Flea Market

I was walking along a dirt and grassy path, hand on my belly and from a distance my eye spotted it - the 'perfect' white shelving.  It was a bit worn and aged, but I knew with a bit of TLC (and help from Dad) this would make for a perfect shelf system for baby's room.  I had previously searched online for different book shelves and they wanted an arm & a leg for them (which seemed ridiculous to me) so I was trying to find a happy medium.  I found it with these shelves.  We negotiated a good price and it was ours!  I love flea market finds!

That was exactly one year ago.

Wow, really?  Has time passed by that quickly!? Sigh... One year ago today I was happily planning a nursery and full of anticipation for our baby on the way.  Now our nursery is complete but not; it isn't totally complete because she isn't here.  I had taken photos of her room when we had all the decorating done.  These are the white shelves (the ones that sit on the floor).  My Dad cleaned them up and gave them a new coat of paint.  He even made shelves that matched the style to place on the wall above.  For the most part, the shelves look the same today.  Untouched.  But there is a slight difference.  On the center top shelf you see a green grasshopper, bumblebee and a ladybug.  I bought these in Estes Park, CO while visiting last summer.  Sofia was with me when I bought them.  I remember thinking how cute they were and if you press a button they make noise.  Today that shelf is missing the ladybug.  It's missing because it's the one toy we buried Sofia with.  So naturally I think of her when I see ladybugs.

From Other Photos

It's an annual tradition of sorts, going to the flea market with my parents.  It's fun to walk around (especially when weather is good) and see what unique items we can find for a good price.  When we were walking in the area we were at last year when I spotted the shelves, I mentioned to my Mom how I couldn't believe a year had passed since then.  She said she had thought of that too.  I think it's hard for all of us to believe.

It was tough seeing a few pregnant women walk around.  It almost felt unfair.  That was ME last year.  Full of hope, full of anticipation.  Now I'm back to square one, two kids in heaven and living with empty arms.  Seeing strollers pushed around, fathers holding their 6-month old(ish) children in one arm, made me think of how Sofia should be here.  I'd have her in a sling or something so she'd be close to me and get to see all the flea market had to offer.  She'd be included in this tradition of treasure-hunting.

Well, she wasn't with me in a physical sense, but I definitely felt her presence.  There were so many 'signs' that I couldn't help but think she was with me.  As I pointed things out to my Mom - including some pretty white coasters with the letter 'S' - she said, "She's following you around!".  It made me feel good, almost a sense of relief.  It made me want to see more.

I was on the lookout for barn doors and found some at one booth.  I was debating on which of the three there I should get, or if I should get more than one, etc.  It was kind of hard to get to them because there was this shelf sitting in front.  I wanted to get a good look at the barn door in the front and make my decision.  Eye-balling the door even with the shelf in the way I had a hunch I'd be buying it.  I loved all the character, contrast & colors.  So I went to move the shelf and on the top was a painted gold rose.  Yes, of course I thought of Sofia Rose.  I always do when I see roses.  I thought to myself, huh, she's here, and she must like this one too. ;)

From Other Photos

Barn door; we picked it up later on and my Dad carried it to the car.  Such a cool find!

From Other Photos Partial view of the flea market grounds:

From Other Photos

As we walked around I saw a few more items that made me think of Sofia.  There were ladybug yard decorations and pinwheels I thought would look nice at her grave.  At one point my Mom went to the car, my Dad went to the restroom and I was there by myself.  I had already bought all the items I intended on buying so I was just killing time browsing some more.  I started thinking strongly about Sofia again.  Then I looked down and saw this box that had gold rose earrings and a pendant with a rose & two hearts.

From Other Photos

Again, it felt nice.  Then I walked over towards the dirt road, just waiting for my Dad.  I looked down, right in front of me and this painting was leaned up on the ground.  Wow- for anyone who has been around us since the hospital (or has read THIS blog post), you know the significance of the hibiscus.  How could this NOT be her?  I felt her around me even more.

From Other Photos

My Dad eventually made his way back over and we talked for a minute.  He was standing between me and a table that was set up with items for sale.  He said he wanted to go check out something quick and all the while I was still thinking of the hibiscus flower and the gold roses.  As he moved away from where he was standing, I was blown away by what I saw before me.  The first thing my eyes saw when he left my line of vision was a small weathered pillow with stitching.  I think a picture truly does speak a thousand words.  I had goosebumps and still do every time I look at this photo.

From Other Photos

When I met back up with my Dad I told him of the roses, the hibiscus and the pillow I just saw.  I started to get choked up and emotional.  A combination of feelings.  Sad she wasn't here physically, but happy she was in spirit.

My Dad had his eye on this mirror and I snapped a quick picture with my phone when I saw our reflection.  I look pretty rough; rolled out of bed, threw the hair up and went at 7:30 am.

