Year Two

Monday, March 12, 2012

Saturday turned out to be a good day, after all. Despite my "Dumbo" melt-down, where I kept crying off and on for a couple hours post-blog entry, I didn't shed any sad tears on March 10th. In fact, I felt quite happy. I spent the morning at a stake Relief Society birthday celebration (mostly trying to keep Aiyana entertained throughout the program) and then Dan and I attended the temple in the afternoon. Our Bishop's wife had volunteered to babysit Aiyana so we could do that, which was so kind and thoughtful.

I didn't specifically feel Ty's spirit near me, so I don't know if he was there or not . . . but I do know I felt peace again just like last year. Perhaps it's one in the same, I'm not sure. Either way, this year was considerably easier than last year. Having Aiyana with me helps so much. She is my healing grace! I've decided that I CAN believe it's been two years. In fact, I feel like it's been substantially longer. It feels like it's been years and years since I've held Ty, but it's good in a way. I could not bear the pain if it felt so fresh every day. Sometimes that's the power behind "time heals".

My friend visited Ty's grave for me. It was special because we've been corresponding for a year now, since her 4-month-old boy passed away last year, one day before Ty's 1-year-anniversary. I'm grateful for the relationship we've developed from simply emailing back and forth and sharing the burden of loss and healing.

 

I miss the cemetery; however, I have realized that what everybody told me is true: I have found Ty in Las Vegas after all, or he found us. I have felt him close one specific time in the temple a couple months ago, and I feel him often in Aiyana's nursery. Sometimes it's just that my thoughts are closer to him, so he may not necessarily be there. . . but the nursery has become what the cemetery used to be for me: Just a quiet, peaceful place where the Spirit can speak to me (or where I can occasionally sense Ty close). For me, it does feel different than any other room in the house. Aiyana, too, is incredibly happy in there. When she wakes from her naps, I often go in there and get her 20-30 minutes after she has woken up because she is just content to lay there and babble. I'm so grateful that the nightmare that tainted Ty's nursery has not followed me into Aiyana's sanctuary.

Sometimes I think too far ahead and wonder things like, "Will I write a post every year for his death anniversary? Will I let go balloons on his birthday for as long as I live?" I forget that there is not a right or wrong answer. For instance, during Christmas, only after hanging up the stockings did I realize I did not buy one for Ty. "Should I have?" I asked my friend, Lisa. She gave me some great advice. She said if I had thought to buy one for him then I should have, but the fact that I didn't think about it, probably means I'm ok not to. She told me to just go with my instinct. So that's what I'm going to do: just go with my gut when it comes to including Ty or writing about him or not. Not a day goes by that I don't think about him, but I feel myself healing every day that passes to where I don't need to process every sad thought through writing. I am grateful for that also.

Baby Mine

Thursday, March 8, 2012

I love most Disney movies. As a kid, the big event every summer was going back to the states so we could watch their new animated musical. However, "Dumbo" was one Disney I never really liked. Even as a child, I found it disturbing -- especially the scene where Dumbo's mother is locked up in a cage. Dumbo manages to sneak away to her for a visit. Chained too tightly to even look out from her barred windows, his mother sticks out her trunk and caresses Dumbo's face and wraps her trunk around his little one. The evident love and longing between the two of them is so emotional. As big tears falls from Dumbo's eyes, the mother elephant scoops up her baby and cradles him with her trunk, and she rocks him while the lullaby "Baby Mine" plays in the background:

Baby mine, don't you cry

Baby mine, dry your eyes

Rest your head close to my heart

Never to part, baby of mine

I was in the kitchen this morning thinking about Ty and wondering how I'll be feeling in a couple days. Just last night, I was telling Dan, "Sometimes it feels like it's just going to be another day. I don't think it's going to be hard really." (Oh, the denial!) As I was putting dishes away, this song played on my Pandora radio, stirring mixed emotions. The song itself is beautiful but the scene from Dumbo always comes to mind. Walking over to the computer, I couldn't decide if I wanted to change the song or not, and before I knew it, I was sitting at the computer bawling -- cursing Disney for this horrible scene of a mother and her baby forced to be apart.

Through my sobbing, I glanced over to the playroom behind me. Aiyana had wedged herself between the wall and the glass door. Watching me with a somber expression, she placed her little hand on the glass. (Seriously? Right at that moment??) The image of her trapped behind the window pane that separated the two of us, with her hand reaching out to me further broke my heart. I hurried to her, trying to wipe the tears away but as I scooped her up, the pictures of Ty all over the playroom flooded my vision and I completely lost it. The deep-rooted pain erupted, pulling from my womb as it tends to do. I squeezed Aiyana against me, feeling badly that I was crying like this in front of her. . . but she simply wrapped her arms around my neck and laid her head on my shoulder for a minute, quiet and serene. She let me cry. It's short-lived moments like this where I feel like she understands, and it's in these moments where I feel the role-reversal between Ty and me, like he's the one saying to me:

Mother mine, don't you cry

Mother mine, dry your eyes

Rest your head close to my heart

Never to part, mother of mine

If you want to see the scene I'm talking about, go to this link. Bring a tissue! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iCgDgJsTR_w
*sigh* . . . everyone needs a good cry once in a while.

Reunion

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

I loved our Relief Society lesson on Sunday about The Second Coming. After talking about Christ's return to Earth, and the destruction and resurrection and everything that comes with it, our instructor asked, "What feelings do you have when you think of His Coming?" There were a lot of nods when someone mentioned fear, as well as when someone answered, "A combination of joy and anxiety!"

I felt the Spirit so strongly throughout that hour of discussion. As a child, I always thought it sounded a little scary, but also hoped I'd be here for that time to witness the change and excitement. As an adult, my feelings haven't changed much, except that the level of excitement has intensified beyond measure. In the past 19 months, I have often said to Dan, "I can't wait for that day." My new favorite phrase associated with The Second Coming is how Christ will "usher in the Millennium". All I can think and feel is, "It's not happening fast enough!" I don't understand entirely how it will work, whether it's different if I am on this earth or have passed. But either way, in death or in surviving the turmoil that will come, I will be reunited with my son.

