I say this. And I mean it.

I went to visit Peyton on Thanksgiving morning. I had to deliver a set of handprint turkeys to her from her brother and sister, and with the twins down for a nap, and Hubs home making mashed potatoes, it was a rare opportunity to get up and spend some quiet time with my girl.

Her hill is just as serene as it's always been. Just me, and Peyton, and the squirrels rustling through the leaves, and a very faint hush of traffic off in the distance, and sunlight working its way through gray clouds. It was, like my girl, pure beauty.

I sang Peyton the songs I always sing her. Smile, You Are My Sunshine, Smile Awhile. I even added the Mr. Turkey song that C, the daughter of our closest friends, taught me.

Mr. Turkey. 

Mr. Turkey.

Big and fat. 

Big and fat.

I'mma gonna eat you. 

I'mma gonna eat you.

Just like that. 

Just like that.

C was born just a few months before Peyton. It's hard to believe, watching C now, what Peyton would be doing if she were still with us. Singing songs about Mr. Turkey that she learned at preschool. Playing dress-up with her friends. I walk the line, between remembering Peyton as she was, and imagining her as she would now be. I suppose we all do, don't we?

I filled Peyton in on all the happenings in our life. My mother's upcoming surgery. Our continued job search. Our plans with family for the day. I cleaned off her headstone, wiped the dust from her picture, gave her kisses and said the rosary, and then, as I always do, ended our visit by turning back to blow her a kiss and say:

"Thank you for all of the blessings you have brought into our lives."

I say this. And I mean it.

I am thankful.

I am thankful to Peyton for the little messages and signs; the way she pushes the boundaries of separate universes, planes, and times to bring me comfort in the knowledge that there is something bigger than me outside of this life.

I am thankful that because of her, I love more, and know how important it is to let those that I appreciate know just how much.

I am thankful for the community of strong, powerful women (and men) that she has introduced me to, whose grace, resilience, and compassion inspire me every day.

I am thankful for those who are earlier on in their journey, who reach out to me and afford me the opportunity to be a listening ear, to be able to say (and know and believe) "Things will get better. There is joy ahead for you."  Because I have been where they are, and I have survived it.

I am thankful, even, for the hardships, and the lessons I have learned. That there is no point in living if you are not loving fully. There is no point in being human, without reaching out through bonds to your fellow man.

I am thankful for the depth that Peyton has instilled in my life. The way she has taught me how little "things" matter, and just how much people do.

I am thankful that in her short little life, she loved me despite my weaknesses. She let me show my emotion and my pain, and still cuddled up to my chest to reaffirm what I meant to her.

I am thankful to Peyton for inspiring me to start writing, and for teaching me that the time to write is now, not someday.

I am thankful to Peyton for the role she plays in keeping her father and I together, when statistically, child loss and infertility can easily rip apart even the strongest couple. And I am thankful for the hand that I know she played in bringing her siblings into this world, healthy and whole. Without Peyton, our twins wouldn't be here. Some people struggle with that, but I accept it now for what it is--a gift.

I am thankful for the way that a falling leaf now represents so much, the way that rays of sunlight through dark clouds feel like a hug, and a flickering of the lights is a special hello.

I am thankful in knowing that I owe the best, and closest, relationships of my life to Peyton. She showed me who to let in, who to let slip away, and most importantly to truly appreciate those who love her as much as I do.

I am thankful for the lesson that life is too short to spend being miserable or surrounded by the wrong people, even if it took me millions of tears to get to this realization, and the freedom that comes (when I let it) in realizing that most things are out of my control. Peyton's too-brief life, and the change she affected over the course of it, taught me that most hurdles in life can be overcome with the love of good friends, a smile, and a (sometimes twisted) sense of humor.

Mostly I am thankful that I have always felt her with me. From the depths of despair, to feeling the sunshine on my face, and everywhere in between. Love never dies, and some bonds can never be broken.

I am thankful for all the blessings that loving and losing Peyton has brought into my life...

How could I not be?

Hope

I've never gone this long without blogging.
I don't know if it is the time of year, a bout with the stomach flu, dealing with Bubba's allergy, or all of the above, but I find so many posts floating through my head these days, and so little time to sit and write them.

I hope the holidays are being kind to you all. I know that for the ALI community in particular, this time of year can feel especially cruel. A reminder of all we should have, that we don't. A big giant slap in the face from the universe.

I recently ordered the book of this, we will not speak, by the incredibly talented Angie M. Yingst (fellow blogger, BLM, and all around cool chickie) and she wrote something in one of her poems that really, really struck a chord with me.

She said:
"Though we have lost a petal, we are still flowers
lush and full together, in a garden of hope."

Hope.

Even when it feels like there is nothing left in this world worth living for, there is still some measure of hope to be found. Sometimes it is just out of sight, tucked away behind all of your troubles, but hope is there nonetheless, whispering that you can move forward. That things can get better.

When I lost Peyton, this community gave me hope in the knowledge that I didn't have to go through this alone.

When I lost my fertility, this community gave me the hope that I had other options to build my family.

When I started bleeding, and was told to prepare to miscarry my twins, I found hope in the words of comfort and encouragement that came my way. That same hope carried me through nearly seven months of bedrest.

Hope - from all of you.

So now here I stand, on the other side.
I have two healthy children here with me, and though we are missing their big sister (we always, always will) this holiday once again feels joyful.

There were more reasons than I can count (or recall now) beating me down with the message that things were hopeless, but each morning I am greeted with two smiling faces who remind me that even though it felt like it at times, hope was never lost.

There is always hope.

