Mostly up and then down

We had been doing quite well until a week ago. I'm not sure what happened or what caused it. I've been going to work, getting along fine, and yes, I cry sometimes in my car or when my door is closed. But I hadn't really lost it until last Thursday. I still have some thank-you notes to write, so I decided to write a few. That brings up so many difficult memories and feelings (SO trying to suppress them, get over them). Writing the thank you notes led to looking at a few cards, and that led me to looking at some of her pictures again. I cried for about 2 hours. I've cried several times the couple of days pretty intensely as well. Adam broke down too a couple of days ago because he spoke to a friend he hadn't talked to in months, and they didn't know what happened. Having to tell the story again makes us relive it. I look around our little apartment sometimes and get depressed because it's not where I expected us to be right now. I'd still be pregnant, and we'd be in at least a two-bedroom, not a studio. We'd have baby things around, and we'd be looking forward to her birth. I'd be winding things down at work preparing to be off for a few weeks. Instead I'm working diligently trying to get my sales pipeline going again. We were planning on buying a house; now we're going to stay here for a while and pay off our student loans. That's not a bad idea....it's a very good idea. But it's not where I expected to be. I kiss her little silver box every morning and say, "Good morning, Sweetheart. I love you!" I hope she can hear me or feel me. We miss her so much and are very much looking forward to seeing her again.

Work has been a good release for me. I'm seeing bits and pieces of my old self. What is really tough though is when people ask how my maternity leave went. Sometimes I get lucky and they simply ask what we had. And I say we had a beautiful baby girl named Francesca. Today though when I told one client that I was back from maternity leave, he asked how everything went. Those exact words. What do I say to that? It was hard to avoid it. So I just told him, briefly, in as few words as I could. And then I had to choke back my tears, pause, and gather myself before I could continue talking. I'm sure people understand. But it hits me at unusual times when I least expect it. It's like getting side-swiped, but I still have to get up because I'm at work. Other than that though, work has been very, very good. I like what I do.

A couple of support groups meet at the beginning of the month, so I'm looking forward to going to one or two of those. We'll see. I'll at least try, and if I don't like it I don't have to continue. I've found quite a bit of support from an online group called Inspire Preemies as well as from a couple of people at work. It's amazing how many people have experienced the same thing, but you'd never know it. I guess you don't talk about it unless someone asks you directly. It helps sometimes when I imagine her watching over us.

Write on

Adam and I were afraid to keep writing. I didn't feel like writing for quite a while, and I didn't feel like I had anything "nice" to say. I thought some crazy thoughts, and I just didn't want to make them public. But what the hell? I think it will help us get through this, and maybe it will help someone else who has either gone through this or who will go through this in the future.

I had planned to breastfeed Francesca, so I pumped diligently from the day she was born to the day she died. I gathered quite a bit of breast milk. Apparently there are breast milk banks that take donations, so I planned to donate it. But I just found out I can't. They won't take it because of a medication I take. That's odd. When I got pregnant I asked three doctors about the medications I was taking and whether or not they were safe to take while I was pregnant and afterwards while I was breastfeeding. One was safe and the other was not. I stopped taking the one that wasn't safe and continued taking the one that was. So it's safe for me to take for my baby but not safe if I donate my milk? I think next time I'm going to not take anything at all. If it's not safe for someone else's kid, why is it safe for my own? Hhm.

I went back to work last week on Thursday. It was very nice to have something to occupy my mind, but I felt like I was going through the motions of doing my job without actually doing it. I think it will be a while before I'm back to where I used to be. Or maybe I'll never get there again. I don't know. I got a couple of serious client phone calls and situations on Friday, and it took me a few minutes to get back into my "work mindset." My brain is mush right now. It was interesting to see how people treated me. Some looked the other way when they saw me coming, some came into my office to say hello, some gave condolences, some did not. It didn't matter. I don't know what to say to people either. I just can't wait until I've seen everyone and don't have to face That Moment again. It sucks.

I have noticed that my "panic" button is set WAY back from where it used to be. I used to panic pretty easily when something wasn't going well. Now I realize that few things are worth getting that upset over. I can't think of anything happening to me that I'm afraid of now. A few weeks ago, I was afraid of a lot of things. As each day goes by it's a bit freeing to think that right now I'm going through the worst thing I'll ever face. I don't know if that's true, but it gives me a lot of courage and confidence when I wake up in the morning.

