Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day, 2017

This day is so important to us, and to many bereaved parents. It is a day for honoring the memories of little ones lost, and for trying to break the silence surrounding pregnancy and infant loss.

I have posted many times in the past about this topic, and now, parenting after loss is bringing a whole new perspective to this date. I often look at our little one and think about the siblings she sill never meet. She could have had a big brother or sister two years older than her. How would they be together? Would they look alike? Would they play together or antagonise each other? How would our lives as parents be different with two instead of one? It's even possible, given the timing of our losses, that she could have two older siblings, what would THAT look like for us?

And then I get to thinking that if we hadn't lost those babies, maybe we would never have had her. Our little Squish might never have been born due to spacing gaps between siblings or a whole range of other issues that can come with bringing home a baby.

Parenting after loss can bring such guilt too. There have been so many times when we have been struggling with sickness, sleep deprivation or simply not knowing how to ease our little one or what she needs, that we have been cross with her or with each other. And then to feel such guilt for not always being 'happy' with our little miracle. We love her more than anything, but she's still a baby! And babies can be a challenge!

If you are grieving the loss of a little one, our thoughts are with you. Especially to those who suffer in silence and have not told their friends or family about their loss. love and hugs to you x

Picture from Luminous Light Studio

Christmas Memories

Talk to me!!

This PAL can be a lonely business.

I have been pretty much left alone since telling friends and family about our little one. With the exception of my mum and nan, and a couple of close friends, no one else even asks how I'm doing, how baby is... even usual pointless texts about random things found on the internet or overheard in the workplace have stopped.

I was having my weekly progesterone test the other day, and the lady who I see every week put into words exactly what I think it is. I have been seeing this lady at the same time every week for the last 12 weeks. She's heard all about how precious this little one is, and her siblings before her. She always worries when I'm late, and when she's away, she has asked people to leave a note to let her know if I have been in.

This week, I was unable to go due to a clash with my hospital appointment, so instead of having the test on the same day but at a completely different time, I had it the following day at the same time. She almost did a little dance when she saw me, and told me now worried she was when she saw that I hadn't been in the day before.

She then said that she would have liked to call or text me, but of course didn't have my number. Then she said that even if she did, she probably wouldn't have called in case something had happened and she would make it worse by calling.

On one hand I understand this. People are awkward around any type of pain, and we don't really know each other that well. On the other hand, I know from experience that there's really nothing anyone can say that will make things 'worse' and in fact being left alone leads to feeling that no one cares - that's a different feeling but just as isolating.

I don't know for sure, but I assume that's what's happening with my family and friends. No one wants to be the one to ask how things are going only to hear that something awful has happened. At the same time, no one wants to send a funny text or picture if they think I am not in the mood for it.

It is so frustrating, because I feel completely alone in this, and it makes me feel that this little girl isn't being celebrated by her family. Her aunties haven't asked anything about her, or me, or her dad. Her cousins aren't keeping in touch. People who I would usually hear from once or twice every week or so haven't been in touch for months.

I try to reach out, I text, I call and ask how things are going with them and I get one word answers and no questions about us. I try to tell without being asked and just get those same one word answers. I know it shouldn't bother me as much as it does, and things may change in the future, but right now I just feel so alone in all of this.

Why shouldn't this little girl be celebrated by her family just because her siblings before her were lost?

Family announcements

I have written previously about having three work colleagues announce their pregnancies, all due within two weeks of each other, and the toll that this took. I also mentioned at the time that I didn't know how I would cope if it came to a family member announcing their pregnancy. Now I know.

Last year my aunty publicly announced that my cousin was expecting her first. Thank goodness I wasn't able to attend the function (for a completely unrelated celebration) as I am sure that no one would have thought to 'warn' me ahead of time. That was horrendous, especially coming just before the first anniversary of one of our losses, and the only way I have been able to cope was to 'hide' my cousin and aunty from my Facebook as they live too far away to see face to face. I still have to manage people wanting to tell me all about how wonderful and gorgeous her little boy is, which I am sure is all true, but I just can't bear it myself. She's much younger than me and hadn't even been married a year when her little one was born. I remember thinking at the time that I could just about handle that, as we had never been incredibly close (due to age and geographic location!) but I was dreading finding out that my much closer cousin was expecting.

