December 28, 2011

Mama and me. It FINALLY happened. 

Ok, so here's the story with the tattoo. 

When I was in 8th grade (March 2007), my mom had a miscarriage. Long story short: it broke me. But it brought my family closer together and brought us all closer to God. I've wanted this tattoo for a couple years now. 

But I'm going to guess that you didn't come to this page expecting the condensed version.

I suppose I should warn you that this is going to be somewhat graphic, extremely detailed, and pretty darn long. But hopefully very much worth your time. There. Warning given. 

I think this may  be the first time I've ever really forced myself to write everything down in one place. Even after almost five years, it's a lot to think about, and a lot of raw emotion to bring up. 

My mom made a scrapbook really soon after it all happened. I'm so thankful for it. She had the courage to force herself to do what I've avoided: to face things. To write down every excruciating detail. If she hadn't done this, my memory would've been distorted. I wouldn't remember the details because of how much I fought to block out, just to be able to bear it. So, this whole thing is going to be a mix of the facts she wrote and the things I remember. Most of the latter is raw and pure and pretty much untouched.  

I JUST went upstairs to help AJ, my 3 year old brother, go potty. He just noticed my tattoo (I'm writing this three days after I got it). He said "You have stuff on your foot too! A butterfly!"

I said, "Yeah, it's for angel baby Gabriel."

At this point, I already started to tear up again. Even writing this much has been hard.

He looked at me with his eyebrows all scrunched up, which pushed a couple tears over the edge. 

"Uh oh, sis. You have two drops!" and he hugged me. 

"Why are you crying, sis?" 

"Sometimes thinking about angel baby Gabriel makes me sad."

"Aw, but she's gone. You don't have to worry about her."

So I cried harder.

Then he hugged me again and said, "It's okay, sis. I'm with you."

Right. So that just happened. And now I'm back to do this. (Insert unwavering determination and another 20 minutes on Facebook here.)

I had been an only child for 13 years when my mom handed me a picture frame that says "#1 Big Sister" wrapped in a green baby blanket. She had picked me up from school that day. I was confused, to say the least. My first thought was that it came from the daughter of our family friends, Aubra. We had referred to each other as being like sisters for a long time. 

But then my mom told me that she was pregnant. I don't remember the first thing that came to my mind. I didn't really know how to react. It was completely unexpected. I remember being excited, but also unsure. I was still at an age where I desired my parents' constant attention. 

The rest of my family was extremely excited. My great-grandpa had just passed away a couple weeks before so this new life offered us a lot of hope. It didn't take long for me to get really excited either. I was all excited to go shopping for baby clothes and toys with my friends (I particularly remember Rebecca Cole and Michelle Bauchan being a part of those plans). 

I got to go with my mom to an appointment to hear the baby's heart beating. This is a memory that I blocked out. I don't remember the first time I went with her, and it's probably because of what happened the second time that I went. 

I went and stood in the corner by my mom as they got the equipment ready. It didn't take long for me to sense that something wasn't quite right. I could tell that they weren't finding a heartbeat with the Doppler as soon as they thought they would. The comprehension that something could be very, very wrong started to set in and I just felt frozen and numb.The doctor was getting the ultrasound machine ready to have a better look, so there was still a shred of hope for us. I remember the look on my mom's face. We were both clinging to that little piece of hope - that maybe the machine just couldn't find it, but it was still there. The mood in the room had changed drastically since we had walked in. 

When it was clear that he still couldn't find a heartbeat, the first wave of emotion finally hit me. I felt dizzy. I felt like I needed to protect my mom and the baby. It only took a second before my instincts kicked in. I knew that I had to stay strong until we made it home. I had to stay strong for myself and for her.

I remember the walk out to the car. It was a gray, cold, March day. At first my mom just walked with her arm around me. Then she started making the phone calls to my dad and my Nana. 

We went to our Wednesday night church service and were surrounded by incredible friends. We were all praying for a miracle, but also that God's will be done regardless of what that meant for us.

My Nana stayed with me when my parents went to the hospital to have my mom induced. I hardly slept that night. I remember sitting up in my bed sobbing and being angry at God. I was angry because I didn't understand why this was happening to our family. God had surprised us, gotten our hopes up, and then smashed them. I was angry at myself for snapping at my Nana. She had been trying to check on me and I told  her to leave me alone. I sat there, rocking back and forth, crying, and saying "why?" over and over again. I was upset about not being able to stay with my parents at the hospital.

I finally exhausted myself and laid down. I remember having the question "why?" still running through my mind, still desperate, but more gentle. God answered me by letting me feel his presence around me. Getting a hug from God is not something easily forgotten.

My Nana got me up the next morning. My parents had called to say that the baby had been delivered. They wanted to know if I wanted to see our little angel. I hadn't anticipated this, so I didn't know my answer at first. They said that they would do their best to wait until I made it to the hospital.

On the car ride there, I decided that I did want to see. I felt panicked as I had my Nana drop me off at the doors and I half ran to the room with the little paper butterfly taped to the door. I was scared that I was too late, but I wasn't. Seeing our little angel gave me some closure. 

They ran a bunch of tests to try and see what went wrong, but nothing came up. We didn't have the extra money to run the test to find out if our little one was a boy or a girl. My mom delivered at 16 weeks but growth stopped at 13. 

It was my mom's idea to name the baby Gabriel. Our little angel, Gabriel. 

I remember the feeling of desperation I had when my Nana said it was time to leave. I said I wouldn't leave and I stayed planted where I was, but my mom convinced me to go. 

I don't remember much from the time after that. I remember the all too frequent feeling that I needed to physically hold myself so I didn't burst. I remember people saying all the wrong things, even though they were just trying to help. I remember the people from WINGS, my parent's support group, being support for me as well even though I couldn't really go to their meetings. I remember barely getting by at school. People didn't know what to do, so they mostly just gave me space. I really appreciated it. I remember sitting on the bench in the hallway with Michelle not saying anything, but just supporting me by being there. 

We didn't have the extra money for a headstone, so we put a jar on the kitchen counter and dropped spare money in whenever we could. With the help of friends and family, we were able to get enough. 

I don't have the original file, so this is just a scanned page from my mom's scrapbook. Mom brought Gabriel the lamb and my Papa brought the little angel.

As time passed, things have gotten a lot easier. I still have days, including this one, where it's just too much to deal with and I break down. But because of all this, I have an incredible relationship with my little brother. Compassion is deeply rooted in me, because I know grief. Our family has been able to reach out to others who have experienced the same thing. I applied to volunteer for Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, because I firmly believe that God gave me the gift of photography (both the "eye" and the means to buy the equipment) to serve other people. 

I am so thankful for my family, for my friends, and for God picking up the pieces. 

A butterfly is commonly used in association with babyloss. It's a small symbol of hope, one that's very near and dear to my whole family.