Today on my daily outing with the dogs, I came across an injured, newborn rabbit. It was flailing around and no mother or nest was in sight. I called a friend that I knew could help me determine what to do. I eventually placed the kit (baby bunny) in a box with a hand towel for padding and warmth. I went back to the area to take a better look and see if I could find a nest to return the kit to. Before I set out, I asked the neighbor girls if they would like to help me find the bunny’s nest so I could return the baby to its mother, then showed them the newborn. They were naturally, excited to help. The neighbor girls rounded up some other girlfriends and the six of us set out to the grassy area. I split them up into groups and described a nest so that they knew what to look for. When we arrived we found three more kits scattered about. One was not breathing.
The girls quickly ran to the aid of the small, day old kits. They picked up the living ones and put them in the box next to their sibling. When they picked them up, they found that the kits had been cut and injured. It’s possible that a predator – maybe an owl – picked them from the nest and dropped them off in that area. The girls were deeply concerned for the safety and comfort of the newborn rabbits. While a few of us searched for the nest, a few girls tended to the kits, and two asked if they could bury the dead kit. When the two asked, the other girls also said that they wanted to bury the kit.
“Ms., can we please bury the bunny?”
“Yes, if you want to bury the bunny you can. That is very sweet and respectful of you girls.”
The girls started digging a grave with sticks they found in the area. When the hole was large enough, they picked up the baby, placed it in the ground and then covered it. Two of the girls fashioned a cross for the grave site and stuck it on top of the mound of dirt. All of the girls were crying.
“What do we do now?”
“Well, if you want, you can say some words of remembrance or a prayer.”
The girls gathered in a circle, arm-in-arm, and said a prayer. One girl said a few words about the bunny’s short life. Another requested a moment of silence for the dead bunny. I watched the girls from afar and became filled with emotion. These girls were so caring and went out of their way to help the creatures in need.
The girls were all probably younger than 11 and all were showing their inherently child-like innocence. A sweetness that is still in them probably for few more short years. How great a lesson to learn from these children about the beauty and importance of life? The girls reaffirmed for me something that I’ve known, but not felt at this deep of a level since the miscarriage. Life is precious. That bunny was a mystery of creation. It had a spirit. It was a living being.
The girls were crying because a precious creature that was beautifully designed was dead. It never got a chance to live a full life. I know that nature is nature and that bunny could have died at any age, time, place, etc., but the fact of the matter is that the girls recognized that being once had a heartbeat and breath.It lived.
I’m so glad to have been with those girls today so that we could have the experience together. They reminded me of the preciousness of life. A life born into this the world is magical thing. Creation is a powerful gift. It should never be taken for granted. It should never be abused.
The story of the kits ends well, or so I think. A woman retrieved them to rehabilitate. She was instructed well enough to do so. She said we will keep in touch. I’m anxious to hear how they are doing. Good luck sweet little babies.
I’m thankful for today’s experience.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
New Year
2012 is here and I'm recovering more and more each day. I still get sad on occasion and the tears flow. I have not been able to get pregnant since the miscarriage and I am ok with that. I believe that pregnancy will happen when it's supposed to. I do however think that my endometriosis is back with a vengeance.
About the Endo
My endo pain manifests itself primarily in my lower back. It's also prominent in the frontal area when I sneeze or go to the bathroom. I do not want to have another surgery to remove it. The only time I would consider having it removed is if large fibroids showed up on an ultrasound.
About not being able to get pregnant
I think everything happens for a reason. 2011 was just about the worst year I've ever been through. Even with that, every plan just seemed to fall in place the way it should have. Like every happening in my life was pre-determined.
I'm ok with not being pregnant right now because I want to finish the teaching certification program I am in. I have two semesters left until I student teach. If it happens that I get pregnant, we will welcome the baby with open arms no doubt.
All things will happen in time, if they're supposed to happen.
Blessing for a prosperous new year to all.
About the Endo
My endo pain manifests itself primarily in my lower back. It's also prominent in the frontal area when I sneeze or go to the bathroom. I do not want to have another surgery to remove it. The only time I would consider having it removed is if large fibroids showed up on an ultrasound.
About not being able to get pregnant
I think everything happens for a reason. 2011 was just about the worst year I've ever been through. Even with that, every plan just seemed to fall in place the way it should have. Like every happening in my life was pre-determined.