I just found out yesterday.

I have to say, it wasn't a surprise. I had actually been thinking about her most of the morning, wondering if they were trying, and so on. When I visited my nan she started with the rather formal, "I've been asked to tell you something" and I thought I was about to get a telling off for something I had or hadn't said to my mum (guilty conscience?) Instead, she told me that my cousin was expecting and is currently 13 weeks. I was ok until she said that she'd been asked to tell me so that I wasn't alone when I got the news, as they knew it would make me sad. Then I cried.

Then I tried to explain, through tears and hugs, that I'm sot 'sad' but a whole lot of other things. And that I am genuinely happy for my cousin but that it just makes me that much more aware of what we have lost.

I almost wanted to tell her, "So am I!" but as we have decided to wait I managed to bite my tongue. I did remind my nan that my cousin's baby would be her 4th great-grandchild. It felt important that she know that (even though technically 6th, but they only know about 3 of our 5 losses).

The pain I feel is completely different now to what I expected. She's due just 3 weeks before me. I feel even more certain now that something is going to cause me to lose this baby and it's going to ruin me because unlike the other cousin on the other side of the family, this cousin I see 5 or 6 times a year and for every major holiday and family birthday. There is already a little underlying... jealousy I suppose is the word, for how apparently perfect her life has been and this would just top it off.

Part of me knows that thinking this way is irrational, yet after all our past experiences I just can't imagine having a baby of my own to hold. I suppose only time will tell. Truth be told, I am nervous about visiting my nan over the next few weeks as my cousin often pops in at the same time. I just don't think I can face that at the moment.

Remember with me

This week has been rough and I am trying not to let it get me down. Trying, but not succeeding.

May 26th marked what could have been our little one's first birthday. All I wanted was for someone to remember with us. No one did. I felt bad enough that I actually had to remind hubby, but I have to do that even for my birthday. However, coming from a family that usually makes such a fuss over birthdays, all I wanted was for someone to remember.

Last year I put it all over social media, we even held a special sale during May and donated a percentage of the profits to Sands Victoria. The advertising said, "...in honour of our little one who was due May 26th."

This year, I didn't write anything. I knew that if I did, I would get one or two messages from people who's memories were suddenly jogged, but I didn't want that. I know that what I wanted wasn't logical, or rational, after all our little one means far more to us than to them, but still...

I didn't want a big song and dance, I didn't want a fuss. All I wanted was an acknowledgement that the day, and every day after, would be incomplete without that little life to celebrate.

I suppose it was just one more day in a long run. Bereaved Mother's day where only two people acknowledged me, Mother's Day where only one person did, my birthday where everyone wanted to know what a 'great' day I was having and then this. It's really feels like the monumental impact our losses have had on our life together mean nothing at all to the people who at one point meant everything to me.

I also don't know how to move forward, especially with some people in my immediate family. I know our loss and pain makes them uncomfortable, but if it was me I would know that my discomfort was so small compared to their pain of their loss. Instead, they avoid me, don't mention any of our babies, and get upset with me what I don't behave the way I am "supposed to."

I am at the point where I just don't want to deal with it any more. It is easier not to see them or talk to them than to cope with this. I know over time this will change, as it did immediately following our loss, but for now I think this is how it has to be.

Outlander - "Faith"

I haven't really written here before about the types of things I spend my time doing that aren't related to TTC or PAL. I guess all of that is so very personal and huge that everything else seems kind of petty and insignificant. This time, the two have overlapped.

For the longest time, I have loved the Outlander books (although when I picked up the first book in the series while I was at uni it was called "Cross Stitch" which I always thought was strange as that title has nothing to do with the book!). I have read all of them multiple times, except the 8th and most recent in the series which I have only read once.

The second book in the series if full of heartache and loss for Jamie and Claire (the main characters) and one part that always stood out to me was the description of the still birth of their first daughter, Faith, and the way in which the both individually grieve this loss. Claire had believed she was unable to have children and then her first pregnancy ended in such heartache.

The last few years, having experienced pregnancy loss myself, I was in equal parts anticipating and dreading this part in the stunning TV adaptation. In the lead up to Season 2 I remember saying to hubby that if they somehow cut this part out I would stop watching, even though I adore the series almost as much as the books. It just wouldn't feel right, and would further buy in to the taboo surrounding pregnancy and infant loss.

