New Website!

Hi there,


I've moved the story of our Sunshine Angel baby, Callie, to:  http://oursunshineangel.wordpress.com/ .  


I've switched from Blogger to Wordpress to be able to display my pictures a little bit better.  I'm loving the switch and I hope you do too!  :-)  If you were already following me on this blog, I hope you will "follow" me again on wordpress.  It will allow you to receive emails as soon as I post something.  This will be my last post on this platform.  Thank you for reading :-)

Here Comes the Sun

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here
Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun, and I say

It's all right

The Empty Room...

Sitting in Callie's room, I am surrounded by things.  Baby things.  Empty baby things.  Lately, I have been completely consumed with thinking about her nursery.  I just don't know what to do with it and not knowing what to do stresses me out.  I like to have a plan.  It is part of my teacher soul to approach a problem with a well-thought out plan... step-by-step.  But who plans for this?  There is no manual and no right answer.  And that bothers me to no end.

When John and I left the hospital, my parents and friends asked if we wanted them to put away all the baby stuff.  I appreciated their concern but I said, "No!"  I had to see it...I needed to see it.  Our first stop after D.C. was Reston Hospital to pick up our car.  There, inside of it, was Callie's empty car seat, her diaper bag, and a "Treats for Daddy" bag that my friend had stuffed full of snacks for John.  This is not how we had expected to go home.  Those treats were supposed to be eaten.  Her diaper bag rifled through for Callie's "going home" outfit.  And, of course, that empty car seat was supposed to be filled with our brand new baby girl...our bundle of joy.  The sight of it ripped my heart out, but something deep within me had to face it.  The thought of ignoring all of those things felt all wrong.  Getting into that car was so hard and I cried looking back at the empty car seat covered in a soft pink BundleMe meant keep our little Callie snug and warm in that cold January weather.

As we drove home, I wept thinking of the night we had packed Callie's diaper bag.  It still remains one of the happiest memories of my life, now so bittersweet.  I had washed all of her sweet little clothes in baby detergent, giving it that indescribable smell of an infant.  We had so many pink outfits we didn't know where to start!  I smiled as I folded Callie's going home outfit and put it in the bag.  John and I had picked the cute black pants and ruffled pink top the day we found out we were having a girl.  That outfit was a must.  As for the rest, I let John take the lead.  I absolutely loved watching him take out every single outfit from her closet and hold it up...  grinning, ear to ear.  He would pick an outfit and I'd fold it up and put it in the bag, the perfect picture of a parenting team.  We laughed and smiled and wondered what Callie would look like.  That bag was stuffed full of pink happiness and dreams for the future...clothes, blankets, hats, bows, and baby socks.  Oh god, baby socks.  What is it about baby socks that brings me to my knees in grief?  

When we came home from that long drive from the hospital in our empty car, we knew all of the items that would greet us inside.  First, in the basement, there was the stack of baby books on the coffee table, the stroller and the exersaucer.  Up the stairs in the living room, there was the swing and the bouncer...the bassinet my father had used when he was a baby, my mom had dressed it all up in pink.  And on the top level, Callie's room and the pack-n-play set up in our bedroom to be used as another bassinet.  John had wanted it on his side of the bed so that he could pick Callie up when she cried and hand her to me to nurse in the middle of the night.

But her room was our first stop.  We wound up the stairs past all of the other baby things, straight for her room.  We opened the door to the green walls and pink curtains and shut it behind us.  Opening her closet, I looked right into the door organizer that held all of Callie's socks.  Those tiny socks broke my heart into a million pieces.  They symbolized the smallness and fragility that is a newborn infant.  The smell of the baby laundry detergent wafted over me as I wept.  None of those pairs of cute socks would ever be worn by our baby girl.  As we looked around the room at all the preparations we had made, I couldn't help but feel stupid.  I know I shouldn't feel stupid, but I did.  Looking at the little diaper caddies I had stuffed with diapers and wipes, I felt foolish.  I felt like an unknowing idiot preparing for something that was never meant to me.  I felt dumb for letting myself be so happy.  Like I said, I like to plan and I had tried to anticipate where would be the best place for every little item.  I had agonized over exactly how to organize her dresser.  I had put the nursing cover on the back of the rocking chair where I planned to nurse during the day.  The diaper creams were in the top drawer underneath her changing pad.  I'd even put her little whale bathtub and baby washing supplies in the guest bathroom, ready for her very first bath.  I'd thought of everything...except for this.

No one plans for this, the very worst outcome.  And here we were... in it.  Surrounded by empty things, empty arms, and empty hearts.  After coming out of Callie's nursery, we told our family to help clear up the baby items scattered around the house.  Every one of these items represented our broken hearts and dreams crushed.  When we emerged later, everything was taken out of sight.  It made me sad, but it helped us move around the house without crying.  Now, all of those things are shoved into our guest room and Callie's nursery.  Every time I pass by there, I think of all of the things inside.  Often, I go into Callie's room and sit in the rocking chair to think, cry, or write.  That's where I am now.  Sometimes we leave the door closed, sometimes open.  But where do we go from here?

At first, John and I had very different ideas of what to do.  I thought about storing Callie's things and making it into an office again...I wanted to acknowledge that she had left us.  John wanted to shut the door and open it back up again when we have another baby...it just made him too sad to imagine putting away her things.  Completely opposite ends of the spectrum and, therefore, a stalemate.  On thing that haunted me was Callie's clothing.  I kept thinking about the fact that we are not guaranteed to have another girl.  In fact, we're not guaranteed to have another baby.  NOTHING is a guarantee anymore.  If we have another girl, maybe she won't be born at the same time of year as Callie and none of these clothes will fit her.  The list went on and on with little thoughts like this that plagued me about Callie's belongings.  What do we do???

