All About Charlie

(topic: grief, memories, babies)

Hi friends,

It has lately become more and more noticeable to me that when I talk about Charlie, it's usually in certain repetitive scenarios and often the same few facts and stories.

The most common scenario is that I end up chatting with a stranger, or new acquaintance of some sort, and they ask if I have kids or my former pregnancy otherwise comes up in some way, and they ask about it.
The conversation that results usually ends up covering the same points:
- my son died
- it was a stillbirth
- yes it was full term
- yes it is sad

Sometimes it goes on, usually into nosy questions that strangers and new acquaintances really have no right to ask:
- can you have more?
- will you have more?
- how exactly did it happen? (sometimes followed by questions that start to go in the direction of trying to see if it was my fault)

I almost never get asked his name. I often say it and start calling him by name (he deserves recognition and acknowledgement of his person-hood), but it's almost always started by me. And that's why I'll usually ask other loss moms about their child's name.

I never, ever get asked questions about missing him. I never get asked questions about what he was like. People forget - or maybe haven't realized - that he lived (actively!!!) inside of me for many months before he died. Many people seem to subconsciously assume that because he never breathed, he never lived (and that is the legal definition, but boy did he LIVE inside me! He was so bouncy!).

It is important to note that in some cultures, the moment of official "life" is conception, others it's when the baby first moves (the "quickening"), others it's when the first breath is taken. One could even argue for various stages of development, such as the heart beating, or levels of brain development. The thing is, to a pregnant mother, regardless of the "official" moment of life, the baby is present in their lives before birth. They feel the baby moving and hiccupping, and the baby's reactions to outside stimuli (startlement, moving when there is noise or sound, or kicking when the mom sits in a position that gives the baby space or conversely restricts space).

So I want to tell you some of the stories I never get to talk about. The memories I have of the time when Charlie lived. The months in which I began to get to know him, and build hopes and dreams for him. I want to tell you about CHARLIE, not Charlie's DEATH.

I found out I was pregnant with Charlie on the day before my birthday, on the day we were having a small party with my family and best friend. We decided not to tell anyone yet, and we kept just looking at each other... we were fairly bursting! Afterward, my family and my friend told me they all had suspicions that something was up, and several of them had an idea of what it might be!

When Charlie started kicking, he quickly got really active and vigorous! He bounced and trounced and was so much fun, that we quickly started calling the baby "tigger" (we didn't know whether it was a boy or girl - we'd decided to keep it a surprise till his was born!). We kept calling the baby tigger through the whole pregnancy!

Did you know Charlie loved music?? That was probably one of the most remarkable things about him that we got to know. And he had impeccable taste! We didn't really know he liked music until we went to a concert of the Akron, Ohio symphony, at which Joshua Bell (famous amazing violinist) was soloing. Hubby and I were super excited, but I expected the baby to react to the timpani or maybe the full orchestra sections, since those are the parts that resonate through the body more. Instead, I found that during the solos of the famous violinist, I ended up very distracted, because the baby started dancing like crazy! He settled down during all other parts. He only liked solo world class violin!

A while later, on Mother's Day, my youngest sister (a violinist) was going to play a duet with a church handbell choir. I thought, based on our prior experience, that the baby would only react when my sister was playing alone. Wrong again! Apparently he loved violin AND bells. (It literally just occurred to me as I'm writing this, that at the concert he liked a violinist named Bell, and this time around it was a violinist and bells! HA!)

Because of these experiences, I was already imagining the baby becoming a musical toddler, and borrowing my sister's - his aunt's - 1/16th size violin from when she'd been young and begun playing. It is a future that I miss.

A particularly fun day was when the baby first visibly reacted to Daddy. We were at a civil war ball, and between things we were hanging out in the room. At one point the baby started moving, and I told hubby to come feel. Hubby started pressing a little bit harder, and baby kicked back! He played push-and-kick several times before the baby quieted down again!

After Charlie was born, we got to hold him for a day, and get to know the parts we couldn't before: his face, his body, his physical self.

But some of these I actually already knew! For instance, I didn't know how long his feet and toes were, but I knew they were strong - early on, he boxed with my ovaries, and later in pregnancy he would dig his feet in under my ribs into my liver and puuush!!

His feet were 3-1/2" long, and he had long fingers too.