Last week's episode showed the lead up to their loss, Claire bleeding and then hemorrhaging before waking up and screaming "Where is my baby?" and even that had me in floods of tears and hubby comforting me saying how awful it all is and that it'll be hard on me to watch and maybe I should wait. He's not usually one for needless hugs but last week he just kept holding me and I was so grateful.

This week's episode is called "Faith" and I guess follows the loss of their daughter and everything that follows on from that (having read the book over and over I have a fair idea!) but I know it will still be hard. But I am also glad, because maybe it will do a little to help people who have never experienced this to understand a little of what impact such as loss can have.

At least, that was my hope, until reading on the official Facebook page this morning and looking at some of the comments. Most tragically, someone had written that they hoped this part would be written out of the series because it was hard to read so would be harder to watch. All I could think was, imagine how hard it is to live! Why should this type of pain and loss be edited out of life, out of books or TV because it is hard for people to witness? Isn't that what causes so much of the taboo around pregnancy and infant loss in the first place? Being scared of how others will react?

I will watch, I will cry and I will be happy that these writers had the courage to address such a heart wrenching but significant part of so many of our stories.

Mother's Day

To all the beautiful mamas facing another Mother's Day without the ones they love, I see you x

International Bereaved Mother's Day

I am still not sure how I feel about this day. I love that there is a day to acknowledge mothers who live without their children, but it also feel a little bit like by giving us a day of our own people are saying that we are not 'real' mothers and don't deserve to be celebrated on Mother's Day.

To those reading this blog who are grieving the loss of their children, know that I see you and celebrate you.

Bron x

Beginning again, again

Hubby and I take a lot of these silhouette photos when we travel. He's a little shy of having his photo taken, so this was our compromise. We took one just before our first miscarriage and when I look at it, it seems fitting somehow. We are still here, but in a sense we are just shadows of what we were before. We're working hard at getting back to their light, but at the same time, I don't think the light will ever shine quite that brightly again.

Physically things seem to be going well since the miscarriage. I have keyed up the Ovia fertility app again and it is stubbornly telling me that we are right in the middle of my fertile window although I haven't felt that tell tale ovulation pain at this point. I am not really expecting anything, we have mostly decided to at least wait until my first period before trying again.

I was told again that we get to have fun trying again. It's just not fun. The first two times we dtd after our most recent loss I cried. Before, during and after. They say sex is all in the head for women (not that I agree) but in this case all I could think of was that there should still be a baby in there and then we wouldn't be 'trying' at all. And I cried for our baby, our loss, our grief, my husband and myself. Then I cried because I was crying and... well, it goes on.

The grief is almost unbearable at times.  I look at my beautiful husband, a father with no children to hold and my heart just feels so bruised, so shattered. I can feel for him, he's such a part of me and I want to protect him. What I can't deal with is being told that I have to make other people feel better. I keep being reminded that other people are sad about our loss and I should be trying to make them feel better. I just can't. I can't pick up the phone to comfort someone how hasn't even sent a message to see how were doing.

So, the days are moving past and we are trying to begin again. Nothing will change what has happened in the past or the hole in our hearts and lives where our babies should be, but we can try to look to the future and remind ourselves that next time, just maybe, things will be different.

I wish I knew then what I know now

I haven't written for a while. This loss had been really tough on us and is combined with tricky times for us both with family and at work.

One thing that I have been really aware of is just how lucky (blessed? I don't like using the word, but maybe it fits) I am to have such a supportive partner. I have seen a lot of ladies in my loss forums saying that they feel like their partners don't understand, that they don't grieve, that they are mean or say hurtful things. Many of these women are experiencing their first loss and I can totally relate to those feelings.

I knew that my husband felt something of our first losses as he was diagnosed with depression shortly after and started taking anti-depressants. What I didn't feel, however, was love, support or understanding. We actually went through a horrible time where I even started thinking that maybe we shouldn't be together anymore.

I can't say for sure what changed. I know I refused to stop talking to him about what I was thinking and feeling, and if his responses were hurtful or he told me he didn't know how to respond, I told him what I needed. I didn't expect him to guess. I also made an effort to actually ask him more often how he was feeling and what he was thinking. At first he didn't really respond, but once he did, my heart just broke for him.