As time has passed, though, our feelings have changed and we have both migrated somewhere to the middle.  I don't want to take away everything and John is ready to start thinking about it more.  Talking with a colleague and good friend changed my outlook on things.  She asked me to imagine what I would be doing with Callie's things if she were still living and we were expecting her little brother or sister.  I hadn't thought of another baby as her brother or sister before.  Of course, so long as we are fortunate to conceive again, he or she WILL be her brother or sister.  Duh!  Now we look into Callie's nursery and think about how we would have handled things under different circumstances.  We wouldn't give away all of her clothes!  We'd save them in case we had another girl one day, even if another girl comes at a different time of year...hand-me-downs!  This way of thinking has helped, but it doesn't solve everything.  Some of Callie's clothes are just too emotional to pass down to another baby...what do we do with them?  Do we donate them to Children's Hospital?  After all, the cute yellow-striped outfit Callie wore had been donated to us.  It might be nice to do the same for someone else.  When we met with the genetic team last week, I had all intentions of doing just that.  But, when I opened that diaper bag, I was overcome by emotion and memories and I just couldn't bring myself to do it.  

Ultimately, we've decided to go very, VERY slow.  We ordered two bookshelves to put in our bedroom.  These shelves will help us display some books that were taking up space in another closet.  Clearing this closet will in turn help give us room to store some things like the swing and the bouncer and the stroller that are now cluttering up Callie's room.  After that, we are buying plastic bins to store Callie's clothes.  That part will be so, so hard.  But I know that is exactly what I would do if Callie had been living and had outgrown her clothes.  I'd put them away for a potential baby sister to wear one day.  After that, we have no idea.  We know that in the end, we want Callie's room to reflect both the fact that she was here and also acknowledge that she has left us.  

As much as the memories that surround this room cause me grief, I would not trade them for anything in the world.  As foolish as I had felt when we returned home to see all of the well-made plans we had laid for Callie, I now know that it wasn't stupid at all.  One can't go through life scared of what might happen.  I have to force myself to believe that sometimes, but I know it is true.  People who fear commitment, really fear getting hurt.  And that's what happened to us.  We got hurt...BIG TIME.  We allowed ourselves to be happy, blissfully happy and it bit us right in the behind.  John and I have some choices to make now.  Certainly Callie will affect those choices, but it is up to us in what way we let it happen.  Do we hold back, hesitate to commit to being happy for the fear that something will happen?  Or, do we live fully, without holding back for the hope that something wonderful is on the other side?  Right now, we are still working on it...but I believe that in the end, we will choose HOPE.  

Jeremiah 29:11  "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.

Not pregnant, just fat...

Nuh-uh.  No, she didn't.  


Yep, she did.  That stupid grocery store clerk just asked if I was pregnant.  I wanted to punch her face in.  I wanted to tell her she didn't look so hot herself.  I wanted to throw the super sharp santoku knives from aisle 12 straight into her stupid, little face.  But I didn't.  Yesterday, when she asked if I was pregnant, I said, "No," and ran away and cried.  


Damn her!  I had just gone for a long run with John and was commenting to him about how I was finally starting to feel a little better about myself.  It has been 7 weeks since Callie left us and although I don't look like my pre-pregnant self yet, I definitely look better than those first few postpartum days.  And just like that, with a quick, well-meaning question from that clerk, I was back to feeling like crap...CRAP!


I've been thinking about writing about this topic for weeks now, but just hadn't felt like it was the right time.  Well, baby, here I am...pissed off and ready to tell it how it is.  

Losing Callie was the hardest thing I have ever experienced in my whole life.  And preggo comments do not help...one bit.  It's already hard enough!!!  From the nice lady on the elevator at the Homestead who said "Babies first!", to the receptionist who took one look at my stomach and told me to let the masseuse know that I was expecting, to the nail lady who asked if I was having a baby and then laughed when I told her my baby died because she had no freaking clue what I was saying, I have been bombarded by cruel, cruel reminders of the empty void that is my stomach.  That place where Callie used to be is now a saggy, shell of itself and every time someone makes a thoughtless comment I am transported right back to my baby girl's death.  It makes me feel so ugly and sad.


Instead, I should feel proud.  That stomach was the house that sheltered Callie as she grew.  There is no greater miracle than that.  I grew a baby!  A precious life.  My stretch marks and C-section scar are my only physical reminders of the fact that Callie was here.  She was real.  I am a mother and she was my baby girl.  I can remember at the beginning of my pregnancy how I wished I could carry around a sign that said, "I'm not fat, I'm just pregnant!".  I would give anything for a sign now that said, "I'm not pregnant, just fat...so leave me alone!"  So now, with no baby in my Baby Bjorn to explain away my tummy, I am left defenseless to dumb people who mean well, but manage to single-handedly ruin my day, increase my grief, and leave me boiling mad.


When I first thought about writing this post a few weeks back, I thought I would try to give some helpful advice to other baby loss mommas who may encounter my blog looking for help.  I know that I found it so frustrating trying to find exercise advice articles online.  Just look at some of these samples:


"Sign up for a mommy-and-me exercise class."
"As exercise-related endorphins circulate in your system, boosting your mood and your ability to cope, you'll find yourself much better equipped to handle the stresses of new parenthood"
"Exercise is good for you, but in the first few months after you give birth, don't overdo it. Your body needs time to heal, and you need time to adjust to your new role and to care for and bond with your baby"


GAG ME!!!!!!  I wish I had a baby to do mommy-and-me classes with...these sources are full of baby talk landmines that you stumble upon as you try to navigate these weird postpartum days without your baby.  Once, I thought I had stumbled upon something good when I saw this site advertising a "real postpartum bodies" gallery where new mothers post pictures of their bellies.  I thought it would be like Dove's Campaign for Real Beauty.  NOT!!  It was just a gallery of women showing off their completely flat, non-stretch marked stomachs.  Who are these people?  Where do they live?  Can I please send them hate mail???


I am going to try to channel this anger into a positive place.  I am going to share my plan for myself here in the most public of places so that others who are walking in my shoes may benefit from knowing that they are not alone.  Not only that, I am going to post real postpartum pictures:

BOOM!  I DID IT!  That's me, 7 weeks postpartum.  Scarred tummy, weird textured skin, and stretch marks.  And I think it's beautiful.  Eat it skinny chicks!


