moments

Michael and I have been married thirteen years today, and I have never loved him more.  All I want is to have another child with him, and this is proving to be much more challenging than I ever expected. Who knew that this would be the challenge we would face in our marriage.  We were so innocent and in love thirteen years ago.  I was 23, he was 25.  The world was waiting for us.  We have explored, played, traveled, laughed, fought, and cried through thirteen very amazing years.  This year has been the hardest on us both,  but our marriage and partnership has remained intact and become even stronger.  We keep going, loving each other, holding each other, and believing that anything is possible.  And if one of us forgets to believe, we remind each other that it will happen. As Luka's birthday approaches, my emotions lie on a thin line between being stable and a sobbing mess. Lately there have been several moments where I, without warning, have been completely caught off guard by a memory or reminder of our deeply profound experience of losing a daughter.  On the way to Vancouver on Saturday, an ambulance passed by with it's lights on. Out of nowhere, I remember being in the ambulance on the night Luka was born, on the bumpy highway, after having a c section only two hours before. Wondering.  Hoping that my daughter was going to be okay. Not knowing. But knowing that my whole life had just changed, and would never be the same.  I immediately burst into tears.  It was such a visceral reaction.  And then last night, while I was reading, Michael showed me a picture from his email of our nieces who just performed in a dance recital.  Again, I burst into tears.  I will never see Luka in a cute costume.  I will never see her look like a fairy princess.  I will never see her twirl and look pretty.  Today,  I had a substitute in my class for a meeting I had to attend.  She was very pregnant.  I made the mistake of asking her when she was due.  July, she replied.  I had to hold back the tears.  I can't believe it's been almost a year.   Finally, today we went to look at a few houses, as we are beginning to enter the real adult world and purchase a home.  Our real estate agent is a friend we met at our prenatal classes.  We haven't seen him for a very long time, and it was wonderful to see him.  As we drove away, I again began to cry.  I thought the first house we would buy, would be with Luka. To give her her own room. Paint it bright colours, and have it filled with her toys.  I will never see Luka grow up in our new house,  but I am still excited to be buy a house and start a new chapter in our lives.  I am happy and content to be with my amazing, talented, and loving husband, who treats me like gold, and makes me hotdogs for dinner on our anniversary.  With fries!  I know the memories of Luka will come and go.  And I will continue to let the emotion flow.  Thank you Michael for carrying me through this year, and loving me unconditionally.  When we are ready and with the love we have for each other,  I know we will welcome another child into this world.  Happy Anniversary, my love. 

 

last breath

It's been a whirlwind of a week but after a lot of hard work, my student actors at school performed, with great success,  A Midsummer Night's Dream.  It was a great accomplishment for me professionally and personally, and it was a wonderful way to end the week, and begin the long weekend.  Today is the ten month anniversary of Luka's death, and she has been in my thoughts and heart all weekend.  As I watch the sun rays shine through the valley,  I can't believe it's been a year since I was about to go on my maternity leave.  Last time this year, I was packing up my classroom, full of anticipation of the new little bundle that would be arriving in just over a month.  Now, and all this weekend, I have been remembering her last moments as I held her.  As we drove to our friend's cabin on Sunday, listening to music in the majesty of the mountains, the memory of her last breath would not leave my mind. The tears could not help but fall.  Strangely, as I turned to Michael, he was also crying.  It was a quiet moment, with hardly any words, but it was needed.  We listened quietly to the music, taking in the gentleness of the rain, and the misty clouds covering the mountains. We arrived at the cabin, and with great friends, we ate and drank, played games, and enjoyed the simpleness of just being together.  My friends Sharon and Rob have three beautiful children, and being with them always bring joy to my life.  We found our way to the park in the evening, to play on the playground and swing on the best tire swing ever.  As I climbed in, I felt like a child again, and was pushed high up into the air.  I have always wanted to fly, and as I glided in the air and felt the wind on my face,  I couldn't stop giggling.  I wanted more.  On the way back to the cabin in the dusk of night, I found myself walking on my own as the others ran ahead.  Luka's last moments once again entered my thoughts.  I remember as she took her last breath, a gentle warmth came over me. Although it sounds crazy, I felt a part of her soul enter mine.  I remember waiting for quite some time before saying out loud to everyone in the room, she had died.  As painful as it was, I wanted to hold on to that moment.  In the last week, I have been experiencing great joy, almost a giddiness.  I've been wondering if part of that energy is Luka's soul shining through, reminding me to play, laugh and enjoy the joy of being alive.  If she was with us, she would almost be one year old, close to walking, and we would be getting ready to spend our second summer with her.  But I can't allow myself to have those thoughts, because she was only meant to be with us for her little life.  The sun is peeking through the clouds as it sets, and is sending in the most beautiful light to our little place on the mountain.  I'm now going to take a hot bath, climb into bed, and fall asleep remembering my little daughter, who continues to remind me of how precious and wonderful life can be.