I realised then that the main reason I hadn't felt loved, supported or understood was that he was doing all he could just to hold himself together. For example, he went straight back to work instead of staying with me because he needed to feel some sense of the world continuing and life going on. Once he admitted this, we were able to fully support each other instead of grieving alone. Now, after our most recent loss, I think we have been fully there for each other and I understand that he feels and expresses his grief in completely different ways to me. I think that is the key for so many of these women I see, they are so wrapped up in their pain (and understandably so) that they say that their partner SHOULD do, say or feel certain things. There is no SHOULD about grief and every person feels every loss differently.

After a conversation last week when someone told me "everything happens for a reason" we were talking about this latest loss. We both admitted, somewhat guiltily, that we were feeling this one a little more. Perhaps because it is still such a new, raw pain, but perhaps because we spent more time with this little one. Did that mean we grieved our other losses any less? I don't think so. They're all different and they all hold a seperate place in our hearts.

15 things everyone should know about grief after pregnancy loss

I found an article online, 15 things doctors don't tell you about grief after pregnancy loss but should, and as I read, I couldn't help but thinking that as much as I do wish someone had told me these things after my first loss, I think it is important for EVERYONE to know these things about pregnancy loss. So to do my bit, I am posting the list below. If you want to read more about each item on the list, please head to the original article (link above).

1) No matter what stage of loss during pregnancy it hurts
2) Some will not acknowledge your loss
3) It hurts like hell psychically and emotionally
4) You blame yourself 
5) You lose trust in your body
6) You feel isolated
7) You will grieve for what would have been
8) It happens more than you think
9) Some will be mean
10) You will grieve differently than your partner
11) It’s traumatic
12) There is support
13) A ritual goodbye can help no matter what stage of loss.
14) You are still at risk for PMADs but don’t confuse that with normal grief
15) You will always remember 

 

Expectant miscarriage

Maybe I am just weak. I feel completely drained and exhausted and today is the first day in a week that I haven't taken any painkillers (yet).

After my scan last Wednesday hubby came home and we had a long talk about what do do next, waiting, medication or d&c. He was very reluctant to have any input, as he said I was the one who would ultimately have to go through it, but I felt that even if I was to make the final decision it was important that I knew his feelings about it.

We decided that I would ring the clinic the following day to schedule a d&c and ask about testing for our baby. Somehow we got on to the point of whether or not they would be able to tell us the sex of the baby, and if they could did we want to know.  I was really torn, but hubby said that as we didn't know for any of the others, it didn't feel right to make this baby any different. I understand that, and then he said that it would be too much for him to know and make it too hard to cope with, making it more real.

A little less than an hour after this highly emotional conversation I started bleeding. The decision was out of our hands. I had a little pain but not much more bleeding and slept with some kind of peace knowing that things were happening. 

The following morning there wasn't much bleeding and the day passed ok. That night the pain started building to the point where I was shaking and vomiting and hubby called the nurse on call. She told us to head to Emergency and so we did.

I didn't have to wait long, I must have looked a right mess, and they started with all their tests and so on. Soon after I arrived I passed 4 or 5 really large clots and I just couldn't look, even though they kept asking me how much I had passed. I know baby was only 1.5cm but I just couldn't take the chance of seeing something. Almost as heartbreaking as the thought of flushing our baby down the toilet and the thought of it all, and the previous four times, makes me feel sick still.

 They asked what pain relief I had been prescribed when I chose to wait and were shocked to hear that I had been told to expect a 'heavy period' and that panadol and a hot water bottle should do the trick. I already knew from past experience that it would be painful, but what I was experiencing then was almost unimaginable. All the monitoring they were doing showed that far from normal period cramps, I was experiencing contractions as my body tried to birth my baby. 

They were also concerned about my blood pressure which was crazy (most likely from the pain they said) and my white cell count which was above the normal range indicating that my body was fighting some kind of infection. Eventually, an internal examination (super painful) showed that my cervix was still open and nothing was blocking it, the pain was managed, my blood pressure came down and I was given my antiD and sent on my way.

