In the time that has passed

Warning: very long post! I hope you have the patience to read it and enjoy it.

I've wanted to sit down and write additional thoughts I've had since our last post two weeks ago. I don't quite know what to say or how to say it. I think I was blessed from above when I wrote my last post. The last post was the most eloquent I've been in years.

My journal has been my steady companion for the last two weeks. I've written over twenty pages, and the only reason why I share the volume is to indicate to you how hard it is to filter through the hundreds of thoughts and emotions that have flooded my heart and mind in the time that has passed since we lost our baby daughter.

I want to share the most important thoughts, the most touching thoughts because I desperately need people to understand the overwhelming loss that it is to lose a daughter whose only memory one will ever have is that she was born without ever taking her first breath.

The most important thing to share is that we have decided on a name. Her name is Season Debbie Reeder. Perhaps the first thought that jumps to your mind is that scripture in Ecclesiastes that tells us there is a time and a season to everything. I woke up in the middle of the night with that scripture on my thoughts, and it kept repeating itself over and over in my head. I woke Todd up and asked him what he thought of the name Season. He was happy with it, and more than anything, he expressed that if that's the name I like, he likes it too. What a guy! Then, he is the one who suggested my mom's name as her middle name. I've often thought that I would want to name one of my children after my mother, and Debbie seems to fit with Season quite well.

It brings me great comfort knowing that we may not have her in this time and season, but we will have our Season again. At first, it was a struggle for me to trust that she has a home in heaven. I struggled with the idea that her real home was here on earth, so how could she possibly have a home in heaven? I especially was heart-broken over this one particular thought, "who can replace a mother's love?" So, no matter where Season is, could she really be at home? Can she find the same love where she is? In my head I have no doubts that she is surrounded by a huge network of spirits that have nothing but love to give. I also have to believe that when I say my prayers and ask God to let her know of our love, to give her a hug for us, that He is able to do what He can to share her parents love with her.

I also believe that the spirit world is closer than we will ever know. It brings me great comfort to believe that Season perhaps knows me, knows her father, knows her brother. Is it possible that she is a sister in heaven to other little spirits that will join our family in the future? I'm not sure nor am I overly concerned with that idea. I do believe that Season has a work where she is, and I know it's a very good work.

However, the thoughts have not ended there. Nor are they restricted to any one stream of thought. One of the more difficult things to cope with was the realization that came early on that not everyone wants to be the crying shoulder that I need them to be. I had an experience early on that made me realize this. You know what? It's okay. Most people don't know what to say or how to say it. Then, come to think of it, I've stopped needing everyone to be that crying shoulder. I know who I can talk to and that's enough for me. And let there be no question, I have plenty of people I can talk to and share every thought, knowing they won't try to say the perfect thing, but just to be a listening ear.

My number one person that I can count on is Todd. He has been such a source of comfort and strength to me. I know that not all marriages can benefit from a trial like this, but Todd and I have truly drawn closer together. We've always been very happy together, but this trial has added a very significant layer to our marriage. I tell him over and over again how much I appreciate his support. His ability to let me feel whatever I want at any given moment has made my love for him grow much deeper than I never knew was possible. I am not thrilled at the prospect of future trials we may encounter, but I am thrilled that Todd is my husband, because I pretty much can't live without him. It's a nice symbiotic relationship for me. Hopefully he feels the same kind of support from me now and in the future.

I really hope that this experience has refined me for the sake of other people. I hope that some day I can be the listening ear that someone else desperately needs. I hope that I have grown to be more feeling and compassionate no matter what people are struggling with. Each who reads of our experience has suffered in their own way over their own trials. I'm sorry if I haven't been there to understand. I hope to be more sensitive now.

Probably one of the biggest struggles for me has been not wanting to let go of the pain. People ask me every day how I am doing. Admittedly, I am doing a lot better than I was two weeks ago. However, I hate that I am doing better. I want to bawl my eyes out several times a day, and I'm just not anymore. I'm totally not ready to let go of the pain. The pain has seemed to dim without my permission, and I'm not okay with that.

The pain of losing Season is intimately tied with the only experience I will ever have, on this earth, with my daughter. I truly feel that if I let go of the pain, I am saying that it's okay that I lost my daughter. I will never be okay with that. And come to think of it, the majority of the time when I talk of Season is when her name is tied closely with the word "lost". I hate that.

Additionally, letting go of the pain makes me feel that I might someday forget her. There have been plenty of women willing to share with me that they too suffered with miscarriages, and, with the exception of a couple women, I find zero comfort in their words. They don't seem to be affected by their previous loss anymore. Granted, most of the women suffered miscarriages at different times in their pregnancy. I dread the thought of becoming one of those women who don't seem to feel the same loss I do even though we've gone through the same experience.

I fear the day when Season may not make it into a conversation that day. I greatly fear the day that I may not think about her. I know not too many days will pass like that, but it seems natural that someday I may forget to think about her. I'm not okay with that. Of course, we have things that remind us of her. We've purchased a beautiful Willow Tree figurine, we have a Precious Moments music box that my mom gave us. We'll have other things to remind us of her, so I don't fear that she'll leave my thoughts forever. It just makes me sad that she's not around to play a much bigger role in our lives.

It's been a difficult thing to realize that Season doesn't get to make memories with our family, and we don't get to make memories with her. I already mentioned this earlier, but it's incredibly hard that my only memory of her is the pregnancy, her death, and her delivery. I pray everyday that I won't forget her tiny little body, her cute little bum, and all her fingers and toes.

There have been far too many reminders to me of all the things we don't get at this time regarding Season. The waking up in the night, the first steps, the morning walks, the growing independence that starts much too young (as I'm learning with Mitch). And on and on the list goes. I broke down in tears the other day when I saw a little girl playing basketball. There's just a lot of never's. The fact of the matter is, Season is not replaceable.

