music

Yesterday we went to Vancouver to return a pair of jeans Michael had purchased, and we decided to make a day out of it.  It's been awhile since we've been in Vancouver together, and we were really craving our favourite Thai restaurant. It was a beautiful day, so we drove straight to Stanley Park, and walked along the seawall.  We talked about school, what we're going to do for Christmas, our dreams, and of course Luka.  It's interesting how she just weaves her way into a conversation. We also talked about the future; the hope and desire of new life.  Walking through Kitsalano was easier then expected. Michael and I frequented Kits quite often when I was pregnant.  We visited every baby store at least twice, debating and sometimes arguing over the perfect stroller, or the best brand of cloth diaper. Michael wondered yesterday about all the energy spent researching the perfect things for Luka that we will never use for her.  I told him that it was all important and meaningful, and that it brought him great joy to spend hours on the internet looking at designer outfits.  We ate at Maenam, a great Thai restaurant, which was so good, and then began the drive home in the rain.  Listening to music, in the darkness of the highway, my thoughts returned to Luka.  Music has been hard to listen to in the past three months, because all our music relates to my pregnancy, Luka's birth, and then her death.  We had created a beautiful playlist for my home birth which never happened. We ended up playing all the music intended for her coming into this world, for her exit out of this world.  I don't know when I'll be able to listen to those songs, but I hope it brought her peace as we held her in our arms.  It was good to listen to new music last night.  Music really is a soundtrack to our lives, and has amazing powers to heal and transform.  During my pregnancy, there was one song that I listened too over and over by Xavier Rudd, called Breeze.  Every time I heard it I would break into tears. I don't know if the lyrics and the music were a preparation for what was to come, but this song was an essential part of my life and Luka's, and helped shape her little existence on earth.

  You will breeze in
  Fresh air that you are
  They will inhale you deep into their lungs
  They will exhale you as far as you may go
  And you will touch their souls.

                                   -Xavier Rudd, from the album Koonyum Sun

groundedness

Wednesday evening, and I have just returned from a very grounding yoga class. It was just what I needed after two days of parent teacher interviews, which can be very challenging.  Yoga has been an amazing healer and I feel great after stretching out my body.  I did a handstand tonight, and trusted my own strength.  With every pose I do,  I have been allowing myself to be strong, to breathe through the stretch, and to allow my power to shine through each pose.  As much as my body needs the power,  my soul needs the peace and the "yin" that comes at the end of the hour and a half.  Lying in shivasana,  my mind always comes back to Luka.  Her tiny nose, her little lips, her gentle cry, and her soft skin on mine.  The dim lights and the quiet music remind me of her last moments in this world, and I think about what is it like to die? I allow myself to feel the stillness of the room, the collective breath, the thoughts and energy of everyone circulating around me, and I embrace the moment.  And I allow the emotion to flow. Across the room, I can feel Michael's energy, and I know intuitively that he is also remembering Luka and opening himself to the emotion.  Feeling it, and then letting it go.  When I stood up from my mat and felt the floor beneath my feet,  I felt grounded.  Connected to something I cannot define or explain.  I am slowly healing my body and soul.  Thank you Luka, for giving me the strength I did not know I had, and opening my heart in ways I could have never imagined.

holding pattern

It's been an extremely social weekend, full of visiting, remembering, eating, drinking, and dancing. On Friday night we went to visit our midwives, who have become lovely friends. We played Settlers of Catan, and Michael entertained us with his robot.  On Saturday night we went to an Italian fundraiser with friends, at the Italian cultural centre in Vancouver.  We dressed up, and Michael even wore a tie. It was a fun filled evening, with a five course meal, a live band, and free flowing wine.  We had a blast, and even got up on the dance floor.  Michael and I have always had a hard time dancing together, because we both want to lead.  Needless to say, we are both control freaks and we ended up bumping little old Italian couples in the head as we made our way around the dance floor.  We were laughing so hard, something I haven't experienced in a while.  It felt good.  Later in the evening, as the band played slow cheesy love songs, my friend and I started talking about Luka. There were lots of young babies at the event, and she asked if it was hard for me to be around them.  It is hard, and I'm constantly aware that I don't have Luka when I see other mothers. It makes me miss her, but lately it has also given me hope and optimism that I will have a child that I will hold and love.  My friend then asked if it feels like I'm in a holding pattern. I've been thinking about that question all day, and realize I am.  I'm mourning the past, and desiring the future, and trying my best to live in the now.   And I'm so grateful for the now.  My holding pattern has been blessed with good friends, a gentle Grade 3 class, a lovely new couch, a wonderful social life, a loving husband who has a new outlook on his life,  the memory of a beautiful daughter, and the gift of being alive.  Michael and I just went for a walk in the wind.  I love feeling the crispness of the air, and watching the leaves fall from the trees.  Winter is coming, which in my mind is a holding pattern for Spring to arrive and for the hope of new life.

