We never had the chance to play, to laugh, to rock, to wiggle.
We long to hold you, touch you now And listen to you giggle.
I'll always be your mother. He'll always be your dad.
You will always be our child, The child we never had.
But now you're gone...but yet you're here. We'll sense you everywhere.
You are our sorrow and our joy. There's love in every tear.
Just know our love goes deep and strong We'll forget you never.
The child we had, but never had, And yet will have forever.
By Christie Michael
Friday, August 7, 2009
Sunday, July 19, 2009
A big step (for me)
Joslynn Nicole Heisler
Color coordinated family and wall :)
In a previous post I mentioned I'd be making a trip to Phoenix to meet my niece. The trip was wonderful overall and I had so much fun with my mom and my sister's growing family. As I also mentioned previously, my niece would be the first newborn that I've held since holding Rylan. Of course, I was apprehensive about how that would go. Seeing my niece definitely reminded me of Rylan and was emotional...but it turned out to be somewhat healing at the same time. I was not surprised that the first time I held her (and at moments during subsequent times I held her) that tears came easily BUT I was surprised (pleasantly) that other times I was just fine and started to really fall in love with the little sweetie. She is very smiley for a 2-week-old, so that didn't hurt our bonding either. My sister and brother-in-law were so gracious with me and seemed to understand that I would naturally spend more time with James, my 2-year-old nephew. I was hesitant to do certain things with Joslynn - little things such as change her diaper. It might sound strange but to do something with another baby that I had last done with Rylan (such as change a diaper) felt like I was being disloyal to Rylan. Ultimately I decided these little obstacles wouldn't get any easier until I just forced myself to face them. Besides, I didn't want to miss out on the opportunity to do all the "baby stuff" with Joslynn and didn't want to be unhelpful to my sister and brother-in-law. I found that doing all those little things for Joslynn was not the end of the world and I could still hold those special moments with my son in my heart and memory too. Plus, knowing how rarely I will get to see Joslynn helped me to be happy and to try and enjoy the time I did have with Rylan's cousin.
Still, there were moments that reminded me how tender and raw the loss still is for me. For example, when we were all out in public strangers would ooh and ahh over my niece and would congratulate my sister. That might seem trivial but I was envious and it hit me how I missed out on all those kind of moments and instead heard lots of condolences and "I'm so sorry" from people after I had a baby. Little things like that can set off tears without warning...but then I have to remind myself that His grace is sufficient for me (II Corinthians 12:9).
Throughout the week I witnessed what special family Joslynn was born into. She could not have a more loving mother, father and big brother! I miss them all soo much and can't wait until the next time we see each other (hopefully soon!). xxxooo
Ezra Martin Blades
Our good friends Margaret and Aaron gave birth to their first child only a few days before Joslynn was born. June was a big month for babies! Even before Ezra was born we'd made plans to visit this weekend, knowing it would be our first free weekend after his due date.
They say the "firsts" that you experience after a loss are the hardest and with more exposure it gets easier. So, seeing as I'd already had my first time holding another newborn, I expected meeting Ezra to be a little easier. It was. With Ezra, as with Joslynn, my brain is learning to sort of 'switch off' and to try and accept the baby as their own little person and not impose all the memories of my baby on him/her (not sure if that makes sense...). I think the fact that he was not related to Rylan made it a little easier than meeting Joslynn but on the other hand the fact that he is a half-asian male reminded me of Rylan in other ways.
It would have been soo fun to have an almost 7-month-old with us (instead we only had our crazy puppy). We are "parents" and yet we are useless in offering any advice on parenting past one day old - and that just hurts. No advice for soothing a fussy baby or nursing or getting them to sleep at night. How I wish we'd got to experience all that and more with Rylan. I do not have bags under my eyes or spit up on my clothes and I don't tote around an overstuffed diaper bag as evidence that I am a mom (yet, the special place in my heart that will always be Rylan's is proof enough to me, even if unseen proof).