I have pictured that moment countless numbers of time:

My death as an old woman, slipping over to the Spirit World, where surely Ty will greet me as an adult whom I will still recognize; or here on this earth when angels might place him as an infant in my arms and I get to raise him. I imagine holding my arms out to receive him, witnessing that sweet gummy smile that lights up his eyes. With Dan by my side, I squeeze him tightly, laughing and crying in disbelief to be with him again. My sweet little boy.

I flipped through his baby pictures, craving that smile I just wrote about and those beautiful eyes staring back at me. Having taken 90% of those pictures, I couldn't help but think, "He was looking at me, smiling at me, clicking his picture from behind the camera. He really loved me." I know he still does. At times when I've found this groove of normalcy in my life, although not a day passes that I do not think of him, my mind is not constantly caught up in picturing his face and where he might be at this very moment. But then I have lessons like the one on Sunday, and I feel him all over again. So real. So alive.

When I hear a mother talk about her son who is serving a mission, I see the anticipation and joy on that woman's face as she counts down the day to his return. I completely understand, times a millennium! What a sweet reunion it will be.

 





It Could Have Happened . . . But It Didn't

Saturday, October 29, 2011

It'd been a rough night. Aiyana and I were both exhausted from yet another night of her new night behavior: waking every 2-3 hours wanting to play, and when ignored, would try and wake the house with her fussing and loud cries. Or often she'd just want to eat again. By 5:45am, I was done battling and pulled her into bed with me.

By 8am, neither of us were refreshed and she was still quite the grumpy baby. "Teething...maybe it's this stinkin' teething thing," I thought. So for the first time, I pulled out half of a frozen bagel and gave it to her to gnaw on. While she happily munched, I watched Grey's Anatomy on the laptop, still hiding alone in our room so as not to wake everyone else trying to sleep in.

After a few minutes, I noticed the bagel crumbling into mushy pieces much faster than I anticipated. I'd let her gnaw on that piece too long, so I pulled it away. It was then that I saw a big piece floating inside her mouth. She hadn't had solids yet, let alone bread. I swiped her mouth, and when she opened her mouth wide in loud protest, I saw an even bigger piece of bagel at the back of her tongue. As Aiyana cried, the piece slid further back and she cried harder, kind of coughing. She was going to swallow that bread and choke.


What was only seconds seemed to drag into a prolonged length of time, my breaths catching in my throat. But it's amazing how fast the mind works, whipping terrible memories and agonizing emotions to the forefront. In that instant, all I could see was that morning in Ty's nursery when I laid him on the changing table, swiping his mouth to check for obstruction and to help my breaths go in.

And the story I heard of the toddler who fatally choked on a piece of apple in the backseat of the car.

Snatching Aiyana in my arms, my thoughts raced. "She's going to die. I'm going to lose her, too." Bending her forward, I ran my finger at the back of her throat, simultaneously afraid I'd push it further back. I questioned my actions, but it was too late to stop. Aiyana screeched, and after two swipes, I pulled the bread from her mouth.

I held her tightly in my arms, allowing her to cry... so happy to hear her crying. I consoled her. And when she was done, I cried. I cried so hard against the bad memories, the all-too-familiar emotions. My fear released itself in tears down my cheeks and on top of her head, and I could breath again, trying to calm the thudding of my heart.

"She's ok, she's ok."

When Dan woke up from where he was sleeping in the living room, I cried again as I relayed the experience, feeling so guilty that our baby almost choked. It would have been my fault. (A mean, quiet thought followed... "That wouldn't be the first time.")

"But she didn't," Dan reminded me. "She didn't choke. You did everything right. You can't feel guilty for something you didn't do."

I still did. For a while. And I felt scared again. Life is too fragile and sometimes I don't like being in charge of such a precious life. She's only 5 months! So much can happen. Sometimes I feel I don't want the responsibility. (Because in the back of my mind lingers a quiet guilt that comes and goes. I'd wish it would just go.)

But I love being a mom. And these natural concerns come with the territory. In fact, these episodes probably happen all the time to so many parents, and it probably was no big deal really. If only it didn't bring back memories...

Happy 2nd Birthday, Baby

Thursday, October 20, 2011

Happy 2nd Birthday, Baby

Two years ago was the start to so many "firsts", including the birth of my first child, our first son.

Ty, we thought so much about you today. So did a lot of people. You are loved and remembered!

I had a good cry on the way home from dropping Dan off to work, listening to Josh Groban as I will every year on his birthday. It reminds me so much of him, and of the pain of missing him, as well -- and intense emotions from the first year without him -- but it didn't hurt nearly as bad as last year. In fact, I was able to enjoy the rest of my day with a trip to Wal-mart and then a nice visit from Carrie, Lila, and Cal. Later, I picked Dan up from work early and we ate dinner together as a family at TGIF, simply because we had a coupon. "Buy one entree, get 2nd entree free!" Not to be cheap, but I think Ty would appreciate our awareness to save where we can. = )

Returning home, Kroc and Megan walked with us to the park by their house. It was dark outside but the park was well-lit. Holding a dozen balloons, we took a sharpie and wrote message on them. I loved how Dan wrote quotes from our memories with him, so I followed his lead:

"Ribbit-ribbit-ribbit!"
"It's coming...It's coming..."
"Monsieur Le Bubs!"
"I love you, Bubs"
"Remember When it Rained..."
"Love you forever, Angel..."

I bought two special balloons this year instead of one to signify his 2nd birthday.

Aiyana, letting go of her balloons...

"Love you, big brother!"

Letting go of the balloons! They flew away so fast and were hard to see in the dark. But if we shielded our eyes, we could see them way up high before they blended in with the stars.

It was special and fun to do again this year. I wasn't sure if we'd do it every year but I think we will. It's a simple act, but a meaningful way to remember Ty. Down the road when we have kids old enough to really understand, it will be even more fun to keep up the tradition.