That is my message to all of you reading this. No matter where you are in life, no matter how things feel, or seem, regardless of what you are now facing, there is always hope that things can get better. If not this Christmas, maybe next.

Sending love, light, and above all, hope, to my sisters (and brothers) in loss this holiday season.

****

I am participating in this year's 25 Days of Giveaways blog hop. Be sure to check back on 12/23.

"What Is" - A different kind of Christmas

Three years ago, on Christmas Eve 2007, I first learned that I was pregnant with Peyton. Ecstatic, I came bounding up the stairs, test in hand, to show hubs the result, and had shaken the thing so violently in my excitement that it had cleared the screen. "Look" I screamed, shoving the stick into his face. Hubs, not yet ready to greet the day, peered with one eye at what I was holding and said, "What am I looking at? It's blank." I ran back downstairs, chugged a glass of water, and tested again, this time tip toeing my way back up to him. This test had confirmed what the first had told me - our life was about to change - we were going to have a baby. We announced our pregnancy with Peyton to my family that night, while seated at Christmas Eve dinner.

Two years ago, on Christmas Eve 2008, we spent the holiday grieving our daughter. Peyton had passed less than two months prior, and most things about that year are a blur. I remember not wanting to remember. I remember staring at the tree, and the gifts, and feeling miserable. My family, not really knowing what to do with us that Christmas, did their best to help us get through it. We poured some strong drinks to forget, and sang a lot of terrible karaoke. We have never sang karaoke on Christmas before - my family is more the traditional read out of the bible and sing Christmas Carols type. At certain points during the night I escaped up the stairs to a bedroom or a bathroom and I cried and cried because my child was dead. My body, still swollen from carrying her, was a reminder of all that was missing that Christmas. It felt impossible to survive. We went to mass that night and sat in the front row. People all around me sang "Joy to the World," and praised the birth of Jesus. I sat, hovered over the pew, and sobbed. I couldn't care who saw me that Christmas. I couldn't care if my tears on this joyous occasion were hard for them. My daughter was dead and I was in a service proclaiming and celebrating the birth of a child. That Christmas I fell to depths that didn't feel possible to break free of.

Last year on Christmas Eve 2009, hubs and I again spent the holiday with my family. We had been trying since July/August for another baby without success. My OB kept telling me my infertility was my own fault - that the depth of my grief made conceiving impossible. We attended an earlier mass last year, a children's mass. If you are having trouble TTC and grieving the loss of your child, attending the children's mass at Christmas is about as joyful as sticking a poker into your eye. My nephew Dylan, just a month old at the time (and already old enough to have outlived his cousin) was swaddled across my sister's chest. I remember leaning into hub's ear at that mass, pointing to Dylan and saying, "by this time next year let's have one of those. Let's really do this." I believed that since my doctor told me that our infertility was my fault, there had to be a way for me to fix it. I believed that I could give this beautiful gift of a child to my husband. Hubs smiled, and squeezed my hand three times, the way he always does to say "I love you," and a glimmer of hope returned to our hearts. Four days later, as I lay alone on a cold steel table in the hospital, a doctor told me that my tubes had been destroyed by my c-section and I would never again conceive on my own. That pledge that I had made "to have one of those by this time next year," was no longer a possibility. We were devastated.

Christmas Eve 2010 is fast approaching. I have spent much of this month sort of ignorant to how quickly it would be upon us. Bed rest makes that easy. I don't have a TV in my room so I haven't seen the Christmas movies and Holiday Special lineup that usually take over this time of year. Outside we have a slight layer of snow, but nothing that screams "It's the end of December. Get ready!" We haven't even put up a tree. It seemed a terrible waste of time, since no one would be downstairs to enjoy it. Our shopping is done, but has been for some time now, since I started doing it online the first month of my rest. I am not even sure that I will be allowed to attend mass this year. Nothing about this Christmas feels familiar, and maybe that is a good thing, because to feel familiar would mean it would be reminiscent of the last three Christmases, and those are days I would like to put out of my mind altogether.

I am hoping that this year I feel at peace, and can feel Peyton's presence with me. She is mentioned to us less and less, even by those that we know love and miss her, and I hate that. Sometimes I think people think that in mentioning her to us they are reminding us of something, but what they don't get is that we always miss her, and always will. Not mentioning Peyton just makes us feel more alone in that. Her absence makes her no less our child. Just as these Snowflakes are so loved and so wanted, so our first sweet daughter always will be.

I guess this is the start of a different kind of Christmas. One that I never could have expected for myself, or planned on. This is the start of walking the line. I feel such joy and gratitude at the impending births of these little ones, and at the same time feel such sadness at what can never be with Peyton, and I think it will just always be like that. Time can pass. Our lives can experience many blessings. The holidays can be joyous once again, but the fact of the matter is that she will always be gone, and we will always miss her. I think if I spend my life waiting to feel better about that, or others spend theirs waiting for us to "move on," there will just be a lot of disappointment.

Life without all of your children present is what it is.

I have been thinking about how different this Christmas would feel, were Peyton here to experience it. I imagine how excited she would be, because this year she would really "get it" for the first time. I go down that road sometimes, because it is so easy to get caught up in the "what could have been," but I have come to realize that to survive this, we have to shift our focus to "what is."

For me, "what is" is my belief that Peyton's soul did not cease existing the day she passed. I don't know how it could have with all the messages and signs of comfort that she has brought to us and those we love since she left this world.

For me, "what is" is a belief in the possibility that just as I am imagining what Peyton would be doing were she alive - twirling and playing in the snow, looking up in awe at the lights and the tree, she is somewhere, some place far beyond my realm of human understanding doing just these things.