Here it is...K's Plan for Looking Not Pregnant:


-Attitude:
  Remind yourself of these things every day:

• Your body did a beautiful thing:  It might not look beautiful to you right now, but it did a beautiful thing.  Be proud of that.  Some of you may feel like your body betrayed you because it was not able to hold your baby to term.  Just remember that your body created your baby.  He or she was beautiful.  Let your stomach be a physical reminder of his or her presence.  That is more than beautiful.  It is amazing.
• Take it slow:  You just had a baby (possibly major abdominal surgery, like me).  You can not go straight to the gym...even if you read that the celebrities do in People magazine.  They are wacked out, have millions of dollars, and chances are they are not very happy despite the fact that they have a beautiful new baby and fame and fortune.  You are normal.  You are human.  Humans have flaws.  Accept it and move on.  Ease into a routine gently.  
• It will get better:  The first 6-8 weeks suck because you don't feel good about yourself but there is not much you can do about it because you are supposed to be taking it easy.  On top of that, you are drowning in grief.  Just know that it will suck, acknowledge that, and move forward.  Do what you can:  walk, walk, walk and eat as healthy as possible without being a Nazi about it.  Right now, I am making sure that I am eating healthy when I am at home, but I let myself get whatever I want when I am out with friends.  When so much else seems out of your control, diet and exercise are the two things you can completely control.  I'm only 7 weeks out so I am in this phase right now.  Just fighting to stay positive and give what I can give.
• Be real:  It took 9 months to put it on.  Expecting it to come off in one month is totally unrealistic.  Be gentle on yourself.  I have to remind myself of this...a lot.

-Attire:
  As much as I would LOVE to hide behind a baggy shirt and sweatpants, it is just not a good look.  It's depressing.  And it makes me feel even more large and in charge than I really am.  After several not-very-fun shopping sessions, I have found some clothes that are working ok for me right now.
  Some good picks:

• Button-Downs:  Casual chambray button-down shirts can be worn a little loose and look great with jeans/capris and ballet flats!  Feels like wearing a baggy t-shirt but looks way nicer.
• Cute Tops:  Buy tops that have ruffled tiers, buttons down the front (esp. with nice darting that gives you shape), or interesting details.  They are forgiving in the tummy area.  

 

• Wear Layers:  Put a cute jacket or cardigan in a cool color over top of the cute tops to disguise your trouble spots

• Pants:  This is the hard part.  Wear your maternity pants as long as you need to!  I tried on regular jeans...not a fun experience right now.  The waist fit, but the butt was extremely saggy.  Currently, I'm wearing maternity jeans that have the under-belly waist as a compromise because they don't feel so maternity-ish as the full-panel kind.  No one will know if you wear a long tank top underneath your tops.  I do not feel like going out and buying all new pants yet.  That will be my reward for working hard :-)

Before: Taken 4 weeks postpartum... looking kind of preggo.  BOOM AGAIN!  THAT'S REAL!

After: Cardigan + button down makes me look smaller and un-preggo

-Eating & Working Out Plan
  I am the most unathletic person in the history of the world.  Me giving advice on this is like Snooki trying to play Jeopardy.  Totally not qualified.  But, this is the plan I created for myself.  Putting myself out here like this will hopefully help me stick with my resolutions and maybe help someone else looking for postpartum workout advice without all the baby talk.  Do what is best for you.


Exercise:
Weeks 1-2:  Lay in bed and cry.  It's ok.  Give yourself time to heal.
Weeks 3-6:  Walk-  going for long walks is healing because it gives you time to think and process your emotions.  My doctor said this was fine as long as I went slow and listened to my body.  Even if it's just around the block...at least it was something. 
Week 6-8 (after doctor's blessing)-Week 12:  

• Start "From the Couch to the 5K" program.  It uses interval training to increase your endurance.  I started after my 6 week postpartum checkup and I am now on week 2 :-)
• Do yoga/pilates at the gym or with a video.  Gentle strength training, and healing meditation at the same time... winning combo.

Week 13 & Beyond:

• Hit the gym hard!  Go to group classes at the gym like weight lifting, step aerobics, zumba, kickboxing, etc.
• Sign up for a 5K and train for it!

Diet:  Great resource for diet-  http://assets.babycenter.com/ims/Content/post_baby_diet.pdf
I like that it has portion size visuals :-)


Ok, ranting complete.  Writing this blog has really helped me so far in my grief journey.  I'm saying this because I didn't write this post looking for pity or sympathy.  I write to vent, to share, and to heal.  I'm not fishing for compliments here people...so don't even try it.  Please DO NOT comment on this post telling me how beautiful I am or how great I look.  I mean it.  Although that is very sweet, it will feel like a handout after writing about this topic and your words will be empty to me.  What you can do is send me an electronic hug, check in with me from time to time to see if I'm sticking with my plan, send me an inspiring quote that will help me kick ass at the gym, give me a good recommendation for a running playlist, or give me a witty comeback that will make the next person who tries to call me preggo want to run away and cry.  Ok, so maybe not run away and cry...that's mean.  But it will help me laugh about something sad and that is almost just as good.  

Callie's Garden

Just wanted to share a picture of Callie's garden today...  those yellow daffodils are a sign of spring and a reminder of my precious sunshine angel.  We are looking forward to giving her garden an upgrade soon :-)  I'll keep you posted!

Pay It Forward

Hi friends,

Today has me thinking of how much I want to "pay it forward" in Callie's memory.  There are so many moms out there who have lost their babies and do so many amazing things to help other moms who have experienced loss.  I received an amazing gift from a friend recently and learned about Project Heal.  The creator of this project writes the names of babies who have passed away in the sand on a gorgeous Australian beach at sunset.  Perfect for my sunshine angel!  She then photographs the name and posts it on her website.  The photos are also available for purchase.  Another friend I have recently reconnected with started a photography class for grieving mothers as a way for them to heal.  It is called Illuminate and I just signed up!  I can't wait to share my photographs with you :-)

I hope one day to be able to find my own way to give back like these amazing women ... but today, I have stumbled across one small way that I can help... a little boy and his family who need our support.  I first read about a little boy named Danny on the wonderful blog Musings of a Marfan Mom.  Danny was diagnosed with neonatal Marfan syndrome, just like Callie.  His mom writes about Danny's story here.  He and his family are from the UK and are trying to come to Chicago this summer to attend a conference on Marfan syndrome.  However, as I learned today, he is having to face surgery soon and Danny's medical expenses are quite large.  John and I will be using a portion of the funds we received from so many of you in Callie's memory to help Danny.  If you feel inclined, please consider making a contribution to this cause here.