Anyway, Ezra is a very cute baby and we are so happy for our friends in so many ways! They are such relaxed and loving parents, but we're not surprised because that's how they've always been. We miss them and enjoyed seeing where they live, attend seminary and worship every week. We are just sorry it took them having a baby to get us to visit! :)
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Back from hiatus
Well, I am back after an unintentional hiatus. The main reason it has been almost two months since the last post is because we got a puppy on May 13th! We love her but she has been so much work! I am extremely behind on emails, blogging and other to-do list items because she demands so much of my time...between housebreaking, playing with her (she doesn't like to play with her toys alone), housebreaking, making sure she stays out of trouble, housebreaking. Did I mention HOUSEBREAKING!? That is by far the most frustrating part about having a puppy (who likes to clean up pee and poo from the floor several times a day??) but every day that she gets older she is less and less stressful and I am proud to say she is about 90% housebroken now. Isn't she cute??
There is a lot I could write about to catch up from the last two months so it's a little daunting to even know where to start. So daunting that I've thought about dropping off the blogging scene altogether but then I think about how helpful it's been for me to be able to put my thoughts down here and there seem to be a fair enough number of people who enjoy reading what I post (at least that's what you've told me!) so I will make a stab at picking back up.
In recent times the toughest week for me came about two/three weeks ago, starting around Father's Day. I expected Mother's Day to be tough but didn't anticipate Father's Day would elicit so many emotions, but it did. It just really hurt that Joe did not have his son that day and I really wish he knew all that he was missing out on. He was such a good dad to Rylan for the one day we had him out of the womb, I just know he would continue to be an amazing father and that a 6-month-old Rylan would be soo fixated on him. The same week was Rylan's would-be 6-month birthday (6/25) and my heart was just breaking not having him all that time and amazed that I had already survived 6 months without him (by God's grace). Also that week our family received a wonderful blessing: my niece was born and I was surprised and honored to learn that they named her Joslynn Nicole. I have not been able to bring myself to hold any newborns since Rylan but I look forward to Joslynn (Rylan's blood cousin) being the first. Naturally the birth of any new baby brings me right back to Rylan's birth, though, and I just ached that Joslynn and Rylan would never meet (other than the time when they were both in utero). There were two other big events that week that are too personal to detail here. So, adding it all up it was a monstrously emotional week.
One of my biggest faults, so to speak, is that I am highly sensitive to what other people think of me. I have never been one of those people who can 'brush it off.' So, throughout this whole ordeal I have constantly wondered and worried what people are thinking of me (not that people are always thinking about me but I mean just if/when I do come to mind!). I wonder, do people think I am grieving too much/too long or not grieving enough? I feel like a lot of people must think I should be "over it" by now. Well I am definitely not over it (nor do I ever plan to be) and I hate feeling like I am not doing what everyone wants me to. Don't get me wrong, I have made a lot of progress in grieving (facing and working through a lot of really hard stuff) and I am making a lot of effort towards being productive each day (and not just staying in bed like most of the first few months when that was all I could manage)...but the fact is my son is still dead. That will never change so it is not something I can ever get over. Ever. You learn to live with it. You learn a new way of breathing and thinking and functioning because you have to but Rylan is never far from my heart and mind. To me it would be unthinkable to just forget about him - what message would that send to our future children? Yeah, you had an older brother but he died so we "got over it" or he only lived one day so he didn't really "count." No. I want my future children to know that if anything ever happened to them it would be just as monumentally devastating because all life is valuable whether you are one day old or a hundred years old. He was still my baby and I will never get over losing him.
Sigh. I know it's hard for anyone who hasn't experienced such a loss to know what to say to me and I too struggle to know what to say sometimes. Thank you soo, soo much for being patient with me anyway and for putting up with all my ups and downs. Wondering how I can ever thank everyone for everything that they have done for Joe and me over the past 6 months has been on my mind a lot. It is truly overwhelming (in a good way). The words seem insufficient but, thank you all.
There is a lot I could write about to catch up from the last two months so it's a little daunting to even know where to start. So daunting that I've thought about dropping off the blogging scene altogether but then I think about how helpful it's been for me to be able to put my thoughts down here and there seem to be a fair enough number of people who enjoy reading what I post (at least that's what you've told me!) so I will make a stab at picking back up.