For me, "what is" is a belief that just as I feel the warmth and reassurance of Peyton's love ever present within me, she too is warmed by the love of a mother and father who have never let her wander far from their thoughts or their hearts, and never will.

For me, "what is" is a belief that though we have been met with heartache after heartache in our quest to have a child, there is a possibility, and a very good one at that, that our little Snowflakes will be here in a few months time, healthy and happy.

For me, this Christmas has to be about "what is," because it is only in accepting "what is" that I can find some peace with it.

This song is for you my sweet little Peyton.
(be sure to pause the player in the right toolbar before hitting play on this video)

On Blessings and Gratitude This Thanksgiving

I am blessed to share my life and love with an amazing husband...

who is also my best friend...

and an incredible father.

 I am blessed to know what no one else in this world knows - 

what it is to be this little girl's mother.

I know how it felt to be looked at with those sparkly blue eyes...

and the warmth that came in holding 

her close and being the recipient of her unguarded love.

As well as the great gift that comes with feeling her all around me, 

even though she has gone.

I am blessed to have the the loyalty and love

of a very special pup who came along at just the right time,

and has done wonders to bring healing into my heart.

This Thanksgiving I feel especially blessed and grateful

that what we were once told was impossible has come to be,

and a renewed sense of hope and promise has re-entered our lives.

Baby A - Boy

Baby B - girl

And then there is the unyielding support of my friends, family, and this community who have celebrated with us in triumph, and stood arm and arm with us in our sorrow. There are no words for what this has meant to me.

When you live on this side of the loss and infertility universe, and trudge through your days in that old pair of shoes that we never imagined ourselves wearing, it is so easy to focus only on what is missing. 

No one is more guilty of this than me. 

But there are blessings.

Even in the moments along this journey where the road seems too hard, and the future feels full of impossibilities, there are always blessings to be felt and found. If last Thanksgiving I could have seen what this Thanksgiving would hold, I never would have been able to believe it. Joy felt impossible.

But this year, despite the unending grief and sense of loss that I will always feel for Peyton, and despite the high risk nature of my pregnancy with the Snowflakes, and the bedrest, and the health issues, I can't help but to feel truly blessed.

And that is my wish for each and every one of you - a day where your heart feels full of blessings and peace. And if tomorrow that still feels impossible - hold out hope. There is no telling what seemingly impossible things the days between this Thanksgiving and the next will bring. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

I'm still here...

So I think this is the longest I have ever gone without a post. I have so much to write, so much to say. The babies are doing great. I am feeling good just tired - and while I would love to blame it all on pregnancy fatigue, I know the looming date of Peyton's birthday on the calendar has it's hand in my mental exhaustion as well.

I remember being so touched last year at this time by a post by Cara at Building Heavenly Bridges where she wrote:

"I can feel the hollowness reattaching itself to me.
I can sense sadness nearby readying its attack..
I can smell memory beginning its annual journey to possess me."

Her post talked about how Grief Season comes for us, even when we don't go searching for it, and how year after year, though we wish it would, it doesn't get any easier. It was an amazing post that has always stuck with me.

Grief season hit me last week, as Peyton's due date approached, and a rush of emotions came with such force out of the blue that I felt thrown back to those early days. It was an ugly scene. Me, wrestling desperately with a guilt that I thought I had put to bed, and the time of year taunting each memory that I wish I could forget, back into my mind.

I think there is no avoiding Grief Season. Even if I banished every calendar from my home- my mind, body, and heart would feel the days coming to be: her due date, her birth date, the day she started chemo, the day the infection was discovered, the day we said goodbye, the day of her funeral. Each of these hits me with the unrelenting reality: Peyton is gone. She was destined to it before she was born. She is never coming back. Even though we wish it weren't the case, there are no guarantees in this life, and sometimes it is just so cruel.

I am trying to find balance over these next weeks and months. Next Saturday we will attempt to honor what should have been Peyton's 2nd birthday, knowing all the while that anything we try will just somehow fall short.

I am hoping to find a way to breathe through this season. I have so much to feel grateful for this year, so much love and beauty in my life right now - two amazing, miraculous blessings.

But at the end of the day it is not I who chooses how that day will feel. It is my heart, and the memories of all that she was and should have been, and try as I might, wearing a smile through the reminders of such a huge loss is hard.

She is my daughter. Always will be my daughter. And I miss her.

"Blissfully" pregnant or not, there is just no way to sugarcoat that.

Memorial Day

The town over from us has a Memorial Day Parade.

It's a small town.

Quaint.

It's home to a candy shop, restaurants, riverfront trails, and a green field on a hill made fertile by my child, and my tears.

We sit on a stoop with Charlotte the wonder dog, who barks at everything, and nothing, just because she can.

A young couple with a dog, we blend into the background here.

The high school band sends a rush of excitement through the waiting crowd with their beating drums.

People rise to their feet.

It is at this very moment that I see her.

Young, and waddling, and so much the way I imagine my own child would be.
The way she should be.

She struggles to navigate a stoop.
Waves a small flag.
Smiles and claps awkwardly.

"Do you see her?" I ask. "That's what Peyton would be doing. That's how old she would be now."

Silence.

Why is there always silence?

She is our daughter, I shouldn't have to whisper her name into the wind.

Flags round the corner and the little girl laughs at a pug, then cheers for the veterans - the Lion's club - the firemen, all the while clinging to her mother's leg.

Would Peyton do that?

Would she reach for the security of her mommy at this age?

"Mommy." I whisper.
I never even got to hear her say it.