Looking at Danny's beautiful long fingers reminds me of my sweet Callie.  I am so glad that Danny's mom, Sarah, has been able to have so much time with her precious baby boy.  Callie's life was cut so short and I wonder what life would have been like for her if her heart had not stopped beating right away.  I would give anything to know what her smile looked like.  If it is anything like this little guy, I'm sure it would have melted my heart.

xoxo

Blueprints

Driving to D.C. Children's Hospital yesterday was so much different than my first trip there.  On a wild ambulance ride, I had arrived there on a stretcher to be reunited with my husband and my sweet little girl, Callie.  I was filled with anxiety, fear, and physical pain from my C-section.  Yesterday was a completely different experience.  I felt pain, but this time it was emotional pain and a sense of dread as we neared the hospital.  We were on our way to meet with the genetics team that had analyzed Callie's chromosomes and determined that she had Neonatal Marfan Syndrome.

As we drove through the city, we passed a deep gaping hole where construction crews and cranes busily worked to build a new building.  I couldn't help but think of how that deep hole in the ground was much like the feeling of emptiness I had in my heart without Callie.  In the hospital for the first time since her death, I had to fight back the tears that welled up in my eyes. It brought back so many hard memories.  I was a bundle of nerves as we made our way to the genetics office.  When we got there, we were the only people in the waiting room without a child.  It just felt so wrong.  I couldn't help but wonder what brought the other people to this place.  Were they dealing with hardships too?  Were they scared like me?  After Callie, I will never look at people the same way again.  

After being called back, a member of the blur of doctors that assessed Callie sat down and explained her diagnosis to us.  She was kind and put things in a way that we could understand.  Thinking back to the construction scene we had driven by on our trip to the hospital, I couldn't help but think of the parallels between genetics and construction blueprints. I will try not to bore you, but here is how I understood it:

Just like blueprints are the plan for how a building is constructed, genes contain the plans for how we should be built.  They tell your body what "building materials" it needs in order to give you blue eyes instead of brown, or how short or tall you will be, for example.  The genes are stuck together in long strings called chromosomes.  Imagine stapling all of the blueprints for the individual rooms in a skyscraper together to form an overall construction plan for the building...that is like chromosomes.  We each should have 23 pairs of chromosomes, one set from mom and one set from dad.

The genetic counselor told us that there was a "misspelling" on Callie's 15th chromosome on the FNB1 gene.  She had some "insertions" and "deletions" that affected the gene's ability to create the protein fibrillin effectively.  So going back to the construction analogy, on one page of Callie's blueprints, someone left out crucial information (like a support beam or something!) and put in extra stuff that didn't belong.  That could really mess up the whole building!  When these happen on the 15th chromosome at that location, a person winds up having Marfan syndrome, a genetic disorder that affects a person's connective tissue.  Connective tissue holds your body together and helps control growth.  You can find connective tissue throughout your entire body, so the disorder affects many different systems.  People with Marfan Syndrome are often very tall with long limbs.  They also often have heart, vision, and/or skeletal issues.  The National Marfan Foundation's website is a great resource if you would like to learn more.

After researching Marfan Syndrome, we learned that many people with the disorder live full and healthy lives.  So why then, was Callie's life cut so dramatically short?  The genetic counselor explained to us that Callie's "misspelling" occurred in the "critical region" on the gene that can cause Marfans.  Most of the time this means that a child with this sort of misspelling will develop Marfans in its most severe form, where physical symptoms are glaringly obvious at birth, thus the term Neonatal Marfan Syndrome.  This explains Callie's long fingers, loose wrists, contracted joints, and heart valve issues among many other things.  The prognosis for Neonatal Marfan patients is very grim...  living only 1-2 years max due to the severity of the heart issues with these babies.  The doctor explained that to have a case as severe as Callie's is extremely rare.  According to her research, approximately 1/20,000 people have Marfan Syndrome and about 10% of those cases are Neonatal Marfans.  Someone want to try the math on that for me?  It might as well have been one-in-a-million in my mind.  

All I know, though, is that it is much more likely for us (or anyone for that matter!) to have a child born with a genetic disorder than actually hitting the lottery.  So why does no one talk about this?  Before having Callie, genetic disorders seemed like a distant thing that could never happen to me.  I did not give it a second thought.  And now we are those people...the ones that it happened to.  

We continued to grill the counselor with our burning questions.  How did this happen?  If this is genetic, do we have Marfan Syndrome too?  How will this affect future pregnancies?  She patiently answered each one of them.  About twenty-five percent of Marfan cases are the result of a 'de novo' mutation...essentially that means that they are spontaneous, not inherited from the parents.  Most neonatal cases are the spontaneous type.  She said that no one knows why these mutations occur.  They are a true mystery of life.  It is unlikely that John or I have Marfan syndrome since we show no physical symptoms, but the genetic counselor began the process for us to be tested just to rule it out.  As long as we come back negative, our chances of having another baby with Marfan syndrome are slim, but slightly higher than the average person since we have already experienced this mutation once before. We will have to have future pregnancies monitored very closely by a maternal fetal specialist.  

It felt good to have answers and it was reassuring to hear that it is unlikely that we will have to face this again, but it was so scary and hard to talk about our sweet little girl in such a scientific way.  Despite the error in her "blueprints", we think that Callie was a beautiful baby.  Unfortunately, the building that was her body was not built to last.  We are only left to wonder about God's architectural plans.  Life feels a bit like a demolition right about now.  But I suppose, if I put on my hard hat and stick to His plans, that through the ashes-  God will build something beautiful with this life I live.

Say Cheese!

