Piper Lynn

I wrote something beautiful about you.  It made me feel alive and validated... in the mushy, kid- like way. Where for a moment the wisdom of age and innocence of new love met. Magical feelings that sprinkle like fairy dust.  It represented all that we had accomplished together. I felt love, in love and I wanted you. Today what I write to you is broken and bruised. It's shaded with graphite pencil, darker in its core.  I don't feel that magical, colorful, wistful love. I feel the havy, dirty, mud stuck to the bottom of my boots, the ones that don't fit me in the first place. I am wet, knuckles bleeding, fists clinched, teeth shifting back and forth as my Jaw viciously controls each movement.  Their is a big storm brewing... the storm chasers won't be able to catch it. Mother nature can't stop it. I will hide in the bunker, hope for sunshine in the morning and will venture to explore the destruction, alone, tired, wet, knuckles bleeding, fists clinched, teeth shifting...

Its hard for me to decide when to visit Piper at her grave. Sometimes I am nudged by her older brothers, other times I feel the need to touch her headstone and say out loud, "I love you". Sometimes I feel like a bad mom because I just drive by. Today, I felt rushed between things, but also felt I needed to visit. As I drove down the gravel road, the sun peaking through the clouds casting beautiful shadows next to each headstone, I saw a new grave being prepared near Piper. A new neighbor, and a new family in the trenches of their loss. I told Piper I hope she has a new friend to play with, but also apologized that another baby wasn't in their mommas arms. Surprised by unfamiliar emotions casting over me, I started to feel angry, followed by helpless, followed by confusion. I looked at the small patch of dirt, rickety table and square piece of artifical grass waiting to welcome the family to their baby's permanent resting space. How would they turn that old table into ...

I can't believe it myself. You are here. With Gratitude we accept you into our hearts. With Love we will give you everything we have. You are perfect, you are you.  Blonde hair, soft skin, long toes and a joyful mouth curved up at the edges. We Love you.  And We miss you. We are forever changed.  I am forever yours, even though you are not forever mine. 

Today I had an hour alone. As I drove with the windows down, having space to experience the feel and sound of the wind blowing, I thought "I haven't been this happy in a long time." The thought was fleeting, because I became scared to think this. The months after after experiencing loss - I subconsciously was living and keeping myself in a place of "sad". For many reasons my spirit needed this to protect me during those initial months of deep grief and scary depression. There were chemical changes happening in my brain that were out of my control. My mind remained in this state because I believed that this was how I would feel forever and because it didn't seem fair to feel happy.  But today is different. When people told me my response to grief would change, and it's role in my life would shift with time- I didn't believe them.  But today is different,  I get it now.  No two timelines are the same for everyone.  Some people want to hear "it wil...

Since we lost Piper, many women have shared their babies, their stories, their hurt and appreciation with me. These deeply fragile pieces of their life story are not ones easily shared or received. When a woman sais to me, "my miscarriage was much earlier than yours, so its not as hard as what you are experiencing," I am quickly reminded that even with our common thread, each of our stories are very different, yet we are quick to compare. Why do we do this to ourselves and others? May be because we feel a need to reassure someone else with comparisons that favor their story, may be because we need to find ways to lessen our ache. May be because as women we are endocterinated to compare, judge and question to survive society. Our stories are absolutely different, but those differences do not necessitate comparison. No story or life is of less value than another.  As humans we are each different and so are our experiences with loss and levels of connection to our pregnancy or b...

Sitting.  Pain in my stomach. Remembering the boys days of birth. Remembering what I wanted with Piper.  Wanting to feel it all differently.  Hearing the cries.  Wanting more.  Wanting Piper and Wanting a baby in my arms.  Each place adds peace or dissapointment.  Sharing my story. Helping others. Being in places that remind me of what I wanted. Healing the large cracks in my heart.. Being in these places forces me to go there. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. To think about my experience. What I wish it would have been. What I hoped her to be.  People who can understand and see the importance. People who can't or won't dive into the truth about loss. I am at odds with the truth.  But I am here and so is she. 

JOY! My husband and I found out I was pregnant in May 2020, during the beginning of the COVID 19 pandemic in the United States. The new addition would be joyfully welcomed by three older and loving brothers. It was a bit of a surprise, I was scared, but chose to fill my thoughts with more Joy and less fear. I feared what having a baby in a pandemic would look and feel like compared to previous experiences. None the less, we carried on, wrapped our growing baby in our joy while silently hoping that our fourth child would be our first girl. And she was.  Prenatal Care and the Pandemic During the pandemic, prenatal care was different, appointments were done via telehealth and the medical world was preoccupied with new protocols brought on by COVID 19. I had an ultrasound completed at 10 weeks GA: normal. A follow up visit in the office at 12 weeks: normal. My 16 week visit was a telehealth call. I remember saying to the Nurse Practitioner "I just don't like that I cannot be in th...