I repeat the word to myself.
About myself.
It feels foreign and untrue.

I watch in envy, desperately wanting to return to the normalcy that surrounds this family.

I am hurt.
I feel robbed.
What happened to my life?

We wanted her.
We were ready.
We should be here, watching our daughter wave a flag.

A familiar heat rushes to my eyes.

I feel the tears coming.
And the lonliness.
And the anger.

My child is gone.
I am infertile.
My life is ruined.

Hundreds of faces are smiling around me, and I am fighting the urge to cry.

How can they smile when a dead baby, my dead baby, lies buried not even a half a mile from here?

Do they even know this type of heartache exists in their quaint town?

The band passes, their tap, tap, tap falling off as they march into the distance.

The crowds disperse and I am left in silence, reality laying a heavy boot across my throat.

My child doesn't dance in the street.

She doesn't wave a flag.
Or pet a pug.
Or smile.

My child has died.
And with her, so has my chance at normalcy.

A bumpy ride but...They're In!

Sorry for the bit of a delay, this last few days has not gone quite as smoothly as I was hoping, and I haven't had the energy to write.

We got the fertilization report on Friday afternoon. 15 eggs were retrieved, 10 fertilized and of that 10, 6 were considered good quality (3/4 on the grading scale) by Sunday's transfer. 2 were set aside for implantation, 4 frozen, and 3 more are going to be allowed to go to day 5 to see if they reach a freeze-able state. Of the 10 fertilized, only 1 didn't make it.

I have been suffering from a great deal of cramping since Thursday's retrieval. My ovaries have grown very, very large (because of the hyperstimulation) to the point where I can feel them if I put my hand on my stomach. The discomfort before the transfer was sort of like a strong tugging type cramping, what came after was so much more than that.

I went in yesterday for the transfer with a full bladder as instructed. I was given the option of taking a Valium, and decided against it (though I later regretted it) and was changed into a gown and seated in a waiting area where we got to see a cute little picture of the two nine-cell embryos to be transferred. Hubs and I have dubbed them Emma and Emelio the Embryos. We said our goodbyes at the door, and I was taken into the operating/procedure room for the transfer.

They put me on an inclined table (butt above head) and inserted a catheter through which the little embryos were delivered to my uterus. This part wasn't really bad at all, except for the very full bladder which the nurse described as "huge" as she pushed on it with the ultrasound wand.

After the transfer, I had to remain on the inclined table for a half hour. About 5 minutes into it, what I thought was just my really full bladder started bothering me. I tried to meditate, and do breathing exercises, but it wasn't working. By 15 minutes I was in agony, and at 25 minutes they took me off the table. I asked if it was going to be a problem, letting me off 5 minutes early, and the nurse assured me that it wouldn't. I sort of hobbled over to the bathroom, hoping that by emptying my bladder I would feel relief, but even after going, I was in agony. It was like stabbing pains from my hips to my neck, and it seemed to be getting worse and worse by the moment.

The nurses assured me that this level of cramping was normal for someone with such hyperstimulated ovaries, and released me. They advised me to take Extra Strength Tylenol for the pain. Hubs got me in the car, drove to the nearest gas station, and bought me some rapid release Extra Strength Tylenol, which I couldn't get into my body fast enough, but relief just wasn't there.

Honestly, what I felt in that next hour was worse than the height of my labor pains with Peyton, and those were pretty awful (I had been induced with Pitocin and labored for 11 hours) but they at least came and went with contractions. This pain was non stop. Every bump in the road was like a knife going into me. One second into my abdomen, the next into my ovaries, the next into my chest. It was unbearable. I considered having Hubs turn the car around to take me back to the hospital, but the prospect of spending anymore time on the bumpy roads than I already had, was more than I could handle.

It felt as if all the laying inclined back the way I had after the transfer had pushed all the fluid of my whole body into my stomach and chest, and my ovaries were just throbbing. I really cannot emphasize how much pain I was feeling. Breathing made my shoulders hurt. I just had pain everywhere.

I usually have a fairly high tolerance for pain. Even after having just had a c-section with Peyton, I was able to work through the pain the next day to stand at her bedside for hours. Yesterday's pain was too much. It was unbearable and left me too exhausted to even cry. It was like I wanted to cry, I could feel that heat in my eyes, but all of my energy was being used to just keep breathing.

When he got me home, and on the couch, Hubs called the hospital from where we had just come, and spoke with the doctor on call. He explained that I was in a great deal of pain, and asked what I could do for it. She told him more Tylenol. He asked if a heating pad would be okay, and she said she didn't think it would help, but might "comfort" me, so it was okay to do. I hugged the pad, and for the most part placed it up high on my stomach near my ribs, because that was where I had the most pain, just praying that it would help the pain to subside a bit.

20 minutes of heat, and four extra strength Tylenol later, I could breathe again. Of course then I made the mistake of reading about heat and pregnancy (all bad of course) and I spent the next hour worrying that maybe I had screwed something up for the baby(ies) by using the heating pad. Sometimes I feel like no matter what I do I am doomed to somehow screw up any baby I carry... is that a loss thing?

The rest of the night went okay, except for my Progesterone shot, which really hurt like hell. I don't know if it was because of all that happened to my body that day, but it was the most painful of the Progesterone shots so far (this is day 3).

For the remainder of the night I took the Tylenol religiously, and even slept through the night (though I did have this really trippy dream about being a doctor and telling a patient that their child was going to turn into a carrot... don't ask. Must be the hormones.) Today I woke up feeling crampy again, but not as bad as yesterday. The doctor told me that the worst of my Ovarian Hyper Stimulation Syndrome symptoms should subside over the next week.