There she was... right next to me in the grocery check-out aisle.  A sweet little baby girl, about 6 months old with dark hair and chocolate brown eyes, sitting in the front of her parents' shopping cart.  She was staring right at me, like she knew my secret grief.  I couldn't take my eyes off of her.  And then it happened...  


...she hiccuped, a sweet funny baby hiccup.  And I lost it.


I had been having such a good day.  The sun was shining.  Birds were chirping.  It was the kind of day that makes you feel so thankful to be alive.  I had gone to the grocery store without John, who was laid up in bed with a stomach bug.  It felt so good to make a grocery list and do something totally boring and normal.  For weeks now, our lives have felt anything BUT normal.  I zoomed through the aisles, humming to myself, picking up cans of chicken noodle soup for John, happy to be out in the real world and trying to pick up the pieces.  Until I saw her...


When that little girl hiccuped, I was instantly reminded of my Callie.  She hiccuped all the time in the womb.  And I loved it!  Every hiccup was a reminder of her living presence inside of me.  I would imagine what those hiccups would sound like when she was born.  There is just something so precious about baby hiccups, isn't there?  It is the cutest sound in the world... but, sadly, I will never hear my baby hiccup.  


I think often about how alive Callie felt to me when she was in the womb.  She kicked me, did somersaults, rolled around, and hiccuped over and over again.  I would poke her and she would poke me back.  When John would read to her at night she would become so active, like she was thrilled to hear her daddy's voice.  And then, when she was truly alive, born into this world, she suddenly looked and felt so lifeless.  She never opened her eyes or moved on her own accord.  Besides her first faint cry, she was silent.  How could she go from being so full of life before being born, to being alive but barely hanging on?


I often get sad thinking about how we only had such a short time with Callie.  She only lived for 35 hours...  but really she was "alive" for much longer than that.  To me, Callie's life began the moment we found out I was pregnant.  Every ultrasound was a private photo shoot of her precious body growing and forming inside of me.  I can still remember the ultrasound technician telling us that we were going to have our hands full because Callie was a wild child who would not sit still for a second.  I felt those first flutters of movement very early... at 16 weeks!  John took video of her rolling around in my belly and we laughed and laughed at how that looked from the outside.  


Now those videos are so special to me because they are tangible proof that Callie was alive.  Alive for much longer than 35 hours.  My body was a safe place for her.  She was warm and snug, and, judging from her acrobatics, very happy.  I totally understand now why Jessica Alba named her second baby girl Haven.  She was born with the amniotic sac still intact surrounding her at birth.  I thought it was such a weirdo movie star name at first.  But now, I totally get it.  The womb is a haven and it is our babies' first home.  Callie depended on me for survival and as soon as the cord was cut, in the harsh reality of that operating room, her heart stopped beating.  I feel proud that I kept her safe for so long, but so sad that I could do nothing to help her after birth.


I am so thankful that we have so many pictures of Callie.  The doctors and nurses gently nudged us to take them but I was scared to at first.  Everything was so frightening and I wasn't sure that I wanted to remember Callie that way.  But, oh I am so glad now that we did.  I can't tell you how many times I look at those photos to remember her sweet face.  The doctors had also mentioned an organization called Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep that provides free photography for parents who have lost their babies.  I wish so badly a photographer could have been available when we needed one, but unfortunately, it couldn't be arranged in the time that we had with Callie.  Another comfort to me is taking the time to look back at the pictures and videos we took of my growing baby bump.  They are just as much a part of Callie's life as the pictures that were taken after she was born. 


To those of you reading who have children, have a baby on the way, or you dream of having one some day... I encourage you to document your baby's life well.  And I'm not just talking about when your baby is born...  life starts long before that.  Take pictures of your belly growing even if you feel like a giant whale.  You don't have to post them on Facebook for the whole world to see.  Put them in a scrapbook...  your baby will love looking at pictures of him or herself in your tummy one day.  Take video of your stomach moving around with that wiggly baby inside of you.  If you are on your second or third baby and you are so busy with life that you don't take that many pictures any more... make a promise to yourself right now to bust out that camera and capture those wiggly tooth smiles, moments of bed head cuteness, or even teenage zits.  Despite the fact that Callie's pictures remind me of my greatest sadness, they also are my greatest joy.  There is true beauty in every moment... even the most painful ones.


 Life is short.  Say cheese!

A Bad Case of the Shoulds

Right now, I am suffering from a terrible case of the "shoulds".  What is that, you say? 


The Shoulds:  noun a condition in which an affected person continually fixates on all of the things one should be doing, but cannot do due to unchangeable circumstances.


I should be rocking a baby to sleep.  I should be taking her to doctors appointments.  I should be kissing her little toes and fingers.  I should be covered in spit-up and changing disgusting blow-out diapers.  I should be blissfully happy....  but I'm not.


Instead, I am alone.  No baby.  Silence.  Emptiness.  And it's not fair.  Seriously, even Snooki gets to have a baby?!?  A little meatball in the oven.  And I am sure that her baby will be born perfectly fine (and hopefully tan).  Why should she be so blessed and not us?  


For weeks, we have been trying to be patient as we waited for the results of Callie's genetic testing.  John and I both looked forward to finally getting some answers.  On Wednesday, we finally got the phone call we had been waiting and waiting for.  The genetics team at D.C. Children's called and told us that they confirmed that Callie had Neonatal Marfan Syndrome, a genetic disorder that affects the connective tissue in the body.  We will go on Tuesday to meet with the head genetics doctor to discuss Callie's diagnosis in more detail.


As John shared the details of his conversation, I waited for the feeling of relief that I had hoped would come with this phone call... relief at having an answer.  But, relief never came.


Instead, I was flooded with flashbacks and haunted memories from our short time with Callie.  I was consumed with images of her long, slender fingers and floppy wrists.  I relived the moment of her birth and the agony of not hearing her cry.  I was once again in the NICU, seeing her so pale and hooked up to all those tubes.  I fell deep into my grief and sorrow.


And I also felt afraid...  if Callie had Marfans, a genetic disorder, does one of us have it too?  Will we ever be able to have healthy babies?  I'm afraid of everything right now.  I can't stand it when John drives away for work.  What if he gets into an accident?  Our dog Lily was limping... What if she has cancer?  I know these fears are unlikely, but after losing our baby, I know that you can't say it won't happen... because it could.  It could!!!!!!!!!  