That night and the next day are a bit of a haze of pain and painkillers and it slowly got more manageable. The last few days were nothing more than one or two episodes of cramps and heavy bleeding a day. By the following Tuesday a scan showed that everything has passed and my WCC had dropped right down to 6.

Physically, it was over in 6 days after we found out. Emotionally, only time will tell.


 

The storm continues

It may sound strange to say, but the scan I had on Wednesday which confirmed that we had lost our little one was the loveliest scan I have had so far.

I went to my GP in the morning, following our last scan with the specialist and she was horrified to hear what had been happening since I last saw her. (I should also add, she was fully booked but when I said what was happening she made a point of seeing me during her break time)

She immediately rang a private scan centre nearby and asked if they could squeeze me in, they told me to come down asap. My doctor also suggested that I should go straight there, not wait until hubby was off work the next day. It meant going alone, which we both hated, but there was no choice as he couldn't get anyone to replace him at work (more on that another day).

Thankfully, there was only one other couple waiting and they were gone almost immediately, so I didn't have to listen to their excited conversation. My doctor had made a point of letting them know that it was a suspected miscarriage, I didn't want some poor tech to be traumatised by the thought of giving me bad news. As much as I was hoping for the best, we were prepared for the worst.

She was so patient and kind, asking questions about my health and the pregnancy. When she was doing the scan, she explained everything that she was doing and took multiple measurements. She pointed out to me on the screen all the things she was looking at and looking for. She didn't just stop at looking for a heartbeat, she also looked for blood flow. She measured our little baby from different angles and gave us a better idea of when baby had stopped growing. I can't adequately express the calm, peace and empathy the lovely tech conveyed.

As she packed up and went to call my doctor with the report, she handed me a little print out of the clearest image she had managed to get. That's when I finally gave in to my grief. They even asked if they could take me out the back for a cup of tea so I didn't have to wait in the main waiting room. Just so kind and considerate. They even did the scan free of charge which was completely unexpected.

I went straight to hubby's work and we looked at our little photo and cried together. I just wish he had been able to come, he's still pretty traumatised by how we were treated at the previous scan and I think it would have eased him a little.

Five pregnancies and five losses seems almost too much to bear. But we will. Somehow.

In need of a miracle

We're really in need of one of those miracles we hear so much about.

After being on bed rest of the week, and noticing that my spotting had stopped and my symptoms were 'developing' (read every growing boobs, gas production off the charts, etc) we arrived at yesterday's scan with just a little optimism.

We waited an hour before being brought in, not to the scanning room but to the fetal monitoring section. When they asked how far along I was and I replied 8 and a half weeks, the midwife scurried off, only to return and tell me to wait outside again for the specialist.

After another hour (and overhearing a conversation about why I was here and how they were supposed to prepare the room for us - and the midwife in charge having plainly no idea what they were talking about) the specialist whizzed past and told me to come in to the room with him. Unfortunately, there was already someone in the bed. Who he promptly moved out and got ready for my scan.

The abdominal scan wasn't very clear (having been holding for more than 3 hours at this stage!) and so he wanted to do another internal. Then he couldn't find the probe, or the cover, so after yelling at someone and telling us that 'everything has gone to pot' as the two head midwives were away, he just put a rubber glove over the probe and went from there. Then remembered to tell me to go and empty my bladder. It was absolutely surreal and I just felt like it must be a dream. I mean, we knew they were bad, but not this bad, surely?!

Unfortunately things just got worse. He had such a hard time finding baby, and then when he did, he couldn't get a good view. Then he told us that he couldn't find a fetal heartbeat. He asked for my wrist as he was seeing something, but thought it was just my heartbeat. He said the two pulses matched. He then measured and said baby was measuring exactly the same as last week and that the low fluid must have caused too much distress.

We were then told to change and think about our options in the waiting room, surrounded by heavily pregnant women. As soon as we had the chance to speak privately both hubby and I said we were convinced he'd made a mistake. Sure, we're probably in denial, but he's made this mistake before and everything was so rushed and poorly organised it just didn't seem real.

We were taken back in to speak with one of the consulting gynecologists who had been told we wanted a d&c. I told her we said no such thing and that we wanted to wait and see what happened. That I had already carried and lost my other babies and I didn't want this one to be any different. She then had to go and find out what the hospital procedure was for a 'natural' miscarriage!