So hopefully little Emma and Emelio the Embryos will find my body a comfy place to be, and set up residence. It was really cool watching them go in. They were like two tiny white dots. I asked the RE why I could see them, when they are only the size of the head of a pin right now, and he told me that what I was seeing was the fluid they are in. I watched them sit against the side of my uterus, and said a little prayer to Peyton to please watch over these babies, and keep them healthy.

Before the transfer, all felt right in the world. It was as if the signs were coming in all around me. Yesterday at mass, the priest gave a homily about Easter being a time of "renewal and new life" and I thought, how fitting, that on a day that signifies new life, these two precious little embryos would be placed inside me. Then, before heading out for the transfer, I read an email from a beautiful friend who wrote:

We just watched "It's the Easter Beagle, Charlie Brown" to get us in the Easter spirit -- goofy, I know-- and there was a line, "spring is a time of renewal" that made me think of you. :) I think it's really awesome how the IVF lines up with Easter, being a time of rebirth and all.... hope this is the beginning of an incredibly bright future! 

So here is to Easter, and Spring, and renewal and rebirth. Here is to Emma and Emelio, who I pray 11 days from now, will be two beautiful little lines on a pregnancy test. If at the end of this all, I have my healthy rainbow baby(ies) to take home, there is no amount of cramping and pain that wouldn't be worth it.

Happy Valentines Day.

Thank you so much to Bir at All The Little Ponies for this beautiful gift.


****
Peyton got another Valentine!

This time from Jenn over at The Blue Sparrow. Thank you so much Jenn!

On a new decade...thoughts on turning 30

Today is my last day as a twenty something.

I remember when I turned 26, lying in bed and crying that I was closer to thirty than twenty. When I think of that now, it makes me want to roll my eyes at the old me.

Most 29 year olds would probably be sorry to see the big 3-0 looming, but honestly, Good Riddance! Scram! Get Lost! (Yes, I did just tell my twenties to scram. See, I am sounding older by the second.)

To be fair to my twenties, the first 7 years of this decade were wonderful to me. I met and married my hubby, gained a new family in my in-laws, bought a home, settled in nicely to a good career, had two nieces come into this world, and welcomed another into my heart, made amazing new friends, and strengthened the bond with old ones. At twenty seven, the world was my oyster and life seemed ready for the taking. I had no idea what was coming. Believe me when I say, ignorance was bliss!

The last few years of this decade... well, you know that story, and if you don't, here is the Reader's Digest version: miscarriage, birth of first child, loss of first child to leukemia, loss of sense of self, depression, discovery of infertility, Happy New Year!

Really, if you want more details about that you will have to click that little previous posts link on the sidebar and catch up, because it's a little too much of a downer for me to rehash on my birthday post.

Tomorrow brings a new chapter to my life, and I am starting that chapter from a place I could never have imagined standing. When I was crying in my bed as a twenty six year old, I thought for sure I would have my children by now. I didn't know about this place, where perfectly healthy mommas in secure, loving homes, do all they can to bring perfectly healthy babies into this world, but go on to lose them anyway. No I didn't know about this place. Not really. Not in a way that did it any justice.

When I was younger I planned everything out, a 2 year plan, a 5 year plan, a 10 year plan. A big part of that plan was to have all of my kids before I hit this thirty year mark. Making this plan, was in itself a silly plan, with even sillier reasoning behind it. I always thought I want to be a young mom so that I can relate to my kids. Or If I have them young, my body will bounce right back! Or my favorite, As long as I have them young, they will be healthy and normal.

Thinking back on it, I don't know if I was an idiot, or naive, or both.

If these last few years have taught me anything, it is that you never know what the next day has in store for you, or which direction it is going to take you. That being said, I honestly feel like wherever life takes me, there is nowhere to go from here, but up. So that's what I am going to wish for this year. That we will begin to move forward/up. That the things that have felt so impossible will once again feel within the realm of possibility, and that the hopes and dreams that I long for so deeply in my heart, will come to be for us and bring with them a lasting joy.

There are a couple of quotes stirring through my mind tonight, on this, the eve of my thirties.  Each of these has brought something significant into my heart as this new dawn approaches for me, and I hope that in sharing them, they do the same for you in your respective situations.

This one I read at a natural foods shop earlier today:
Just when the caterpillar thinks the world has ended, it becomes a butterfly. -Unknown


And this is one I keep above my mantle, just next to sweet Peyton's picture to keep me going when this journey feels insurmountable:
It's never too late to be what you might have been.-George Elliot 

Here's to new hope and endless possibilities in the future for us all!


****A SIDE NOTE: PLEASE READ****

Today I received an empty envelope addressed to me at home, no return address, with a Jan. 15 postmark from Osh Kosh WI. I would really hate to think someone meant to send something and it never made it here :(

If anyone knows anything about this, please email me at doinggoodinhername(at)gmail(dot)com. Thanks!

Faith, Infertility, Holidays. A Typical Rambling Post.

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FAITH:

Thank you to all who sent prayers and messages of support to baby Faith Margaret who had open heart surgery today. I just received word that she is out of surgery, and that her parents are waiting to speak with the doctors. I know that your prayers and messages helped to get her over this latest hurdle, and so on behalf of my cousin, Thank You.

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I should probably warn you all that this post might be jumbled, incoherent, negative, or just generally not make sense. I am under the weather in a gross, coughing, wheezing, sneezing, freezing, stuffed up, runny, sick, sick, sick kind of way. It's nothing serious. I will survive. But the timing of this bug right before the holidays certainly leaves something to be desired, so in the haze and fog that is a massive head cold/sinus infection, you get posts like this one. Feel free to bail at any point...