spring cleaning

Sunday morning, and the clouds have rolled in.  I can't see across the valley, and the birds are singing away as they play in the light rain, looking for worms.  My little garden is green and growing, and Luka's tree is continuing to open its leaves.  It's been a quiet weekend.  Yesterday, Michael and I went for a run along the Vedder river.  I haven't run with much stamina,  since before I was pregnant with Luka.  It felt great and I can't wait to continue over the summer.  In the evening,  I spent three hours on Skype with my friends Katie, Katherine and Sarah, and we talked and talked.  I wish we could have been together in person, but it was so lovely to connect and share our lives with each other.  We laughed, cried and reminisced.  I love my friends so dearly, and I am so grateful for having them in my life.  Earlier in the afternoon, I decided to do some spring cleaning.  I've been neglecting cleaning out my closets and dressers, even though they are filled with clothes I no longer wear.  And so I purged.  I got rid of anything that I haven't worn in a year, and anything that no longer fit.  Except one pair of skinny jeans I love and vow to wear again!  As I sorted, I found all my maternity clothes from when I was carrying Luka.  It's amazing how every piece of clothing has a memory.  The pink dress I wore every day the week before she arrived.  The flowery green top I bought when I began to show, and the excitement I had to have a little round belly.  And then I pulled out the shirt I wore when Luka died.  I didn't expect the emotion.  It flooded me, and I had to sit down on the bed and weep.  I remember consciously choosing the shirt in the hospital room, knowing that it would be what I wore as I held my baby while she left this world.  As I sat on the bed, I held the shirt to my chest and smelled it, hoping for some scent of little Luka.  I folded it gently and put it with my pile of maternity clothes.  Part of me wanted to throw it in the give away pile, because I don't know if I'll wear it ever again.  My drawers are emptier now, my maternity clothes tucked away in bags for another time.  It always feels nice to cleanse. Out with the old, in with the new.  In the last week, I've come to realize that I need to find happiness in my life again.  Running, reading, performing, and lately I've been thinking about a photography course.  Things that make me happy to be alive.  Michael just made me breakfast, and then we're going to enjoy the day.  Summer is almost here, and I look forward to spending time with family, going on adventures, and honouring Luka.  And maybe, just maybe, in the fall I will pull out those maternity clothes and wear them again with pride.