I'm ok with not being pregnant right now because I want to finish the teaching certification program I am in. I have two semesters left until I student teach. If it happens that I get pregnant, we will welcome the baby with open arms no doubt.
All things will happen in time, if they're supposed to happen.
Blessing for a prosperous new year to all.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Remember November
November 28- My scheduled due date for my first pregnancy. I don't think I will ever forget that date.
Before writing this post, I opened a closet door in our bedroom and found the pregnancy tests. I searched around in a keepsake box for the ultrasound picture. I put them together to remember the baby. I remembered the joy, happiness, excitement, name planning, and picturing what our baby would look like. I stared blankly at the sticks and the ultrasound and became filled with sadness.
For the past couple of months, I thought of this month as the month that was supposed to be the birth month of my child. I have come to accept the fact that that's simply not true. That pregnancy was not meant to be. I do not know if I will be able to get pregnant again. Who knows what the future holds. All I know is that I am now grateful for my short pregnancy.
This entire year has been the saddest and most grief stricken year of my 28 years. It certainly has been a learning process. I am growing more now than I have in years. I don't think I am "getting over" the miscarriage, but I like to think that I'm beginning to fully accept it. A part of me is empty. A part of me is still sad. A part of me longs for what I cannot have. A part of me is lonely. A part of me is still angry. I am trying to turn those hurts into something positive.
I still get sad when I think about the event and most of all the 28th, but I no longer spend the entire day in sadness. I try to stop the sadness and self-pity, I try to turn it around. I cry less and for shorter period of times. Maybe the next step for me is to not cry at all when the sadness hits.
Something that has had a profound effect on me is a book- The Art of Happiness. To end this post, I want to share with you a section that opened my eyes and heart.
"Initially, of course, feelings of grief and anxiety are a natural human response to a loss. But if you allow these feelings of loss and worry to persist, there's a danger, if these feelings are left unchecked, they can lead to a kind of self-absorption. A situation where the focus becomes your own self. And when that happens you become overwhelmed by the sense of loss, and you get a feeling that it's only you who are going through this. Depression sets in. But in reality, there are others who will be going through the same kind of experience. So, if you find yourself worrying too much, it may help to think of the other people who have similar or even worse tragedies. Once you realize that, then you no longer feel isolated, as if you have been single-pointedly picked out. That can offer you some kind of condolence."
Thank you Dalai Lama and all you readers for kind words and thoughts. I hope that by sharing my experience, you find some comfort in knowing that you are not alone and that things will get better.
Until next time, Merry Thanksgiving to you and yours. I hope that good things come your way very soon.
Kristin
Before writing this post, I opened a closet door in our bedroom and found the pregnancy tests. I searched around in a keepsake box for the ultrasound picture. I put them together to remember the baby. I remembered the joy, happiness, excitement, name planning, and picturing what our baby would look like. I stared blankly at the sticks and the ultrasound and became filled with sadness.
For the past couple of months, I thought of this month as the month that was supposed to be the birth month of my child. I have come to accept the fact that that's simply not true. That pregnancy was not meant to be. I do not know if I will be able to get pregnant again. Who knows what the future holds. All I know is that I am now grateful for my short pregnancy.
This entire year has been the saddest and most grief stricken year of my 28 years. It certainly has been a learning process. I am growing more now than I have in years. I don't think I am "getting over" the miscarriage, but I like to think that I'm beginning to fully accept it. A part of me is empty. A part of me is still sad. A part of me longs for what I cannot have. A part of me is lonely. A part of me is still angry. I am trying to turn those hurts into something positive.
I still get sad when I think about the event and most of all the 28th, but I no longer spend the entire day in sadness. I try to stop the sadness and self-pity, I try to turn it around. I cry less and for shorter period of times. Maybe the next step for me is to not cry at all when the sadness hits.
Something that has had a profound effect on me is a book- The Art of Happiness. To end this post, I want to share with you a section that opened my eyes and heart.
"Initially, of course, feelings of grief and anxiety are a natural human response to a loss. But if you allow these feelings of loss and worry to persist, there's a danger, if these feelings are left unchecked, they can lead to a kind of self-absorption. A situation where the focus becomes your own self. And when that happens you become overwhelmed by the sense of loss, and you get a feeling that it's only you who are going through this. Depression sets in. But in reality, there are others who will be going through the same kind of experience. So, if you find yourself worrying too much, it may help to think of the other people who have similar or even worse tragedies. Once you realize that, then you no longer feel isolated, as if you have been single-pointedly picked out. That can offer you some kind of condolence."