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INFERTILITY:

I went yesterday to have a bunch of blood drawn to help determine what is causing my infertility. I had to fast for them, and the line at the lab was sort of long. Waiting made me hungry and cranky. "Good practice for when you get pregnant," the tech told me with a smile. "I have been pregnant, twice." I responded. "I wasn't cranky." Can you see just how much fun I have been to be around lately?

Anyway, I think that all the blood drawn may have contributed to me getting this sick. I was already feeling a little something, but maybe losing all that blood on an empty stomach exacerbated things?

Monday I have to go for a dye test to check the status of my tubes to see if they are closed and that could be causing the infertility. From what I hear, the process is less than comfortable. It is called a Hysterosalpingogram. Remember that one next time you are playing Scrabble. Mel, over at Stirrup-Queens does a really good job of describing the test, better than I could especially under my germ induced fog, so if you wanna read about it, go here. The sick irony is that to have the test I have to check into the same department at the hospital where I went to have Peyton. Talk about a less than ideal situation for someone suffering from PTSD.

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HOLIDAYS:

Christmas is here, again, without Peyton. How do we do this year after year? How do we march on into forever, when each new day, milestone, and holiday is a reminder of what is missing? I guess the answer to that, as we (and so many of you) are learning, is that we just do.

I have not been looking forward to Christmas, for the obvious reasons. I didn't want to send out cards, mostly because I didn't know how to sign them. I left it up to my husband who actually found the right words when I couldn't. He signed them, Love, Krissy, Dru, Our Angel Peyton, and Charlotte the Mini Lab Rescue Puppy.

Our cards didn't go out until this Tuesday. Very late by anyone's standards, and delayed by hours and days of worry over how writing Peyton's name on the cards might be received. I think sometimes I worry too much about whether or not my grief is convenient or uncomfortable for other people. In one respect, that is the only thing that has kept me censored to a point where I haven't run everyone away, in another, like automatically saying "good" when people ask how I am, it is just another layer of the false facade that the grieving live behind, because let's face it, no one wants to be around the truth that is grief. "How am I doing? My kid is dead. I am infertile... You?"

In some ways I cannot believe the holidays are already among us. That means that a full calendar year without her, a full calendar year of living on this little known side of the universe, has passed. I don't have much to show for this year. We don't have another baby, and pregnancy seems hard to come by. I haven't found the healing that I would  have hoped a year would bring. That being said, we are still here. My husband and I, we are still here, together. I guess on Christmas, when watching the lights twinkle and the gifts being opened beneath the tree, I will try to focus on that rather than all that we are missing. Will I miss my baby? Of course. Will I ever feel complete or right or completely at peace without her? No. But we have survived what once seemed impossible. That is what we have, and this Christmas, that will have to be enough.

25 Days of Giveaways!

Tina created 25 days of giveaways, and today I am honored to host. When I heard about this initiative, I thought it was a really fun way to bring this community even closer over the holidays, and to bring some fun into what is a difficult time for so many of us. Thank you Tina, for letting me participate.

For the giveaway, I am offering this beautiful angel charm, made by Lenox.

She would look great as an ornament on anyone's tree, or just as a decoration around the house.

If you would like a shot at winning her, simply leave a comment below, and, if you like, tell me about someone who has been a real life "angel" for you over the past year.

A winner will be picked at random via random.org. Entries will be accepted until Noon east coast time Saturday, to allow time for all readers in all time zones to participate, and I will announce who won on Saturday afternoon/evening.

Good luck to all!

A few Christmas additions, Mel's Show & Tell

Lots to share today for Show and Tell.

First, Meet Charlotte, our adorable rescue puppy.

She is a black lab mix who took no time at all getting comfortable in our house.

Here is a picture of Charlotte resting on my foot as I type.

Overall, Charlotte has been a true blessing,

although today I did dub her "Charley and Me" when she did this to my rug.

Honestly though, who could stay mad at this face?

The vet told me that Charlotte must have had a litter in the past, because her underside shows some signs. I guess that's part of the reason I am so forgiving of sweet little Charlotte. She is a babylost in her own way.

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As I blogged about earlier this week, I finally finished the Peyton tree.

The tree really shines beautifully,

I don't know why it isn't showing so well in this picture.

Here are some of Peyton's ornaments from her tree.

 

The "bless this baby" ornament that I had talked about during my first giveaway. Speaking of giveaways, tomorrow is my "25 days of giveaways" day, so be sure to check back and see what I am offering.

The purple and pink ornaments seen throughout the tree, like the one above,

 and the berries, like those pictured below,

 were from last year's grave blanket.

This picture is not too great, but this ornament holds a picture of the three of us the first time I held Peyton.

And a beautiful ornament from my Aunt...

As well as one that a good family friend gave last year. It reads "our little angel."

To see what others are showing and telling, click here.

Bah Humbug.

Last Christmas came right after losing Peyton, in those first fresh months where I wore only pajama pants, and didn't run a brush through my hair. To be honest, it was about ten months till I cared at all about my appearance, and even now, it doesn't fall high on my list. I was angry last Christmas, that it had to come at all, that I had to watch my nieces (who despite this loss, I love dearly) open their little girl packages, while my little girl laid frozen, or worse, beneath the earth. I had worked so hard to be healthy while I carried her. I had held her. Loved her. Nursed her. Where were my little girl's presents beneath the Christmas Tree?

