Category Archive for Jackson

So I got to do something that all stay at home mom’s of little children DREAM of doing the other night.  I got to leave the house and meet friends for dinner and a movie.  WITHOUT KIDS.  It was a miracle.  It was hard, to pull away and know that my little 2 month old suck-fiend is in there along with my nearly two year old and my 8 year old and MY POOR HUSBAND.  Still, push came to shove and I put it out of my mind as best I could and I had a GREAT time.  I’m so glad that I went.

We had burritos at a taco place near the theater and went to see (dun dun dun!) “Sex and the City”.  I was never big into the series, as we never had HBO, but familiar enough with the stories and characters to care.  And it really was a pretty good movie.  A LOT of boobies to be seen (along with *cough* some other parts too), but also some good romantic payoff too.  I walked away feeling GOOD.

But at one part of the movie, Carrie was feeling a mite blue, and when talking to her friends, mentioned that the tragedy that befell her wasn’t entirely surprising.  She had some warning signs.  But she didn’t want to “speak them aloud“.  And in that moment, I totally knew what she was talking about.

Four years ago, right before we lost Jackson, I had some warning signs.  It was a busy weekend at our place, but on Sunday night, I lay in bed wondering when I’d last felt movement.  I couldn’t quite remember.  But I didn’t want to think about the worst possible scenario.  I didn’t want to vocalize my fears.  Saying them aloud would make them more real and I wanted anything but for them to be real.  So I didn’t say anything to Kile about the lack of movement.  I didn’t mention it to a soul.  I put it out of my mind and it was alarmingly easy to do so.

There’s a little shame in admitting that.

Even though I know that by the time I noticed there was no movement that it was probably already too late.  Still.  There is guilt.

This is why, when I went into labor, I had the voice in my head saying, “I sure hope that baby is still alive in there.  Maybe he’s not.”  I even “joked” to Kile about it.  Breezily enough that he didn’t even pick up on the fearful undertones.  That is why he was blindsided by the news that Jackson was gone… and I was not.  I mean, I was, but I wasn’t.

What would have changed had I spoken my fears out loud?  Anything?  I doubt it.  I’ll never know though.  Will I?

Tags: fears, Jackson, loss, Sex and the City, stillbirth
Filed under Jackson, Seriously |

Dear Jackson,

This has been a strange week. Shoot, it’s been a strange MONTH. For one thing, there’s been peace between myself and the month of March. That’s definitely new. I’ve been able to put aside past differences and hurts and see the beauty in this month. The buds of life growing on the trees, the days that struggle to be warmer than the days before it (even though they’re not always successful), the different shade of blue the sky is taking on during those rare, clear days. I’ve paid extra attention to the mercies in this month. There’ve been several, and not just ones concerning me.

But this week takes the cake. This is a week I normally dread all year long. Something to survive, get through, move past. “Another birthday down,” I’ll say to myself. No celebrations, though. Only remembrance. This year, however, there has been celebration. And this has been a week that has been greatly anticipated. This week saw your baby sister come into the world.

^{Wrapped around her little finger already}

She looks like you. I know it sounds improbable, but she does. Even your dad is skeptical. He agrees that her hair resembles yours, in that it looks more like yours did than any of the other boys’ hair. But he thinks the similarities end there. I think he thinks that I’m reading too much into it. I don’t think so. I was holding her last night, up against my chest after we’d had yet another successful breastfeeding session and I swear to you, in that moment her face looked just like yours. Her mouth, my mouth, looked just like yours. The set of her eyes, closed as they were, just like yours. The shape of her nose and curve of her cheeks… the retreating chin that it seems all newborns have…

Maybe she doesn’t look exactly like you, but it’s close enough in my book.

It’s strange being back in this hospital, four years later. So many things have changed here since then. Then again, a lot of things are the same. This room we’re in right now is the ghost of the room we stayed in after you were born. Not the same. But close enough. It makes me think of you, a lot. My mind is filled with the memories of you, of that awful day four years ago and of the total redemption we have found here this year. It’s nothing short of a miracle.

