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"Grief is the price we pay for love"-Queen Elizabeth II

I've had a lot of thoughts these past few weeks since my first post. A lot has happened too. First of all, I quit my job that I've been at for the past 3 years to work out at our family farm. I realized that I needed to be in an environment where I could heal and would allow me to heal. No better way to do that than to be with family. It's been a good change. A much needed change.
Going back to work was hard. Funny thing about staying busy is it doesn't give you as much time to think about the things that make you sad, angry, frustrated or on the verge of tears all day. I suppose that's a good thing. I guess I've since learned that it is a good thing even if at first I felt bad about not having as much time as I did in the beginning to mourn my Eloise.
Although I've tried to take steps to get back into a routine I still allow myself to have moments of grief.  I allow myself to talk to her in my mind and tell her how much I wish that she was here instead of where she is now. I still have moments when the unbearable heartache out of no where hits me square in the chest. It's not easy to forget when signs and evidence that she was once with me are all over my body when I look in the mirror, but now all I have is a memory. It's not easy seeing pictures of pregnant bellies, new moms with their babies and being reminded that I should be posting pictures right along with them. Even with time the pain never goes away. You simply just learn how to live with loss.
My biggest fear from day one has been that people will forget her. I could never forget her. I think that's why there's a part of me that wants to stay in this stage of grief and pain forever, because in some way that means I'm not forgetting her. Does that make sense? Is it weird that when I realize I've gone awhile without thinking of her I feel guilty? That I feel like I've hurt her feelings?
I recently described this past little while to a friend as it feeling like I had been shoved down the rabbit hole. I'm just free falling. Not being able to tell up from down. This experience has definitely been the biggest test of my faith. It has tested everything I believe in. It has tested my faith in God, in His plan and even in myself. I remember going through a similar test when my dad passed away and being faced with the questions: Do I really believe all I've been taught to believe? Do I believe I will be with him again? In ways the same questions are being asked only on a much more personal level. Looking back I realize losing my dad was just preparation.
Regardless of what kind of day I'm having or moments when I think how incredibly unfair this all is, I have to dig down deep and believe that somehow despite my lack of answers and understanding that everything will one day work itself out. I don't know how it will, but I have to believe it will. I have to find hope even if it's in the smallest thing. Because if I allowed the doubts and fears to take over I would drown and most days I struggle just to keep my head above water. My mom has always reminded me that with hope we have everything. Without it we have nothing. I'm beginning to understand how true that is.
I will be honest and say that I have been completely dreading the month of April! Eloise was due April 16. I'm not quite sure how to prepare for what lies ahead. I some times just wish I could take a sedative that knocks me out til June, but that would be too easy!
I do want to take a moment and say something about my amazing husband Julio. I wish I could be more like him. He has what I believe to be the God given gift of being able to accept whatever life throws at him. And life has certainly dealt him his share of unfair hands at times. I wish I could accept what has happened just as easily as he has. However, I know this hasn't been easy for him. He grieves in his own way. I know he's had his broken, painful moments too. His strength amazes me though and I honestly wouldn't choose anyone else to navigate this challenge with. I guess that's how I know I've made the right decision in being with him forever. He is definitely my rock and I am grateful that he allows me to cry it all out some nights. I am grateful for his patience with me. And I am especially grateful that when the moments get a little too unbearable or serious he is there trying to make me laugh and smile.
Tonight I found myself prompted to go to a group therapy session that is held every month for families that have lost babies. I had planned in my mind all week to go, but of course I forgot and realized 15 minutes after it had already started. I debated whether or not to still go, but I felt like even if I was there for a few minutes I should still try and go.
Unfortunately, I read the card wrong and thought that the class was being held on the Labor & Delivery floor in the hospital! So there I found myself retracing my steps up to the 5th floor just as we had done almost two months ago. It wasn't until I was standing outside of Labor & Delivery talking to the nurse on the phone that I realized I had read the card wrong! The thought had crossed my mind that it was awfully cruel of them to hold a grief session in the same place I had given birth!!! When I found out where I was to go I hung up the phone and cried the whole way down the elevator and out to my car.
Like all things end when you follow a prompting I am so glad that I went. Although all of us have been through the pain of losing a child, how we have experienced that pain is different and personal. There is something about talking with people who have in some way experienced a taste of what you have been through that is so healing and comforting. To have people validate your feelings whether they be good or bad is such a healing thing.
In the weeks that followed the birth of Eloise I remember telling Julio, "if one more person tells me 'you're such a special woman to be the mother of such a perfect daughter' I may just starting screaming or punch you in the face!" I hated hearing that because I don't want to be a "special" person and I don't want my daughter to be perfect either! I just want to be like every other mom that gets to raise her child now.
I don't even know their names because I ended up being 45 minutes late to the group session, but I am grateful for the women I had the opportunity to be with tonight. I'm grateful they were brave enough to share their stories and feelings with me. It hit me as I was sharing some of my thoughts that indeed I was sitting in a room full of special women who had given birth to some very special and perfect children. Not every woman could bear what we have been asked to bear nor should any woman have to. I don't mean to say that in a "hair toss toss look at me kind" of way either. I think I just realized that although that was hard to hear from people at first (and it still is some days) there is purpose within this trial even if I don't understand all aspects of it yet. Somehow this experience is shaping me into the person I need to become. Somehow every morning (and not by my own strength) I am able to face another day.
I suppose knowing Eloise is where we all long to be and that she's made it should bring me some sort of comfort. I should be happy! After all, as a parent all you want is for your children to be where she is. Now it's up to me to live my life so I can be with her. I some times think I shouldn't be sad knowing what I know. I'm not to that point yet, but I have hope that one day I will be.