In recent times the toughest week for me came about two/three weeks ago, starting around Father's Day. I expected Mother's Day to be tough but didn't anticipate Father's Day would elicit so many emotions, but it did. It just really hurt that Joe did not have his son that day and I really wish he knew all that he was missing out on. He was such a good dad to Rylan for the one day we had him out of the womb, I just know he would continue to be an amazing father and that a 6-month-old Rylan would be soo fixated on him. The same week was Rylan's would-be 6-month birthday (6/25) and my heart was just breaking not having him all that time and amazed that I had already survived 6 months without him (by God's grace). Also that week our family received a wonderful blessing: my niece was born and I was surprised and honored to learn that they named her Joslynn Nicole. I have not been able to bring myself to hold any newborns since Rylan but I look forward to Joslynn (Rylan's blood cousin) being the first. Naturally the birth of any new baby brings me right back to Rylan's birth, though, and I just ached that Joslynn and Rylan would never meet (other than the time when they were both in utero). There were two other big events that week that are too personal to detail here. So, adding it all up it was a monstrously emotional week.
One of my biggest faults, so to speak, is that I am highly sensitive to what other people think of me. I have never been one of those people who can 'brush it off.' So, throughout this whole ordeal I have constantly wondered and worried what people are thinking of me (not that people are always thinking about me but I mean just if/when I do come to mind!). I wonder, do people think I am grieving too much/too long or not grieving enough? I feel like a lot of people must think I should be "over it" by now. Well I am definitely not over it (nor do I ever plan to be) and I hate feeling like I am not doing what everyone wants me to. Don't get me wrong, I have made a lot of progress in grieving (facing and working through a lot of really hard stuff) and I am making a lot of effort towards being productive each day (and not just staying in bed like most of the first few months when that was all I could manage)...but the fact is my son is still dead. That will never change so it is not something I can ever get over. Ever. You learn to live with it. You learn a new way of breathing and thinking and functioning because you have to but Rylan is never far from my heart and mind. To me it would be unthinkable to just forget about him - what message would that send to our future children? Yeah, you had an older brother but he died so we "got over it" or he only lived one day so he didn't really "count." No. I want my future children to know that if anything ever happened to them it would be just as monumentally devastating because all life is valuable whether you are one day old or a hundred years old. He was still my baby and I will never get over losing him.
Sigh. I know it's hard for anyone who hasn't experienced such a loss to know what to say to me and I too struggle to know what to say sometimes. Thank you soo, soo much for being patient with me anyway and for putting up with all my ups and downs. Wondering how I can ever thank everyone for everything that they have done for Joe and me over the past 6 months has been on my mind a lot. It is truly overwhelming (in a good way). The words seem insufficient but, thank you all.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Mother's Day
This was a special Mother's Day. I am not sure if it counts as my first or second Mother's Day because I sort of celebrated last year when I was pregnant with Rylan. Either way, it was my first Mother's Day without Rylan. Because of that I was anticipating it would be a really hard day for me. However, I thank God the day went better than expected... The only thing that could have made it better was, of course, if Rylan was here. But, I am just so happy I got to be his mommy, no one else. For a change I tried not to focus on all the sadness from the loss but instead on all the happy things about being his mommy.
After the race several of us went out for a brunch buffet. The food sure tasted great knowing we'd earned it! :) We want to make it an annual tradition to do this race and then go out to brunch. So, the more the merrier next year!! The good thing is there is a 5k walk at the same location so even if we only felt up to walking one year we could do that instead.
In the early afternoon Joe took a nap and I did one of my favorite things: laying out in our backyard with a book and enjoying the sun. In the late afternoon Joe's parents came over and we had a nice dinner of Korean BBQ with them. Then we all watched Slumdog Millionaire (I am officially the last person in this country to see it!).
I received several cards and emails which were really touching. It meant so much that friends and family remembered that I am a mother. Joe is not always the best about remembering cards/gifts but he gave me a really thoughtful card and two books about motherhood. It was perfect and so meaningful in my eyes.
The race (Norwalk Mother's Day 10k) ended up being a great idea. It got me out of bed and accomplishing something right from the start. The "runner's high" and the sunshine (the weather was amazing) helped keep my spirits up all day. Although I didn't set any time records, I was just happy to finish the race. It might not be a big deal for someone else but to me it was a huge accomplishment and symbolic of the fact that no matter what additional challenges lie ahead in my life I will get through them (and can still remember Rylan at the same time). Joe and about 7 of our friends ended up joining me to run the race in Rylan's memory. One of those people was our friend Youn Su. She was so thoughtful and had a hat made for me which said "running for Rylan." It was so special and a constant reminder to me during the race of why I wanted to run it in the first place. Among other reasons, I wanted to do it for my baby boy who will never have the chance to do anything on this earth (although, he isn't missing much when compared to heaven!) and while I have my health there was no excuse not to! I went through 13 hours of labor and then losing my baby the next day, how bad could one 6.2 mile run be?? It was so great to have a bunch of friends there supporting us. Without a doubt that helped me complete the race. Also, Julia (the woman I used to nanny for) happened to be running in the race and her family was there to support her. As I neared the finish line I heard all these little voices shouting, "go Nicole!" and I realized it was her kids. It made my day to see them.