I got to know his little nose, that was button shaped like mine, but had a strong straight bridge like Daddy's, so who knows who he would have grown up to look like? He had my small ears, not big ones like Daddy, and had some curl in his dark hair.


I don't have a ton of stories, but these are CHARLIE'S stories, like the ones everyone else tells about their children. I just don't ever get any new ones.
Please ask me about Charlie. I might tell the same stories over again, but to me, that is one of the few things I can do as his mom.
Thank you for listening.

Yours,

Sarah

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Resource list: Visit my spreadsheet at www.tinyurl.com/infantloss

Father's Day Is Hard For Us

(Topic: Grief, dealing with grief, triggers, pictures, loss, stillbirth, pregnancy and infant loss)

Hi Friends,

Charlie was born on Father's Day.

This weekend is so, so hard for us, every year.

It's odd, how my mind works. It doesn't know what date Thursday was that year, or Friday, or Saturday - I only remember the date of Sunday because it was his birthday. But I remember what happened by the day of the week.

That makes Father's Day weekend hard, harder than his birthday date, actually. Because I remember (can't help remembering, which is akin to a PTSD type reaction) based on the time of day and day of the week.

This year, I'm distracting myself to get through it. We're still honoring Charlie with a birthday party, but overall, I'm focusing on other things (and you know, I have plenty of logistical stuff to focus on...).

But I'm triggered by so many things. Even last week, basically anytime in June, I'm much more sensitive. The year Charlie was buried, there were little blue dragonflies in the cemetery constantly. Last weekend I saw teal ones with black wings. Nothing alike, except the vibrancy of the color, and that they were dragonflies. But I cried. I'm on edge constantly, never knowing what thing might remind me.

This weekend is the worst, though.

Thursday was the night Charlie was still fine. The baby was still moving on Thursday, I'm fairly sure. We played a boardgame that night, and I felt him wiggling and shifting. I'd been having braxton hicks all week, so I knew baby was getting ready.

He must have turned to get into position that night, and turned the wrong way and gotten tighter tangled.

Friday something was off. He was sideways for a bit, and I wasn't believed about that, except by my hubby. Baby had been so consistently head down, so I couldn't possibly be right, right?

Saturday was the horrible day. The silent ultrasound. The hospital. All the medical side of it.

Sunday he was born, Sunday we held him.



It's so hard, being thrust into those memories by anything and everything. By noting the day of the week, noting the time of day, just being - just knowing, at this time, this happened.

I don't want to viscerally remember. I want the bad memories to be more distant.



I love Charlie so much. And there was such mixed emotion on his birthday. Seeing his little nose, laughing at his giant hands and feet, after I'd given my best friend such a hard time about her baby's big feet. So many things I remember and never want to forget, but there are so many things I wish I at least had more distance from. So much emotional pain, wracking sorrow.

So, this weekend is hard. This year, I'm leaning toward distractions, and have asked friends to help me find funny or silly or interesting videos to watch (but avoiding trigger issues), so I can laugh, and focus on something besides the deep ache inside me.


This is my baby. I love him, and I miss him so much.

Our family, complete.

My favorite picture from that day. Daddy, holding Charlie.

Yours,

Sarah

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And Charlie Danced

(Topic: Grief, stories, pregnancy, music)

Hi Friends,

Recently I was looking for ways to mother Charlie (I'm feeling the need, since Charlie's birthday is coming up next week on the 19th), and my therapist helped me brainstorm several things - and one of them that caught my fancy was to try writing again. But not writing to Charlie (which I don't like the feel of), or directly about him - instead, I would try writing stories like I would have told to him. And since children like stories about themselves, here is the first story I wrote for Charlie:

And Charlie Danced

Once upon a time there was a little boy named Charlie. When he was very little, and was still in Mommy’s tummy, Mommy and Daddy went to a concert.

It was a special concert, with a very famous violinist playing. His name was Joshua Bell, and he played the violin so well that people came from all over to hear him play.

This concert had an orchestra, and Joshua Bell was going to play the violin solos. Mommy was very excited because she liked the big tympani drums and the way she could feel them inside her bones. Daddy liked all the different pieces that they were going to play. Charlie didn’t know what he would like, because he hadn’t been to a concert before!