From Other Photos

I've always thought there were good finds at the flea market if you looked hard enough, and sometimes they find you.

Emotionally Prepared...for nothing!

I wasn't going to post about this but after reflecting on my day decided to after all...

Today at work I was invited to an event called 'Table Talk'.  It's where several people from various departments are invited to a meeting room to have lunch together.  The idea is to meet new people in the building, learn about their job function and just enjoy each other's company.  I had been to one of these years ago.

Last summer I was invited to one but there was a mix-up with my email so I never received the official invitation.  I remember it distinctly because after the Table Talk was over they dropped off my boxed lunch (Jimmy John's) at my desk and I gave it away because it had deli meat.  I think I might have eaten the cookie but there was NO WAY I was going to eat deli meat because of Listeria.  I wasn't going to put my baby in jeopardy for a free sandwich.  Huh.

So I attended the Table Talk lunch today.  I knew a few people in the room but most were new faces.  The conversation was mixed with updates on what people were working on, what each of us does in our departments, any exciting plans for the summer, and any interesting tidbits about ourselves.

The whole time all I could think about was that the only thing I truly consider significant in my life these days is the loss of Sofia & Sam.  Well of course there was no way I was bringing that into the light conversation!

Then as most conversations do, it turned to talk about kids.  I prayed nobody would ask me if we had kids, how old, etc.  Especially when I threw out there we're coming up on our 10 yr wedding anniversary.  Fortunately nobody did ask me, but it was hard and uncomfortable for me listening to everyone talk about how wonderful it is to have kids, the stages of their kids' lives, etc.  I don't mind hearing about other people's kids most of the time, but I sort of felt trapped.  I just kept thinking about how I would get around the topic if asked.

I have friends, family & coworkers who have children so I hear stories all the time.  Mostly it doesn't bother me but I do think about Sofia a lot afterwards.  For me it is hardest in situations like today, when people don't know me or our situation.  I will forever have this struggle.  Even if & when we are blessed to have other children it will be this way because I won't want to deny their existence so I'll struggle with explaining we have two in heaven in addition to any others we might have.

So there was no big drama story to tell about, just the anxiety I put upon myself.  Normalcy will never be here again; not the normal I once knew.  I'm tired of over-thinking things, tired of trying to prepare emotionally to protect myself from falling apart.  I'm just tired.

I Won't Let Go~

I keep hearing this song on the radio and like most songs do these days, I take it to heart.  When I think of all we've been through in the past seven months, and that we're about to approach our 10 year wedding anniversary, this song truly has meaning.  We have leaned on each other through thick & thin and Tim has been my rock throughout all of the pain.  I'm there for him too when he needs it but he definitely has been the stronger one.

I Won't Let Go by Rascal Flatts
Lyrics:
It's like a storm 
That cuts a path 
It breaks your will 
It feels like that 
You think you're lost
But you're not lost on your own, 
You're not alone 

I will stand by you,
I will help you through
When you've done all you can do
and you can't cope
I will dry your eyes,
I will fight your fight
I will hold you tight 
and I won't let go

It hurts my heart to see you cry
I know its dark this part of life
Oh it find us all and we're to small
to stop the rain
Oh but when it rains

I will stand by you,
I will help you through
When you've done all you can do
and you can't cope
I will dry your eyes,
I will fight your fight
I will hold you tight
and I won't let you fall

Don't be afraid to fall
I'm right here to catch you
I won't let you down
It won't get you down 
You're gonna make it
I know you can make it

Cause I will stand by you,
I will help you through
When you've done all you can do
and you can't cope
I will dry your eyes,
I will fight your fight
I will hold you tight
and I won't let go

Oh I'm gonna hold you
and I won't let go
Won't let you go
No I won't

Starting to love these modern 'juke boxes'

My sister & I were out at a Hallmark store today and in one part of the store they had one of those modern 'juke boxes' where you could press the different buttons to hear songs on CD's for sale.  Apparently one of the songs playing was annoying to my sister so she randomly pressed the button for a CD by Celtic Woman.  She then started talking and I interrupted her & asked, "don't you hear that!??".  She just looked at me then listened... then her eyes started welling up with tears.  Incredible.  Somewhere over the rainbow was playing.  Need I say more?  Andrea (my sister) said "hi Sofia" because we knew right then she was with us. This is the same type of 'juke box' (I'm not sure what they're really called) I heard the song on at Walmart back in December & blogged about then.  They were different versions of the song too.

We made a quick stop out at the Fashion Bug and I found something I couldn't resist.  Two lady bugs- seriously.  I HAD to have it. :) Kind of a fun Spring/Summer ring to wear this season.