Defining Moments

"There are moments that mark your life. Moments when you realize nothing will ever be the same and time is divided into two parts- before this, and after this." 

One such moment began in the early hours of February 5, 2015…

 My husband Julio gets up early each morning for work and while most days I sleep right through his morning rituals only to be woken up by a kiss, a hug and an "I love you" before he's off, this particular morning as he was getting ready I suddenly woke up in a panic. Something was different. Something felt different. It was then I realized I hadn't felt my baby move. In fact, from what I remembered I hadn't felt her move at all the previous day either. I quickly reached for my phone and pulled up my music. I don't recall what song I selected and put up to my belly but after several minutes of no movement I called for my husband. By this time I was in tears.
One thing you must know about my husband is he is not emotional like me. I sometimes joke that he's not really Latin. That I have more of that Latin trait than he does and he lived in Mexico for 13 years of his life! My husband is a very logical person and he keeps me grounded. I've been grateful for that in situations when my emotions have gotten the best of me. So when his response to me after I called him in was not his typical, "Mel, stop worrying. She's fine." type of answer and instead silence and a look of concern I knew something was very wrong. It was then he made the decision that we needed to go to Labor and Delivery to get checked out.
 From that moment on everything just seemed like a dream. I remember during car ride to the hospital we didn't speak a word to each other. I remember thinking how peaceful the early morning is. Not knowing what we were about to face I just tried to believe that everything was going to be ok. We were going to go in there and hear her heartbeat, she and I would have a long talk about not scaring momma anymore and we'd move on. Life rarely turns out the way we expect it to.
After getting settle into a room and changing clothes the nurse came in to run tests. When she couldn't hear a heartbeat I think she made up the excuse that "sometimes the placenta gets in the way and it's hard to hear the heartbeat". Bless her heart for trying. I don't know if that's true or not, but it was in that moment I think I knew this wasn't going to turn out the way I thought it would.
 Not too long after that the doctor came in to do an ultrasound. During that ultrasound I kept my eyes fixed on Julio. I was looking for any reaction, any sign of hope, any indication that things were fine and everything was going to be okay. After what felt like forever, the doctor confirmed what we already knew. She was gone. There was no life. All I could do was cry. I couldn't believe what he was telling us was now our reality. There had to be some mistake. He needed to check again. My baby was not really gone. How could this be??
 After that, it's all a blur. Discussions of how to proceed, when to deliver, how to deliver, our thoughts about an autopsy. I barely remember anything. I assume this was my body's way of dealing with such devastating news. I kept going back and forth between unbearable heartache, you know the kind that overcomes your entire body with indescribable pain and sadness, to not feeling at all and thinking this is not happening. This is not my reality. Up until that moment I thought the hardest thing I would ever experience was losing a parent at 16. Losing a child at 29, not possible. Not.possible.