letter to Luka on Mother's Day

Dear Luka,

Today I planted a garden, in honour of you my little one.  I woke up in the morning, not sure how I was going to make it through the day, and then I thought of your tree.  I knew I had to re-pot it to help the roots expand and get deeper into soil. We went and bought the most beautiful pot; earth colour, with waves of white, like clouds running through it.  It reminded of your softness, your gentle nature, and your connection to the spirit world.  I also spent some time buying flowers to surround your tree, to give it colour and richness, and remind me of all the gifts you have given us and continue to give.  As I walked through the nursery, I knew this was the perfect day to spend my first Mother's day without you.  To be surrounded by green plants, and brilliant flowers,  I felt at peace.  At home,  I lovingly transplanted your beautiful maple tree into its new home, and felt such joy and sadness as I watered it.  The leaves are blossoming and almost open.  Sassy came by to visit, and joined in the celebration.  As I planted the rest of the garden,  I asked you to send us a brother or sister.  I know you were listening, because I could feel you in the lightness of the air, and in the darkness of the earth.  Light and dark.  The necessities to stay alive on this earth.  The sun is now peeking through the clouds, and shining down on my little potted garden.  Your tree will grow tall, little one, and every day I will kiss it, until it is big enough to wrap my arms around.  And when we are blessed with another child, we will hug it together as a family.  I miss you on this Mother's day and everyday.  Thank you for letting me carry you, hold you, and love you.  You have opened my heart and taught me the true meaning of what life is about. 


With all my love,
Mom

try and try again

Another month has past, and we are still not pregnant.  Another weekend of tears and hopelessness.  It's been a hard few days, and yesterday I had a complete emotional breakdown.  It's been a long time since I let the emotions flow, and it was good to let myself cry for a solid two hours.  Lately, there are so many questions.  What if there is something wrong with me?  What if I don't have any healthy eggs? When is it going to be my turn to have a family? Why did we wait so long to start having children?  I'll be 37 in five months, and I'm starting to feel like it will never happen.  I want to stay positive and I want to be hopeful, but in all honesty, a part of me wants to give up.  When I was little I was always terrified that I wouldn't be able to have children. Was that intuition, or was is just a fear that I fabricated?  Michael has to continuously remind me that we did have a child.   I carried to term, and delivered a baby.  But I want a living baby and my life is consumed with thinking about it.  As hard as I try to focus my attention on other things, it is constantly with me.  I also thought this time of year would be exciting, with spring arriving and the promise of nice weather.  I do look forward to more sunshine, and enjoying barbecue's on our patio, however I am often reminded of being pregnant last year.  Being round, loving being pregnant, walking with Sassy, and talking to Luka as she moved inside me.  Last night I had strange dreams, full of vivid imagery and colour.  I woke up feeling mixed emotions, and wanting to go back to sleep and dream.  Sleep is so comforting.  It allows my emotions to settle, and gives me strength to hope again.  A few minutes ago a friend gently reminded me to stop hoping and start believing.  I want to believe. And there is a huge part of me that does.  I just sometimes feel like I have failed.  Failed my husband, who so wants to be a father again, failed my own body, and failed at producing a healthy child.  I know I can't give up.  I know anything is possible.  Here's believing for next month, and if not next month, the month after that.  Tonight I find comfort in my mint chocolate chip ice cream, a hot bath, and my Harry Potter books.  Life goes on, and even though I truly wish storks delivered babies,  I know I must embrace the natural process of creating life, and trust it will happen when the time is right.

