My Photo Blog

I am trying something new. I have started a new blog (an additional blog I should say)- a photo blog. I really enjoy using my camera and now and then I take some really great pictures. This is different from a snapfish account, as I am showing you only a few shots, some of them pretty artsy fartsy. The thing is that it is a private blog. There are pictures of my family, and I just can't have that kind of stuff out there for just anyone to be ogling. If you would like to enjoy my new photo blog you will need a password, a bit of a hassle, I know. You need a password for snapfish too though, don't you? Anyway, if you are interested send me a note with your e-mail address and I will be happy to invite you!
SEND YOUR ADDRESS, EVEN IF I "KNOW IT" - it makes my life 100times easier!

On Angel's Wings

It is amazing how fresh old wounds can sometimes feel. The pain strikes you suddenly, from out of nowhere, and when you least expect it. It can be triggered by the most mundane of things, like a child trying to distract himself from the task of having to finish his dinner...

It is all so clear as if it were yesterday. Almost three years ago we conceived our third child. It was bliss. This child was so loved, so wanted. Our life was good, we were in a really good place, happy and so overflowing with love that we were compelled to ask God's help in creating a new life. Our prayers were answered, and we were so joyful. We decided to keep the news of the pregnancy to ourselves for a while. In the past we had always kept quiet for a good 6-8 weeks, but this time we were so enjoying our beautiful little secret that we lasted almost the full 12 weeks. I even remember the absolute sweetness of hanging our Christmas stockings that year, each of us with a twinkle in our eye, because only we knew that the next Christmas we would be adding another.

We were at a family party one Saturday night, and there was much buzz over two other family pregnancies that we finally just blurted it out - we're having a baby too! We toasted and cheered. We discussed baby names and nursery decor, and cousins growing up together. It was a fun and happy night.

Then, three days later the world came crashing down. I was cramping all day, and by the evening we had a sonogram to confirm, the baby had died. I was in excruciating pain, labor pain, and my baby wasn't coming home...ever. I remember so clearly being in the operating room, they had already given me a shot of something to ease the hurt, and I was sobbing uncontrollably. The nurse or the anesthesiologist or whoever asked if I was crying because I was in pain, or just because of what was happening. Is there a difference? My baby was gone. When the surgery was over and I was starting to come to, I asked where it was. What? They asked. The baby. I wanted to see it, to touch it, to know that it was real. They assured me that I did not want to see it. I begged, and promised that I would keep my eyes closed, if they would just bring me my baby so that I could say a prayer. If I had to give my baby up to God, I needed to at least say a prayer. I kept my eyes closed, and a nurse placed my hand on a warm plastic container. There were no words in my prayer, I had none, only pure love.

At the time of the miscarriage, First Son was only 3 1/2. We hadn't told him anything about the baby. As I stayed in my room for a day or two recuperating he knew that Mommy didn't feel good, but I think that he knew it was worse than a cold. I was heartbroken. One morning I woke up to him standing next to my bed, stroking my cheek - almost as if he were the parent and I was the child. I didn't stay in bed long, I couldn't. I had two small children who still needed me, and I also knew that the best therapy for me would be to throw myself back into life.

It was the darkest winter of my memory. I was prone to sobbing fits now and then, and every sad song on the radio felt as if it had been written just for my personal lament. I kept the sonogram picture - the one confirming the miscarriage - the only one I had of my child, even if it was lifeless - near my bed. One day I came out of the bathroom and my sweet First Son was sitting there with the picture in his hand. A lump in my throat. What baby is this he asked? I didn't answer. I couldn't. He asked again, Is this me or Curly? First Son had seen his own sonogram pictures before, so I guess he remembered what they looked like, and knew that the grainy black and white image was a baby. Anyway, I told him no, it was another baby. A baby who lived in Mommy's belly for only a little while, and then went to be with God. I told him that this baby would not be coming to live with us, because God decided that he needed the baby to be with him. I respect my children too much to lie to them. First Son accepted my explanation, said "is that why you are so sad?" gave me a hug and then ran off to play. I sat down to cry my eyes out...again.

A few weeks later we learned that Paddy Boy was due in nine months. This time, instead of waiting to tell, I was shouting from the rooftops. I had felt so alone during my miscarriage, and I think that part of my loneliness in grief came from the fact that I hadn't really had the chance to share the joy that preceded it. I don't like to think that Paddy was my "do-over" baby, but there is a certain part of me that can't stand to fail, and I had suffered a miscarriage, a failed pregnancy. I am sure there are some experts who could argue that we didn't give ourselves enough time to grieve the loss of our child, and they may not be wrong, but we did what felt right to us. I have my beautiful, boisterous, and brilliant Paddy Boy. My love. And, I have the baby who lives in my heart, and for eternity with his Heavenly Father. I know that I could never had held both in my arms.

My life now is very full. I run so much sometimes that I almost forget my own name, but I never forget the baby I lost. We don't talk about it much, but my baby is always there in my mind and in my heart. When people ask how many children I have I always say aloud "four" though in my heart there are five.

I have been wanting a special piece of "Mommy Jewelery" for some time now. I have been looking for the perfect piece, one that would suit my taste, and tell my story. I recently got my Mommy necklace. It has four hammered silver discs, each one with one of my children's names pressed into it. On the back of the chain, near the clasp, I had attached a tiny charm with an angel. I put it there for me and no one else. I wear it in the back, so as not to detract attention from my four cherubs, but not to be forgotten either. My necklace is one of my most prized possessions.

Tonight at dinner, it was coming near the end of a stressful day. A hard day in the trenches of motherhood. Dexter had been crying all afternoon, Paddy Boy woke up from his nap in a foul mood; First Son and Curly were constantly redefining the word "antagonize" and Hubby had to work late. I was sitting at the table with First Son trying to convince him to eat his dinner already. One more bite, over and over. He was trying all kinds of tactics to distract us both from the task at hand - three little pieces of sausage. I was determined not to let him get away with any more "crap" today, but still trying to be calm. I decided to sit as long as it took. So, at one point, he reaches over and touches my necklace, "his" circle. This is my name, he says. I smile. Then, he says "oh, and your angel baby" apparently my charm slid around towards the front. Then he says "I love you. I wish you were here." Oh boy. Wham! He was just 3 1/2, but he remembers.

I have five children. Four here on earth and one awaiting me in heaven. They are all my angels.