Thank you Dalai Lama and all you readers for kind words and thoughts. I hope that by sharing my experience, you find some comfort in knowing that you are not alone and that things will get better.
Until next time, Merry Thanksgiving to you and yours. I hope that good things come your way very soon.
Kristin
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Drowning. Almost.
As November looms around the corner, there is nothing that can be said or done to make the painful memory of the miscarriage go away. Come November 28, there will be no child in our arms or family of three. Dwelling on this makes me incredibly sad at times. Will there ever come a time when that date doesn't make me sad?
For me, this entire year has been one gigantic hurdle. One large mountain to climb. One nightmare that will not end. One year filled with tragic and life-altering events.
At times I feel like I struggle to just keep a grasp on my sanity. Most of the time, I want to hide under a rock for an indefinite amount of time. Months ago I wanted this year to end, and now I'm afraid to think of what a new year will bring. This to shall pass, right? Who the hell knows.
My faith is not doing much to sustain me. Friends and family bring me temporary joy. My husband is supportive and loving beyond belief but still I feel a void. School and work keep my mind off of things but contribute to my stress levels. The only way to explain how I feel is that there is an emptiness inside of me that won't go away. That emptiness seems to not want to be filled by any of the positives in my life.
I've done enough poo-pooing for the day and need to pull myself together. My heart goes out to you all that are swimming through a similar sea of crap.
For me, this entire year has been one gigantic hurdle. One large mountain to climb. One nightmare that will not end. One year filled with tragic and life-altering events.
At times I feel like I struggle to just keep a grasp on my sanity. Most of the time, I want to hide under a rock for an indefinite amount of time. Months ago I wanted this year to end, and now I'm afraid to think of what a new year will bring. This to shall pass, right? Who the hell knows.
My faith is not doing much to sustain me. Friends and family bring me temporary joy. My husband is supportive and loving beyond belief but still I feel a void. School and work keep my mind off of things but contribute to my stress levels. The only way to explain how I feel is that there is an emptiness inside of me that won't go away. That emptiness seems to not want to be filled by any of the positives in my life.
I've done enough poo-pooing for the day and need to pull myself together. My heart goes out to you all that are swimming through a similar sea of crap.
Friday, October 14, 2011
From the Heart of a Husband
I gave the Husband access to my blog. Enjoy-
March 20, 2011
Today is one of the happiest days of my life. Around 4:30 this afternoon, Kristin and I found out that we are going to be parents. When she showed me the test, I was overwhelmed with joy, excitement, and pride. After making a life for ourselves, we have created life together. I cannot put into words how it feels to know that our son or daughter is growing inside the body of my beautiful wife. Soon, I will be able to see a picture our child in her belly. She is the most special woman in my life, and I could not be happier to be starting a family with her.
This is the first entry in my baby journal. I vividly remember being called into our bathroom by a shocked Kristin, seeing a plus sign on the pregnancy test, and being unable to do anything other than crack the biggest smile of my life. I knew instinctively right then and there that my life was never going to be the same again, and that I was going to do everything in my power to ensure that my wife and child were happy and provided for.
As new parents, our lives became about our baby. We researched which foods to avoid, which supplements to take, and argued about baby names while we waited for our first chance to see our baby on the ultrasound. After a seemingly endless two weeks, the day finally came. As Kristin lay on the doctor’s table with her hand in mine, we saw our baby for the first time. Just as I thought my capacity for joy and love were saturated, they grew ten fold. Far beyond a mark on a stick, I was now looking at an actual picture of the life we created growing inside her.
Five days later, I was working a 17-hour overnight shift. It wasn’t the sort of work I would normally take, but I had a family to support so I bit the bullet. In the wee hours of the morning I felt pretty good, having gotten most of the shift behind me without any trouble. Then it started. Kristin told me she was having problems. We were both scared. Her obstetrician offered little comfort. After an eternity, I convinced her to call an ambulance while I made my way to the hospital. It was raining hard and a few streets were flooding, but my only thought was getting there as fast as I could. I didn’t want to believe that we were going to lose our baby. I hoped that they would find nothing wrong and send us home.
When I finally arrived and found Kristin’s room, it was already too late. Overcome by shock, all I could do was hold her. After a few moments, it started to sink in: our baby was gone. We would never get to see or hold our baby.
