Thank you for the invitation to sit for a moment. It is all I want to do right now. Sit. Be still. Be quiet. Retreat. The second anniversary of Henry's death looms (12/17). I am feeling the darkness and the weight of it so much this December.

Last December, my daughter was born, six days before the first anniversary. The anxiety before her arrival and the relief and need to care for a newborn took the grief edge off of last year. But it is all hitting me hard this year. I find myself in tears each day, something that hasn't happened for a while. And there is no specific trigger to the tears. They just come.

I am planning a first birthday party, trying to have one foot in the Christmas spirit, overwhelmed with work, and longing, needing, to sit and look at pictures of my boy and feel all that I need to feel. Maybe write about it, possibly talk about it, but mostly just be with it.

I feel more isolated in my feelings suddenly. I don't know that people I know realize how hard this month is for me right now, not because I'm trying to hide it, but because everything feels like it is happening under the surface.

I'm angry. It definitely snuck up on me--I've been doing so well. It's been over two years since my daughter's death, and it no longer feels like I'm gasping for air, so this anger surprised me a bit.

Last week I went to a mother/daughter Christmas tea with my mom and sister-in-law, and I found myself gritting my teeth and overcompensating with bitter, sharp-edged jokes.

For the past two Christmases, my husband and I have chosen something to place in our daughter's stocking. Something small that helps us remember her, but this year the thought of purchasing something she will never see, never use pisses me off.

thank you for this space, julia.

i am hating this month. my husband cried because we had our first real snow that he will never get to play in with his baby daughter. i tried to be a normal person by attending a holiday party and completely ruined the brownies i was supposed to bring. we don't really want to put up a tree. we don't want to buy gifts of joy and peace for other people. my schedule is totally out of whack. my friends are busy elsewhere.

we went to lilly's christmas musical at church and i remembered with a shock - duh! - that at heart christmas is about the arrival of a BABY. christmas can so totally bite me.

i'm not really dreading christmas day itself. because it's already the season. this awfulness will be weeks long, not a day long. yippee. i did order an engraved ornament with her name. we might do a stocking too. we'll make a donation someplace.

i like what tash said above, about being real about what this time means. i don't want to feel like i OUGHT to be joyful or have christmas spirit. i want to be free to feel like i feel. at the same time, i WANT to feel good, i want to enjoy this time of year, i miss - will continue to miss - being able to enjoy it like (almost) everyone else. it sucks.

I am wavering. Some days are busy and fine. Other days are harder.

Someone said it above, Christmas being about the birth of baby. I remember the day after our ultrasound, three days before we lost Gabriel, knowing it was a boy. It was August and I thought of the Virgin Mary and how Jesus was really born in August, but the celebration date was changed to fit a pagan holiday, blah blah blah. I thought about how neat it was going to be to have a baby near Christmas (probably after), one named Gabriel no less - since the angel figures in heavily there. I thought about how I felt in one-ness with Mary, feeling my son move inside me, feeling hopes and dreams and concerns.

Then he was gone.

My friend is due the day after Gabriel was due. She is round, full, beaming, eagerly anticipating her own son. I feel paralyzed around her. I wish her so much joy, I hope so fervently for things to go smoothly, but she reminds me in a way that few things do anymore. I hope the 'what-ifs' and 'should have beens' get easier when the baby is born. One might not think so, but Gabriel is so entwined now with August in my mind that I hope so.

My husband is having a rough time. He does every year this time. But this weekend, he spat his anger out in a way I haven't seen since the beginning. I had no idea he was still so angry and simmering. He hides it well.

I'm already tired thinking about this holiday and vacation. About the unexpected hurts I know are coming. I got a faint line on a pregnancy test yesterday, and was hopeful. But it looks like it was an evaporation line; the tests this morning were negative. I was ambivalent until this morning looked like a no. Now I'm sad and disappointed, even though I can point out the silver linings.

I'm having a harder time than I was three weeks ago, still better than I was three months ago, still miss him desperately and still wonder sometimes how life is going to continue. I'm tired thinking about trying again, about going through it all again. But that ache to hold my child in my arms . . . it's bigger than the tired, I guess.

What are these things you call "holidays?"