In Relief Society last Sunday, the lesson was on the Plan of Salvation. The teacher asked, "If you could talk to someone who has passed on, what would you say to them and what would you like to know?" It really made me think... If I could only say one thing, I don't think it would have to be "I love you" because Ty already knows that more than anything, I'm sure. Probably I'd like to establish some kind of signal when he's visiting me so I can know he's there! I'd also like to ask him the specifics of what he does every day and what the Spirit World looks like.

You know how it helps to know what someone's house looks like so you can envision them living in it, like your siblings or parents? That's why I'd like those details, so I can picture Ty better when I'm often wondering what he's doing at that very moment. Would a simple schedule and environmental description be too much to ask?

As we talked about the Spirit World, my heart starting pounding so heavily in my chest like it does when you know you need to bear your testimony. But it was a little different because I didn't feel like I needed to say anything -- I just could feel the Spirit so strongly testifying to me what I hold so closely to my heart: That the Spirit World is real and not far from us.

I'm really doing well these days, even to the point where I question myself. I had a conversation with my sister, Jen, and said, "What's wrong with me? Sometimes I feel like I don't get sad enough, and even though I know it's not true, it makes me feel like I don't love him enough or something."

Jen said, "Maybe you shouldn't be asking what's wrong with you, but what's right with you." Then we talked about how having such a firm testimony of this gospel has the ability to comfort in ways that nothing else can.

At dinner, Dan also pointed out that I choose not to be sad for very long because I don't like feeling unhappy. He said I do that all the time, even when we argue. Once he apologizes, I'm over the fight and just want to enjoy our evening or our weekend without bad feelings. So I guess it's just part of my personality, too, which can be a bad thing if I never acknowledged my feelings. But I do. I think I'm keeping a healthy balance.

I hope one day Aiyana can tell us when Ty visits her. I love hearing those stories when siblings who have passed on are detected by the younger ones who are old enough to talk, but still young and innocent enough to be aware. Hopefully, one day we'll get to hear from our boy.

Every Day Something New

Saturday, October 8, 2011

4 months, 21 days.

Today Aiyana is one day older than baby Ty. I was awakend yesterday morning by Aiyana cooing as she always does at 7am. I picked her up and layed in bed with her, playing with her and thinking about the last time I checked on Ty. It was four in the morning and he was snoozing in his crib. I rested a hand on his little back to be sure he was breathing, and of course he was. Despite frequent nervous thoughts, I never truly expected to find my baby otherwise.

The next time I held him a few hours later, nothing would ever be the same.

It's been 19 months since Ty passed away. I've been anticipating this day since before Aiyana's birth, wondering how I would feel at this juncture in our lives. I wondered if I would be more terrified or more sad. But since Aiyana was born, as much as I have loved every stage of her life, I couldn't wait for her grow older, stronger...more likely to survive.

Ty would have been almost two years old right now. I've had to use my imagination to see him grow in my mind, watching my nieces Kylana and Adelyn for help. Dan and I are both really excited to experience it for ourselves. Sometimes I can hardly wait for Aiyana to grow up, even if having a toddler is chaotic.

And now that day is here. Every day is a new day. Something new.

But I've found myself dragging my feet a little bit, now fearful for what I might lose. As I cradled Aiyana the other day in preparation for her nap, I put her head against mine and cried. This was it. The physical reminders of Ty would be coming to an end. Since Aiyana was born, Dan and I have said, "I remember when Ty..." and it was followed by size or weight, smiles or laughter, rolling, eating... I could hold her and feel Ty in my arms while we nursed or played. At 4 1/2 months, they are about the same size, though Aiyana is a bit longer and just a bit heavier.

Holding Aiyana before her nap, I felt like I was losing Ty all over again.

I've always worried about my memory. It's never been very good for long-term purposes. Things I learned in school for exams I could never recall anymore. Experiences from my childhood or even dating Dan...there are so many times when I pinch my eyebrows together and wonder, "When did that happen?" And only then does a fuzzy image sometimes come to my mind.

Of course I'm not going to forget Ty. But the little experiences, every little feeling, that newness of him as my first... it's slipping. I'm grateful to have all the pictures and videos to help me remember all the firsts of having a child. I just wish I could retain everything forever.

Dan and I have talked about feeling guilty that our love for Aiyana might surpass that of Ty. I feel a hesitancy, like a barricade of loyalty for Ty. But at some point, we're going to know Aiyana better because she's physically been in our lives longer. I think it's natural for that love to keep growing. And in a way, Dan and I will always love Ty "longer". That love doesn't stop at death. It's just a different kind of love, I suppose.

We have two children. We always tell people that, even if the question of how many kids we have is in simple passing of curious strangers at Wal-Mart, or the person cutting our hair at the salon. People would feel less uncomfortable if we stopped doing that. But we can't bring ourselves to discount Ty, even for simplicity sake. That may not be right for everyone in our situation, but that's what we have chosen to do. I like talking about Ty -- I love saying I have a boy and a girl. Because I do.

And now, because it's the last time I can do this with Ty and Aiyana, here is their 4 1/2 month comparison:

The last picture I have of Ty, taken two days before he passed away.

Aiyana at the same age.

 

We've all seen Ty's cute pictures where he's cuddling his teddy-blankie:

(just under 4 months old)

He's my sweet, mellow boy.

And then there's Aiyana:



I feel like this picture sums it up. She is much more feisty!

Sure, Ty had his screaming fits once in a while. But Aiyana definitely has more of a temper. She also is such a talker. She talks and coos all the time and is so loud! Now even when I lay her down for a nap, I'll go in the next room and hear her making baby noises, experimenting with the sounds she can make for minutes. And then suddenly, the sound cuts off. When I peek in on her, she's is completely asleep! Ty was so quiet that it's such a difference experience with Aiyana. Dan and I were laughing about how Ty seems to have more of my personality, and Aiyana has Dans.

17 Miracles

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

Last night my dad and I went on a date for Father's Day. I bought a dinner-and-a-movie package so we ate some delicious burgers at Red Robin and then watched, "17 Miracles". We were looking forward to watching it because we have some pioneer ancestry who participated in the Willie/Martin Handcart companies. I was choked up from the opening scene and cried off and on throughout the whole movie-- and I am not a movie-crier, especially in public.