This week I am struggling to see the positive, the silver lining.  I know it is there... and I know I will find it again.  But grief is like that.  It steals your happiness and threatens to eat you alive.  When I am feeling the most downhearted, I get out our pictures of Callie and I find the one that I took trying to capture what it looked like to be lying right next to her, face-to-face.  I remember her little lips and chin, her baby smell.  I turn my head to the side when I am looking at it so that I can pretend I am curled up in bed next to her.  I talk to her and tell her how much I miss her.  And then I try to picture what she will look like in heaven when I see her again.  Will she look the same?  Will she be a baby or all grown up or somewhere in between?  My granddad wrote me a note after Callie passed away that said:


Dear Kristin & John:


  God has called Callie Marie home for repairs.  The next time we see her she will have a new body and so will we.  What a wonderful day that will be!


  Callie is one more of the great reasons that drive me to try to live the rest of my days on this, God's earth, so as to ensure being a part of the celebration.
  

  May God bless you and keep you, and may His presence be a comfort to you during this trying time.


Granddad "G"


His note brings me so much comfort and I carry it with me everywhere I go.  She will have a new body.  And life on earth should be celebrated.  I don't feel much like celebrating right now, but Granddad's message sparks me to fight for hope.  And it is a fight right now.  A deep struggle within myself...  and I know there are going to be plenty of days where all I can see is gloom & doom, despair, and self-pity.  But the spark of hope is always there and I will fight to be a part of this celebration we call life... for Callie.


Right now, life is all about putting one foot in front of the other and setting small goals for myself.  Today's goals: take a long walk, find things that I can be thankful for, and... stop watching the Jersey Shore.

I Will Carry You

It's been a hard few days...   and I have no words today.  This song says everything.  Every word is perfect.

The Yellow Balloon

So, if you read my last post, you heard about my 'sign'...  the Maggiano Angel.  I had prayed for a sign that Callie was in heaven and that God was real.  Our encounter that day left me feeling relieved and, although I was (and still am) extremely sad for our loss, I felt a sense of peace wash over me from that day forward.  But for John, well... John needed a sign too.  


The Monday before her memorial service, John and I laid Callie to rest.  We had wanted to do this privately instead of waiting for the memorial...it needed to be intimate and private...  just the two of us.  It was a cold and windy day, but despite the wintry chill in the air, the sun managed to shine down upon us.  I believe she was with us that blustery afternoon.  Our pastor led us to the garden outside our church where we had decided to bury Callie's ashes.  With us, we had brought a single yellow rose and a cheery yellow balloon to release at the end of the service.  The pastor said some beautiful words, but I don't think I heard much of it at all.  It seemed so very surreal to be burying our daughter, the one we had waited those nine long months for.  Nine months of dreaming and hoping and wishing for her future...  imagining what she would look like...  how we would say her name when she got in trouble...  kissing her boo-boos when she fell... dressing her up in girly outfits... and most of all, praying that she would grow into my best friend.  And now, as we stood in the garden, all we had left of those dreams was a rose and a yellow balloon.


After he was done, the pastor showed us the plant he had bought to serve as a marker for Callie's resting spot behind the cross.  It was a beautiful and thoughtful gesture.  I laid the rose on the cold earth and John released the yellow balloon.  We cried as we watched it drift upwards with the wind.  I hoped that it would reach heaven for Callie to see.  As the balloon grew smaller and smaller in the bright blue sky, my emotions rolled over me and I looked down at the ground, sobbing and trying to wipe my eyes.  When I looked back up, the balloon was gone and I was crushed with disappointment.  I had wanted to watch it drift away until the very last minute, but had been unable to.  And now it was gone... and so was Callie.  We spent the rest of the week preparing for her memorial service that Saturday and talking with friends and family who were coming into town to be there with us as we celebrated Callie's short, sweet life.


The day before Callie's service, John came bounding into the bathroom where I was showering and said, "You're never going to believe this."  And then he started his story...


John had been praying every night for a sign...  just like me, he wanted a sign from God too.  He needed to know that Callie was in heaven and that He was in control.  Each day since Callie's death, John had struggled with the "Why?" of it all.  Why would God do this to us?  Why should children have to get sick and die?  How could a kind and benevolent God do such things?  After the Maggiano angel, my faith had grown stronger, but his had wavered...he was angry at God, very angry.  It was eating him alive and threatening to destroy his faith.  He was so consumed with these thoughts that I began to worry that he would grow cynical and lose that warmth about him that I love so much.  Like me, Callie's death had shaken his faith and he begged God for a sign.  


And then it came...  


The previous day, as he was walking the dogs around the neighborhood, John had noticed a yellow balloon caught in the weeds just around the corner from our house.  He looked at it, and it reminded him of Callie's service, but he didn't really think anything of it.  He dismissed it quickly with so many other things crowding his mind at the time.  When you are grieving it is so hard to think of anything else but your all-consuming emotions.  But then, the next morning, as John took the dogs out, there sat the little yellow balloon...  right in front of our house.  Now, it had been quite windy the night before and for that yellow balloon to come all the way around the corner, just to land right outside of our home was no coincidence.  John rushed inside to show me the little shriveled up balloon and when he told me the story of how he had seen it the day before and then again that morning, I got chills all over!  Could it be the very same balloon that we had released earlier that week??  What are the chances that someone else accidentally let go of a single yellow balloon and that it would somehow land right outside our door?? 

The yellow balloon

No matter where that balloon came from, again we knew that it was no accident.  John needed a sign... a clear, unmistakable sign that God could hear him and was standing by his side.  And when John was too dense to see the sign the first time, He blew that little yellow balloon right smack in front of his face.  We chuckle to think that God was probably shaking his head and saying, "What more do you want from me, John?"  