I had no idea sites like this one existed. Online communities like this existed. Until this week. It's like a secret club for wounded hearts. My beautiful daughter, Elodie, died 25 days ago. She was full-term (39 weeks) and all of a sudden no heartbeat. She died from a knot in the cord. I saw it clear as day when she came out. I am still in shock and haven't returned to work yet. Just numb. At the same time crazy, crazy anxious to try to get pregnant again as soon as our six week waiting period is up. Is this normal? Did anyone feel the same way? I am obsessed with the idea, even researching Dr's that specialize in post stillbirth pregnancies. Thanksgiving was hard and Christmas will be harder. But I have to keep moving. I have a 3 1/2 year old girl who thinks Christmas is the most magical time of year and that Santa is like a god. The show must go on for her. I can't get in the way of Christmas happening for her. It is already unfair that she lost her sister (or really the promise of a new baby sister as she never even got a chance to hold or play with her like I had been promising for months).

How do you really take care of yourself after this happens? How do things ever return to seemingly "normal"?

I know I'll be okay. I have a husband, friends, family, church, co-workers that love me. I trust in God and that there is a place called heaven. And that Elodie is there now with Jesus.

But I don't think I will be "normal" ever again. Let alone figure out how to take care of myself.

Sara - I'm holding you and Henry in my heart - you've been such a support to me, and I'm here for you, too.

JBF - I'm so sorry for the loss of your sweet Elodie. My daughter, Sierra, died at 28 weeks gestation in July. I'm a bit farther down the road, but I'm walking with you. I have a three-year-old son, also. Check out the blogroll here - this community is sadly much too big, but very supportive and full of wonderful folks. And come over to my blog, too, if you want - I'm not in the blogroll yet (need to remember to do that) but if you click my name at the end of this comment, you'll see the link. Yes, the desire to get pregnant again right away was strong for me, too, at first, and I've seen many others say that they felt that way as well. Now, though, with a little more time, I'm more hesitant, more afraid of having another loss (but I have a 10-20% chance of the problem I had happening again).

Julia - Thanks for this space.

I'm struggling with the holidays too. It's hard to find the heart or energy for them, and I just miss my baby so so much. Julia, you mention commercials - there's one on TV right now for a local jewelry store that features a couple with a new baby, and I've only seen it once, thankfully, but it triggered instant tears. My son is extremely excited about Christmas, and I'm doing it for him, but I'm constantly imagining the baby, wondering about her reaction to the lights, the ornaments, snow, her brother's excitement. The baby I lost and my living son had the exact same due date, and I can picture him so vividly during his first holiday season. I should be going through that again now, with a new baby, with Sierra. Those are such happy memories and yet such painful reminders of what I'm missing now.

At Thanksgiving dinner I lit a candle for Sierra and a few others who were missed at the table. I'm trying to think of ways to include Sierra at Christmas. I want her name on my cards - although I haven't quite decided how I'm going to do that. I think I'll just write a simple "In memory of..." line under our signatures. And I'm going to get her an ornament.

The holidays this year? I was anticipating them with a feeling of peace and joy. Today, I want to say screw it and hide under the covers and cry. I've cried alot today. Not for any particular reason other than missing my son and the possibility of his life. Interestingly enough, I blogged today about needing some space from it all, my husband and children, life. I need some time to just cry and feel Calvin, my love, my joy, my sorrow. I need some quiet time to cry loudly if I want. And although I'm sure Christmas won't feel as empty and shitty this year, there is something about the bleak grey of winter that makes me want to huddle up in blankets, with a box of tissue and zone out until spring. I'm hating winter. I'm hating the grey and cold and darkness. Things feel dead in winter. I don't think I will feel good again until the spring arrives with the promise of life and rebirth.

Thanks for asking. No one else seems to be wondering about this aspect of how I'm doing this year, and while I understand they'd all rather be happy and hopeful about my pregnancy it can be hard to find a space to talk about how much I still miss my boy.

I seem to be doing a lot of vacillating between hope and expectation, sadness and grief, but I sometimes find a bit of balance where I can feel all of this at once and those are the times when things feel most right, somehow. I'm longing for some snow - I find the stillness it brings and the way it blankets everything to be comforting in spite of the shoveling.