Of course, my emotions were a little more vulnerable since I was missing Ty more than usual that night anyway. Watching parents bury their frozen children in the hard, wintry ground hit a little too close to home. But I don't think anyone could watch these brave, faithful members burying each other one after the other and not bawl. At times, some of the pioneers felt like giving up, starved and sick with their frost-bitten skin--and I couldn't help but wonder along with some of them: Where is God? How could He let them suffer like this when their desires to reach Zion were out of righteousness?

But the miracles continued to happen. They were not sweeping miracles that took away the enormity of their trials. They were small, inexplicable blessings: Though still meager in portion, they found extra food, protection from wolves and snakes, and even one child healed from what seemed death... These miracles happened throughout the trek, gifts from the Lord that were just enough to get many of them through one more day, despite the rising death toll.

Sometimes when we hear the word "miracle" we might imagine an event that immediately resolves a tragedy or disaster. This didn't happen for the pioneers and it doesn't always happen that way for us either. Sometimes we wish the Lord would just take away the trial, but often times, it seems He offers us small portions of "sustenance" instead: little helps along the way in various forms. If we're not looking for them, we probably miss recognizing them.

I want to recognize the miracle in my life: With Aiyana's birth, after the first few days I felt emotionally and physically defeated with anxiety. I cried in desperation, not knowing how I could feel this fear day after day and on through the nights, allowing it to ruin my happiness of being a mother again. I wondered how long it would last: Five months? Perhaps the entire first year? The task loomed over me with such heaviness that I could not imagine it would go away. Yet I hoped and prayed and received an incredible blessing, one that still took me time to put all my faith into believing. The comfort and promise was there, but I had to accept it, to make the decision to allow that blessing of the priesthood to work in my life.

It did not happen over night, but as I was promised: "little by little the fear would dissipate". I felt the weight of the anxiety begin to leave after only a week. One week! How was it possible to move past the trauma of finding my baby boy dead in his crib, when Aiyana's arrival only triggered the emotions of that event? The image is still as vivid as if it was yesterday. Yet each night my ability to feel safe enough to close my eyes increased. During the day, my confidence that I would check on my daughter and indeed find her alive also grew.

Here I am, only one month into it, and I feel wonderful. I feel stronger every day, and pray with gratitude for the speedy progress Dan and I have both made. I look back on the dread of that first week and look at where I am now... It's only been four or five weeks since Aiyana's birth, and I am so happy. I love taking care of her. I am in awe of how well I am doing, of the peace and comfort I feel. My anxiety is not gone in its entirety. But to me, I feel like I'm living my own miracle, and I recognize that it is a gift from the Lord.

Our trials are not swept away, even when that's the only solution we'd like to suggest to Heavenly Father. But I know Heavenly Father is there for us. Small miracles still happen.

Sleeping Again

Wednesday, June 1, 2011

Something happened over the last few days. Dan and I have been sleeping better--in fact, I'd say we sleep pretty well, or at least as well as can be expected of parents with a newborn! Pure exhaustion may have had something to do with it. Perhaps my body decided to veto my crazed mentality to stay up as late as I could every single night for almost a week straight. But more likely, I have felt strength come to us through our most reliable source: PRAYER. I know so many of my family and friends have been praying for us, as have Dan and I each night. Sometimes I'd even fall asleep mumbling a prayer to relieve the biting anxiety that thwarted my sleep.

Then one night just days ago, after resting a final hand on Aiyana's chest as she slept, I laid a heavy head down on my pillow, rolled onto my stomach, and quickly fell asleep before I even had time to be surprised. The next couple nights followed suite: I'd do my usual routine of shining my cell. phone light onto Aiyana's face, lay my palm on her chest and count her quickened breaths, and then recognized the reassuring peace that allowed me to fall asleep. It felt like a heavy weight had been lifted off my chest, allowing me to breath more deeply and sleep more soundly without the disturbing thoughts and images that plagued me for the first week of Aiyana's life. Not that I don't still have my moments of paranoia. But over the past few days, I'm able to sleep the full 3-4 hours that Aiyana sleeps in between feedings, and within 30-40 minutes of nursing, changing her diaper and swaddling her again, I can easily fall asleep. Dan has felt the same, and although he has had the assistance of sleeping pills so he can get up and study for the Bar all day, he also has noticed the significant difference in our night-time demeanor.

Am I cured from my anxiety? No. But as I was told in the blessing I received: The fear is dissipating little by little. Every day, I find myself able to drive longer distances without panicking that I can't stop the car to check her car seat; I can leave her at home with my mom without the desire to call every twenty minutes to make sure my mom sees her breathing; I am starting to truly believe that I will indeed watch this little baby grow beyond her first few months.

 

 

 

We talked to the pediatrician today about SIDS. He asked us if we wanted a heart/apnea monitor and said he could order one for us. I told him Dan and I were still deliberating, though we have been leaning towards not getting one, especially since we're just starting to feel more comfortable. The pediatrician told us that even with the monitor, if SIDS were to occur it is usually still too late to do anything about it. He said SIDS babies are very difficult to revive, even if we caught the incidence right away. With that information, as well as the rate of false alarms, Dan and I will probably not use one. For us, it does not feel necessary at this point, but I guess we'll see how it goes. And again, it all comes down to the question I ask myself almost every day: Do I believe in priesthood blessings? If I do . . . if I truly do . . . then I have nothing to fear.

I think I am resigning myself to the idea that I really have no control. All I can do is love my baby and enjoy every moment with her for as long as I'm blessed to have her. Throughout the day, especially when she's alert and staring right back at me, I am filled with so much love and tell her, "You are so beautiful." I'm really enjoying being her mother. She does not fill Ty's spot--Dan and I have discussed how we still miss him just as much--but that's okay. Aiyana is developing a new part of our hearts that is all her own, just like she deserves. And we love her so much.