After the race several of us went out for a brunch buffet. The food sure tasted great knowing we'd earned it! :) We want to make it an annual tradition to do this race and then go out to brunch. So, the more the merrier next year!! The good thing is there is a 5k walk at the same location so even if we only felt up to walking one year we could do that instead.
In the early afternoon Joe took a nap and I did one of my favorite things: laying out in our backyard with a book and enjoying the sun. In the late afternoon Joe's parents came over and we had a nice dinner of Korean BBQ with them. Then we all watched Slumdog Millionaire (I am officially the last person in this country to see it!).
Thank you so much to everyone who helped me celebrate and get through Mother's Day this year.
Love you Rylan.
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Just me, only me, always me
As my first Mother’s Day approaches, I wanted to write something that would express the permanence of my motherhood. Though we hope to one day have more children, Rylan will always be the one who first made me a mother. I am his only mother and I will always be his mother. Death cannot take that away from me.
Just me, only me, always me
No one else in the world can claim to be Rylan's mother.
I am the proud, proud owner of that title.
Just me, only me, always me.
I carried you with me for 9 too-brief months.
I felt your every movement, every hiccup, every jab to my ribs.
Just me, only me, always me.
Though I was saddened it would be the end of our unbroken togetherness,
I gave every last ounce of myself to labor with you and get you out.
Just me, only me, always me.
When I first heard your sweet, tiny, heavenly cry I knew I was a mother.
Your mother Rylan.
Just me, only me, always me.
When I saw you clearly for the first time I thought, "I must be in a dream."
Never had I seen such a beautiful and perfect creature in all my life!
I loved you with a new found and indescribable motherly love.
Just me, only me, always me.
Later you opened your eyes and looked at me. It felt as though our souls connected in that moment and that we’d known each other forever.
That brief, tender moment of newborn mother and newborn child will forever be the sweetest memory to me.
Just me, only me, always me.
You were mine and I could not have imagined you would soon be gone.
I held you when at last, without a struggle, you breathed your soul away.
I too breathed something of myself away in that moment. My precious boy was gone. Though your dad and many others who loved you were gathered around, I was the mother and no one else experienced losing you quite like I had to.
Just me, only me, always me.
Your birth made me a mother and I will never be the same.
Your death has only magnified my longing and affection for you my sweet, sweet baby boy. I will never stop loving you and my life will forever be enriched because I am your mother.
Just me, only me, always me.
Your loving and forever devoted mother.
Nicole
Just me, only me, always me
No one else in the world can claim to be Rylan's mother.
I am the proud, proud owner of that title.
Just me, only me, always me.
I carried you with me for 9 too-brief months.
I felt your every movement, every hiccup, every jab to my ribs.
Just me, only me, always me.
Though I was saddened it would be the end of our unbroken togetherness,
I gave every last ounce of myself to labor with you and get you out.
Just me, only me, always me.
When I first heard your sweet, tiny, heavenly cry I knew I was a mother.
Your mother Rylan.
Just me, only me, always me.
When I saw you clearly for the first time I thought, "I must be in a dream."
Never had I seen such a beautiful and perfect creature in all my life!
I loved you with a new found and indescribable motherly love.
Just me, only me, always me.
Later you opened your eyes and looked at me. It felt as though our souls connected in that moment and that we’d known each other forever.
That brief, tender moment of newborn mother and newborn child will forever be the sweetest memory to me.
Just me, only me, always me.
You were mine and I could not have imagined you would soon be gone.
I held you when at last, without a struggle, you breathed your soul away.
I too breathed something of myself away in that moment. My precious boy was gone. Though your dad and many others who loved you were gathered around, I was the mother and no one else experienced losing you quite like I had to.