When the music started, Charlie waited. He heard the whole orchestra playing. He heard the tympani drums and felt them in his bones. He heard the cellos and the basses playing. He heard high notes and low notes, fast notes and slow notes.

Charlie liked all the instruments, but he still waited to see if there was one he liked best.

Then Joshua Bell stepped forward and began to play, and the orchestra hushed. Beautiful notes sailed through the air and sang to Charlie, and Charlie began to dance. He turned and leapt, and danced with the beautiful singing notes, who trailed gold and red and orange all around him. Joshua Bell danced with his violin, and Charlie danced with the singing notes until the last one faded away.

Charlie had found the music he loved. Charlie loved violin music, all alone and by itself, clear and golden like honey, in so many glistening shades and scales.

Yours,

Sarah

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Resource list: Visit my spreadsheet at www.tinyurl.com/infantloss

Thoughts about Easter

(Topics: Grief and Anxiety, mental health, Easter/Religion, cemeteries)

Hi Friends,

The other day, I spent the day with Charlie.

I have been feeling really, really sad and overwhelmed lately. Sometimes, when I'm feeling heavy, it's very hard for me to figure out why - and knowing why makes it easier for me to either live with the feelings, or to find something to do to help.

I felt like I've been having a harder time than usual staying steady when life threw me curve balls (as life always does, on smaller and larger scales). When my hubby also commented on that, I decided to call my therapist to see if I could get in for an extra session.

(Side note: there is NO SHAME in asking for extra help! I know it's hard. It's hard to know when to ask, and it's hard to ask. It can be hard to admit that you aren't able to do it all yourself. I encourage you to set up support systems so it's easier to ask for help. For instance, I have friends who I trust, who know my whole story and things I struggle with. I can easily vent to them, because I don't have to explain anything. But I also don't want to burden them - so I also have a therapist. Therapists are AMAZING, guys. If you try a therapist, and you don't feel comfortable, it's ok to go to a new one. FIND THE RIGHT FIT FOR YOU 💗💓. Once you find someone you like, the point is that they are trained to help and trained to listen - but they are OUTSIDE the situation. They won't get hurt feelings, and they won't get mad. They JUST HELP. And it's AMAZING 💕💓.)

I got an extra session to get help, because even things that seemed like they should be little were feeling big. My therapist is my outside perspective, and helps me find my rational brain but also helps me acknowledge my emotions.

In this session, she helped me identify stressors that were overwhelming me, or stressing me out, or triggering my grief - even when sometimes it was super subconscious.

I actually prepare a little for my sessions by taking notes on rough days, of what bothers me or big things that happen. This helps guide what we talk about and helps me feel like we use the time a little more effectively (this is not everyone's style - you do you!).

Above the line, notes to tell the therapist.
Below, notes written afterward, with some of what we talked about.

After we went through my list, I asked - WHY?? Why is everything so hard right now?? And she literally sat there and counted things off on her fingers, guys. Counted things back off to me, that I had told her about, but also helped me identify a few more things that had been in the background, that I had not yet seen clearly enough to name.

One was that, the last time we moved, it was not only right after Charlie died, it was literally because Charlie died. We had planned to wait to move until he was 3-6 months old before we moved. Instead, we were in our new place about a month after. So since we're moving sometime this summer, that might be a reason that packing and planning is so hard for me to work on.

One of the other things she pointed out is that Easter is - like Christmas - about a mother, but this time about the son dying. And coming back again...
Mary is a complicated figure for me. Really complicated.

So after we'd identified what some of the triggers were (there were about a half a dozen others, too....), we talked about how to find some relief. Some comfort, and a way through, through the sad and the pain, because the stress isn't as heavy when the sad isn't weighing me down.

The other day, I spent the day with Charlie.

The main solution she suggested was to let myself feel. To spend some time with Charlie, if I could, but to remember and feel and cry and just be, with my pain and sorrow, and weep if I need to.

The universe (God?) listened to my need. I had been worried that I couldn't find time, since it's a decent distance to Charlie's grave; and to sit and feel, I couldn't be rushed. But one of my scheduled items got cancelled, and suddenly I had a whole day ahead of me, to go to my little boy.

I spread out my blanket, and opened the umbrella to keep the sun off (and in case it rained), and I sat down with Charlie, and lay with him, and talked to him.

