Paizley Shaped Hole

Your laugh

It amazes me

The way your eyes flicker

Your mouth wide open

Head tilted back

And this silly, toothy giggle

The happiest girl in the world

Your kisses

Oooooo, they complete me

The way your mouth parts

No pucker

Just sloppy, wet sweetness

Planted with glee

All for me

And when you slumber

I watch and dream

About who you are

What you’ll become

Where life will journey

And I pray

I pray for your being

For your love through the thin

For sunny days

Starry nights

For your sweet laugh

Those sloppy, wet kisses

And to hold you in my arms

Mostly to hold you in my arms

Not around my neck

Not just in my dreams

Not just in my mind

That, my sweet angel baby

Would make me the happiest girl in the world

This heart, my love

Has a Paizley shaped hole

When you went away

My world changed

The sky turned black

The rain poured down

My solace is in the silver lining

That your toothy laughs

Your sloppy, wet kisses

May not be a dream one day

That this Paizley hole

May find its match

And the sun will shine again

Remembering Paizley Ann

"If you know someone who has lost a child, and you're afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died--you're not reminding them. They didn't forget they died. What you're reminding them of is that you remembered that they lived, and that is a great gift."

~Elizabeth Edwards~

There comes a point after any tragic occurance where people tend to fade back into their own lives. People are passionate in their feelings for a moment, but if the experience doesn't directly pertain to them, their interest fades away and the only ones left with that tragedy are the people who it directly affected. That happens with the loss of a baby. The ones who haven't faded are the ones who know the struggle and feel the pain. And those that don't know, forget about that little girl when the next tragedy of interest rolls along leaving other poor victims in wreckage. This is life. I can't say I haven't been the one to fade away. It's natural, it's normal. I have absolutely faded.

An example of this is 9/11. The world was set on fire. We mourned the loss of thousands. Now, I'm pretty sure the only people who think about those victims every single day are the ones who lost their husband, father, mother, brother... the people most directly affected.

But just because I don't talk about her everyday doesn't mean I forgot. It doesn't mean that a single day goes by that I don't think about her. It's always nice when other people show they haven't forgotten as well.

What Would Paizley Do?

I was listening to the radio today and I heard Glen Beck talking about this woman named Lila Rose and how she is one of the bravest women he knows because she has stood up to places like Planned Parenthood and really exposed the dirty on abortions. She went undercover and caught Planned Parenthood telling a pimp how he can get around laws that prevent his hoes from coming in and having underage abortions. They told him to have them lie about their age and told him to sign as their guardian etc. Really, it made me sick. She also has exposed abortion for what it is by telling the stories of the unborn children and showing women other options.

What I saw when I went to her website, www.liveaction.org, made me really sick. I truly do not believe abortions should be legal. I think that a woman who would dispose of her perfectly viable fetus is wrong. I used to believe that all women should have a choice to their own body and that whatever decision they made for their own life was right, however, as abortion becomes more and more popular, it gets dirtier and dirtier. These clinics de-humanize babies in order to sway women to abort their children. It is sickening. The babies are not given a voice anymore. They do not even allow women to look at an ultrasound before the procedure because it allows them to see it for what it really is: the murder of their child and they are afraid they will back out.

As a woman who went through this disgusting procedure, I feel I have every right to be angry about it. Granted I had a “choice,” but really, I had NO choice. My child would have died at birth, or possibly been born stillborn. She would have gone thorough pain, only to pass away. I would have postponed the inevitable by continuing with my pregnancy. I would not have given her a life; I would have given her a more painful death. And I would have put myself in danger as well. I knew that my little girl would be appreciative of spending her final moments in a place where she felt safe and comfortable rather than making the painful journey through the birthing canal, being blinded by hospital lights, manhandled by a doctor, hooked up to tubes, gasping for a breath that won't come and then finally passing away in a rough-to-the-touch blanket while her mother's sobs carry her away. So, for that, I am glad that I was still given a choice.

Call me a hypocrite, but when these women go in and have abortions because they just don’t want their babies or don’t feel they are ready, I get angry. I sat in the waiting room of the clinic when I had my procedures and fumed because there were women in there just waiting to erase their pregnancies. I wanted to jump across the aisle and rip their faces off. It makes me especially angry because as a result of their actions, we have organizations such as Liveaction who are dedicating their resources to giving these children a voice that they do not have, which includes posting videos and pictures of abortions. The bloody truth. I think that they should, because I don’t want any viable baby to have to go through that but GODDAMN! It really hurts me to see those pictures... those tiny little limbs in pieces. And because of these women who casually kill their child, women like myself who are missing their angel babies are also demonized. I don’t want to be in the same category!