From Other Photos

Blogger Down @ 7 Months

I was so disappointed the other day when I went to create a new post and Blogger was still down for some maintenance issues.  I work in the IT world so I know it happens but man, it's frustrating!  I'm not a 'regular' poster every day; I just post when the feelings are there and I have time to do it.  So on 5/12 when I wanted to post about my baby girl & missing her 7 months later I was bummed not to have the ability to do so.  Oh well, stuff happens I guess.  I'm just relieved the posts that were removed by Blogger have been restored.

I came upon this poem posted on Baby Center.  It's a good one:

My Mom is a Survivor 
Kaye Des'Ormeaux 
 
My mom is a survivor, Or so I have heard it said. 
 
But I can hear her crying When all others are in bed. 
 
I watch her lay awake at night And go to hold her hand. 
 
She doesn’t know I’m with her To help her understand. 
 
But like the sands upon the beach That never wash away... 
 
I watch over my surviving mom, Who thinks of me each day. 
 
She wears a smile for others... A smile of disguise. 
 
But through heaven’s open door I see tears flowing from her eyes 
 
My mom tries to cope with my death To keep my memory alive. 
 
But to anyone who knows her Knows it’s her way to survive. 
 
As I watch over my surviving mom Through heaven’s open door... 
 
I try to tell her Angels protect me forevermore. 
 
I know that doesn’t help her... Or ease the burden she bears. 
 
So if you get a chance, talk to her... And show her that you care. 
 
For no matter what she says... No matter what she feels. 
 
My surviving mom has a broken heart That time won’t ever heal. 

The Famous are not Exempt

A few weeks ago I was reading online about other parents who lost their babies to stillbirth.  The difference:  these were well-known celebrities.  I was surprised to learn about their losses - at least the ones I hadn't heard about before.  I've always felt that celebs are equal to myself & others and deserve consideration just as any other person, so it's understandable to me why many of their stories aren't hitting the media, because I assume they try to keep private whatever personal part of their lives they can.  On the other hand, I think about certain "news" stories that DO hit the airwaves (certain people come to mind with drugs, alcohol, financial loss, etc.) and I wish those who have lost babies had the strength & will power to use their fame to spread the word about this type of loss.

I can't confirm if these are all true but this is what I've read.  Supposedly these people have lost babies to stillbirth:

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis (miscarriage & s/b daughter)
Oprah Winfrey
Sophia Loren
Barbara Bush (W's mom)
Katy Sagal (Married w/Children-she was prego thru the season & her character was expecting)
Annie Lennox (Eurythmics)
Kim Woodburn (How clean is your house?)
Marlon Jackson's twin brother, Brandon=s/b
Elvis Presley's twin brother, Jesse=s/b
Run from Run DMC & Run's House
Keanu Reeves

I'm sure there are many more out there.  This is reality folks.  It can happen to anyone.  I also came upon this blog that lists out several celebrities who've had miscarriages throughout the years.

This all just reconfirms what I already knew - we are all equal and nobody is exempt from this kind of grief.

Stillborn, Still Living - Article

My friend/fellow BLM, Molly posted the below article on her blog today.  She pulled it from another blog 'Honoring Our Angels' who found the article in Grief Digest Magazine .  I love how quickly and easily we can share stories and hopefully help others who share in our grief.  This is a long article but a worthwhile one to read.  It's amazing how someone else who experienced a similar tragedy nearly 20 years ago can take the words right out of my heart.

STILLBORN, STILL LIVING


Grief—the bitter fruit of death—has always been one of the greatest challenges to faith. Even though the piercing sorrow of loss is the painful call faith alone can best answer, in some cases it poses such ferocious questions that it threatens to annihilate the very capacity to believe. This is particularly the case with stillbirth, a crushingly sad phenomenon affecting more than 30,000 babies (and their parents) each year in the United States. That amounts to about seventy couples every day. One in every 116 births experience this disorienting tragedy, so cruel in its ambush of paradox: death before life, the ending before the beginning, a funeral instead of a christening, the stale pall of death over the young body of new life, a first hello as a final goodbye.


Even now, some nineteen years after my encounter with stillbirth, it seems so odd, so unfair and so out of order. All my wife and I did was go to our obstetrician for a final prenatal check in the 38th week of pregnancy. There had been no gunshots, no terrible car accident, no horrible fall. We were fine when we walked into the doctor’s office, but when we left an hour later, our lives had been shattered. Our precious baby boy, our treasured first child, had inexplicably died in the womb.