the waiting game

It's finally a beautiful sunny morning in Chilliwack, with not a cloud in the sky.  Michael and I are enjoying a five day long weekend together, after having visitors in April, and the madness and wonderfulness of his show.  Today, it has been exactly nine months since Luka died. Time has flown by so quickly, and I am in disbelief that summer holidays will be here in two months.  At this time last year, I was getting ready to go on maternity leave.  Michael and I started planning our summer holidays the other night, and I hope with all my heart that our summer is a joyful one.  There are many things to be excited about, and one of them is getting pregnant again.  I have been debating whether to write about this on my blog, because it can be so personal.  I have decided that this story is about my journey to have a healthy baby, and I need to honour the journey with my thoughts and feelings.  Life is now about waiting.  Every month, waiting.  Getting excited, wondering, questioning, hoping.  Wondering if I will be disappointed or ecstatic.  I am one of those women who is obsessed with her cycle.  I even have an app for it on my ipod. I check it every day, and sometimes twice a day.   Like the days have suddenly changed.  I'm consumed with thinking about it.  And I don't want to be.  I want to be relaxed.   I want it to happen when it's time for another soul to enter our lives.  I want to live my life for me, and not for the desperate need for a child.  Last night we watched a movie and one of the characters mentioned this quote. "Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."  As I was falling asleep,  it kept running through my head.  I can't decide when I will get pregnant.  It's completely out of my control.  My body will do what it needs to do when it's ready, no matter how hard I count the days until my next cycle.  I also want to live my life for me.  To look at my life, and change what I am unhappy with, and what I am in control of.  Yes, a baby will make me happy, but right now I have to enjoy the life I was given.  The last nine months have been difficult, but also full of gifts.  The strength of love Michael and I have for each other, new friendships, Michael discovering his love of acting again and the excitement of new creative possibilities.  My goal today is to embrace that whatever happens this month, I will continue to live in the possibility.  It doesn't mean I won't be disappointed if I'm not pregnant, but I need to look around and see the beauty that surrounds me, and the opportunities that lie ahead.  Today we're going to re-pot Luka's maple tree, and give it more room to grow.  Every day the buds get a little bigger, and I am so excited for the leaves to finally come out. The tree will come with us wherever we go, and will be replanted in the ground when the time is right.  I've been really feeling Luka's presence lately.  In the spring flowers, the birds, and the new life that is sprouting all around us. I even saw a bald eagle dip through the trees, his white head glistening in the sun.  As I walk with Sassy, I feel Luka playing in the wind, and I can imagine her saying "It will happen, Mom! It will happen!" I look forward to giving her a brother or sister.  And so we patiently wait, enjoying life and all that it has to offer.

presence

I have so much to write, and I'm not really sure where to start.  I have been wanting to write an entry for a couple of nights, but I have been so tired after a whirlwind of a week.  So, on this cloudy Saturday morning, having finally slept in,  and the house quiet,  I am ready to allow my thoughts to flow.  It's been a busy week.  Michael's parents have come and gone, we attended a wedding, I had a brutal cold, and Michael's show The Drowsy Chaperone opened on Wednesday night.  I had a lovely visit with my in-laws, they are wonderful people and have been a great gift in my life.  School has been busy, and I am in the middle of directing a children's version of Midsummer Night's Dream, with some of the older kids at the school.  And every night as I fall asleep, I have been overwhelmed with the anticipation and excitement of life.  I haven't felt this way in a very long time.  Before and during my pregnancy with Luka,  I wasn't very happy with my life.  I was overjoyed when I found out I was pregnant,  and very excited for her to arrive and be part of our lives.  But, in my professional and personal life,  I felt very lonely.  Michael and I were so looking forward to having a baby, and opening our world to some joy.  So, when we lost Luka, I truly believed that I would never be joyful or happy again.  And now, even though she is not here in the physical sense, her little spirit is bringing us new found joy.  In November, when Michael was at one of his lowest points,  I convinced him to audition for the play The Drowsy Chaperone, as the lead character,  Man in Chair.  He did, and was given the part.  As he began rehearsals,  he would express to me his reluctance of performing when he was still in the healing process.  I pushed him gently to continue, and assured him that creating and performing this role was a gift from our daughter, and would be an essential part of his healing.  On Wednesday night, as I sat in the audience, and watched the love of my life transform and create magic on stage,  I knew I had been right.  Luka had brought him the most beautiful gift.  Michael has always been a talented performer.  I have seen him in so many plays, but never like this.  That night, I couldn't sleep.  I felt pure love and joy for my husband, the life we share, and the daughter we created.  I felt excited for our future, whatever it may hold.  I woke up excited,  even though I had to go to work, and had had only two hours of sleep.  It's a nice feeling to have.  I miss Luka every day.  I want to hold her.  But after this week,  I know she is blessing us in ways I can't even explain and imagine.  Michael's director asked me after opening night if I could feel the presence of Luka shine through Michael as he performed.  There is no doubt in my mind that she was present. And I know she will continue to be present as we continue through this journey of healing and hope.  The clouds are starting to roll in, and by tonight it will be raining.  But I don't care. Luka's little tree is starting to blossom, and spring is here.