So, is it selfish to say that I am glad that “abortion” was an option for me, but I wish that it wasn’t an option for other women? I wish that any healthy baby would not have to go through that. I wish that women who just don’t want their babies would reconsider and give their babies up for adoption. I wish they didn’t have a choice. Now I know that I would catch a lot of shit for that if anyone read this. I know drug addicts have abortions because they don’t want their babies and maybe it’s better for the child… maybe. I know that taking away the option would create a ton of “unwanted” children. I know that we cannot financially support making abortion illegal. This is just my opinion in this very moment, without reasoning, without thinking into it. Because if abortion was only reserved to those babies who would not live, then maybe in a perfect world, this world would be a better place.

Millions of Babies but None are Paizleys

Part of losing a baby is coping with the fact that your baby wasn’t the first pregnancy and won’t be the last. Well, most people would say, “Duh” but unless you have experienced the pain of losing a child (or the pain of desperately wanting one, but not getting pregnant), you won’t know what that feeling is like. Every time I see a mother and her child, I want that. I think about how my baby girl would be xx old now (one month tomorrow, actually) and I wonder what that would be like. Every time I see a mother with her child, I want to cry and break down, I want to scream, I want to lock myself in a closet for awhile… pretty much every time. Every time I hear someone else is expecting, I go through a series of sadness, joy, jealously, wanting, anger, happiness… where is my Paizley girl?? Every time yet another person posts the pictures of them and their significant other in the delivery room taking their first look at their precious little bundle of joy, I cry. It’s not a “why me”, per se; it’s a “sad it’s not me.” I don’t want to speculate why this happened to me. It happened, that’s it. And it happened to me. But I’ll be damned if I don’t feel sadness thinking about the fact that she’s not here when she was supposed to be. It’s not that I don’t want others to have that joy, I just want it too.

You get to a certain age where it’s pretty much breeding season, kind of like hunting season, but one that lasts about 5-10 years. During this span from about age 25-35, you can pretty much bet that at least 6 people you know, at any given point in time, are expecting a child or just had their baby. Now, back to hunting… you’ve been waiting for this season to hit for a long, long time; you’re out with all your gear, in the rain/sleet/snow for weeks on end and you’re the one person who doesn’t come home with an elk. It’s a pretty sad story. You can’t wait to try your best friend’s elk burgers, of course, but it’s pretty bittersweet having that thought in the back of your head that you just wanted your elk. Well folks, it’s hunting season and I am the elk-less bitch here.

No Paizley, No Cry

You would be here today, little girl. That is, if you were as good to me still as you were then and you came on time. Today is being spent trying to stay positive and happy instead of sad and going through all the what-ifs. I will still think of you today, as everyday, I just cannot allow myself to wallow in the sorrow of not getting to go to the hospital today and meet my little girl. If I let myself go there, there will be no turning back. I am just going to focus on wishing you to have a little sister one day... one day soon, I hope.

Paizley are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay, Paizley?

Next to giving birth to an angel baby, the procedure for terminating a pregnancy is pretty much the worst thing you can possibly go through. There are very few places I could have gone for this type of thing, and only one my genetic specialist said he would trust sending his daughter to, a very good friends of his. A lot of these places are “turn-em-and-burn-em” type offices that perform tons of first trimester abortion procedures. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about. Sitting in the waiting room, everyone is sizing each other up. It’s a pretty crazy thing to be sitting across from another woman who is there to erase her pregnancy in one swift swoop. Or is she? I wondered how many women in that room were in the shitty predicament we were in. How many had loved that baby as much as I did? It couldn’t be possible though that every woman in the room was there to relieve her beloved baby from the pain of death during birth like myself. That is when the cruel process of sizing up begins. I sat and wondered which one of these horrible bitches were there to end the life of their perfect fetuses. I wondered how many men they had fucked to get to where they were and if any were getting rid of evidence of infidelity. And I got angry, real angry. I wished for this little girl since I was old enough to name my dolls. Ryan and I had her name picked out before we even knew she existed. And here I am in a room, surrounded by women who are willingly giving up their opportunity to live my biggest dream. That anger, was an anger to be reckoned with. 

On top of the heartbreak, the process is a long and grueling one. It’s a full three days of office visits, pain, procedures, pill popping and goodbyes, all mixed in with a little bit of hope. This is what you go through when you want your baby. Those that do not are in and out in a matter of hours, ready to begin to forget.