And I keep thinking that this is so much better than it was last year, which is a relief and a surprise and something I'm trying not to feel guilty about.

Actually, so far so good!

It's been a little over 2 years since my son died and one year since my husband turned himself into an ex. I'm so thankful that this year I'm not smothered in acute grief. Still broke (thanks to being left with the house payment), still annoyed by the pressure to be merry and festive, but I'm enjoying the season and staying present.

I'm doing my best to keep things stress-free by only purchasing gifts for the people I will spend Christmas day with; everyone else is getting holiday cards.

Wishing love and peace to all of you who are struggling - the holidays can be horrible when you are missing loved ones.

JBF - I'm so sorry to hear about Elodie, that you are joining our ranks.

At first, I didn't want to get pregnant ever again, I thought I could never do it. Within a couple of weeks, I was doing the same sort of thing - researching docs, looking at what might have caused the PTL, thinking about trying again. I've been through a lot of testing since and wasn't as careful as I ought to have been this past cycle. Which strangely - that small chance or possibility of pregnancy, scary as it was . . . now that I feel pretty certain I'm not, I can see quite clearly just how badly I want to be pregnant again.

It's exhausting, as I said above - how much easier, mentally and emotionally, would it have been if it had just magically happened? - but I'm right there with you. I think when you come to see your family a certain way and open yourself up to a new person and then suddenly lose them, it's a natural reaction to want to do something to restore that picture, even though you know it's not totally the same (and will never be quite right). Just my opinion, anyway.

Sending you warm thoughts and sending everyone wishes for some peace and some joy somewhere in the holidays.

Well, this Christmas sure will be different to last year. That's for sure. Last year, no Hope or no hope. No joy no cheer. Nothing. This year, the "rainbow" has arrived so there is more reason to smile. But we're not healed. We're not fixed. It may be his first Christmas, but it is our second Christmas without her. So it is as bittersweet as you can get.
And JBF, I'm so, so sorry about Elodie. I was in exactly the same place as you. Losing my daughter and wanting to be pregnant again as soon as humanly possible. Follow the link to my blog if you wish to read about my story. I send you all my love and strength for you in these early days of your grief. My heart is broken for you.

I'm with Niobe. What effing holidays?

With the guilt nagging me of what kind of wretched mother I'd be to a 4 and 5 year old with no Christmas tree, it's finally up. And for two years in a row we've hung an ornament on the tree from the hospital -- one last year for B and one this year for S. I'm relieved I'll never have another Christmas with an ornament instead of a baby.

This is my first time posting and I really wish I didn't know about this group.

I'm really dreading this Christmas. It has been three months since I lost my little girl, Liana. I was full term,40 weeks, when we lost her due to cord compression. My husband and I found out we were pregnant last Dec. 20. We were so excited to be spending our last Christmas just the two of us. We couldn't wait until this Christmas when we would have a baby to share the day with. And now Liana is gone and I'm miserable. I try to get into the spirit for family and friends but I'm not into it this year. I don't feel like decorating the house for Christmas or shopping.

I go back and forth about wanting to get pregnant as soon as possible or waiting. I want to have a baby with me, but I know another baby will never replace my Liana. I'm scared to get pregnant again even though I know the chances of lossing another baby to cord compression are incredibly small.

I thought I was doing ok. I was surprised by how calm I was feeling with Christmas approaching, then this morning WHAMMO! I decided to take a trip into town, do a few chores, buy a few stocking fillers.
First store I went in, I had a horrible time looking for the vitamins my doctor suggested I take, so asked at the counter, cue assistant calling loudly to two more assistants, followed by very loud coversations about said vitamins, then first assistant taking me to see the pharmacist and being told I couldn't buy them, but needed a prescription,by which time I wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.
Tried to pull myself together, go into another store, avoid the darling little baby things,and buy two pretty frames to hold pictures of my dead daughter, leave tears welling in my eyes, catch bus home, and I've been crying ever since.
I miss her, I miss her so much.

Jenni, your husband's tears are heartbreaking, as all tears are. My own husband said this week that this is when we should all be together and we never will be again. I don't have a howl loud enough or furious enough to express that.

JBF, so sorry to welcome you and sweet Elodie. What a beautiful name.

Maggie, I am sorry for the tragedy of losing Liana.