This week I have to go to NC for our annual sales meeting at work. I usually look forward to it all year as it's a wonderful time to catch up with my colleagues from around the country. We chat, we laugh, we eat well, we drink. But now I'm looking at it like it's just another group of people that I need to face. I don't feel like being social. I don't feel like drinking. They're probably looking forward to giving their condolences just as much as I'm looking forward to hearing them.

Sometimes when I go to sleep I get transported back to that horrible moment when she died. I remember the look on all the nurses' faces as I walked into the NICU where she was. I saw Adam's face. Everybody was waiting for me. She was waiting for me. I remember the first time one of the doctors told us we had to think about whether or not we wanted to resuscitate her. She was about 5 days old. That was the day we thought she had a severe brain bleed. I just cried and cried for 40 minutes. I felt like I was in a box, and I couldn't get out. I hurt so bad, from both my heartache and my C-section stitches practically busting open every time I cried. I couldn't fathom her not making it. These types of things just didn't happen to me and Adam. We had had such a great life together. I just knew though that if she died I could not go back to my regular life. I just couldn't. I felt like dying.

It was and has been so frustrating. Adam and I support one another. When he's having a crappy day I'm there to support him and lift him back up. He's there for me too. Going through this together has been different though. There's nothing we can say to make the other feel better, and we know it. Many times we just don't say anything, like we did today. I think it was 3 P.M. before we talked, and even then it was him talking to me. I had such a down day. I just felt so sad. It never goes away. When I wake up in the morning I just sigh because I remember what happened and that she's gone. I'm wistful when I look at other people's kids. Do they know how lucky they are?

Someone asked me the other day if I had any kids. I paused for a minute then felt ashamed of myself. Yes, I said. I do. I have a daughter, Francesca. I don't want to make people feel bad by bringing it up, but yet I feel like I'm hiding that she ever existed if I don't say something. So I've decided to say yes, I do, and I won't go into any more detail unless the person asks me point-blank. Sometimes I just don't want to talk about it and sometimes I do.

We didn't get the house we really wanted to buy. We hadn't even planned on a back-up if we didn't get it as we were so sure we would. The foundation was bad, which we found out two days after Frankie passed when we got it inspected. Oh, well. Part of me is glad. All we thought about in that house was Francesca. This room would be hers, we'd paint it yellow, we'd put her toys in this room over here, we'd have breakfast together right there. Sometimes I feel like she and that house went together. Because she decided to go, we didn't get the house either. We could imagine her in that house so clearly. I could see her face, what she'd be wearing, and what her facial expressions would be at four years old. Maybe she's in a parallel universe living in that house with us right now. That makes me feel good.

Sometimes being around other babies makes me feel so much better. We have a few friends with infants, and they just light me up whenever I see them. I have such a yearning to be motherly, probably from being pregnant for 5 months and my hormones. It's nice to be able to direct it somewhere. If we didn't have them, I don't know what I'd do.

One of our couple friends had a son the same day Francesca was born. What are the chances of that, particularly because my friend had him on time and Francesca came so early?! Odd. We visited each other in the hospital while we were there. How do I feel about that? I don't know. At first we thought it was pretty cool as our kids would have the same birthday. Now that Frankie's dead...I'm not sure. Yes, I wish Frankie had waited even just one more day. But I do believe everything happens for a reason (even this, although I may never know why myself or agree with God it had to happen). Whether or not we had a friend with a child born on the same day, we'd still wonder every so often what she'd look like at a certain age. It's just that now we'll know, more or less. I wonder if we'll feel like going to his birthday parties? We will see.

I'm going to send a contribution every month on the 2nd in Frankie's name to All Children's Hospital, NICU. That will make me feel good. If I win the lottery some day I'm going to give quite a bit of it to All Children's.

:-(

I miss our baby girl so much. It's so unfair that so many people get to have healthy babies and we don't. It seems like that's all I see around me now. Nothing anyone says makes me feel any better. I feel so horrible sometimes because I feel hatred towards other people, particularly pregnant women. It's funny though because I don't feel that way towards people I personally know, only strangers that I see unexpectedly. And now sometimes when I hear bad news about someone else, I don't feel empathy towards them right away. I think, "Oh. Well, that's good. I'm glad someone else's life isn't going well either." That's horrible! I hate to admit it. I know it's just temporary because of how bad I feel, but it's scary nonetheless. I will miss her for the rest of my life. I also find myself thinking that if I were to die unexpectedly, I wouldn't be scared. I'd welcome it. I just want to see her. I so don't want to go back to work. How can I? Nothing is that important any more. Nothing is fun, nothing. I want to talk to people yet I don't. I need to express myself yet no one ever says anything worthwhile.