PART II: Requesting Your Prayers

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Aiyana is almost one week old and we've been home from the hospital since Thursday at 9:30pm. We felt so excited and ready to come home! Now that we're here though, the nights have been pretty rough. The first night was the worst. We have Aiyana sleeping in a "co-sleeper" which is like the top of a bassinet with mesh walls for a barrier between us. Aiyana actually slept great -- hours at a time! Dan and I, on the other hand, stayed awake for hours before daring to close our eyes, and then independent of each other, we woke up frequently to check on her. In the morning, we talked about how scared we both were when for just a moment, we thought . . . (I hate even writing this.) We truly thought she was dead. That instant horror . . . I feel sick even writing about it so I won't go into details. But it's safe to say we're both pretty paranoid. I think every parent worries about SIDS to a certain degree. But now we not only have the fear that it could happen. We also have the haunting memories to go along with it.

I'm having the most awful flashbacks again. Aiyana feels too light, too limp when she's sleeping and I can't help but wake her up sometimes. My milk came in on Friday and I've tried to pump her full, hoping to fatten her up and help her grow up a little faster. But then this whole scenario makes me sad. . . I don't want her to grow up so fast. She's so small and adorable like she is. Fear is tainting my experience of motherhood, just as I anticipated. I want to just enjoy being a mom again, and yet returning to this stage with its accompanying memories is even harder than I imagined.

I stay up until 3 . . .4 . . . 5 in the morning, too afraid to shut my eyes for longer than 15, maybe 30 minutes sometimes because I'm compelled to put my hand on Aiyana's chest and feel those baby breaths. Night time has become the enemy. The closer to sunset, the heavier the dread that fills my body. There's just something about the dark and feeling tired and vulnerable that makes everything worse. It's like fearing slipping into a nightmare. . . I can handle the nights of interrupted sleep to feed her and care for her. It's the emotional toll of panic and momentary hysteria that is weighing me down. I can't even tell you the number of times each day and night, every hour, that I've hurried over to see if my baby is still alive. That should not be a normal routine!

Dan, too, has been struggling. We've been praying and reading scriptures together still, doing our best to invite the Spirit into our room before we try to sleep. We even asked our very good friend Elias, whom we love and trust so much as a "spiritual giant" in our lives, to give us each a blessing of comfort. The Spirit was very strong as he blessed us, and if I had perfect faith, I should be able to believe his words and have no fear whatsoever. But I have been unable to hold onto that comfort Elias brought us on the Lord's behalf. How I wish my faith was stronger! Satan is working hard to ruin this experience for us. Dan and I are doing our best to fight back.

Still, despite all these emotions, Dan and I do absolutely love our daughter. In the hospital, I don't think I could quite believe she was mine just yet. But the more we've had her in our lives and I've watched the double-chin she was born with thicken, along with her cute kissable cheeks, I can't stand to be away from her. Fear discourages me from laying her down all by herself, but my love and adoration for holding her also plays a role in this behavior. She is just so cute! And Dan didn't stand a chance -- he was smitten with her from day one. His interactions with her are so cute to watch, with a loving protectiveness all ready exhibiting itself. Sometimes Dan will use familiar phrases that make us both look at each other with reminiscent smiles because they are phrases he used to say with Ty, such as: "Those dang hiccum-ups!" when hiccups become a constant interruption, or "I know, I know. Mom makes me mad, too," when she's particularly upset. (I'm still not a fan of that one!)

Dan and I make a good team together. Dan has been so patient with Aiyana and helpful in any way he can, whether it's cleaning the house or organizing our excessive baby "stuff" in our room for easy access before bedtime. And, of course, he loves to snuggle with her and have his "Daddy time". We also love having all three of us in bed together, with Aiyana resting safely in the co-sleeper between us.

We have so much emotional work to do. The only way we can get through this (even when I break down and cry and wonder how I can possibly handle the fear) is through prayer and inviting the Spirit into our lives as much as possible. Little by little, the fear will go away. I believe this, even if it's not happening fast enough for my own desired timeline. I have to remind myself it has not even been a week. I don't want to go through this, but it seems to be part of the experience I am anchored to. We'll make it through.

If all of you could send a few extra prayers our way for a while, I know it will help.
Thank you and much love in return!

She's Here, at Last!

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

I am filled with unbelievable love, gratitude, and amazement every time I look and hold our little girl.

AIYANA KAY KIEFER

Born May 17th at 12:35 AM. 7lbs, 20 inches long 

I can't believe she's really here! And to think I'm supposed to still be pregnant for another couple days.

 

(*Note: Without going into all the details of my labor story, just know it was a quick 3.5 hours of active labor and, overall, so beautiful and peaceful as I birthed naturally with Hynpobirthing method. Skipping to the end where I was pushing . . . )

 

 . . . At the same time, both in Thai and English, I heard the words, "Your baby's coming. She's almost here," coming from both my mom on my left and Dan on my right. My mom continued to speak in Thai, mentioning that Ty was there. My eyes flickered instantly to the framed picture of my son across the room, strengthening me for those final moments as I also pictured my daughter coming to me -- the one I had been waiting so long for.



 

With only a few pushes, Aiyana arrived. They wiped her down briefly before placing her on my abdomen. I immediately cried in relief and joy -- tears that quickly transitioned to those of heavy grief, old and new, as I remembered my baby boy -- then flowing to tears of hope. At last, I was a mommy again, and my little girl was lying on my stomach, her tiny limbs held in my hands.



 

I'll never know in this earth life is Ty was truly there or not. There was no undeniable sign that might prove he was. But I do believe he was there. Perhaps that beautiful peace and calm we felt for the majority of my labor was in part due to his presence. I don't know. . . but it's something that came to mind afterwards.

 

Sweet Aiyana, we're so happy you are here.

Mother's Day

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Sunday was a good day, overall. My mom was with me at church and it was cute to hear the little primary children singing to us, waving and giggling at the congregation. Afterwards, I beat the rain and stopped at the cemetery to visit Ty. There was a good feeling at the cemetery, with so many bright flowers decorating the grounds in light of Easter and Mother's Day. There was another feeling there, too -- one I haven't felt in a while, probably because of my own busy schedule and distracted mind. But I felt like Ty might have been there with me that day as I, full of emotion, cried and spoke out loud to my boy. I talked to him about how much I missed him and loved him, and made a special request from him regarding this upcoming labor. I have to hope and believe he'll be there with me through the experience of receiving his sister at the hospital.