For me, it's sucking more than I expected. I am genuinely enjoying the effort of trying to create those "magical" memories for the living children, but every other moment it seems is filled with longing for Eva. Sometimes I feel as though I give myself over to that longing and let it encapsulate and define me to a point of self-indulgence. The idealized baby. The everything. It's seductive, in a way, and I need to snap the hell out of it.

Thank you, for asking.

JBF - I lost my daughter the day before Thanksgiving at 34 weeks. We're still waiting for results from her autopsy but they think it was a knot in her cord. We also have a beautiful 3 year old daughter who is helping us through this with no idea what she's doing for us or what she lost. This website has been a comfort to me. I hope you feel less alone. It is so very tragic how many stories there are like ours and that they've been here all along.

The holidays this year are surreal. Her death is so new that we really have no idea what to expect. I was expecting to still be pregnant for Christmas. Now we're stuck trying to figure out when to buy the rest of our family's Christmas and where to scatter Olivia's ashes. Her urn is on our bookshelf in the meantime while there's a tree full of lights in the next room.

We bought an ornament for her yesterday but I relate to Julie - an ornament is no replacement for a baby. I'm just waiting to get through the holidays this year without destroying the magic for Lily. Sort of going through the motions, I guess.

JBF - I lost my son 6 years ago this New Year's Eve due to a knot in his umbilical cord. Every month after that I told myself, well, if I get pregnant this month, I'll have a baby by X month. Even though we weren't even trying. I was obsessed - it was one way to get through. And very normal, I think.

And how am I this December? Ok. I miss Ben, but I've had 6 years of not having him, so I'm used to it. How I hate being "used to it." But he's gone and I can't get him back. It's a sad time, but I have two living children now who bring me joy this time of year, even if it is bittersweet. The one thing that really bugs me, though (besides all the people who will NOT mention him, friends and family alike), is that Pampers commercial, with all the sleeping babies and the woman's voice singing Silent Night. I wish someone would ban that commercial because it's just downright painful to watch.

JBF & Maggie - Keep reading here... there is a lot of guidance and warmth. I'm sorry you had to land here, but also glad you found this loving place. It's all normal, even amid the abnormal-ness of losing your child. And each of us experiences it all differently, amid our commonalities. Just know that you are not alone, and be kind, gentle and patient with yourself.

Julia, in terms of the holidays, I have my footing, but barely. Thanks for asking.
Erica P-Saw the jewelry commercial with a newborn, almost puked. Glad I don't store my golf clubs by the flat screen.
This is our first Christmas without Jenna so we thought we would chew up some pre christmas days by going to Florida. I cried in the van on the way to the airport, and on the plane. There is someone missing from our family trip. Who goes to Disney in December anyway? People who are rich or have more pain than money. To myself I say "nice try."
I am finding this all very tough.

I lost my son Leo this past July when my placenta ruptured at 28 weeks pregnant. We had a day with him, but due to his size and a severe brain bleed, he passed away. Some days are fine; almost normal. Other days, like the past 2, as just full of anger and hurt. I am moving forward as best as I can, but every time I hear of a new acquaintance getting pregnant or another tragedy the anxiety floods back. I don't know why anger is my initial gut reaction. Deep down I am happy these people are experiencing the joy of pregnancy. When I peal away the layers of anger, tears flow like Niagara falls and I realize that maybe I am not as over it as I think I am.

I decided to take my 2 year old daughter to visit my parents for 12 days. It has been a nice trip. I have gotten a chance to relax and reflect on how so many things have changed in my life since Leo's passing. I struggled for weeks over whether I should go on the trip or not, and the day before my plane was scheduled to leave I decided, YES, Iam going. Why can't I make this decision to take more time for myself, especailly when the opportunity is there for it? I am realizing that when I take time for myself, then I have to deal with my own emotions. YIKES! Not that I am not upset often by any means, but time for me mean really focusing on what I am going through. My therapist applauds my going away and is constantly reminding my that I have to take care of ME as well.

This trip has been eye opening. It has been a strengthening of my faith, but also an awakening to how often I worry about others and NOT myself. I have feelings too! I miss my son. He was supposed to be here. He was supposed to be in a bouncy seat while we decorated the Christmas tree. He isn't here; and daily I am reminded in so many ways of how he isn't here. How do you switch your point of view? I just keep praying for the positive fairy to head my way. I know this wound will always be in my heart, but when will I see the light?