Frankie says hi

Two interesting things happened at the funeral and while we were preparing for it. Adam and I went to our favorite resale shop, Stellie Bellies, and we picked out an outfit for her to wear the day of. They didn't have a whole lot to choose from as preemie clothes are hard to come by and most of them were too big anyway. But we did see a tiny pink and white onesie that seemed to be the right size, and it read "I am not a boy!" on the front. It seemed like just the sort of thing she would've liked. Plus it would go well with her pink and white knit booties and hat the hospital gave her. So we gave this outfit to the funeral director.

A couple of days later I shopped at Dollar General for some pink and white ribbon to tie on her bassinet. I picked out two thin ribbons and two wide ribbons, one pink and one white. As I cut the ribbon that evening, I noticed the thick pink ribbon had tiny, pink glittery footprints on it.
How appropriate, I thought. It's for a baby girl! As I held up the ribbon in the light, however, I noticed it had writing on it that read, "It's a boy!" How odd....pink iridescent ribbon with "It's a boy" written on it. Of course this ribbon was at the dollar store because it was printed incorrectly. I laughed as I showed Adam - the onesie we had picked out for her had been perfect. She was reaffirming that she was not, in fact, a boy, despite what the ribbon said. It's nice to see she has a sense of humor about all this. We needed the laugh!

A few days before she passed away her bedside nurse put a little white bow on her head, which was adorable. The Sunday she died, however, she had a red bow on her head, probably because it was so close to Christmas. I loved it. After she had passed in our arms, the nurse took off the bow and dressed her in a pink outfit.

During the funeral Adam and I greeted guests, and after everyone left we walked one last time around the front of room where her things were. We were saying goodbye. As we stood there silently I felt something underneath my left foot. I expected to find a piece of tissue stuck to my foot, but instead I pulled out a little red bow, exactly like the one she wore the day she died. She was saying hello! I tried to rationally figure out how it got there, but I couldn't. It didn't come from any of the flowers as they all had either white or pink bows around them. It didn't come from the floor of the funeral home as I never took off my sandal. It was just Francesca, saying hi and letting us know she was all right.

I keep my eyes open now for other signs from her. I love it when she says hi.

Goodbye, Little One

We had a very nice service for Frankie last Friday. Adam and I enjoyed seeing everyone. Thank you so much for stopping by. And it's quite all right to not know what to say -- there isn't anything right to say at such a time. Nothing can really make us feel better, but just stopping by was all the support we needed.

We placed her in her bassinette and draped it with a sheer pink fabric. We tied the four corners with sprays of pink peonies and baby's breath. She wore her "I'm Not a Boy!" onesie (the only thing we could find that almost fit her), a pink knit hat, and pink and white booties. Although we didn't have an open "casket," she did look beautiful. We were very happy. Her pink bunny Grandma Carol gave her for Christmas kept her company in the bassinette.

Many, many friends and family sent beautiful flowers and plants. Thank you so much. We had everything from pink roses to white carnations, lillies, white roses, and pink daisies adorned around her. Other than her, we've never seen anything so beautiful. Adam and I picked out a spray of pink peonies (my favorite flower) for the top of the bassinette. They smelled so good.

We played Cold Play's CD Living La Vida in the background because I had heard their song, "Living La Vida," playing when I found out I was pregnant. So it only seemed fitting that we should play it at her funeral. We asked our good friend, Steven, to say a few words, and Adam and I also read a poem and story that fit the occasion. Steven did a wonderful job. We had a slideshow playing showing many of her pictures during her hospital stay, the ones we took while we were holding her as she passed, and the ones we took when we got to spend a few hours with her afterwards. Although it may seem morbid, I'm so glad we spent that time with her, and I'm glad we took pictures. We squeezed a lifetime of moments into those couple of hours. We got to hold her, rock her, and speak softly to her. I know she could hear us and feel our love.

We had three tables filled with everything she had acquired in her 19 days (and the 6 months beforehand) for everyone to view. It's amazing how much someone can accumulate in so little time! We will treasure every little momento as it will remind us of our beautiful little girl forever.

I love you, Francesca.