 Eloise Ava Johnson was born via c-section Thursday, February 5, 2015 at 2:42 in the afternoon. She weighed 2 lbs. 3 ounces and was 15 inches long. The doctors said that when they pulled her out her arms were crossed on her body and that she looked so peaceful. My brother would later say, "I think she wanted you to know that she is at peace. She's with Dad and she's okay."

 She had the thick wavy hair that I had hoped she'd have and in my eyes was the most perfect human being. Even before she was born I had fallen in love with her profile. Especially her nose. I thought she was beautiful in ultrasounds. She was even more beautiful in person. We were able to bathe her, 

dress her and hold her for as long as we wanted. Creating moments that I will forever cherish. However, lingering in the back of my mind was the agony of knowing that eventually we would have to say goodbye. How do you say goodbye to someone you don't even know, yet had such an impact on your life? The next day before we said our final goodbye I kept asking the nurse if Eloise was going to be ok. My heart hurt so much to think she was going to be in some cold place alone. I didn't want that for my baby. I felt so helpless. 

I remember telling my mom that throughout the 30 weeks I was pregnant I had felt something. I had a feeling. I didn't know how to describe it. I couldn't explain it. I didn't know what it was, but deep down  I knew something. Never in a million years would I have dreamed this would be that something. She told me that the day my dad was diagnosed with a brain tumor she had similar feelings. Her belief is that in some instances our spirits know and we're being prepared.

 In the days since Eloise left us I've tried desperately to make any sort of sense out of what has happened. My husband says I'm a fixer. So in true "fixer" fashion I've gone back over everything over and over again trying to find something to explain why things are the way they are. I scoured the internet for answers. What did I miss? What did I do wrong? As a mother and the one who carried her it's hard not to place blame on myself. I should have known something was wrong.
  It's hard feeling like I understood my purpose. I was certain I understood why some things didn't work out in the past. I was supposed to be a mom and be home to raise my daughter. I felt like for the first time in a long time God and I were on the same page. Now, all of a sudden I find myself back at square one lost and confused about what exactly my purpose is.
 It's been difficult to pick up the pieces. Even harder to feel okay about moving on. Realizing that life moves on with or without me. Which, frankly, I don't think is very fair at all. My heart knows that Eloise would want us to be happy and living life to the fullest. In fact, on really good days I say I will live life to the fullest in her honor and I do.
  Most days though the goal is just to survive. Which is where the idea for a blog came about in the first place. Nights are hard in the sense that I don't sleep as well as I used to. I thought that this might be a good way to channel my energy and one way to help me heal. I can't promise anything spectacular, but I hope in some way it helps me or even you, the reader.
  "There are moments that mark your life." Well, this is definitely one of them. I am forever a changed person because of this experience. A piece of me died the day Eloise did and I won't ever be whole until I have her in my arms again. She helped me realize things I didn't even know I needed or wanted.
 While I may not understand a lot of things right now I look back on the past month and realize that by some miracle we've made it more than a month! In ways the heartache isn't as unbearable as it was the morning in February. And I realize how incredibly lucky and blessed I am so have had someone so precious with me for 30 weeks.