Two years ago on Christmas (Eve to be exact) I found out I was pregnant, and that night we broke the news to my family. The house was filled with celebration, and all felt right in the world. We were having a baby. That was going to be our last Christmas without a child. I hate myself now for assuming so much, and having taken the promise of her existence for granted.

This Christmas, two full years after first learning of Peyton's existence, I feel myself going through the motions, but really not "feeling" the holiday spirit. I don't even want to write out the cards. What is there to say?

"My child died. I fell apart. Your lives are all better than mine. Bah-Humbug!"

I try to remind myself of all the things I have to be thankful for. My husband. My family. My friends. My good health, and that of those I love. My new rescue puppy Charlotte. The generosity of those who have donated to Doing Good In Her Name. My writing. The friends I have met in this blog world. And yet, even among these many things that I list, there is a huge, empty, void. She is gone. She is still gone. Was she ever really here?

I would like to say that with the passage of time I have come to accept this loss, but it is not true. Instead I sort of cope, like an old man with a wooden leg, I limp along, but never truly find my way back to a comfortable stride. Something is off. Permanently.

Yesterday we set up our "Peyton Tree" which in reality is not a tree at all, but a plant. I wanted something living, something that I could try (crosses fingers) to keep alive in this house to always remember my sweet girl. I thought I would feel better after finishing the tree, but I didn't. Instead I was sort of pissed off. I shouldn't have to have a Peyton Tree. I should have a Peyton. A smiling, laughing, dancing, little 15 month old to thank the Lord and Heaven for having blessed me with. This is our second Christmas since Peyton was born, and this is our second Christmas without her.

I hate posts like this. Ones where I have no wisdom to offer, or comfort or inspiration to give others on this journey. I read some women's blogs and feel somehow "less than". They have unconditional faith. They find joy in the season. I read them and wonder what is wrong with me, why I can't see the forest through the trees, and then I remember it is because my branches are empty. There is no baby on this tree top. Little hope of fresh buds in spring. There is loss, and infertility, and a looming sense of failure and inadequacy, and that is the reality of mothering a dead child during the holidays.

This year I have a new nephew, he was born just after Thanksgiving, and his healthy arrival is another thing I recite on my Thankful list. I didn't blog about my sister's pregnancy, and how it felt for me, because I didn't know how to do those feelings justice. I would like to say I had been a better sister as she carried this year, but I didn't have it in me. She said she understood, but I feel bad for it nonetheless. It is not her fault that my attempts at having a family have been so tragic, and it is not my little nephew's fault that his older cousin, the one he will have outlived by the time we gather around that tree, is not here with us. He deserves to be surrounded in joy and celebration, regardless of my own personal crap, because his healthy arrival on this earth is a little miracle, and not one to be taken for granted, as we all know too well.

This year I will sit around the family tree and watch all the baby items be opened, and smile as my nieces, too, open their gifts. I will survive this Christmas, as I somehow managed to last year (thanks in large part to alcohol and some really bad Karaoke) because the world just doesn't stop for me. It continues to turn, even as ours has come crashing down.

I will go through the motions, and fight back the tears with a smile on my face, because that is what you do in babyloss land, and I will hope, that even if just for a moment, my smile will feel good, and genuine, and real. As I do, I will be praying that wherever you are, those moments of joy, no matter how brief, come calling for you, too.

Gramma & Pop Pop Pay a Visit - Mel's Show & Tell

My parents have been coming to see me, and visit Peyton's grave, pretty much every week since her passing. At first it was a necessity thing. They would come and get me out of the house, because I wouldn't do it myself. Those early visits usually involved long car rides where we would see something, and nothing, all at once. Under the guise of taking "day trips" they would listen as I cried about how sad I was, the guilt I felt, and how I had lost my sense of worth. They offered unwaivering love and compassion, and most importantly, an ear to listen.

I know how hard it was to be me in those earliest months, I can only imagine how difficult it was to voluntarily be around me. It hit me one day, at around six or seven months out, that my parents were grieving more than just the sweet little grandchild they had lost, but also their own daughter who had lost herself. Through the tears, and the pain, and the angry outbursts, my parents remained steadfast, returning to my side week after week. They would spend the day with me, and the evenings with me and hubs once he came home from work. I can't honestly say that I would have made it through without their support.

When my parents visit now, it is more to visit than to grieve. We have fallen into this wonderfully comfortable pattern of spending every Thursday together to talk, visit, and go to see Peyton's grave. I can't lie and say there are never tears, but for the most part, we have a nice day together. Even when I can't bear the idea of seeing anyone because I am feeling so low, a visit from my parents can make me feel better.

 Last Thursday, I had to go in for a stress test at the cardiologist, and had to cancel our day together. To my surprise, my folks still made the hour long drive from their town to ours, to go see their little Peyton's grave, and deck it out for the holidays.

Today, for show and tell, I am sharing the pictures that they took, of their visit with Peyton, and the beautiful grave blanket they made for her.

A view at the head of the blanket.

I love this little Angel ornament. It seems so fitting.

Here is the view from standing back.

 I love the way the grave blanket spans the distance between where Peyton is buried (beneath the garden) to the base of her plot where her stone is.

Here is a picture of my mother, Peyton's "Gramma", showing off her handiwork. Last year my parents bought Peyton a grave blanket from a local florist, this year they made this one by hand, choosing each piece that went into decorating it.

The wreath, which I had hung the day before their visit, was also a gift from my mother, which she gave me last year to use on Peyton's grave this Christmas.

I love these butterflies. My father put these on, since butterflies have always been associated with Peyton.

Peyton Elizabeth

Here is a picture of my Father, Peyton's "Pop Pop" paying her a visit.