Stillbirth sentences the lost child’s parents to a lifetime of mystery. Who would he have become, what would he have done, how would our lives have been different? There is something inherently haunting about a lifeless baby’s body. He represents the archetype of promise and innocence, yet he has no destiny, he will never be able to realize himself, to tell his own story, to express the humanity he embodies. Hopes for him and for all his life are condemned to curiosity. In never knowing who he is or who he might have become, we also lose a bit of self-knowledge, we never find out who he might have become, how his life would have affected us or caused us to grow and change. A baby was lost, and a measure of self-knowledge, as well as intimacy between spouses who will not share the precious moments of parenthood together. And there is the subtle fear that he may somehow represent a judgment on you, a rejection by God of your humanity.


He becomes a silent witness to your sorrow, and in his muteness depicts your
utter inability to answer the urgent and recurring question “Why?” In the peculiarity of stillbirth, Mark Twain’s observation of grief is most true, “Losing a loved one,” he said, “is like having your house burn down; it takes years to realize all that you’ve lost.”


While the death of an infant is often irrationally considered by our society to be more of a “mother’s issue” than a father’s grief, it is a haunting, silent partner in many men’s lives, affecting their psyches and relationships in subtle and mysterious ways. Abe Lincoln lost two young children, one during the Civil War; John F. Kennedy and Ronald Reagan both had their already complex selves enduringly altered by neonatal death. Still today, former President George H. W. Bush cannot discuss the death of his three-year-old daughter, which occurred about sixty years ago, without a tearful, inarticulate stammering.


Yes, those who grieve child loss form a secret society of psycho-emotional vertigo. The fact is the terrain of the psyche is not as well-charted as we like to believe. The dawn of the twenty-first century sees us mapping the brain and reading DNA, yet the dark tunnels of psychic trauma into which the vortex of great loss conducts us remain largely unexplored.
The tendrils of grief can creep into the psyche, influencing one’s personal and political manner: the melancholia and fatalism of Lincoln, the reckless hedonism of Kennedy, the strange familial detachment of Reagan, the emotional aphasia of George H. W. Bush
But even amid psychic ravaging, a paradox of loss emerges: by being reduced we grow. It represents a strange point of contact with the ultimate purposes of life, with the true nature of life and the reality of life hereafter. I never felt closer to God than I did after my son died. Ironically, the end of a life can bring to those around it a new fullness of life. In grief, faith becomes both a refuge and puzzle. It preserves meaning to life and the universe, but it also seeks an explanation, and it searches for answers.


After we lost our baby, I found we thought more carefully about life; we sensed in a clearer way its value, and we were more sensitive to the pain and suffering of others. Our acquaintance with deep sorrow had sensitized us to the sufferings of other people. Our ability to be compassionate grew. Frequently, we would see on the news that some child had been killed in an accident or murdered, and my wife and I would send a sympathy card to the grieving family. Or we would pray together for people who had been victimized in some horrible way.


Certainly these were not earth-shaking acts of humanitarianism on our part, but they were things we never would have done before. It never would have crossed our minds. The deaths of strangers and the sufferings of their families had new meaning to us. Our souls had grown, and we could now perceive the agonies felt by other people, whereas before our unwanted encounter with personal devastation we would not have been capable of such empathy.
Our souls, which had been sites of such complete, scorching devastation, in time began to sprout new buds of life. The emotional ground of our lives, which had been plowed under by sorrow, in time started to be fertile again, and to an extent that far surpassed its previous capacity. Our pain had begun to change us for the better. Indeed, it seems that sorrow, the pit of grief, is perhaps, one of the more under-recognized proofs of God, the plausibility of his existence, that at our lowest moments we either turn to him, or rage against him. After all, why should our experience of pain turn us into his prosecutors, unless we had a natural, prior moral knowledge and expectation that matters ought to have been different.


“Suffering is the sole origin of consciousness,” Dostoevsky said. And it may well be that in the pitch darkness of our greatest losses we are best able to see the still steady light of God’s reality and presence.


By bstetson@chapman.edu is a writer, chaplain and lecturer in Southern California. He's written widely on religious and social subjects, including The Silent Subject: Reflections on the Unborn in American Culture (Praeger, 1996), Tender Fingerprints: A True Story of Loss and Resolution (Zondervan, 1999), and Living Victims, Stolen Lives: Parents of Murdered Children Speak to America (Baywood, 2003). His essays and reviews have appeared in various periodicals, including The Orange County Register, The San Diego Union & Tribune, The Los Angeles Times and Christianity Today magazine. He teaches in the Religious Studies and Communication Studies Departments at Cal State Long Beach and Chapman University, respectively. As a chaplain, Dr. Stetson frequently works as a funeral officiate, including historic Fairhaven Memorial Park, soon to celebrate its centenary. He is active in the Greater Orange County Chapter of Parents of Murdered Children, and he leads The New Normal, a bi-monthly grief support group at Grace Church of Orange, in Orange County. He and his wife Nina have three teenage children.