I know Ty doesn't hang out at the cemetery like a ghost. But there really was something different there on Sunday -- something that isn't normally there during my brief visits to drop off flowers or check on his headstone. I think he knows where to find me at times when I am spiritually and emotionally ready to receive impressions. He probably checks in more than I notice because of how busy life has become. I think it's just like with the Holy Ghost and receiving personal revelation: If we're too busy and distracted we miss those key impressions. I wonder how many times I've missed special moments like that . . .

I am so ready for this baby to come! There wasn't much significant progress made at my doctor's appointment on Monday, so I was a little disappointed. I keep hoping I go into labor early! I have been in nesting-overdrive, organizing and deep-cleaning everything (and gratefully with Dan's immense help. He's such an amazing husband!) There's nothing more for me to do but wait and I feel like I'm about to jump out of my skin! People ask me almost on a daily basis, "Are you ready?" YES. I don't know how I can be more ready! Physically, baby "stuff" is bought and organized and the house is in check. Emotionally, I've been dying to have this part of my life back for over a year! Sure, it's been nice to sleep in when I want and go about my business with the ease of one adult person. But at the cost that I'm living this life, it's not worth it and I'd trade it in for a crying baby and sleepless nights any day. I know there will be hard days ahead, but it has to be better than this feeling of waiting, waiting, waiting . . . Waiting for the life I once knew, if only for those brief 4 1/2 months that felt like a lifetime of happiness.

I am grateful I know a portion of what it's like to be a mother. There is just nothing quite like it.

Thank you, Ty Baby, for letting me experience such a special gift. Thank you to my own mother for helping me know what unconditional love feels like and the importance of keeping our family ties strong.
Happy Mother's Day.

Am I Ready?

Sunday, May 1, 2011

As I sit and think about this baby who will hopefully arrive in the next three weeks, I find myself wondering, "Am I ready?"

Am I ready to battle labor pains?
Am I ready to wake up every two hours, groggy as I try to feed a crying baby?
Am I ready to start years of diaper changing, including untimely blow-outs that delay my daily timeline?
How about slowing my errands and my every day ease of taking care of my own needs first?
Am I ready for everything to become more difficult?
Worst of all . . . the fears and concerns of this child's life, every day, every night . . . forever?

Sometimes I try to tell myself it's really not that big of a deal. People have babies all the time. Maybe it's not as thrilling as I'm making it out to be. Maybe I'll miss just being me. Life is simple. Life is easy.

Those thoughts only last moments before they fade away with every other ridiculous untruth I've ever dared fathom. Because the truth of the matter is . . . I am ecstatic. All tediousness and worries aside, I simply cannot wait to meet this baby -- so much in fact that I try to tell myself otherwise to survive the anticipation. But in all honesty, I am ready.

I am ready to experience the unique birth of this baby girl, whatever her story may be.
I am ready to caress my cheek against hers and know she is mine. To feel that perfectly soft skin against my own, to inhale that sweet baby smell. To sense her pure, untainted spirit. To see what she looks like!
I am ready to open my heart, to feel close to Ty as I care for his sister. Surely he will be there to send her off to our family.
I am ready to work together on breastfeeding, teaching and learning as we go . . . absorbing the tender bond between mother and baby as I give her all I have to offer: Food, shelter, clothing. And most importantly, gentle touch and a paramount of love that cannot be feigned.
I am ready to play the role of a mother again, even when it means missing my first born for teaching me how it's all done.

Last week when I was 36 weeks and four days, I was "checked" at my doctor's appointment. I was 1cm dilated but no effacement, so that doesn't really mean anything (except when I was a few days from Ty's due date, I was barely dilated even a tiny fingertip). The midwife could not tell the baby's position, which baffled her, so she sent me to get an ultrasound. I tried to contain my excitement for the extra peek at my baby this late into the game. She is head-down but posterior. I have been doing exercises and visualization to encourage her to turn, but ultimately it is going to be up to her, and may take active labor before she does anything about it. Still, it was fun to see her and to hear she has a little bit of hair! I don't know how much, but the technician called it "old man hair" because the white striations on the ultrasound suggest she is bald on top with just a bit of hair at the back of her scalp and above the neck.

Now that I turned 37 weeks last Friday, I wouldn't mind if baby girl came early. Maybe one more week and then I'll really focus on telling her, "Ok, Baby, come on out! I am ready. So very, very ready."

Anticipation

Thursday, April 14, 2011

I'm coming up on only five weeks left of pregnancy! The other day, my cousin Jamie sent me a couple layettes and this adorable denim outfit for baby girl to grow into. Hanging it up in my closet, I felt so much excitement! I'm really having a baby!

Of course, if I was being truly honest with myself, I will recognize that my very first thought (while quick and short) was, "Will I really have a daughter live that long to fit into this?" As silly as that sounds, and as a little ashamed as I am to admit that, it is evidence that some of my anxiety is creeping back. Sometimes I can step back and realize everything will be okay. I see my future as I once did as a child: I will grow up, get married, have kids and grand kids, and live a normal life. But now that normalcy has been squashed, I don't know if i can ever feel completely comfortable with that vision. I know it will happen . . . and yet, at the same time, I still find many moments when I'm anticipating loss.

I wake up in the middle of the night, every night, sometimes frantic and worried when I find myself sleeping on my back. How long had I been lying in that forbidden position, possibly cutting off oxygen and blood-flow to baby? or whatever it is that the warning is about. I roll back over to my side, my hand rubbing my tummy, searching for signs of life. Sometimes I know I'm being silly and fall right back to sleep. Other times, I lay there worrying and wondering until all I can do is go back to sleep and hope she moves for me in the morning. Throughout the day, I offer a silent prayer to Heavenly Father: "Please don't take this one, too. I can't do it twice -- at least not twice in a row. I can't survive much longer without being a mother again." The thought of losing this baby and starting all over terrifies me. I cannot go back to where I was for six months after Ty passed away, aching for pregnancy and desperately searching for hope when my greatest joy was taken from me. I cannot be stuck in this state of limbo while I continue to wait.

