Remembering

It's no secret that the holidays are hard. You never realize how kid focused this holiday is until you try to avoid everything kid focused. There are constant reminders each and every day of all that we are missing with Vivienne and our other children. I used to celebrate Christmas. Now, I try to survive it.

It has been very important to us to make Vivienne a part of our family Christmas. We don't brush our children aside on any other day of the year, and we certainly won't do it at Christmas. We started some traditions last year, and this year continued all of those while adding a few more.

First, there are her Christmas tree and her stocking. Last year, each member of our family bought a Christmas ornament for Vivienne that now hangs on her tree. It was one of the few peaceful moments we had this Christmas - taking out each ornament, remembering who bought it for her, and knowing how loved she is. There is an angel that lights the top of her tree, and her halo forms a reflective heart on our ceiling, which I love. Her Dad and I made the candles immediately next to her tree - 1 for Vivienne, and 1 for our other 3 babies. These were lit at every Christmas dinner, so our children were there with us. Her stocking hangs over our fireplace with our stockings. Each year, her Dad and I write a letter to her, which fills her stocking.

 

Our other tradition is to give our children gifts. We can't give the traditional gifts of toys and cute outfits. Instead, we give gifts to charities in their memory. This year, their gifts included a coat for Coats for Kids, a toy for Toys for Tots, and donations to Ronald McDonald House, the Sweet Pea Project, and our church. It's the only gift we can give.

This year, we were so touched to receive many gifts that honored our children. Two special gifts came from our parents - a snow globe/music box from Gordon's parents (the inscription inside reads "If tears could build a stairway and memories a lane, I'd walk right up to heaven and bring you home again.") and a Precious Moments figurine from my Mom (it shows a Mother handing her baby to an angel and is called "Mommy's Love Goes With You.").

My sister and niece also gave us touching gifts that honor all of our children. As I've mentioned before, each of our children has a symbol (Vivienne is a rainbow, Baby 2 is a sunshine, Baby 3 is a heart, and Baby 4 is a four leaf clover). Our niece made us a beautiful painting that honors all of them, and my sister gave us a very special ornament that hangs prominently on our tree.

 




And last but not least were gifts from some special friends who understand what Christmas is like after a loss. Ornaments and special sayings that will decorate our home at Christmas and year round.

 

There were countless other recognitions of our children this year. Some people wrote Vivienne's name in our card (which I really loved), there was a Poinsettia plant at Christmas Eve service in her name (and my Dad's), a secret Santa gift that included a V charm for my bracelet from a dear friend, ornaments for us to put our good wishes in for 2013, and a beautiful ornament from my husband.

All of the gifts are really wonderful. But knowing that people remember Vivienne and our children at this time of year is beyond priceless. Incorporating them into Christmas is really the only way for me to survive this holiday - remembering and honoring them the best I can. And knowing that other people do the same touches my heart in a way that I could never explain.

The Power of Four

This last week has been hard. I really didn’t expect it to be this bad. I guess it took some time for the realization of what was happening to sink in. Late last week, I could go through the motions. I was functioning and doing OK. In my mind, I had convinced myself that I had gotten used to this. I had losses before and survived, this was just another bump in the road. Over the weekend it really hit me, and the reality of it continues to pummel me every day.

I have lost 4 children. FOUR. There is something about that number that knocks the wind right out of me. When I stop and think about it for even a second, it literally feels like someone has hit me in the chest, and I have to concentrate on breathing. I have lost more children than most people have in their lifetime.

I know there are people who probably think I’m being dramatic about this. The last 3 were early losses – do they even count? Thankfully, no one has ever asked me that question, but I know that people think it. I have to admit that I struggle with it too. The loss of Vivienne was different, I can’t deny that. We had nearly 6 months of planning for her arrival. We felt her kick. We saw her heartbeat. We held her as she slipped away from us. We kissed her tiny face. And we have her remains well protected in our home. There is a tangible reality to Vivienne that we don’t have for the other babies.

Yes, we lost them very early. Yes, they never had a chance to survive. But each of them was real. We loved them from the moment we knew about them. We made plans for each of them immediately – calculating a due date and thinking about the time they would be with us. If you’ve ever taken a pregnancy test, you know that the dreams and planning start the very second you see a positive. You immediately feel a sense of responsibility for this growing life. The love and instinct to protect snap right into place. Those 3 babies were as loved and wanted as any child, including Vivienne.

After the first early miscarriage in January, I struggled with what to do to honor that baby. He/she doesn’t have a name or even a nickname. A fellow loss Mom suggested that I give the baby a symbol – something that represents them that I can use to remember them. Vivienne has her rainbows, so after each loss, I try to figure out a meaningful symbol for each baby. Baby #2 is a sun, as we’d just taken a trip to Florida. Baby #3 is a heart, because we found out we were expecting on Valentine’s Day. I’m still figuring out the symbol for Baby #4. I don’t want to arbitrarily pick just anything – I want it to mean something and be special for that baby. Each was special and loved, and I want them to know that.

Each loss has been heartbreaking for us, but there is something about this latest loss that feels like a heavier weight. After experiencing loss again and again, I’m feeling more and more like I’m caught up in a raging current. I’m trying to pull myself above water and fighting to take a breath, but the waves keep pushing me down. I’m doing my best to tread water, but I have to wonder how many more waves will crash in and how long the storm will last.

More

I just finished reading a book, Choosing to See by Mary Beth Chapman. It’s the story of losing her 5 year old daughter in a tragic accident and how she coped with the loss. There was a line that she said a couple of times that really spoke to me and that goes through my mind over and over again. I wanted more.

Shortly after Vivienne died, someone told me “she lived her whole life.” It hurts because her whole life was 8 minutes, and she’s gone. But it also helps to think that Vivienne had a purpose, she fulfilled that purpose, and now that she has, she’s gone. And even though I can find some solace in that Vivienne lived her whole life, I wanted more.

I want to hear her cry, coo, laugh, and say her first words.

I want to watch her as she learns to roll over, crawl, and take her first steps.

I want to watch her sleep, watch her play, and watch her grow.

I want to hold her and hug her.

I want to watch her Dad hold her, read to her, and rock her to sleep.

I want to help teach her how to read, ride a bike, and do her homework.

I want just one more minute to hold her, kiss her cheeks, and tell her how much I love her.

In the end, we had 22 weeks and 1 day, and then 8 minutes with Vivienne. I’m grateful for every minute we had. But I still wanted more, more than I can even articulate.