After yet more waiting, we were told we could come back in a week and they would check on me, make sure I wasn't showing any signs of infection and they'd ask me again if I wanted medical intervention. If in the meantime I started bleeding through more than four pads in an hour, or was in severe pain, I should report to the ED, otherwise, see you next week.

It still seems so unreal. I have an appointment with my GP today and I am asking for another scan, somewhere else, just to confirm. Then we'll see what happens next.

Don't even think about it

 

That's how I feel about this time every month.

I think, “I might be pregnant” and then a series of completely irrational thoughts take over. I'm sharing a few of them now in the hope that is anyone else is experiencing thoughts like this they wont feel so alone, or fearful of being called (or feeling) crazy.

First I think, don't get your hopes up. Every time you look forward to something it goes wrong.

Then I think, you're probably not pregnant anyway. After all this time, what are the chances?

Then, even if I am pregnant it doesn't mean anything. The chances of another miscarriage are unbelievably high.

Then, that's probably why you're not pregnant, so negative. Show some faith.

Then, that's probably really why you're not pregnant, God wont bless you with a miracle that you doubt.

Then, what's that got to do with anything? We had sex during my fertile window, we have as much chance as anyone else.

Then, I might be pregnant.

And so it goes.

...

Nothing I could think of seemed an appropriate title for this post.

Yesterday was the estimated due date of our last baby. So that's it, we have now passed that last 'milestone' for want of a better word.

Life has been pretty busy, with all that goes around buying and moving house, so we haven't really had time to reflect too much. I said a little prayer for our angel, and its siblings in heaven, and then got back to packing. 

For some reason, I suppose because 'she' was here longest, our second pregnancy is the one I fixate on. The one whose birthday I think of, whose first Christmas I mourned and whose loss I just can't comprehend. So while I feel like I should be focusing on the baby whose arrival we should have been celebrating yesterday, in the back of my mind all I can think of is the looming 1st birthday that we wont be celebrating.

This probably all sounds terribly depressing but the truth is I am actually doing better at the moment that at any time in the past 18 months.Partly because we have been talking about other options, nothing in depth but just mentioning the possibilities of IVF, adoption and so on, which helps to realise that this might not be the end after all.

What does scare me however is that next month will mark 2 years since we started this crazy journey. I could never have imagined it would turn out like this.

Christmas past

Once again, on this Christmas Day just passed, I was reminded of those people who truly empathise and try to understand what my husband and I are going through, and those who just carry on oblivious to the reality of our world.

I received beautiful cards, messages and meaningful gifts in our babies' honour from four people (and one lovely soul here on my blog). Memorial charms, gorgeous symbolic earrings, heartfelt words in a card, a donation to SANDS in their honour... to know that these few people understood that Christmas would be a tough day for us made it a little easier to bear.

On the other had I had people asking why we weren't attending family Christmas, choosing instead to spend the day on our own. People asking if we had "a great Christmas" or if we had "enjoyed" our day. Depending who these inquiries came from I was able either to give a short, sweet answer... or just stare in disbelief that they had asked such a thing.

I know there are many others out there who struggle with the loss of a loved one at this time of year, no matter the age they were. For us, it was also the first Christmas without my grandfather who was very much the centre of events at family gatherings, taking the role of Santa to hand out the gifts.

Maybe next year, instead of asking people to remember my babies with me (and being disappointed when they don't) I'll try to ask for people to be gentle with the hearts of all those they know who are missing someone special at Christmas.

Christmas Wishes

5 Ways to honor the child your friend lost this Christmas

If you have been keeping up with this blog you will have noticed that the posts recently are few and far between. This article almost perfectly explains why...

By Kristi Bothur

If you are a mom, you know that something about Christmas changes when you have a child. Even before your little ones are old enough to understand anything about the meaning of Christmas, there is enough different about this time of year for them to take notice. The lights, decorations, and music make for a whole different level of fun and wonder exclusive to the month of December. And you remember these feelings even as a grown-up.

That is one reason why the holidays are so hard for someone who has lost a child, whether in pregnancy, infancy, or any other stage of life. She remembers what Christmas was like in previous years, even as a child. She imagines what Christmas would have been like this year. She thinks about whose faces would have been in the Christmas family picture. She contemplates what presents she would have bought or how she might have announced her pregnancy in her Christmas card this year.