The corny side of me wonders if you looked after your baby sister in heaven, if you held her little hand and ushered her down here and into our arms yourself. If your soul kissed hers before sending her to the family you never got to enjoy. It’s corny, I tried to warn you. But I have had that thought.

Your dad and brothers and grandparents are going to visit your spot at the cemetery today. Part of me wishes I could be there but part of me is glad I won’t be. You’re not there anymore than you’re here, in fact, you’re probably just as much here as you are there. And we have no marker for you there yet, something that makes me sad every time we visit. It’s not that we don’t love you. Please know that. I will change that, eventually. They’ll bring you some flowers, stand over your spot and think about what could have been. Wish you a happy birthday (and a happy Easter too!). I suppose I can do the same (well, minus the flowers) here at the hospital, can’t I?

Thank you for touching our lives. I do wish what your four year old self would have been like today. Would you have been thrilled to share your big birthday with Easter? Would you have competed with Harry to see who could find the most hidden eggs (and gotten frustrated, likely, when Harry found more)? Would you have argued the case for eating your chocolate bunny before church, even though it would make you wild? Would you have insisted we have birthday cake for desert after our ham dinner and that we open presents as soon as possible? Things to think about.

It’s a special day. It’s a special year. You were our special boy. We miss you, love you. We won’t ever forget you. I’ll leave you now, with the song that we always think of as being “yours”.

Love,

Your mama

 

 Into the West - Annie Lennox [5:48m]: Play Now | Play in Popup

Filed under Evelyn, Jackson |

This is March, after all, and even though the olive branch has been extended, I feel it’s perhaps more important than ever to discuss Jackson, my feelings about him, about losing him, about how he has effected me and how I see his baby sister in him.  So you’ll need to bear with me.  This month is as much his as anything else, as far as I see it.

I read a post on Loralee’s blog yesterday about how she feels changed after losing her son.  It struck a chord with me, because I feel the same.  But in a slightly different way.  I know I’ve been changed since losing Jackson.  And I’m sure it wasn’t just him (though he’s the largest part of it); the infertility and the miscarriage have also contributed.  I’m not the same person I was before this all “went down”.  Kile isn’t the same.  We aren’t the same family together that we were, either.

For the most part, I think those changes have been for the better.  Perhaps it’s finding the silver lining in the cloud of gray?   Seriously though, I am glad for some of these changes, if not for the method of attaining them.  Of course, I would rather have kept Jackson with me, would have spared my family the heartache of years of infertility and loss.  But since we did have to go through all that, it’s rather nice that we ended up where we are because of it, no?

The biggest change is perspective.  My perspective on things has changed.   I’m much more able to realize when something is worthy of my worrying than before.  I’m not as likely to worry about silly things that don’t really matter.  Which doesn’t mean that I don’t worry about them.  But it’s much easier now to take a step back and go, “Woah, wait a minute.  What’s the big deal here?”  And nine times out of ten, that strategy works.  As long as I’m able to step back for a moment and find my perspective, things that would have driven me nuts before don’t have the same power.  (Of course, I don’t think this applies to pregnancy hormones and nesting instincts as those are neurotic tendances that will transcend even the most calmest of perspectives.)

I feel older.  I feel like I’ve “been through it”.  I feel like I’m a more patient mother now.  I don’t sweat the small stuff with Liam that I would have with Harry (had he done half the stuff Liam does, which he didn’t).  I find the joy in the small moments so much more now than I did before.  Getting up in the night to comfort a scared or sick baby is almost a JOY (says the woman who’s child pretty much sleeps through the night every night).  The times I’ve gotten up with him, gone into his room and rocked him in the moonlight are treasured memories.  I would know, each time, how lucky I was to have that baby to rock back and forth in my arms.

I don’t want to make this sound like I never get frustrated with my children.  Of course I do!  They’re children, after all, and I’m fairly certain their primary goal in life at the moment is to frustrate their parents.  But I think I deal with it better than I used to.  (Ask me again when they’re teenagers.)  There is a lot more patience there.  A lot more perspective.