I told him how much I missed him and how much I wanted to hold him... and I wept.

Tears do cease, at some point. The pain behind my sternum, the pressure in my throat does ease, as though the tears wash out a tightness and release something.

I weeded his garden, and touched some of the decorations and memorials we have for him there.

And I lay with my chest over where he is buried. The closest I can come to holding him.

The other day, I spent the day with Charlie.

It means so much to me, to have a place to care for, that is just his, and his alone.

I have a complicated relationship with Mary, Jesus' mom. Her baby was born alive, which hurts at Christmas. She gets to see him grow up. But she suffers through his death. I imagine that she hurts inside, behind her sternum, so tight it hurts to breathe. I imagine she weeps so deeply she convulses in Joseph's arms. I imagine she knows this pain. But. He lives again. My Charlie doesn't yet.

Jesus died right before a Jewish holiday. That meant that his body had to be dealt with before the sun went down that Friday, and couldn't really be tended to properly until the Sabbath and the Passover was over. Joseph of Arimathea was the guy who put the body in the tomb in the right cloths. He made sure the basics were taken care of, that were important.

But women went to care for his body, to lay him to rest and to say their last goodbyes. Those are the women I watch, in this story. They prepare the ointments to rub on the body, to do the rites of burial and death from their culture, to make things right, as much as you can when someone dies. They go back after their holiday, to finish things.

We know who those women were, because they were the eyewitnesses that Jesus was gone (alive, risen, back).

I care who they were, because they were the grave tenders. The ones who would have placed the headstone and served the funeral lunch and planted flowers with his mom, if it were now.

The book of Matthew says it was Mary Magdalene and the other Mary. The book of Mark says it was women including Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James the younger and of Joses, and Salome (so that was a pretty large group). The book of Luke says it was the women who had followed Jesus from Galilee, and also lists them as Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women. In the book of John it's only Mary Magdalene.

No matter who it was, they cared. They took the time to go, and planned to care intimately for his body, hands on. I wish so hard I'd been able to do more of the funeral care myself, for Charlie. This isn't something our culture is used to, anymore. And I did not know to ask for it, and I don't know if I would have wanted it at the time -- in hindsight, though, I miss caring for my little boy, giving him the final kiss in his coffin.

I saw a picture, last month. It was a mama and a papa, tucking their baby into his coffin, into his "forever crib". Seeing that, suddenly my heart longed for having done that for Charlie.
To care for a body, to minister to their last cares on earth, is an act of pure love. Of closure. Of peace within sorrow.

As I lay with Charlie, my breast filling the hollow in the earth beneath which he rests, I felt complete and yet bereft. Filling the hole in my heart, the gaping hole in my life with the closest thing I could.

The other day, I spent the day with Charlie. 

While I was there, I read a book to Charlie. We read to Pookie regularly, and it's a thing we can hold onto - one of the things we'd looked forward to, so much. So many other things were taken away, but that we can still do.

I also read a graphic memoir, called Rosalie Lightning, written by a father whose daughter died of SIDS. His experiences - his raw emotion - reading that while visiting Charlie -
He talked of how a loss parent's attention can be grabbed by other children of the right age, how we can stare, stare at what could have been.

Today is the day before Easter. The in-between. The waiting - for us, who know how the story ends. For those back then, the second day since. Counting life based on the life-changing moment. For me, two days ago was 2 years and 10 months. Since.

Charlie is nearly three. How do you plan a birthday party for the 3rd year since a death?

I'm always aware of how old he is/would be/would have been.

Today is the day before Easter as I write this, Saturday. Some churches hold a vigil, traditionally held from before midnight until after midnight, to celebrate the moment of Easter at the turning point of the night.

We went to an evening vigil service. When the priest was preaching about the Easter life, the Christian life, is to focus on LIFE not death - all I could think was, how intrusive is death. How hard, not to think of loss, even with the promise of life.

Right then, two 3-year-olds started to get restless and play.

My Charlie.

I should have been dealing with a restless Charlie.

Every day, I spend the day with Charlie.

No matter what, he's on my mind. This is a holiday (holy day) about life, promise of life, promise of future life, power over death.

My son is dead.

My religion gives promise, hope.

But everyday, my son is not in my arms.

My son is on my mind. My son is in my heart. Everyday, he is with me. I'm the one staring at your son, thinking of what my son might have said, might have done, and hurting.