More and more I think that I won't really move past it all until we have another child. This scares me. I am so scared to get pregnant again. Who ever dreams that after having a perfect pregnancy that you would have a ruptured placenta in at 28 weeks without trauma? I have learned that nothing is definite and nothing is truly safe.

This past year has been a tough one in general, and adding the death of my son on top makes is the darkest part of my life. I hope that the New Year brings a fresh perspective, though I doubt even that.

I thank the Lord for my 2 year old daughter. How could my husband and I ever gotten through this without her? And then I feel guilty that she isn't enough to get me through this. She is the most precious thing, and even she can't bring me completely out of the depths of my sadness.

I keep stressing over what to do this Christmas. Do I come up with something special to remember Leo? What the heck would I choose? Do I want that? UGH!! Why am I so indifferent?

Good things about this season is sunshine and snow. They remind me that everything will be made new soon when spring arrives. I love to bundle up in sweaters and enjoy pot after pot of coffee. I love seeing my daughters face light up at every single Christmas decoration we see from the car window. I am lucky to have these blessings and simple pleasures.

I think I have to "embrace" the pain instead of trying to hide from it. It is going to be a seriously difficult task, but one that I will probably have to give into eventually.

Thanks for inviting me to share... this process is healing in itself.....

I am hurting. Thank you for inviting me to sit. It has been a long times since I have had the chance to do that. I am always on the run and taking care of others, but these last few weeks I have been crying for someone to take care of me. Jan will be 2 years since our baby died. I haven't struggled with emotions in months and now it's hitting me. I want my baby. I want to hold him, and cuddle. I want my daughter to have her sibling here where she can kiss him. I want her to stop having imaginary siblings and have her real one.
I want so many things and it seems to all be mounting on me right now. I am not really sure what to do with all I feel. I was the first of my friends to loose a baby, and the friends that later did have already had another. I know this will never replace the baby they lost but their arms are full again and they are having a hard time understanding why I am still in so much pain. Why I can't move on as easily as they did. I am shopping for gifts for their babies, when I want to shop for my baby.
I needed this. Thanks for listening. I don't know what I am going to do on Christmas....but I want it to be special and still include our baby.
Anyway....thanks for sitting and listening to me.

As I write this tears stream down my face and I don't know why (in this particular moment). Last year around this time I was 3 months pregnant. I was scared and excited and hopeful. I was making plans and packing for a family getaway.

I am doing the same things right now...all the words fit, if you know what I mean...
pregnancy...baby...hope...holidays...family...fear...prenatal vitamins...healthy eating...looking forward to the new year...Hussein

In expecting that I would have conceived again by this time, I know that I am no joy to my family. I only seem to be able to focus on each day based on how it comes,and I don't always know.

My days have actually been very good lately compared to the mess that I was in for a while, but I am still preoccupied, and simply sad. As my 2 week vacation nears I am actually having anxiety...
Kellene, I think the same thoughts, everyday I say, "he was supposed to be here...' I came to the conclusion that every day for the first year I will probably say these words. I want to be ok without him.

I miss my baby. I would have had a child that would be 6 1/2 years old now. I can only guess as to what would have happened. I have 3 small children now and am so very blessed to have them in my life. I try to make the holidays as great as I can for them but deep down I am still missing the baby that didn't make it. There was so much hope there and then it was gone. Replaced by dispair. I continue onwards though. How can I not?

Oh my gosh, Virginia. I am SO with you on that damn Pampers commercial. It reduces me to a sobbing puddle on the floor.

On the other hand, thank you for sharing that our grief will continue to change and feel less manic. While 6 years hardly takes away the pain of losing the life of a child, you remind us that we'll get to the other side where we can see it other than just massive tragedy that is ripping our lives apart.

Thank you so much for sharing.

My son Ethan was born and died on August 31, so this would have been his first Christmas. We are getting ready to travel to spend the holiday with my in-laws and I can't help but think about how different this Christmas would have been if Ethan were here to visit his grandparents and other extended family. We miss him so much.