It's sad to me that when people ask how many children I have, I only say "one". People don't want to know your whole life story with such a simple question, but still, I feel that ache that she doesn't even get to be counted by the world's standards.

Lastly, this experience has been one of the most powerful reminder's of God's love and His role in my life and in my family. If nothing else, losing Season has been a very powerful spiritual awakening that I needed in my life. My testimony certainly wasn't weak before, but it just hadn't been treated as the fragile thing that it is for a long time. I'm grateful that I'm on my knees a lot, that I truly feel the need to pray. I'm grateful to find comfort in the scriptures, rather than just check them off the daily list. It's been wonderful to not be as involved with the world's entertainment, but to be nourished by the comfort of God. I keep praying that I won't lose the spiritual sensitivity that this experience has begged. I'm profoundly grateful for the good friend that said the exact right thing in the exact right time that I'm validating Season's life by turning to God instead of away.

That's it for now. I'm feeling very vulnerable right now. I realize that this is a very long post, and nobody has to read it thoroughly or even at all. Furthermore, this is by no means a comprehensive soliloquy of all my thoughts, and I may have more to post in the future. I hope you understand that even if you have moved on, I have not. In some ways, I never will. I'll always need someone (Todd certainly) to be willing to listen, whether it's a week from now, or 52 weeks from now, or much further down the road.

I also realize that not everyone that reads this will be in a mindset to understand everything I am saying, and therefore may treat it cheaply, even if you never tell me your thoughts. I suppose the only thing I hope for is that each who reads my personal thoughts validates my daughter's life (even if you don't comment) and that my experience has touched your heart in someway that makes you a more caring person, and more able to "mourn with those that mourn."

In loving memory of our daughter

Dear family and friends,

We went on Tuesday the 19th to find out the gender of our baby. It was an exciting prospect to see our baby and learn if the baby would be a boy or a girl. We walked away disappointed because the ultrasound was quite short and the technician could not determine the gender at the time, telling us the baby was still measuring a bit small and she was sure the doctor would send us in again in a couple of weeks.

We got home and there was a phone call from the doctor's office saying to come in right away. Heart stops. Tears sting. Mind registers immediately why we would be going to the doctor's office at 6:30pm to discuss the ultrasound with the doctor.

The mood in the doctor's office is reverent and somber. I get no answers from the nurse, but thankfully the doctor comes in quickly and delivers the heart-breaking news that our baby had no heartbeat. I was 18 weeks pregnant, but the baby was measuring more in the 16 week range, indicating that the baby had been gone for some time.

We asked many questions, and the doctor was very kind and compassionate in doing all she could to answer our tear-filled inquiries. She told us that I would need to go to the hospital the next day to deliver the baby. The baby was too big for a D&C, which was okay because with a D&C we would not be able to see or hold our baby.

We went home completely devastated. Sleep was elusive. We had to wait until the next evening to go to the hospital because the special rooms they have for patients like myself were occupied. It was difficult to sit around all day not knowing when the hospital would call to let us come in. The doctor indicated that she didn't want me to wait for the baby to pass because infection could set in, causing great harm to myself. I never considered this. I can't imagine waiting for my body to stop trying to nourish and keep my baby safe, and then switch modes and begin to reject my baby. I would never want to know what that feels like- I was anxious to get to the hospital.

They started my body on powerful, labor-inducing medicine, but my body still took some time. I was in labor for about 11 hours. This was very difficult for me, knowing what was coming. I still hadn't come to grips with so many questions that would soon need to be answered- namely, "do I want to see my baby?" My mind raced with so many questions. The contractions were painful, but in-between contractions was just as bad. I was very uncomfortable and the medicine was making me quite ill. I threw up, spiked a fever, and just could not find much comfort. Thankfully, I was on pain-relieving medication that did eventually do some good. I still felt every contraction, but the medication let me rest somewhat comfortably between contractions.

The doctor came in and broke my water, and the baby came within an hour. In fact, the delivery was quite unexpected. No longer restrained by the amniotic sac, our baby came out on her own. I was grateful to not have to go through intense pushing. Emotionally, that would have been too much.

It did not take me long to decide that I definitely wanted to see our baby. Todd was wonderful in that he prepared me for what I would see. It was no longer a question, I knew that for the sake of my emotional journey to recovery I had to see our baby. By this time, we knew we had a daughter. It was heart-breaking to see our baby so lifeless, but joyous to see 10 fingers and 10 toes and a cute little baby body.

In the very short amount of time that has passed since Thursday morning, so many questions have come to mind, and so many feelings. We know it will take time to emotionally recover. We both feel this way. Many people focus on me as the mother losing the baby inside of me, but Todd is just as sorrowful over the loss of our daughter, and with her, so many hopes and dreams.

People have been very kind and understand that even though our baby was still so young, that her life is to be accounted for and not simply brushed aside because she was not a full-term baby. Many people speak of the joyous reunion we will have someday with our daughter. I believe that she is with God. However, I have not let that peace settle with me at this time.

Mostly, we feel robbed. We feel she was robbed. We are a loving family. We wanted her very much to know us, to know her big brother, for Mitchell to know her and love her. Sure, it's great to think of having a daughter waiting for us, but really I just wanted her this year. Not July, but December. She was supposed to be a very special Christmas gift this year.

Some people have lovingly said that we will be successful in having more children. There is no need to fear that we can never have more children. I believe that, but right now, I'm not thinking of our future children. I'm only thinking of our daughter. Our daughter that we will really never know. Our daughter that cannot be replaced by other children. Our daughter that we won't see grow up. Our daughter that would grow up to be so beautiful. Our daughter will always be a part of our family, and until we see her again, we will never forget her. She will always hold a special place in our hearts and in our family.