It's so weird to type this out.
And every year, it gets weirder.
I say weird because there's really no other way to describe it. I should have a 5th grader. I should be playing referee between Ethan and Bear. I should be wracking my brain for gifts for both boys. Instead, I'm mourning one and celebrating the other.
Well, that's not entirely true. I celebrate Ethan every chance
Tag: infant loss
Weird.
That's really all I can muster. It's weird. Not a bad weird. Definitely not a good weird. Not weird.
There's a hole within you that will never close. Sometimes it gets bigger and overwhelming. Sometimes it returns back to size. But it never closes. It never heals. It's just kinda...there.
I lost Ethan seven years ago and I had Bear five years ago. I still feel someone, something is missing from
Ethan died five years ago and this is something most people who follow me know. I haven't been shy in my grief, and I make it a point to let everyone know I had a son before Bear.
What a lot of people don't know is that we haven't purchased a grave marker for Ethan.
It's complicated. It really has nothing to do with money nor time. It's the finality of
[caption id="attachment_1210" align="alignnone" width="2304"] First Mother's Day with Bear.[/caption]
Over the last two weeks, I've been bombarded with Mother's Day as I'm sure the rest of the country, if not world. Mother's Day sale here. Mother's Day deals there. Mother's Day in my inbox. Mother's Day when I turn on the TV.
Mother's Day. Mother's Day. Mother's Day. (For a surprising history of lesson of how it got started, click here.)
I
[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zRIbf6JqkNc&w=420&h=315]
It gets better but it's still pretty shitty.
For those new to the blog, I'll share this with you: over four years ago, I lost my firstborn, Ethan, due to incompetent/insufficient cervix. That means, my cervix shortened before term and since Ethan was just a few days short of viability, he couldn't be saved. He lived two hours and peacefully died in my arms with my husband nearby. That
October marks Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness (PAIL) month. Over the course of this month, I’ll feature a series of posts dedicated to this month. It’s a bittersweet month for me. Sweet because it’s my birthday month, bitter because I’m reminded of my lost babies (not that I ever forget them).
People respond differently to tragedies. Some buckle down and get stronger. Some get weaker. When a woman suddenly loses
October marks Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. Over the course of this month, I'll feature a series of posts dedicated to this month. It's a bittersweet month for me. Sweet because it's my birthday month, bitter because I'm reminded of my lost babies (not that I ever forget them).
Pregnancy and infant loss is a taboo subject because let's face it, no one likes to talk or think about
http://youtu.be/KWhMyOs0pCQ
School has officially started, pretty much across America. A lot of kids are either returning to their schools, starting a brand-new one, or entering the final year at the one they’re at. A very exciting time. I remember being excited it was my last year in fifth, eighth, twelfth years and my senior year at college.
Earlier, one of my April moms posted a picture of her daughter leaving for
http://youtu.be/ojdbDYahiCQ
Lately, the topic of posting pictures of deceased babies on social media has gained a bit of traction. There seems to be two sides - those who believe the parents have every right to post whatever they want, honoring their child and those who believe something so private shouldn't be posted on any type of social media.
It all stems from this recent news story. *WARNING: there are graphic images
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Koz393gAwjQ&w=560&h=315]
First grandchild.
Seventh grandchild.
First son.
That is what I keep hearing since Bo's birth.
Now, I do refer to Bo as my first son just because I don't want to keep explaining Ethan, especially to strangers. Unless you're a bereaved parent, you won't be able to understand the feelings of sympathy pity you get. They mouth a silent, 'I'm so sorry' and then you get "the treatment."
The handling of your poor