Just me, only me, always me.
Your birth made me a mother and I will never be the same.
Your death has only magnified my longing and affection for you my sweet, sweet baby boy. I will never stop loving you and my life will forever be enriched because I am your mother.
Just me, only me, always me.
Your loving and forever devoted mother.
Nicole
Monday, May 4, 2009
Getting Through Grief by Deborah R. Gemmill
Getting Through Grief
Deborah R. Gemmill, from Getting Through Grief, 1996, Beachcomber Press
My baby has died.
Please don't tell me you know how I feel. You don't. You can't. I hope you never do.
Don't tell me he's with God and I should be happy. How can I be happy when every time I go into his nursery all I see is an empty crib and toys that will never be played with? How can I be happy when my arms ache to hold him?
Please don't tell me God needed another angel. It's hard for me to understand why God would take away this little one who was so loved. Maybe I'll understand later. But for right now, let God find another angel.
Please, please, please don't tell me I'll have other children. Maybe I will, but my son was not a puppy that ran away. He cannot be replaced.
Maybe you could just listen when I remember out loud all the things that we did together: the walks, the early morning feedings, the first time he rolled over. Maybe you could just sit with me while I cry over all the things we'll never do together.
Please don't tell me it could be worse. How? I really don't want to hear about your grandfather's death. It's not the same. Don't think my pain will be eased by comparison. Of course I'm glad that he didn't suffer, but I'd be a lot happier if he hadn't died at all.
I know it must be hard for you, but would you mind looking at his picture just one more time?We don't have many of him, and I'm just a little bit afraid that I may forget what he looked like. He wasn't here that long, you know.
Could you please just listen? Don't tell me I'll get over it. There is no "over it," only through it. Maybe you could just be with me while I take my first steps through it.
Please don't tell me I should be glad he was just a baby, or that at least I didn't get to know him. I knew him. I knew him before I ever saw him. He is a part of me. And now he is gone. I haven't just lost a seven-month-old baby. I have lost a part of myself.
I know you mean well, but please don't expect me to tell you how to help me. I'd tell you if I knew. But right now I can hardly put one foot in front of the other.
Maybe if you looked around, you could find some things to do, like taking my daughter for a walk, or doing the dishes, or making some coffee.
Please don't try to remove my pain or distract me from it. I have to feel this way now. Maybe you could just listen.
Deborah R. Gemmill, from Getting Through Grief, 1996, Beachcomber Press
My baby has died.
Please don't tell me you know how I feel. You don't. You can't. I hope you never do.
Don't tell me he's with God and I should be happy. How can I be happy when every time I go into his nursery all I see is an empty crib and toys that will never be played with? How can I be happy when my arms ache to hold him?
Please don't tell me God needed another angel. It's hard for me to understand why God would take away this little one who was so loved. Maybe I'll understand later. But for right now, let God find another angel.
Please, please, please don't tell me I'll have other children. Maybe I will, but my son was not a puppy that ran away. He cannot be replaced.
Maybe you could just listen when I remember out loud all the things that we did together: the walks, the early morning feedings, the first time he rolled over. Maybe you could just sit with me while I cry over all the things we'll never do together.
Please don't tell me it could be worse. How? I really don't want to hear about your grandfather's death. It's not the same. Don't think my pain will be eased by comparison. Of course I'm glad that he didn't suffer, but I'd be a lot happier if he hadn't died at all.
I know it must be hard for you, but would you mind looking at his picture just one more time?We don't have many of him, and I'm just a little bit afraid that I may forget what he looked like. He wasn't here that long, you know.
Could you please just listen? Don't tell me I'll get over it. There is no "over it," only through it. Maybe you could just be with me while I take my first steps through it.
Please don't tell me I should be glad he was just a baby, or that at least I didn't get to know him. I knew him. I knew him before I ever saw him. He is a part of me. And now he is gone. I haven't just lost a seven-month-old baby. I have lost a part of myself.
I know you mean well, but please don't expect me to tell you how to help me. I'd tell you if I knew. But right now I can hardly put one foot in front of the other.
Maybe if you looked around, you could find some things to do, like taking my daughter for a walk, or doing the dishes, or making some coffee.
Please don't try to remove my pain or distract me from it. I have to feel this way now. Maybe you could just listen.
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