gifts

Just got home from a wonderful night of yoga, Indian food, and laughter with friends.  It's been a hard week emotionally for both Michael and I, and I was craving yoga, and the focus and grounding it provides me.  On the way home I was thinking about all the things Luka has given us. 
Michelle our doula, who I instantly knew had to be part of my life when I met her.
A new depth to my relationship with my husband. 
A new outlook on my life and the spiritual world around me.
That I am capable of anything, and no one can stand in my way.
Laughter; that even in the darkest times, we have the ability to laugh.
New friends, who have reached out and provided their love and support.
Old friends, who have shared their grief and the hope for the future.
Family, who have blessed us with their kindness and given us the strength to move forward.
And Love. Absolute pure and unconditional love, which in the end is all that matters.
Thank you my little Luka. Although I am not able to hold you, I know your gentle spirit is carrying me along this unbelievable journey.

joy

Lately I've been thinking about our cat Mango.  I woke up in the middle of the night, and almost went to look for him so I could cuddle with him.  We had to put Mango down right before Luka was born, on my due date.  It was so traumatic at the time. He was our cat for twelve years, our entire married life together.  We were devastated, and I felt bad for Luka, because I was crying so much, and I worried that all that sadness would affect her.  Little did we know what was to come.   If my life were a novel, Mango's death was the foreshadowing of Luka's death.  All the emotion we experienced with Mango was nothing we experienced compared to Luka , but there were so many similarities.  Three days of waiting. Making the decision to let both of them go. The need to hold on. The guilt, the hope and the acceptance.  It was a month of loss. I remember going for a walk after Mango died, and asking the universe for some joy.  I looked up at the trees and watched the wind for a while, and prayed for the joy to come.  And I thought it would come.  The joy of having a baby, and watching him or her enter the world.  Holding them for the first time. Seeing Michael's face light up when the baby was born. Knowing we had a new life to influence and love.  I often think that those three days were all sadness. But there was some joy.  Seeing her react to our voices, putting her on my breast, Michael holding her on his bare chest, my parents holding their first grandchild, and having her really look at us, like she knew she only had a short time with us.  And for Luka, it was all she needed. But I need more. I want more joy. I want to still be holding her, and putting her on my breast, and watching Michael sleep with her.  It's hard to accept that I will never have that with her, but I'm hoping that the universe heard my prayer,  and is just a little behind in getting back to me. 

wanting a baby

It's Saturday morning, and I'm so glad it's the weekend.  It's sunny and crisp- the perfect fall day.  I can't stop thinking about babies. It seems everyone I know has just had a baby, or is about to.  I love all of my friends, and I am excited for them, but I still can't help thinking that I wish it was me.  I wish I could go back and have that one moment that changed everything. I wish that when they had pulled Luka out of me at my c-section, that she would have come out breathing and crying.  I replay that moment over and over again. I knew something was instantly wrong, even though my midwife had warned me that sometimes c-section babies don't cry right away because they don't get squeezed through the birth canal.  Once they got her breathing her cry was so weak, like a little kitten.  I knew then. Lying there, not seeing her, but hearing her,  I knew that my life was going to change in ways I had never imagined.  I imagine the opposite outcome, and then I have to stop myself because that moment will never happen with Luka. I want a baby.  It's as simple as that.  I want to watch them grow and change and develop.  Yesterday, I saw one of my co workers who was due at the same time as me. She has a beautiful little boy.  It was hard to see him, because he is the same age Luka would be right now.  I know mentally that I still have the possibility of having a healthy child, and I can't wait until we start trying again. But in the meantime, my emotions and the desire to have and hold Luka have taken over.  And I'm going to honour those emotions, until I'm ready to let them go.

what kids say

Today in the morning one of my students turns to me and says:
"You're baby died, right Mrs.Bickis?"
"Yes, she did."
"How long did she live for, Mrs.Bickis?
"She lived for three days"
"Wow," he says. "Well, at least you had those three days. Better than no days."

He's absolutely right. Those three days will stay with me the rest of my life.