I have to admit, I was blessed with a very amazing team of doctors and genetic specialists. The doctors at the clinic were so great to me. They really understood what I was going through and made it so that it was as easy for me as possible. The first day was the very painful procedure of inserting lamanaria into my cervix to dilate me. I was warned that my water might break, rare but possible. I was sent home to rest, grieve and await another day of dreaded procedures. The next morning I woke up and my water had broken. I was in panic. I got to the clinic early and was told that it was perfectly fine for that to happen, in fact, welcomed because it helps the procedure along. My main concern was the baby. How would she live without the fluid to survive? And the answer I choked on was…. She wouldn’t. She would probably not make it till the next day’s procedures. There was no telling how long it would take, but she would not make it. I had more laminaria put in and left to go rest off the pain.

I went home that day knowing it would be my last chance to talk to her. I was scared to not have her with me and prepared myself for the feeling of an empty nest. That last day with her was a day I will never forget. I spoke to her soul. I let that baby girl know how much her mommy loved her. I let her know not to be afraid, that everything would work out. And I begged her to come back to us through the next baby. And then something happened that I wasn’t prepared for; something that made all the fear and anguish wash away… my angel grew wings.

I lay on the couch trying to sleep. It had been a long, emotional couple of days and I needed some rest to recharge. My eyes were closed, but my body would not allow me to doze off. I had this lingering itch that would not go away. First my arm would itch a little, then my face, then my leg. It was preventing me from getting to sleep and I was getting a little annoyed. All of a sudden, I felt this huge, intense wave rush through my entire body. It was so intense; I thought maybe I had overdosed on my medication. I continued to close my eyes and with them closed I could see the energies of our three dogs. It was like I was seeing the room, but with my eyes closed. I could see exactly where each dog was lying based on the energy they put off. Then I noticed I wasn’t alone. There were two other energies in the room with me… people. One was standing next to me and the other was on the other side of the coffee table. All this happened so quickly that I wasn’t really paying attention to what was going on. I opened my eyes quickly because I felt the need to make sure I was really alone in the house. It was all one split second. I closed my eyes upon seeing nothing but the dogs and then... it HIT me. It hit me like a ton of bricks. I started to cry uncontrollably realizing what had just happened: She just died. She passed over and the two presences were there to bring her over. I had literally felt her spirit leave my body. It was simply amazing. At that moment, I knew she was okay. All my fear of her experiencing any pain with the procedure was gone. All my fear of if she would be okay was gone. I felt so at peace knowing that she was with people who loved her. About thirty minutes later, I got up to go to the bathroom. On the way, I glanced over at a picture of Ryan’s grandma and although I never got a chance to meet her because she passed away before Ryan and I met, I looked at that woman and I said to her, “You were just here!” I knew it was her who came to get Paizley.

From that day forward, I felt more comfortable with what was happening. I miss her like hell; don’t get me wrong. But I miss her because of my selfishness. I miss her because she was the closest I ever got to my dream coming true. She is okay. She is in a good place. She left in peace and her family greeted her. She didn’t have to suffer or feel any pain on the wretched day that followed.

I woke up the next morning and took the special pill they gave me. As promised, thirty minutes later I was in extreme labor. Poor Ryan had to listen to me screaming in pain as he raced me to the clinic in rush hour morning traffic. We got there early and had to wait for the doctors to show up to the office. It was an excruciating wait.  They finally showed up and let me into the back room.

There was a particular nurse I really liked at the clinic that I was going to. She was always so sweet and helpful. I think she really felt for me. What I was going through saddened her. She saw the pain in my eyes and how much I wanted my baby. The last day of procedures, the big day, I told her as she gave me my IV what had happened the day before. I told her about how I knew Paizley was okay and she broke down crying. She told me that for some reason, she really connected with me. She opened up to me about her life, about her current heartbreak and about her dreams as I was drifting into twilight sleep. It made me feel a little better knowing someone there was acknowledging the pain I was enduring for a little girl I loved so much.

I don’t remember much from the procedure; I guess that’s the point of putting you under. I do remember looking over at the big glass jar with hoses petruding out next to me, the one I had seen both days prior when I had wondered how many babies had made their way into it. I looked over with twilight eyes and saw the jar was not empty as before and I managed to get out of my mouth, “Is that my baby?” as I drifted away again. And then I was on my way to recovery (where I had an embarassing, though hilarious bathroom experience I would never put in writing but will tell you over a beer one day if you wanna know).