Of course, each time I have these conversations in my head or with God, I then realize, "Yes, I can do this. I can do whatever is asked of me. No matter what hurt I experience, I will be eventually be fine, just like I am now." But then it becomes more a feeling of, But I don't want to! I feel myself slipping into that fear, even when I try and turn my back on it. I walk the other direction, but it's like the floor is a runway, rolling beneath me in the opposite direction. I can only walk on and hope that as I cling to prayer and gospel principles that my steps will be strengthened and I will continue to make strides against the pull. I cannot let myself fear the future that is out of my control. I just need to deal with it as it comes, reminding myself that realistically, everything will probably be just fine. I went to the temple this week for the first time in months. I left, knowing I need to go back as often as I can before the baby comes. That's where my peace and strength will derive from. My goal is to attend at least once a week, if not twice. Fear cannot conquer me there.

On a more fun note, my tummy is moving like crazy as I'm typing. The baby is still lying at a weird angle. I usually feel her knobby feet or legs poking out on my left, with her little bum favoring just under my right rib. Just like Ty, she seems to like nestling in that most uncomfortable spot for me. I try and nudge her elsewhere but she won't budge. I was last told her head is positioned downwards towards my right hip, so I guess she's lying curved like a banana. Not quite what we're going for but there's still time for her to better align herself in a birthing position. For now, she and my growing uterus continue to tag-team my bladder all day, all night. I've always been really sensitive to a full bladder when I'm not pregnant, so it's safe to say it's my least favorite aspect of pregnancy. I've also completely quit working out the last two weeks, which seems to have helped the pubic bone pain. But then there are days like yesterday and today where the pain sky-rockets to a 10 on the pain scale (and I never hand out 10's), usually in the evenings. Maybe just being on my feet is too much to ask, but that can't be helped, so what's a prego-girl to do?? Nothing but stick it out. Not much longer!

Shrugging Off Comments

Monday, April 4, 2011

I don't know why some people say the things they do, especially when it comes to loss they know nothing about. I truly believe no one I've encountered means to be malicious. Some people just struggle with understanding that it's okay to say nothing, rather than offer potentially rude or hurtful statements. Today I had two such experiences with strangers.

While getting my teeth cleaned and x-rayed for the first time in two years, (I won't go into the embarrassing cavity details) the dental hygienist followed through with the usual routine of asking questions while flossing or scraping my teeth. (It always confuses me why they choose to make conversation at the most inopportune times. Anyway . . . ) Seeing that I'm pregnant, she asked the same questions I've received regularly over the past couple months from strangers. "When are you due? Do you know what you're having? Is this your first?" etc. I usually don't offer up information about Ty's death unless the conversation leads there, and even then it's often just in quick passing. But Ty is always accounted for, and I'm honest if I have to admit he passed away. Most people apologize, while I shrug with a smile and say, "It's really okay."

 

Today, the hygienist engaged in the conversation about children and death. At one point, she said something like, "I guess it's probably better to lose a baby than an older child because then there are less birthdays, anniversaries, and memories . . . " At the time, my mouth was stretched open and my teeth were being prodded, so I didn't offer my response. But in my head, I was thinking, "Oh, really? You try it for one day." When I told Dan, I wish I had used his sarcasm when he said, "Yeah. It's WAY better not to have any of those memories."

What bothered me most was not disputing whether her statement was true or not. I've often wondered that myself if it would be harder losing a child who had been with us even years longer. But it's just irritating that some people don't think to censor themselves before speaking about matters they have little to no experience in.

Later that day, I went to Kinkos to laminate some wallet-sized pictures of Ty. The employee asked questions about him and when I mentioned SIDS, she quickly asked, "So was he in his crib then? Oh, that's why I always let my children sleep on my chest", insinuating that me putting him in his crib contributed to his death.

It's a good thing I'm in a healthy place these days, and don't mind talking to people about Ty. I've been fortunate not to run into this too many times this past year. And I know these kind of statements and conversations are avoidable. All I have to do is not talk about Ty. But right now, I can't bring myself to say, "Yes, this is my first" because she's not. She has an older brother, and I don't want to discount him for the sake of preventing awkward or rude conversations. It's my choice and I bring it on myself, I guess. Some days I just need to laugh and understand that it comes with the territory. (Any of you reading this blog entry can remove yourself from any doubt that you have had any part in this. All my friends and family are awesome!)

I've been emailing back and forth with a mom who lost her 4 1/2 month-old son one day before Ty's one-year anniversary of his death. It's uncanny how similar some of our experiences have been. I want to respect her privacy by not sharing details. But it's been an interesting experience for me to write her about my grief and healing milestones as she's asked questions. It makes me happy that my ability to relate to her can bring her some comfort, just like a couple "SIDS mothers" have been to me in my life. It's different stepping into a role where I'm, in a sense, ahead of the grieving game. I think it's good for me to realize how far I've come, yet being so aware of the raw hurt and pain that comes with the early stages of losing a baby and trying to help.

I researched a support group for parents that have lost children. It used to be only a SIDS group, but over the last few years, has branched out to include loss of children of all ages. I meant to find this resource for this mother I've been emailing, but while speaking to the coordinator over the phone, somehow got roped into attending for at least the month of April every Monday evening. I went today for the first time, even though I feel pretty good these days and don't feel like I need it really. But I'm glad I went. I was able to hear stories of mothers who, in the past three months to two years, have lost children to accidents, drug-overdose . . . everyone's story is different and heartbreaking, yet the emotions in the room were very much the same.