I joined Kristin in a complete emotional breakdown. We cried and prayed together, trying to come to terms with what had happened. Our world was destroyed. There was nothing we could do to change that. All we could do was mourn our loss.
I wonder where the term “expecting parents” came from. In my experience, there is no such thing as an expecting parent. From the very moment I found out that Kristin was pregnant, I became a dad. Not an expecting dad; just a dad. Even though I never got to see our baby, or hold or kiss or snuggle with our baby, he or she was a real human child with a heartbeat, and I am his or her father.
Going through a miscarriage is losing a child. That may seem obvious, but many people seem not to understand it. I doubt anyone would try to console a parent who lost a 10-year-old by saying that they will have other children, or that everything happens for a reason. Why then do some find it acceptable to offer such words to victims of miscarriage? Yes, I take comfort in the knowledge that we are likely to have other children—and I hope that what we’ve been through will only make the experience sweeter—but that does not in any way, shape or form make up for the child that we lost. Nothing ever will.
After losing a child, there is really nothing comforting that can be said. I found comfort in genuine interest from loved ones. Being reminded that I have family who love and care about me was the only thing that made me feel better.
Because of this experience, I now know a father’s love. I also know the love a man has for the mother of his children. There is a incredible level of intimacy that comes from creating life together.
Our baby lives on. Not only in our hearts and memories, but in the very essence of our beings and our relationship. Our baby is part of us, forever.
March 20, 2011
Today is one of the happiest days of my life. Around 4:30 this afternoon, Kristin and I found out that we are going to be parents. When she showed me the test, I was overwhelmed with joy, excitement, and pride. After making a life for ourselves, we have created life together. I cannot put into words how it feels to know that our son or daughter is growing inside the body of my beautiful wife. Soon, I will be able to see a picture our child in her belly. She is the most special woman in my life, and I could not be happier to be starting a family with her.
This is the first entry in my baby journal. I vividly remember being called into our bathroom by a shocked Kristin, seeing a plus sign on the pregnancy test, and being unable to do anything other than crack the biggest smile of my life. I knew instinctively right then and there that my life was never going to be the same again, and that I was going to do everything in my power to ensure that my wife and child were happy and provided for.
As new parents, our lives became about our baby. We researched which foods to avoid, which supplements to take, and argued about baby names while we waited for our first chance to see our baby on the ultrasound. After a seemingly endless two weeks, the day finally came. As Kristin lay on the doctor’s table with her hand in mine, we saw our baby for the first time. Just as I thought my capacity for joy and love were saturated, they grew ten fold. Far beyond a mark on a stick, I was now looking at an actual picture of the life we created growing inside her.
Five days later, I was working a 17-hour overnight shift. It wasn’t the sort of work I would normally take, but I had a family to support so I bit the bullet. In the wee hours of the morning I felt pretty good, having gotten most of the shift behind me without any trouble. Then it started. Kristin told me she was having problems. We were both scared. Her obstetrician offered little comfort. After an eternity, I convinced her to call an ambulance while I made my way to the hospital. It was raining hard and a few streets were flooding, but my only thought was getting there as fast as I could. I didn’t want to believe that we were going to lose our baby. I hoped that they would find nothing wrong and send us home.
When I finally arrived and found Kristin’s room, it was already too late. Overcome by shock, all I could do was hold her. After a few moments, it started to sink in: our baby was gone. We would never get to see or hold our baby.
I joined Kristin in a complete emotional breakdown. We cried and prayed together, trying to come to terms with what had happened. Our world was destroyed. There was nothing we could do to change that. All we could do was mourn our loss.
I wonder where the term “expecting parents” came from. In my experience, there is no such thing as an expecting parent. From the very moment I found out that Kristin was pregnant, I became a dad. Not an expecting dad; just a dad. Even though I never got to see our baby, or hold or kiss or snuggle with our baby, he or she was a real human child with a heartbeat, and I am his or her father.
Going through a miscarriage is losing a child. That may seem obvious, but many people seem not to understand it. I doubt anyone would try to console a parent who lost a 10-year-old by saying that they will have other children, or that everything happens for a reason. Why then do some find it acceptable to offer such words to victims of miscarriage? Yes, I take comfort in the knowledge that we are likely to have other children—and I hope that what we’ve been through will only make the experience sweeter—but that does not in any way, shape or form make up for the child that we lost. Nothing ever will.