Each and every single night of my pregnancy, John and I had both prayed for Callie to be born healthy and strong.  After her passing, we had struggled with the fact that God had completely ignored our prayers.  But after the Maggiano angel and the yellow balloon, we knew God could hear us just fine.  But then, why?  Why answer some prayers and not others?  Well, like Garth Brooks says it best, "Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers."  We have no idea why He chose Callie to be born with a genetic disorder and then to die 35 hours later.  But now by his signs, we do know that he is listening and that there is a greater plan in store for us.  Callie's short life has already caused a domino effect greater than we will ever know.  She has impacted our lives tremendously and taught us to treasure each moment and to love deeply and without reservation.  Many of you have shared how Callie's life has changed you... and you have no idea what that means to us.  It gives meaning, to the senseless... peace, where there was none...  hope, where once there was despair.  Sometimes we all are just a little too busy to take note of the little 'signs' that are all around us.  But they are there...  you just have to slow down and look.

Our Maggiano Angel

"There is, I am convinced, no picture that conveys, in all its dreadfulness, a vision of sorrow, despairing, remediless, supreme.  If I could paint such a picture, the canvas would show only a woman looking down at her empty arms."

From the book, Emma by Charlotte Bronte;  referenced in the book, Empty Arms by Sherokee Ilse

Empty arms...  Where once I held our little baby girl, my arms are now achingly heavy from the emptiness that is her absence.  The days after Callie passed away were a blur of friends and family trying to do their best to comfort us.  Slowly, though, the visitors trickled away, lingering at the doorway with looks of concern and a desperate hopeless feeling of wanting to do so much, but not being able to do a single thing to help us through our grief.  John and I were left alone.  


We wanted it that way.  Well, not really.  We were supposed to be busy taking care of our newborn daughter.  No sleep.  Smelly diapers.  Baby crying.  That is what we really wanted.  But, of course, that is not the hand that we were dealt.  Instead, we were alone...  and the house was so quiet.  We needed people to leave so that we could have time to think and talk and cry... cry like I really needed to.  The kind of crying that scares people.  And I just couldn't do that to my family and friends.  John held me as I wept and wailed, night after night after night... and he still does. 


During these moments, I started to question God.  Why?  


I have always been a bit of a doubting Thomas.  I can remember asking my preacher as a young child about where the dinosaurs fit into the creation story.  It just didn't make sense to me.  And could Jesus really walk on water?  The burning bush...  really?  C'mon!  No way!  My doubts grew to the point of disbelief as a teenager.  I desperately wanted to believe, and I went to church every single Sunday.  But, my practical mind just couldn't wrap my mind around God.  What I lacked was faith.  


Very slowly, faith snuck up on me.  I can't tell you exactly where or how or when, but I started to believe, "What if?"  and "I think it might be so".  Not exactly a foundation made out of stone, but it was better than no foundation at all.  I think this rekindling of faith was largely due to marrying John.  When we first started dating, John was... well, kind of a party boy.  Not exactly the kind of person, upon first meeting him, that you would think of as a church-going, God-fearing person.  But, like so many other things about him, appearances were not what they seemed.  I learned that John was deep and had an unshakable faith in God that was quiet and not in-your-face and I liked that.  He wasn't "holier than thou"...  he was (and is) a good person, who at the time, just liked to have a little of fun... and so did I.  We both have grown up a lot since then (no more late nights at Clarendon Grill) and John has taught me a lot about faith along the way.  It is one of the million reasons that I love him so much.


And then, fast-forward to our little Callie Marie.  Her birth and death shook what little bit of faith I had to its core.  A few weeks after Callie passed away, I was in a place of desperation.  They say that experiencing a death can build one's faith, or break it down completely.  And, I was teeter-tottering somewhere on the brink of breaking down.  One night, as I prayed, I laid it out there for God.  I told Him that I was having trouble believing.  I begged and pleaded with him for a sign.  A sign that Callie was safe in heaven with Him....  that heaven existed, that He was real.  


The next day was Valentine's Day.  John had planned a romantic date for us, following the tried-and-true dinner-and-a-movie formula.  With our emotions still so raw, we wanted to do something simple and easy.  When we were seated at our table at Maggiano's, we were quickly greeted by a large man with a smooth, jazzy voice.  He was at ease and casual and chatted with us about the movies in a friendly way.  He told us of his wife and how much they had both liked the latest Denzel Washington movie.  After taking our order, he walked away and John's phone rang.  It was the call we had both been dreading.  The funeral home was calling to arrange the pick-up of Callie's ashes.  This is the kind of stuff no one tells you about having to deal with after someone passes away.  John had trouble hearing the funeral director in the noisy restaurant, so he stepped away from the table to take the call.  


Shortly after John left, the waiter came back around to top off our glasses.  He looked at me and then looked back at the glass he was pouring and said, "I feel like we've been here together in this moment, you and I.  Exactly like this moment."  The way he said it gave me goosebumps and a lump in my stomach.  "Oh, like deja vu?," I said nervously.  "No, like so much more than that.  It's hard to explain, but it's like I was meant to see you today."  And he looked up at me and smiled...  a warm smile.  Not creepy.  I swear!  I know it sounds creepy, but it wasn't.  I mumbled something like, "Oh?" and laughed it off and the waiter smiled again and walked away.  I looked down at my goosebumps and tried to figure out why exactly I had been so nervous.  Immediately, I thought about my prayer and wondered if it had anything to do with the waiter's "deja vu" moment.  When John came back, I quickly put the encounter to the back of my mind as John shared with me the details of his phone call with the funeral home.  


We continued our dinner and tried to force our minds not to think of our little baby girl being cremated.  It was a struggle to make pleasant conversation, but we managed despite the fact that I had completely lost my appetite.  About ten minutes later, John's phone rang again.  It was the funeral home calling back to clarify something.  He apologized and walked away again so that he could hear.  Sitting alone, I must have looked so sad.  I looked around the room at all the happy couples who seemed to have no troubles in the world.  If they only knew what we were going through...