I'm the one rocking a teddy bear, because my baby is dead.

I understand the hope with my head, but not yet with my heart. I have to take any tiny bit that my heart can understand.

To the lady who passed the peace to my bear, please know that in my heart, you passed the peace to my son. Thank you. I may cry, but my heart is lighter.

💛

Yours,

Sarah

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How many months?

(Topic: Age of deceased child, thoughts)

Hi Friends,

Charlie recently "turned" 2-1/2. He "wouldbe/is" a toddler to me, but what struck me that day was that I didn't notice the day until it was nearly over (December 19th, the "half-birthday").

Early on, I noticed when the 19th came along, every month. I even noticed the number 19, anytime it came up.

Lately I've been noticing them less and less, and I hadn't noticed that I wasn't noticing.
I felt so guilty, like I'd been forgetting Charlie himself (not true).

My therapist says it's normal to find normal life taking up more time, and it's normal to feel guilty (even when we didn't do anything wrong, and certainly haven't forgotten them).

But what helped most was what my husband said: Other parents, with living children, stop counting their child's age in months by about age 2. We're past that, and we're also not counting in months anymore - we're just being normal parents.

I love my husband so much.


Yours,

Sarah

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Resource list: Visit my spreadsheet at www.tinyurl.com/infantloss

Christmas 2018 with Pookie

(Topic: Christmas/holidays, family, incorporating a deceased loved one in the celebrations)

Hi friends!

This year we traveled to family for the holidays. I had hoped to get this post done for Wednesday the 26th, right after Christmas, but with travel and getting the photos in the right places and ready, I got a bit behind where I'd hoped to be. Oh well!

This post will be mostly pictures of how we decorated, a few family pictures, and some explanations of how we included Charlie in our celebrations.

I won the opportunity to have this lovely wreath made as a graphic for me - it helps include Charlie in what we do. If you follow me on Facebook, you'll have seen that this is my current profile picture. Because no matter what, we can't forget him, and we want to remember him always.

Simultaneous to winning the prior wreath, another group was also doing images. This one isn't as holiday specific; this is useful for me beyond the Christmas season. I love this one too.

While decorating for Advent (the preparatory season before Christmas), I was also packing to get ready for the trip to go see relatives over the holiday. Papa, Mama, and Baby (Pookie) Bear's suitcases!!!

few of our friends specifically mentioned Charlie in their holiday greetings to us, and 2 even included gifts for him! They were ornaments for his tree, which I'll explain in a minute.

So sweet!!! We never forget him, but it's super reassuring to know that other people haven't forgotten him either. This was another ornament, and another family gave me a necklace with three small pendants: a C, an angel wing, and a pearl.

This is Charlie's tree (Pookie's too). The actual tree even has a history! It is a little tree that my hubby and his brother would decorate in their own room with their own ornaments. Each ornament on the tree this year has been gotten or made in Charlie's memory (or in the case of the two bears, bought for Pookie!)

This was as far as the decorations got before we left for our travels. Stockings were up by December 6th (St. Nicholas Day). We include both Charlie and Pookie. I also had put up Charlie's tree. Every other decoration had to wait till we got back!

On our way out of town, we stopped to visit Charlie in person, and give him a "grave pillow" greenery. We tried this last year, and I liked the effect of the garden not being empty or dead for the first part of the winter.

We spent 4th Advent, Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day with relatives: Charlie's Grandmother and Grandfather and Uncle, on Daddy's side. Pookie loves the warm fire! He's wearing his adventure hat because this is actually the night we arrived, so he's still in his travel clothes.

Christmas Eve family portrait, at one of the churches we attended. Photo credit to our friend Jenny.

I'm not a big fan of the santa tradition, but Pookie knew there were gifts coming, so he asked to wear his suit on Christmas Day! This is him, waiting by the warm fire for gift time to come. His new stompy boots work perfectly with this outfit!

One of the ways we include Pookie is to give him a little gift of his own. In some ways we picture Pookie like a toddler, so it is similar gifts to what Charlie might have gotten - except that we specifically pick out books about a piglet named Pookie! Hubby and I love reading aloud to Pookie (and each other). It's a way to have a little bit of what we might have been doing with Charlie.

Silly Pookie!