After losing a child, there is really nothing comforting that can be said. I found comfort in genuine interest from loved ones. Being reminded that I have family who love and care about me was the only thing that made me feel better.
Because of this experience, I now know a father’s love. I also know the love a man has for the mother of his children. There is a incredible level of intimacy that comes from creating life together.
Our baby lives on. Not only in our hearts and memories, but in the very essence of our beings and our relationship. Our baby is part of us, forever.
Saturday, September 24, 2011
Writing from the Heart
I came across this little dedication while browsing through an after miscarriage jealousy forum:
Some nights i wake up wondering how different life
would be if God hadn't decided to make you one of
his angels.. and then i think long and hard you came
into my life for as long as you did because that was
both our destinies.. There isn't one day i don’t
wonder what if.. One thing i am sure of is that you
are forever in my heart i love you baby girl!
Isn't it beautiful? It describes my feelings exactly.
I have been having a hard time lately with jealousy. It seems like everyone I know is pregnant. I cannot honestly say that I am happy for them because the jealousy I feel is overwhelming. Whenever I talk to people about this, they tend to say the same thing- "You will have a baby someday".
That statement bothers me a bit because I feel like they are assuming that I only want a cute, cuddly baby to oh and ah over. I don't want to have a baby to have a baby, I want a family. In addition to jealousy, I also feel very lonely. Sure it's nice to be able to do what I want, when I want. Sleep whenever I want and for however long I want, but I would trade those things instantly for a family. It sure does get lonely with just the two of us.
Another thing I would like to leave you readers with is this-
I feel like the emotional toil of a miscarriage will never be understood by those that have not had miscarriages. I also get a sense that a lot of women do not put themselves in the place of a woman that has had a miscarriage. If you are a mother that was fortunate enough to deliver and raise a child, imagine what your life would be like if your child was never born. Could you imagine life without your child? Women that have had miscarriages, stillbirths, or infant loss have to imagine life without their child each and every day. Chances are when these women found out they were pregnant their entire life changed the instant the pee stick showed positive. They planned and prepared. They saw their baby on a sonogram and heard their baby's hearbeat. Their pregnancy was real and their child meant just as much as your child or children mean to you. With that, I encourage you to open your heart and sympathize with the women that have had to carry the burden of pregnancy and infant loss.
Blessings of peace and comfort to all of you grieving mothers out there.
Some nights i wake up wondering how different life
would be if God hadn't decided to make you one of
his angels.. and then i think long and hard you came
into my life for as long as you did because that was
both our destinies.. There isn't one day i don’t
wonder what if.. One thing i am sure of is that you
are forever in my heart i love you baby girl!
Isn't it beautiful? It describes my feelings exactly.
I have been having a hard time lately with jealousy. It seems like everyone I know is pregnant. I cannot honestly say that I am happy for them because the jealousy I feel is overwhelming. Whenever I talk to people about this, they tend to say the same thing- "You will have a baby someday".
That statement bothers me a bit because I feel like they are assuming that I only want a cute, cuddly baby to oh and ah over. I don't want to have a baby to have a baby, I want a family. In addition to jealousy, I also feel very lonely. Sure it's nice to be able to do what I want, when I want. Sleep whenever I want and for however long I want, but I would trade those things instantly for a family. It sure does get lonely with just the two of us.
Another thing I would like to leave you readers with is this-
I feel like the emotional toil of a miscarriage will never be understood by those that have not had miscarriages. I also get a sense that a lot of women do not put themselves in the place of a woman that has had a miscarriage. If you are a mother that was fortunate enough to deliver and raise a child, imagine what your life would be like if your child was never born. Could you imagine life without your child? Women that have had miscarriages, stillbirths, or infant loss have to imagine life without their child each and every day. Chances are when these women found out they were pregnant their entire life changed the instant the pee stick showed positive. They planned and prepared. They saw their baby on a sonogram and heard their baby's hearbeat. Their pregnancy was real and their child meant just as much as your child or children mean to you. With that, I encourage you to open your heart and sympathize with the women that have had to carry the burden of pregnancy and infant loss.
Blessings of peace and comfort to all of you grieving mothers out there.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
September
September.
Sweet little one, had you have stuck around, you would have been born in a little less than three months.
Sweet little one, had you have stuck around, you would have been born in a little less than three months.
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