Recovery now is writing about her; sharing my experience. Recovery now is remembering her and looking forward to new beginnings. Recovery now is helping maybe just one woman who has had to go through what I have been through. Maybe one woman will read this and know she isn’t alone. Maybe one woman who is thinking about ending her baby’s life will read this and change her mind knowing that she could make her dreams come true if she would just take a step back and think about what matters. Recovery is full of maybes…

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A Paizleyless Story

To a childless mother, life is full of constant reminders of a dream stripped away. How ironic it was when, the other night, the coupon that printed up for me at the grocery store as I was buying a case of beer was a coupon for two dollars off diapers. Here I am, purchasing something I wouldn’t even turn my head at if she were still here because I would be two weeks away from the big day, and I am given a little reminder of a lost little girl. It’s always a little punch in the face. I wanted to turn around, grab the diapers in place of the beer and walk out, forgetting all that has transpired over the last four months. I wanted to close my eyes as I walked into the house, walk back into the nursery and put the diapers away in her closet among the stacks and stacks we have been collecting for the many diaper changes ahead. There is no nursery though. Her room is an office. Her closet isn’t full of adorable little girl dresses and her drawers aren’t full of warm footie pajamas. In her closet hangs our winter coats and clothes that couldn’t fit in our closet and in her drawers lies my wedding dress, computer cords and at the very bottom, the very last drawer is a bag full of clothes. The last drawer holds baby clothes, right where they belong- in the nursery. They are the only trace of baby in her room; little clothes stuffed away for one day. These little onesies are yellow and green and orange, the colors that represent the first trimester; the one where you don’t know whether to buy pink or blue, but just want to buy something. The day after I revealed the big news to my family, they drove me straight out to the outlet mall in Anthem and bought the baby every unisex outfit, blankie and bib, they could find. They now lie stuffed in a bag in a drawer. I never got to buy all the cute, little, frilly dresses with bows and lace because the day we found out she was a little girl was the day we found out she would never get to come home with us.

As we sat in the waiting room that day, I was so excited. I beamed and smiled and squeezed Ryan’s arm so hard. I kept asking and asking, “Are you excited?!?” and he would reply with, “Stop! I’m nervous. Why are you so excited?” He was getting annoyed. I couldn’t sit still. The countdown had begun weeks before and everyone was on the edge of their seat. We were all waiting to hear the news we had all been waiting for since the day I revealed I was expecting, “It’s a girl!” I asked Ryan in the waiting room how we should let everyone know. I decided we would go buy a little pink pair of booties and post a picture on Facebook and through text of us holding them up for all to see that yes, we would be welcoming a little girl! He thought I was crazy for having it all so meticulously planned out. He is a realist who fears every negative outcome. I couldn’t fathom anything going wrong so I hopped up on that examination table without a worry in the world only to receive news I wasn’t prepared for. Meanwhile, all our friends were on my Facebook page having a conversation about what they thought the verdict was, introducing themselves to each other, telling stories about how they met me and expressing their nervousness on why it was taking so long for me to post something. They thought maybe I had found out it was a boy and was upset about it. It was a big day for everyone who loved me. And of course we know how the news ended up. That day has become a benchmark in my life. It was a day I will never forget. I left that office with hope that they were all wrong, though I knew in my heart I would be saying goodbye.

As a childless mother, I am constantly reminded of my empty belly. Seems like everywhere I look, some beautiful woman is beaming with that “pregnancy glow.” I see that pregnant belly on women and though I want to look away and continue on with my day, I can’t stop staring. I imagine it on me, how I would look with a baby belly, how I would look today. Though I was five months along when she left me, I didn’t look like I was pregnant yet. I still had that “I packed on a few pounds after the holidays” belly. I never got to experience what it was like for people to notice I’m expecting without me telling them. I never got a chance to feel pregnant.

(20 weeks, sticking it out a little. ;) )

As a childless mother, I feel like I am always missing something. This emptiness has been especially hard around the holidays when mothers are hustling and bustling around with their baby carriages, towing their other little ones behind. I know no woman would think that at a time of pure chaos and craziness another woman is completely envying her, but yes, I am. I wish I could tell her to relax and cherish the time she gets to tote around her children because there are others who do not have that, but then I remind myself not to be a freak and I go about my way. Every time another friend or family member announces the big news, every time I hear someone tell another about someone who “just found out they are pregnant,” a little piece of me clenches up and screams inside. My only wish I will ever have is for that day to come for me again. For someone to tell another, “Erica just found out she’s pregnant!” It will happen one of these days.

The gift that Paizley has given me is to never take the people and things in my life that I love for granted. Losing her will make me a better mother to the children who will be and are present in my life. I have found an outlet to vent my sadness, though I really am quite a happy person. The magnitude of the pain I have had from losing her has shown me the magnitude of happiness I will have when looking into my first child’s eyes. If I can love a child I’ve lost as much as I do, the child that lives won’t know what to do with all the love they receive. And I can show that love now to Riley, who I adore. I can share my happiness with him and I can hope to share with him a little brother or sister one day.