Archive for October, 2018

On this Day

Monday, October 15th, 2018

It’s October 15th.

I think blogging on this subject may help me not feel as sad as I might otherwise.

Today is National Infant Loss Awareness day. I’m happy that there’s a day where people everywhere can feel free to talk about the pain that lingers with them over losing a child in miscarriage and still birth. Since miscarriage is statistically one in four, truly every family has this as part of their story. My loss was 11 years ago. Waking this morning I of course remembered the emotional devastation that brisk sunny morning of August 15th 2007, but too I thought of what she’s missed. The baby, I somehow felt that that 7 to 10 week gestation Little One was a girl, would be in 6th grade. She’d be starting puberty, have a best friend and a favorite book series. Maybe she’d be in fast pitch, perhaps volleyball or soccer. The doctor said that losing her wasn’t my fault, that there was nothing I could have done. The amniotic fluid just wasn’t there, the sac had collapsed, there wasn’t a heartbeat anymore and I had two options. I could have a DNC or, “let the fetus pass naturally.” I said I’d go for the second option, I have to admit that I think I felt that way I’d have more time with my baby…I know that’s weird. When the baby did come, two days later, I was alone. I had three contractions, and there was the baby in my hand…so small. I rinsed him or her off and tried to see features but she or he was just too early to make out any details. Perfect though, somehow. I’m glad now to be alone in this moment as my thoughts develop only split seconds before they come out in such familiar form on the dashboard on my blog screen. I’ve sat here so many times. With each long in knowing the taste of my tears over this loss by the day longer ago. I know my heart and am not ashamed of the lingering sadness, indeed, it’s a boost in my desire for eternity where that collapsed amniotic sac doesn’t matter.

She’ll know me, and it will be as if we missed no time together. My baby did not have to experience any of the struggles that her sisters and brothers will go through. Not an argument or feelings of animosity in any form. She or he did not have the opportunity to disobey us or own a pet, or have chores around the house…I miss that, even though it never was. My baby was real, even though she died before she could live.

I miss you, baby, and will see you soon.

Angel Tree: 2018

Monday, October 1st, 2018

Today is the day to sign up to sponor the holiday season fundraising for an orphan living overseas to the goal of raising $1,000 to the adoption costs of bringing that child home to a family in either the USA or Canada. I have participated in this fundraiser since 2012, which is quite a long while now. The event is held by Reece’s Rainbow, a non-for-profit program that supports the advocacy and pairing of special needs children overseas with families here. Reece’s Rainbow has a very comprehensive website through which families can find a child of particular interest to them and pursue adoption of that specific child, this is a piece of the adoption journey that I’d never heard of before: not just knowing which country you’d like to adopt from, but knowing the face of a child. Adoption is expensive, the wait is long from signing of initial papers, to visiting and bringing the child home and all the stages in between.

It’s this financial bit that Angel Tree is meant to help with, but I’d like to think that equally is the advocacy…we’re putting forward the faces of these young children which makes them seem so much more real. On sign up day, we usually pick three child that we’re interested in seeing on the Angel Tree and working toward that 1,000 additional funding boost in the money banks available for their future families.

The child I raised funds for (and met my goal) is Scarlet. My draw to her is that, like me, she has a seizure disorder and an older brother. I’m also Scarlet’s, “Prayer Warrior” that means I’m supposed to talk about and pray for her all year. I have her picture up in my room and look at her often. My heart really only feels sadness anymore as I do wonder how she is, while really knowing that there isn’t anything I can do. Truthfully, her face is so familiar that it’s part of my room the environment private to me and indeed I rarely speak of her at all.