I agree about the pain of celebrating a holiday that is all about a baby. I usually feel the joy and anticipation of Advent strongly, but this year I am feeling the longing for the day when I will see my boy again and the terrible pain of living in a world where newborns sometimes die. Mostly I feel like I'm one of those people in deep darkness, awaiting the light...and that I need to stay here, waiting. It's helped me to remember that the story of Christmas is about the joyful arrival of a baby, but a baby whose parents were also going to lose him too. I asked my husband to buy me a Peruvian Mary and infant sculpture for my birthday - every morning I look at her holding her baby close and remember that I'm not the only mother who has known this pain, and that love for a child, even one who is going to die, is a powerful and beautiful thing and that it can change the world.

Mostly, I feel awful - the most depressed I've been since Ethan was born. But a few things have helped a little. I ordered glass Christmas ornaments with Ethan's name, birth date and footprints etched on them for us and for my in-laws, who loved Ethan as much as we did. I also bought a stone carving of Mary, Joseph and Jesus to put on his grave so that we have something we can give him, rather than just Christmas morning without him. The mother, father and child remind me so much of us, holding him at his birth. It's also helped to let people close to me know that this is an especially hard time for me. And I've decided not to go to any Christmas parties - back in the day, people in mourning were expected to stay away from parties. I'm glad I don't have to follow mourning rules, but somehow it feels right to stay away from celebrations this year. It helps not to feel like I have to pretend to be joyful when I'm not and it definitely helps not to have to make small talk with people I don't know very well. We are also giving ladybug beenie babies to all the babies on our Christmas list - one of our favorite stuffed animals that we bought for Ethan while I was pregnant was a ladybug beenie baby, so it's a way to love all these other babies in our life while also remembering and honoring Ethan.

I have been thinking of people whose losses are fresher than my own. Flashing back to the first Christmas after Gabriel, saying to my husband: I don't want a tree. I don't want to decorate. We celebrated, I suppose. Went to church, exchanged gifts, winced at the wails of my SIL's newborn. I probably drank a lot.

But that is six years gone. And if I am going to sit here, with everyone in this community, I will say, Take it easy on yourself. Try not to let others' expectations force you into "celebrating". Use the winter as an excuse to hibernate with your spouse, and your grief. It's okay. Have some tea; have some wine. Rest.

This time of year can be like a slap in the face. I remember that. I think it's okay to turn your face away, and wait for the new year, the new spring.

Peace,
rpm

january - miscarriage at 9 weeks
september - blown right tube, emergency surgery to remove ectopic
yesterday - dying fetus in my womb

(and that's just this year, hardy har har)

I am SO done.
and crying.

Oh Rach, I'm so sorry. What miserable timing, but it always is, isn't it? Strength to you. xo

Just this week, I came home with my newborn son, who was born two years exactly from the day his older sister died. This year, every emotion is large. The memories of having and losing her, and the overwhelming gratitude for him and his safe arrival. I didn't think that I would ever have this. Reading some of the comments above, tears come and my chest hurts for others as I recall the last two Christmases without a child, or the hope of ever having one.

Peace to all of you.

JBF - I lost my daughter, Jasmine, at 39 weeks and 1 day Feb 17th this year - birthed her knowing she had died a few hours before when no heartbeat could be found on arrival to hospital. My heart goes out to you and if you would like, please e-mail me to make contact as I know where you are at and may know some of where you maybe heading in the coming months. My truth is that I am gradually recovering in ways I did not know existed and know will continue for the rest of my life. Nothing makes it OK that she died and in the same breath I continue to experience many gifts from my beautiful daughter. This first Christmas, here in Australia, has been gentle and calm most of the time as my husband and I have allowed ourselves to feel out way through it and act on those feelings. My in-laws have greatly assisted in easing this enforced passage of Christmas just by being around with no expectations. A deeper sense of true gratitude of much, since Jasmine died, but never grateful that she died. Somehow the 2 slowly emerge to live side by side in my life - a continuos balancing of the scales which cannot forced, only allowed - as is Christmas to me now. Now Christmas has come and gone, New Year's eve looms and I don't know how that will look either, this day. All I know is that I need to be continually knid to myself and follow what arises.

Much love to you and your family/friends.