Uh oh, he got into the paper!

Pookie in front of the Christmas tree at the grandparents' house.

Family photo :) credit to Uncle Andrew

Another family photo. Credit again to Uncle Andrew.

This candle was lit for all of the deceased family members - including Charlie. It was wonderful and lovely to have a tangible representation in that house.

Once we got home, I was able to put up our own decorations! Because the Charlie tree already had a lot of meaningful ornaments on it, and we'd already had a lot of Christmas, I chose to make our tree simple: lots of bells, a few glass balls, some "icicle" ornaments, and beads and lights.

A few other decorations I put out.

The creche (nativity scene) was already up, but I added baby Jesus, moved the shepherd close, and put out the wise men! The wise men and their camel will get to the creche on January 6th, Epiphany (the festival of the three kings).

This year's picture with Santa. Pookie is snuggling like the pro he is!

Our finished house. The main ways we included Charlie in this scene are his tree in the corner, his stocking, and as always, his picture on the mantle and some memorabilia of his on top of the bookshelf on the right - though these are not Christmasy except that that is where I keep the picture with Santa, updated to the current year!

Yours,

Sarah

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Wave of Light, October 15, 2018

(Topic: Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day 2018, wave of light candles)


Hi Friends,

I want to thank every one of you who lit a candle for a baby that was not your own, especially if you haven't lost a baby yourself. If you think that one candle doesn't make a difference, it does - to me. I think, it does to any parent, who now knows that their baby is remembered, which is such a huge fear - that the baby will be forgotten. That candle matters. Your thoughts of the baby matter. Thank you.

Last year, I realized that there are so many babies in the cemetery, and I don't know if candles are lit for them. So I decided that instead of lighting a candle for them in my house, which I could do, I'd give them each their own candles. Due to budget constraints, I only made 19, but I could easily have placed 3 or 4 times that many, just in the cemetery where Charlie is buried. They have a baby section, but there are also many babies buried with or near family, too.

While real candles would have been pretty, I would not have been able to light them (timing, wind, rain, plus open fire --- plus also the fact that rabbits or squirrels eat the candles). I also didn't want ones I'd have to switch on, since they'd then go out again. I found solar powered candles, that go on when it's dark and off again when it's light! I'm not sure they survived the super soggy day I placed them, but I hope they did.

Tags from the craft store.

Completed tags, laminated with sticky laminate from the office supply store. Hopefully the rain can't get in the hole for the string, so the parents will know that this wasn't random, and that their baby is loved and thought of.

Tied and prepped to go on the candles.

Candle tagged!

Lots of pink and blue ribbon. Each candle gets both, since the awareness ribbon uses both colors.

Decorated and ready to place.

Charlie already had a candle (next to the angel sitting on the base of his headstone), so his ribbons went on the wind chime hooks on either side!

Pookie visiting Charlie (in the two minutes it wasn't raining!!!)

It was a pretty miserably wet day. I placed the candles after the funeral nearby had finished - while I'd seen preparations for funerals before, this was the first time I was there during the ceremony. I found that the universe's timing was super crummy.

I did have a lovely chat with a groundskeeper, though, who had no idea about pregnancy and infant loss awareness, and promised me that he would light a candle for Charlie. He specifically checked he had the name right, for Charlie. His candle wouldn't make a difference, though, he said. I assured him it would - to me. That to me, his thinking of Charlie means a great deal.

On the way home, the radio happened to play a song I played a lot early on after losing Charlie, because it makes me feel like I'm rocking Charlie's spirit to sleep - Rock Me Mama Like a Wagon Wheel. This felt serendipitous. I don't generally attribute things to deistic intervention, but at least with this I could say, "Universe, this timing was good".

That evening we lit a whole flotilla of candles - I didn't count this year, but this amassing of candles represents all the families I know who are affected by it, every grave I've seen where there is only one date, or the dates aren't separated by much, all the families and mamas I've come in contact with online, and, of course, my Charlie.

There were so many and so close together, we actually melted the edges of some of the tea lights, and some of the larger tealights melted and made a puddle. I spent the rest of the evening making beeswax jar candles. I'll think of our babies every time I light them.

With much love to every babe not in arms, every grieving mama, papa, and family member, and to every heart that needs a little extra love.


Yours,

Sarah

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