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.