And yes, there is a lot more sensitivity there, a lot more sadness in certain circumstances and more being emotional.  I don’t think those are necessarily bad things, though.   See, there’s that silver lining again!

P.S. Thanks for all your response on my last post about birth control.  Definitely go vote on my choices if you haven’t already! I certainly wasn’t expecting to hear so many cries of “Vasectomy!”.  For the record, it’s an option that isn’t off the books.  In fact, if you ask Kile he’s likely to say I should get the tubal and then he’ll get a vasectomy later on.  The reason I didn’t list it in my choices is because the two main choices are going to be easy to achieve (particularly the tubal, as I will already be there on the table, all cut open and stuff).  You know, fyi.  Go vote! 

Filed under Jackson |

I didn’t plan this pregnancy.  That sounds weird to me, even to type.  For someone who struggled and plan and popped pills and obsessed and wrung her hands for months on end in order to get pregnant, an unplanned pregnancy almost seems like some sort of cosmic joke.  Or miracle, depending on your point of view.  The point is: if I had planned it, I don’t know if I would have wanted to get pregnant when I did.

I cringe, even now, reading what I just wrote.  I did reach a point, in our journey towards a baby, where I didn’t care when and how it happened, just as long as it happened.  But after Liam came into our lives, the urgency was off.  We knew we wanted a third, three was our magic number, but the timing was still very much up in the air.  Perhaps we’d look into trying again come the fall of 2007.  But no pressure this time.  We were looking forward to having the pressure off.  But it turns out I needn’t have worried because it happened all on it’s own.  Crazy, huh?  INSANE.  Unreal.

Then I did the math.  I saw the doctor and got a due date.  The math held.  This baby would be due in early April of 2008.  Jackson was due April 4, 2004.  This baby would be due April 8.  Four days difference didn’t feel like much difference at all.  At least, it wasn’t enough difference. Too much the same.  Too much to compare to.  Too many memories.  I mean, it was a given that I would worry.  Pregnancy equals worry to me these days and it has nothing to do with similar dates.  But would the worry be more?

Then there’s the whole matter of c-section dates.  Back when I pregnant with Jackson, I had no “history”.  Scheduled c-sections were routinely planned to take place at 39 weeks.  Jackson’s c-section was scheduled for March 29th.  But back with Liam, I had a “history” so my c-section was scheduled for earlier.  I was assured this time around that my c-section would be take place around 38 weeks.  Hmm.  That puts us around some rather precarious dates.  March 23rd: The date Jackson was born still to us.  March 31st: The date Jackson was buried.  I had to tell myself that it would be okay, as long as this baby wasn’t born on either of those two dates.  But then… 38 weeks falls on March 25th for me.  Which would mean being pregnant over That Date.  In those nerve-wracking last days of pregnancy, did I feel up to that stress?  Not particularly.

That’s when the perinatologist stepped up and suggested a c-section date between 37 and 38 weeks.  I had March 21st stuck in my head for some reason, but the date ended up being March 20th.  That’s fine.  The earlier, the better as far as my sanity is concerned.  There is still some precarious timing there.  My last appointment with Jackson was March 18.  Everything was fine then.  I’m not sure what day I last felt movement.  I was having so many Braxton Hicks and I was busy… I just honestly have no idea. March 20th was a Saturday that year, we made a point to have fun together as a family that day.  I started having actual contractions Monday afternoon, the 22nd.  When he was born, the doctors suspected he had passed two or three days prior.  A little subtraction and March 20th is looking like a pretty likely candidate.

But you know what?  I can’t worry about that anymore.  I just can’t.  For one thing, March 20th in 2004 saw me being 37 weeks, 6 days along.  This year I will be 37 weeks, 2 days.  That’s a difference.  And so what?  It’s about redemption, right?  It doesn’t get much more redeeming to welcome a new soul into the world on the exact day another departed, right?

It’s been hard.  But we’re almost there.  Just hold on a little while longer, wee one.

Filed under Jackson, Pregnant? |