength I found to let her go.
8. Holding her, even with all the tubes, and putting her on my breast.  Her little mouth around my nipple and then falling asleep in my arms.  The best feeling in the world.
9.  The decision to take her off the life support.  My parents carrying her from the NICU to the private room we had as a family.  The sadness in my parent's, and their unbelievable love for their grandchild. The love in the room.  The silence, the tears, the joy and pain and the loss of innocence for us all.
10.  Holding her as she died.  Her hiccups as she left us.  Her last breath.  The feeling of gut wrenching pain, relief, and peace all at the same time.  That moment will never leave me.  Her beauty.  Free from pain.  Free.

As painful as this was to write,  I needed to.  It's been swirling in my head the past two weeks, and it feels good to let out.  It helps me heal, and look forward.  Lately, I feel spring in the air.  That wonderful smell of soil and plants growing.  Our landlords gave us a beautiful pot of daffodils and crocuses last week.  They sit with Luka's ashes, and have been blossoming with gusto all week.  A reminder that anything is possible, and that darkness can only lead to joy.

saying goodbye to January

I've decided I'm going to have a welcome February party.  At the moment I don't know what that will look like.  It might be me just standing out in the sun, (when it arrives) and dancing,  or I might invite all my friends over for dinner so we can toast to the soon arrival of spring.  All I know now, is that January is almost over, and I gladly say goodbye.  It's been a very challenging month, and I have gone through a whirlwind of emotions.  Luka's always on my mind, and the journey of her little life remains as strong in my mind and heart as it did six months ago.  I can't believe it's already been six months.  What would she be like if she were alive?  Pretty darn cute,  I would think.  But I can't allow myself to think about that, because it isn't my reality.  This last week, has been one of the best weeks emotionally I've had in a long time.  I had a good week with my students at school; we made bread, created imaginary creatures, watched the movie Because of Winn Dixie and ate egg salad sandwiches.  It was a fun week, and when I see the students engaged and laughing, it reminds me of why I love teaching.  I went to yoga for the first time since before Christmas, which also reminded me of why I love it so much.  It is the ultimate massage for the body, emotionally and physically.  I'm still sore two days later, but I can't wait to go again next week.  We've kept busy this month.  Last weekend we went to Vancouver to have dinner at Vij's, and had a great time with our friends Michelle and Ashley.  It's nice to have such great friends who allow us to just be where we need to be through this healing journey.  While we were in Vancouver,  I bought a new journal, which I hope will be my next pregnancy journal.  Even though I'm not pregnant yet, it just spoke to me.  It's nice to think that there will be a new pregnancy I can write about.  Part of me is scared to even think about journaling about a new little being.  I wrote all through my pregnancy with Luka, and I have yet to read it.  I'm scared it will send me over the edge emotionally, and I don't need to go there right now.  This week I was watching American Idol with Michael, and there was a contestant who's fiance was in a car accident and suffered a severe brain injury.  He stayed with her, and he shared the love he had for her.  Unconditional love.  The love you have for another, with no doubt or questions.  The love I have for Luka, and will always have for her.  The love I have for my husband, and will always have for him.  Luka's ashes sit on our dresser, and every so often, I pick up her little butter dish that serves as her urn, and I kiss it.  Remind her I am here, and I wish I could hold her in the physical sense.  Remind her January is almost over, and spring is around the corner. Remind her soon she will have a brother or sister.  It will happen.  I have to believe it will.  The sun is supposed to shine tomorrow, and all next week.  Hello, February.  Nice to finally see you.

patience

If anyone knows me well, they know that I am generally not a patient person.  My whole life I have always wanted to know what was next.  I was one of those children that drives me crazy in my own classroom, the student that always gets their work done quickly and needs something new to work on.  My mother had to set up food stations around the house when I was little,  because I was always on the go.  Over the years I have learned to find patience when it is needed.  Teaching has taught me a great deal of patience, and in the classroom I have learned to breathe through the moment.  But when it comes to my own life, I struggle with wanting everything now.  When I was pregnant with Luka, I had no choice but to let the process happen. There is a reason that you are pregnant for nine months.  That time allows you to form a bond with your baby, and it really isn't until they are born that you realize the true connection that takes place.  And what a connection.  It's unbreakable.  Even though Luka is not with me,  she never leaves my mind and my heart.  She will always be a part of me.  Always.  This January has been the toughest month since Luka died.   Maybe it's the weather, or the time of year, but everything is a struggle.  I can't even motivate myself to go to yoga, when I know how good it is for me.  School is a challenge. Getting up in the morning is a challenge.  But I do it.  Because I know that for every day that goes by,  it is one step closer to the chance of having another baby.  I go through the day, and I'm okay.  I laugh with my kids, talk with the staff at lunch, go to the gym, and cook supper for Michael and me.  But there's always this underlying feeling of something missing mixed with the constant desire to be pregnant again.  And it all comes down to patience.  To embrace the process of waiting.  To find happiness in the little things.  I'm trying.  I just can't wait to have that feeling of pure excitement and pure joy.  Where nothing else matters.  It has and will continue to be a journey through the unknown.  Today, my friend sent me a video of a woman singing a song just before her baby was born.  Apparently she tried for a long time to get pregnant, and she composed the song while she waited for it to happen.  She eventually had the baby she so desired.  Her words are like listening to my daily thoughts.  It gives me strength, and as I patiently wait for the future,  I hope that I too, will soon be holding a newborn baby, while forever holding Luka in my heart.