I am so grateful for these shots, because just a few days later, the entire hill is buried under eight inches of snow. It brings me comfort knowing my little one is warm beneath this blanket.

To see what others are showing and telling, visit here.

Mish Mosh

First, I must apologize to my dear bloggy friends. I have fallen a bit behind in my reading. We are in the process of trying to fight infertility, deal with this loss, adopt a sweet puppy, receive items for www.doinggoodinhername.com, welcome a new nephew, prepare for the holiday, maintain some level of sanity, undergo hormone treatments for infertility, deal with an annoying heart problem, well, as I am sure is true with all of us from time to time, the list goes on and on, and unfortunately both my reading and writing have sort of fallen by the wayside. Please know my thoughts and prayers are with you all, even when my comments are absent.

On a happy note, here is a picture of my beautiful Christmas Tree that I posted about yesterday.

DAYTIME

NIGHT TIME

We didn't put up a tree last year, (we were still very raw in our grief and boycotting all things that normal non-babyloss people do), so this year, well I will take the fact that the tree is up as a sign that things are moving in the right direction. S-L-O-W-L-Y, but getting there nonetheless.

I also want to extend a huge THANK YOU, to the following fellow babyloss momma bloggers for their generous donations to Doing Good In Her Name. Please hop over here and read about the amazing items and donations that these women have provided to help us honor Peyton's memory by assisting other critically ill infants at the hospital where our baby spent her life.

Thank you so much to Salma at The Room She Owns, Margaret at She's Come Undone, and Catherine W. at Between the Snow and the Huge Roses.

I am amazed that these women, in the midst of their own grief, have still opened their hearts to this initiative. Let me just tell you many tears have been shed over this incredible generosity. I am truly humbled and know that their gestures will have a huge impact on the little ones fighting for life at CCMC, and the parents who love them.

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Okay,  now I am REALLY feeling emotional. I have started to make my way through my Google Reader, and the first few blogs I read, mentioned Doing Good In Her Name. Lisette had the button posted at Sami's blog. And Angie wrote about putting a package together in a post she wrote at Still Life With Circles. And Deb, over at deborahsteinberg.com gave her a mention too! I have chills, I am so moved by this. Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! to everyone who is helping us to get the word out.

My 1st Blog Giveaway, PTSD, & Mels Show & Tell

I was going to save my first blog giveaway to mark my 100th post, I am somewhere around 85, but  then I found something so precious and timely that I just couldn't keep it to myself. More on that to come later on in this post. Today's Show & Tell is sort of a mish-mosh of things from this past week, bear with me...

First, I really wanted to share these two photographs, sent  to me from Holly, Carleigh's Momma. Holly was spending the day at a beautiful park, and decided to bring our little Peyton, and many of the other babies from this community, along with her. She wrote them each, name by name, remembering and honoring these children among the beauty that nature was surrounding her in. I have seen so many of these pictures on various blogs this week, all gifts from Holly, which really speaks to her caring and kind nature.

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Last weekend my hubs had to work the better part of the day on Saturday, so, in his absence I headed over to a local craft fair. It's a small one, just a few tables in a Knight's of Columbus Hall, but one I have attended each year since we moved here and so I was looking forward to it. I scanned the tables one by one to see if anything spoke to me. My heart just about fell out of my chest when I came to a table of perfectly knitted baby clothes. They were beautiful, and sweet, the likes of which I had spent many months dreaming of dressing Peyton in, and I felt myself get hot and the room spin at the sight of them. IT's funny that way, and by IT I mean PTSD, because I can be in one place where there are baby items, and sort of tune them out, and then be in another, like this craft fair, and feel my chest tightening and my breath becoming labored as the memories flood my mind, and before I know it the room is crashing down around me. I don't know why IT is this way. IT just is.

In my efforts to get away from the adorable sets of booties, pom hats, and the socks that were knitted to look like shoes, I practically tripped over a woman pushing a stroller. Yes, that's the way IT goes sometimes. Do any of you go through this? Do you ever feel like the reminders of what you don't have chase you around in public? Anyway, I hurried to the other end of the room, making my way for the door when I saw her... pink and perfect, swaddled in a blanket that said "Bless This Baby," with a halo above her head, and a set of gold wings off her back. She caught my eye and I couldn't help but reach out to grab her.

"Isn't she precious?" A woman next to me said. "You know I have a friend whose baby just died. Can you believe that still happens? I thought this would be perfect for her."

"Yes, I can." I nodded. "I just lost my daughter. It is perfect."

My response caught her off guard, leaving me in one of those awkward "I just shared too much with a stranger" moments. Not knowing how to respond, the woman offered a sympathetic "oh" and left, but I stayed, looking at her, turning her over and over in my fingers. Hubs and I have talked about setting up a little Peyton Tree each Christmas, and finding an ornament to honor her life each year.  Without a doubt, in this little angel, I had found our 2009 ornament.

This is where my first blog giveaway comes in... FINALLY... I know...

I purchased a second little angel ornament, red, so it could be used to remember a girl or a boy. Here are some pictures. I am sorry they are not clearer, I have been using the cellphone camera and it is not very good.

The note pinned to blanket reads "Bless this Baby"

Okay, so this picture is just awful.

Believe me when I tell you the gold wings are just adorable.

The blurry bit on the bottom is a tag that reads "2009"

If you would like to be entered in this giveaway, please include your angel's name along with your comment to this post. A winner will be chosen using random.org's random number generator and will be announced sometime Friday evening. This giveaway closes Friday at 5:00PM EST

To see what others are showing and telling, visit here.