But these things won’t be happening, and so she pastes a fake smile on her face for the times when she has to go out into the Christmas bustle and she holes up at home as much as she can for the rest of the time. It takes energy to grieve, and energy to hide your grief, and that makes the holiday season exhausting. For many bereaved parents, the top of their Christmas wish list is to just survive the season and start over on January 1.

Do you have a friend going through Christmas without one or more of her children?
You can’t say or do or give anything that will fix your friend’s pain. It is too great, too deep, too rooted in love, for anything to fix. But you can say or give or do something that will soften the sharp edge of grief and help her feel less alone.
Here are five things you can do to bless her this year. (And no, I’m not forgetting the dad. But I am assuming that most of you reading this are women reaching out to a female friend, so the focus is “her”… although they are great tips for dads as well.)

1. Gift her with understanding.

If she chooses not to decorate, or not to attend a party, or not to participate in a family gathering, give her a break. Don’t even raise an eyebrow about it. There will be other years. She needs to take care of herself right now without any guilt or pressure from friends and family. Don’t give her advice or tell her how she should be feeling or even point out all the blessings in her life. Just be there with her and for her. That is what she needs.

2. Gift her with something that remembers her child.

A memorial ornament or jewelry is great this time of year. Don’t wonder if she will like it or if she already has one. Trust me, you can’t have too many. If you know her child’s name, include it. If your church offers poinsettias in honor or in memory of someone, purchase one and let her know. Or do it at her church, even if you don’t attend there.

3. Gift her with something that will help her heal.

But be careful with this. Even if you have walked this path, what helped you heal may not help her, so offer it with gentle humility. Some ideas might be a book for a bereaved parent, or a CD with music that could comfort, or even a gift card for dinner out. If you know of a local support group, tell her about it. Offer to go with her.

4. Gift her by blessing someone else in the name of her child.

It can be “adopting” a child through Angel Tree or even a longer commitment through a group like World Vision or Samaritan’s Purse. If the family has set up a memorial fund in their child’s name, donate to it or to another ministry in her child’s memory. If there is a local outreach to other bereaved parents, like Naomi’s Circle Mommy to Mommy Outreach, find out how you can donate or help this cause. It is a wonderful gift to know your child’s existence has encouraged someone else to make a positive difference in the world.

5. Gift her by not forgetting.

Tell her, out loud or in a card or e-mail, that you are thinking of her child as the holidays approach. Especially if this is her first Christmas since her child’s death, but even if it isn’t. I am five years out from my first loss, my daughter Naomi. I am five days out from my most recent pregnancy loss. This time of year, I miss them both the same, and the other three I lost between them. Don’t worry about making her sad by “reminding” her that her child died. You won’t. You will be letting them know someone else remembers.

Whatever you do for your friend this Christmas, don’t do nothing. Don’t ignore her loss and grief for the sake of holiday pleasantness. Let her know that she and her child are not forgotten and that her child’s life made a difference in in yours. More than anything, that will help make this a Christmas that she wants to remember.

Are you or someone you love grieving a lost child this holiday season? What additional advice do you have?

Found: http://columbiasc.citymomsblog.com/5-ways-to-honor-the-child-your-friend-lost-this-christmas/ 

Another milestone

It is now six months since the last time I was pregnant. That means back to the doctor to find out what's next. I don't even know what to think. My sister asked me today if we had given up trying... is that where we are up to?

Whenever I mention this, I'm told that we have plenty of time yet and the conversation moves on (or ends), so I haven't really had a chance to think or talk it through. Maybe we do just stop. There is so much else going on with house hunting and our home business taking off so maybe it is one less thing to worry about.

I just feel like time is passing and the impact it is having on the rest of our lives and on our mental and physical health is growing.

I suppose the truth of it is Christmas is coming and we should have been celebrating our first Christmas as a little family - if any of our first 3 babies had made it home with us. I'm probably doing that thing of trying to protect myself from more hurt by thinking that if we are not trying then we can't be disappointed.

I will go back to the doctor, but I might give it a couple of weeks, I'm not up to it just yet.