If you would like to listen and see the video, I share it with all of you.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t8S57YHd-_c

trust

This morning we woke up to a land filled with wet snow, and a six a.m phone call telling us we didn't have to come to school. Snow day!! It was a great gift.  Michael and I curled back up in bed, and slept in.  When I woke up at around nine, I stepped outside and marveled at the white banks of snow that had drifted high up to our front door.  We spent the day lounging around, watching Modern Family and going for a walk with Sassy.  I love watching her play in the snow- how she dives right into the huge drifts with complete trust.  Lately I've been thinking about trust, and the power it has.  All through my pregnancy with Luka,  Michael would tell me to trust.  When she wouldn't move inside of me for a couple of hours, he would touch my belly, and say "trust, Wendy."  After Luka died, I thought I would never trust again.  And I could easily blame Michael for making me believe that everything would be alright.  But I can't, because Michael has this amazing gift.  He is open.  He wears his heart on his sleeve.  He can sense and feel people's energy.  He could feel Luka's energy from very early on in my pregnancy.  He will let you in, and never let you go.  He is strong and loving and believes that anything is possible.  This is why I married him, and why I will continue to love him for the rest of my life.  I can always count on Michael to remind me to trust.  It was his trust that I believe allowed Luka to survive as long as she did, so that we were able to meet her, hold her, and love her.  This whole experience has shaken our trust, but will not break it.  It's hard to think about what it will be like to be pregnant again, and the difficulty of letting go of the past experiences we have gone through.  I wish I were like Sassy, and I could just leap into the snow with no questions.  With my next pregnancy, my goal is to breathe.  To try hard not to jump to conclusions.  To try and let go of the idea that I can control everything. Because I won't be able to. I just have to dig deep, and believe.  Trust that whatever comes my way, it will be the way it needs to be. And with Michael by my side, I know anything is possible.

my hopeless rant

So, the rain is coming down in buckets and the sky has been dark since this morning.  There was hardly any light today because the fog just sat in the valley, and made the world dark and dreary.  This is when I miss Saskatchewan, where the sun beats down on the crisp white snow even when it's -32.  I don't know if it's the weather, or going back to school, or that I can't stop thinking about sadness and loss; but I am a miserable mess. Or maybe it's a combination of it all.  I just miss Luka so much.  I want her back.   I'm angry that Michael's cousin lost her baby, and has to suffer after knowing her baby was perfect.  I love teaching and I love my class but I'm not happy where I am right now.  I wasn't supposed to be there this year.  I was supposed to be a mother.  Just when I thought things we're getting easier,  I'm turned upside down.  People probably think I should be over it. Move on. Think of the future. And I do think of the future.  Of being pregnant again, and the feelings I felt, but I hate that I have no control over my next pregnancy. It will be so different because I won't have the rose coloured glasses on.  I'll be aware and conscious of every movement, every shift, every subtlety.  I love all of you that are having babies or about to have one, but I admit that I'm jealous.  I'm sorry.  I'm trying my best to not let it affect me, but it does. Michael and I have both been incredibly sad this past week.  We're holding on by a thread, holding each other as we cry, and watching Fawlty Towers to help us laugh because we need it.  I know the rain will stop and the sun will come out again, but right now I feel downright hopeless.  It's just that simple.  I will now eat Indian food and watch an episode of Fawlty Towers, have a bath, and then go to bed early.  And hope for a better day tomorrow.

new

2010: The life and death of my baby girl

It's New Years Day, and the sun has already gone down on the first day of 2011.  There was a glorious sunset over the mountains, orange and red, which lit up the white snow in a beautiful haze of warmth.  It was a quiet and reflective day.  Last night we had friends over to celebrate the beginning of a new year.  We made delicious appetizers and played a fun but hard new game called Funglish.  It was the perfect way to say goodbye to a very life changing and painful year.  Laughing and sharing ideas with friends who are like minded and understand the creative process.  Michelle brought over her children, and they frolicked their way through the evening, playing on the computer and on our ipods.  It's amazing how much they understand technology.  At one point I looked over at Michael, and he was sitting with Michelle's two year old daughter on his lap.  The image of them together was so beautiful, and I thought about our first miscarriage.  If that baby had survived, we would have a two and half year old.  We had some sad news this week.  Michael's cousin lost her little one at 37 weeks, before she was born.  The memories of our experience came flooding back after hearing the news.  My heart breaks for the family and for the mother.  It's unexplainable, and frustrating.  As much as we want it to be, life is not predictable.  Today, Michael and I went for a walk along the Vedder river.  We walked there all through my pregnancy with Luka, and it always feels good to be by the running water, and the bald eagles perched in the trees.  If there is such thing as reincarnation, I would love Luka to be an eagle watching over us, powerful and strong.  Strength.  Something I never knew I had.  I survived this past year, and I am proud of myself for forging on.  For allowing myself to grieve and honour my emotions.  The days are getting longer now, and with it comes optimism.  Everyday I feel a little more whole, and although I know that the hole that occupies my heart will never be filled,  I can go on.  I'd like to say that this next year will be filled with joy and that is my hope. But like I said, life is never predictable.  And so as I say goodbye to 2010, I thank it for teaching me the strength of love, the process of grief, and the power of hope.  It will always be the year when my little daughter came into this world and then left it.  I look forward to what 2011 has to offer, the gifts it will bring, and the learning it will provide. Bring it on.