Wednesday, October 31, 2012

the things you don't expect you have to do

... I'm not talking about the big things that you would expect after losing a loved one.  It is inevitable that you will have a burial, or a memorial.  And that it will be utterly heartbreaking, really beyond any words.  You will receive flowers and visitors and meals and love and support and all the things that will get you through the first few days and weeks of your grief.  I mean more like the little things.  The things that you don't think about or plan for.  The things that kind of sneak up on you and trample on your heart just that little bit more...

like...

... having to make a ham sandwich for lunch, knowing that just a few days prior this was a big pregnancy no-no.

... finding all the baby samples of creams and lotions and nappies that you were given at the baby show

... removing your ticker from the forums you visit that mindlessly(?) continue to track your pregnancy even though it has brutally ended

... paying for a Body Shop order that had products you had purchased for the new baby, and having to quickly intercept the order before it was finalised.  Just so that you don't have to have those products arrive on your doorstep

... stepping on to the scales and seeing that those four little kilos you put on during the pregnancy have vanished already, and wanting more than anything that they would be back and you would be continuing to curse the scales for another 20 weeks at least!

... realising that the not only has your baby passed away, your pregnancy has ended.  All too soon.  All too quickly.

And now I sink into what is meant to be normality.  This time last week I was wearing maternity clothes and dreaming of the ultrasound later in the week.  I was debating names and planning shopping trips with my girls so we could start buying up for this little one.  This time last week I was pregnant, feeling (what I know now to be pseudo) movements and longing for the day that this little being would be in my arms.

These are the things you just can't prepare for.  These are the things, that even after all the flowers fade, all the visits subside, and life begins to resume again, these are the things that will continue to loom like a storm cloud.  These are the memories that cannot be erased with time.  These are the things you just don't expect you have to do... resume life without your baby.

Saturday, October 27, 2012

the rainbow that could not stay

You know, the reality is that rainbows just don't last forever. We can only capture their beauty in images, as only a memory.

A few weeks ago, so we can only estimate, our precious rainbow baby passed quietly away. I did not know it had happened. The only sign was that there was no heartbeat at our recent ultrasound. No movement, no sounds. Just stillness.

The blue skies are fading.... there is only the familiar darkness.

The are no words.... only tears. Streams and streams of tears.

And questions that will forever go unanswered.

Now I sit with my head in my hands, the heaviest of burdens once again placed upon my shoulders and deep within my heart. Still questioning... Why? How? Why me? Why us? Why again?

This just isn't supposed to happen. Not ever. Not ever once, and certainly not ever twice.

Tonight my husband and I will go into the local hospital and prepare to deliver our tiny little baby....

The rainbow that could not stay.


Monday, October 22, 2012

waiting for a rainbow



Rainbows.  Those spectacular sights we see when the sun hits the rain at just the right spot.  And even though it sounds so simple, we never really can explain how it happens to work.  It's just a beautiful arc of colours that stretch across the sky, a symbol that things are going to get better.  That there is hope.

A beautiful rainbow in the sky usually always follow a storm.  And when you have weathered the storm, you can look at the rainbow and feel that sense of hope and appreciate it's beauty.

There are many storms in life, and a lot of the time it's almost impossible to see through the dark falling rain.  I know that after we lost Oliver, it seemed like there could never be any joy again.  The storm clouds were too thick and too heavy, and the rain was ever so persistent.  It seemed that our hope had left when Oliver had left us too.

After four long years of waiting, not knowing if we would ever know the joy of holding a new little one again, we were blessed with our very own "rainbow baby"... the symbol of hope for us that came after the heavy storm we faced.  LadyBug was our rainbow.  Although the clouds of grief sometimes still loomed overhead, we were able to look at this little being with amazement, that something so sweet, and beautiful, can come to us when the sky looked so bleak.




We are now expecting our second child since losing Oliver... I'm not sure if it's still classed as a "rainbow baby" but I like to think that every child we have is a glimmer of what can be.  Like a message from God that all is not forsaken.  That yes, there are storms that we need to weather, but He is faithful to see us through those storms and grant us the beauty of His gifts.


I'm nearly half way through this pregnancy already.  It's kind of hard to imagine that in less than 5 short months we will be holding a new little bundle, and appreciating a new little rainbow.  My heart still feels the looming of the storm clouds from time to time.  I am certainly not naive, and I know that at any moment, God may chose to have us go through another storm, and wait again for our rainbow.  There are times when I dread the thought of another loss, and then there are times where a little poke or nudge from the babe within fills me with a strange feeling that it really is all going to be ok.

So a new journey begins for us.  One that we can only hope is filled with the promise of a rainbow in the sky.
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