Fear was a common theme tonight. While I mostly listened and observed, I did contribute to this discussion. I've been scared about losing another baby to SIDS or some other ailment in the first year. But hearing the deaths of these children, ranging from ages 6-25, I'm reminded that no age is safe. Anything can happen to anyone when you least expect it, no matter how old the child is. At first, this fueled my fear and was not helpful. But we talked about how we can't let fear destroy motherhood and just need to appreciate every day and think positively. As always, it will be a work in progress. I'm glad I went tonight, though. Life has been getting busy again and there's been a lot of excitement for this new baby. But I still need to remember to "slow down" enough for healing to continue. That includes taking moments to sit still, search my emotions, and give them a chance to be released. Sometimes, slowing down takes effort, as I've learned in the past. But it's necessary and I need to remember to make time for it, even when I do think I'm doing just fine.

A Year's Worth of Reflection

Thursday, March 10, 2011

A year ago Dan and I suffered the most heart-wrenching day of our lives. I still often cringe and feel sick to my stomach when I vividly remember that morning. So much horror and fear . . . so much sorrow and disbelief . . . Sometimes I sit quietly and think, "I still can't believe this happened to us. Is this really our life? Did we really lose our son?" I try not to tap into that day too often if I can help it. But some days I do for a few moments, and then I am astonished that we have survived that amount of immense pain. Dan and I watched Ty's video again last night, and I listened to Dan cry, "I never want to hurt that bad again!" We can only pray our fear away and hope that would never be asked of us.

 

We really missed our boy last night -- all his smiles, his laughter, the way he stared into my eyes when he nursed and even when he bottle-fed. We miss those fun times together as a family when it was just the three of us. How could a baby be so much fun and the center of our lives? The missing link that made us feel so complete, creating an awareness in us that we didn't know existed until Ty joined us. How have I been able to feel normalcy without him?

 

I've had some good hard cries a few times this week, trying to process all the emotions I've experienced this past year. They were the kind of gut-wrenching cries that made me simultaneously worry about the baby girl in my womb and what she might be feeling through me. The physical pain is reminiscent of when I followed in Dan's footsteps as he carried Ty's casket down the aisle in the chapel with so much courage. I remember how I doubled-over with a loud sob, clutching my womb and feeling an intense tightening. My grief has often centered itself in that part of my body, though less often since I have become pregnant.

 

I've never hurt so much but I've also never felt closer to the Spirit, and Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. I've also never been so grateful for Dan. I let out such a sigh of relief when I think about how he is here with me at my side, hurting and healing in his own way, but we're still fighting through together. And life is still good.

 

I went through some of the funeral pictures yesterday. I doubt I'll ever go out of my way to print these, but they're still important to have, so I figured I'll put some of them on my blog even though they're not my favorite to look at. But while the pictures make me sad, the more overwhelming feeling is how intensely peaceful that day was for Dan and me, overall. I wish so badly that the audio had recorded from Ty's funeral service. All I can do is cling to that memory of spiritual comfort that engulfed the room. From the moment the service concluded, Dan and I knew that ultimately, pain aside, everything would be all right and as it should be. How else were we able to laugh and joke around with both of our families at Olive Garden that night, with the waiter mistakenly believing we were out "celebrating". But perhaps we were. Celebrating the truthfulness of the gospel with gratitude that we believe it. We understand it. We cherish the hope it brings of Eternal Families and a Plan of Happiness that keeps us working hard to return Home and be with our son someday.



I still can't believe it's been a year. When I don't stop and think about everything that has happened in these twelve months, it feels like it's only been a short while, maybe a couple months. But that's not the case. The weather feels familiar: chilly and then teasingly warm before the cool weather returns, cycling through this crazy Spring. But even with its ups and downs, Spring is still a time of growth.

Remember this Willow Tree that was planted in its infancy at the RTC I worked at? (The Peace Garden)

My family and the RTC students and staff helped plant it on their property to symbolize a place for grief and healing last March, about ten days after Ty passed away.

Here's how much the tree had grown by September. It started sprouting before I left for Vegas for the summer. I remember having a conversation with the groundskeeper, who said, "I was worried it wouldn't survive the cold Spring." I remember thinking to myself with a little laugh, "I know exactly what you mean." I was really happy to see how much the tree had progressed by the end of the summer. Now that I'm working at Telos again, I've found myself glancing at the Willow Tree every time I pass by. It looks sad and bare, just like it did last year. But I'm hopeful its persistence will allow that little willow to keep on growing, showing us just how tough it really is.

 

I just came back from visiting Ty at the cemetery and taking him some vases of flowers. It is such a gorgeous day, invitingly warm and sunny, and reminding me why I visited the cemetery so much last spring. It's so beautiful and peaceful out there.

 

Peace. That's what I feel today, especially sitting beside Ty's headstone. Last night Dan and I felt the hurt all over again. I've been anticipating that this morning would also be difficult. But when I woke up today . . . all I feel is peace and calm. At the cemetery, my thoughts skimmed along the memories of finding Ty in his crib. For the first time ever, I did not feel the horror that accompanies such memories. I found myself almost able to believe myself 100% when I said out loud, "I did nothing wrong." I'm so close. And even if I'm not entirely there yet, I am proud of how far I have come -- how far Dan and I have come and what we have accomplished together.

 

A few friends and family members have commented about the True Blue interview and the short clip where it shows me smiling and laughing. I love that part, too, because the expression is so genuine. When I saw it, I nodded my head in satisfaction, thinking, "Yeah. I do smile and laugh still." I am grateful for that.

 

Some friends of ours told us yesterday that a couple in their ward lost their 4 1/2-month-old son to SIDS yesterday, simply while he was napping. Dan and I are so sad for them and hope they receive the incredible love and support that was shown to us throughout this year. I'm sorry for the pain they will have to experience in order to heal, but I'm hopeful they will, given enough time.

Thank you for all your prayers. I know so many of you have prayed for us throughout this year, at every heart-ache and milestone of this grief and healing process. I know many of you are praying for us today. I attribute the peace I feel to you. I believe in the power of prayer, that God hears His children when they spiritually reach out to one another. Thank you so much.

 

Dan is all ready on his way to Vegas with two of his friends. I will be on my way within the hour. It's going to be a good weekend.

This picture and the next are ones I recovered from my cell phone

 

 

Love you forever, Angel.