Once again, the waiter stopped by our table to refill my water.  This time, in a soft voice, he proceeded to tell me a lot of things about his faith and the peaceful feeling that his belief in God gives him.  Unprompted, unasked for.  I can't even remember everything he said because my heart was pounding so loudly...  I just recall his last words being, "It's like God is talking to me and I just have to share it."  I remember wondering why I was so nervous and realizing that it was because I actually thought he was an angel...a for real angel, messenger from God, sent down to answer my desperate prayer for a sign that He was real and that Callie was in heaven with Him.  I smiled and nodded, too stunned to say anything at all.  He walked away smiling and humming a little tune to himself.  I watched him as he served other couples, and it sure didn't seem like he was having this conversation with anyone else.


When John returned, this time, I filled him in on what had happened in his absence.  I realize now that he probably thought I was completely crazy, but at the time, I really didn't care.  God was there in that restaurant, restoring my faith.  Ok, was our waiter really an angel?  I don't know.  I mean, probably not, right?  People now a day just don't see angels...  And if you do see angels, you probably also see a shrink.  But, what if?  I am reminded of the many bible stories that involve angels and how most of them described the people that encountered them as trembling in fear.  I think I know that feeling... and I'd like to think that it was more awe, than fear.  I was frozen in awe that this really could be happening... that God really could answer a prayer.  So, this waiter probably had a few screws loose and was probably not a real angel...  but I do believe that it was no accident that he was put in our paths that day.  We had changed our original dinner reservations earlier that day on a whim.  This was no accident.  And I was filled with an overwhelming feeling of relief and sense of peace.  


When the waiter came around to give John our check, he asked if I was ok and told me that he was sorry and didn't want to freak me out.  "I just love to share God with others, "he said.  I told him that I wasn't freaked out at all (ok, maybe a little!), and that I appreciated him sharing his thoughts with me.  After he left, we turned the bill over and wrote him a message that went something like this:


"Two weeks ago, we lost our baby girl.  I prayed to God last night for a sign that she was safe up in heaven with Him.  We do not think it was an accident that you were our waiter today.  Thank you so much for sharing your message with me today.  My prayer was answered thanks to you.  You will forever be our Maggiano Angel."


Sometimes, I wonder what happened when he saw that message.  We left without waiting for his reaction because we didn't really feel like talking about it.  I can picture him opening it up slowly and smiling that warm smile and shaking his head at the curious ways of the Lord.  Somehow, I think he wasn't surprised...  not surprised at all.  

Our Sunshine Angel

I think sunshine is Callie's "thing". It all started before she was even born.  John and I were so in sync when it came to boys' names. But, girls?  We were worlds apart.  Since both my husband and I work in education, we had long lists of "DO NOT NAME"s that were automatically thrown out of contention.  I rejected all of his names and he rejected all of mine.  This went on for so long that I thought we may never find a name.   One night, however, as we enjoyed a nice pasta meal John said, "How about Callie?"  And, the named warmed me up inside and made me smile.  I told him that I liked it and that was it... we tacked on Marie (John's mother's middle name) and we had a name!  Well, sort of...

I am as wishy-washy as they come.   So, naturally, I went back and forth with the name Callie.   It's a big decision after all!   I thought of every kind of mean thing a stupid bully could turn her name into.  There was "Callie-flower" like cauliflower and, of course, "calamari" if you combined her first and middle names.   Not terrible, but still, I wanted a name that was bully-proof and that spoke to the kind of little girl I wanted her to become.  Sweet, kind, and full of All-American goodness.  Was the name Callie all of those things?  I wasn't sure.

And then one day, when I was feeling particularly wishy-washy, a song came on the radio on my way to work that settled it once and for all.  The song was "Brighter Than the Sun" by Colbie Caillat.  It's the kind of song that instantly puts you in a good mood.  The sun was rising, my radio was turned way up loud, and I sang like I was a contestant on American Idol.  And it was then that I knew Callie was the name for our sweet little baby girl.  It was all sunshine and happiness and that was the perfect name for the perfect girl.

Of course, this is not the only reason sunshine is Callie's "thing".  First, there was the sunshiny yellow-striped sweater that I wore on the day I went into labor.  And later, on the day Callie passed away, we dressed her up in a onesie that looked an awful lot like that sweater... we matched!  Callie's song even before she was born was "You Are My Sunshine" and we sang it to her as a lullaby as we laid her down for her eternal resting place in heaven.   I shared my feelings with John the day we left the hospital that, in my mind, sunshine was going to be a symbol for Callie... but I didn't share that with anyone else, and neither did he.

A few days after we returned home and the news of Callie's passing had spread, I received this message from a good friend:

"I weep and weep for your sweet Callie. I hope in time the peace of knowing she is with Jesus comforts you both. I didn't get to meet her on this earth but I met her this morning on my walk. The wind is bitter and cold but I was warmed by the shine of the sun. I know that warmth is Callie smiling on us today. Go out for just a moment today and FEEL the warmth your kind daughter is giving everyone today who mourns her."

Whoa, crazy!  Another connection to sunshine!  And then a few days later, a good friend/coworker of mine brought me some sweet homemade sympathy cards from my first grade students. Seeing their cute kid-writing warmed my heart and brought me to tears. And as I was going through the pile, this little sunshine fell onto my lap:

Even crazier! No one had told this little boy that sunshine was Callie's "thing", but somehow he had known just the right thing to create to comfort me. Knowing this student and his kind heart makes this gesture even more sweet.

And then, the final sunshiny sign, came after we buried Callie's ashes a few days prior to her memorial service.   We laid Callie to rest behind the cross built in our church's prayer garden.   Later the next day, our pastor informed us that the yellow daffodils near the entrance to the church had blossomed.  He dug them up and transferred them to the prayer garden where their sunny presence could mark Callie's final resting place.  We felt like those flowers pushing up through the cold, dark earth during this late winter month were a symbol of the rebirth Callie was experiencing in her new life in heaven.

Because of these reasons, we asked everyone to wear yellow for Callie's memorial service.   The last thing we wanted was for everyone to wear black... too dreary and dark.  Callie's memorial was meant to be a positive and uplifting celebration.  I cannot even put into words how wonderful it was to look out across the church sanctuary and find a sea of yellow brightening the space.   It was cheery and beautiful and I think it was the perfect touch to help us focus on the celebration of Callie's life and everything we learned from her. She will forever be our Sunshine Angel.