tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66433568614977011352024-03-13T06:22:31.053-07:00Leeona's Little Life Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-22780999800836590762021-05-25T17:51:00.008-07:002021-05-25T18:03:47.700-07:001,734 days "She Can't Come Visit You... She Died"<p> <span style="font-family: georgia; text-align: center;">My Cousins daughters went to build a bear after Leeona Died and made this teddy bear. They gave it to me so that I could feel better, and have something to hold on to. It brought me layers of comfort when I needed it most... </span><span style="font-family: georgia; text-align: center;">Naturally it became Mitchells when he was big enough, and he knows that it once belonged to her. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OXOjFKZmRdY/YK2VJTkAvsI/AAAAAAAAAdI/-VXE23r1i7UWInAkx7jxvKC-0VnkuOW0ACNcBGAsYHQ/60310996_10217345832470442_5081330908309487616_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="411" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OXOjFKZmRdY/YK2VJTkAvsI/AAAAAAAAAdI/-VXE23r1i7UWInAkx7jxvKC-0VnkuOW0ACNcBGAsYHQ/w308-h411/60310996_10217345832470442_5081330908309487616_n.jpg" width="308" /></a></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">We have photos of our daughter in our house - we always have. From the day she was born/died, there has never been a time that we didn’t have her everywhere. So naturally when our son was born 2 years later we still had them up. As he’s grown he has mentioned them and I have always told him the truth- that that was his baby sister ( even though she technically would have bene his big sister ) … As time has passed and he’s gotten older & the more questions he’s asked about her - the larger explanations I have had to give. For a long time I would say that she lives far away</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">in heaven that was enough for a while. Lately it hasn’t been - So we have had to have hard conversations. Every night at bed time for a week straight Mitchell had asked about her picture above his bed. I started to realized that somewhere with in the last couple weeks he learned “what” a sibling, or sister is… So every single night he has asked to play with her and when I say that she lives far away, it hasn't been enough…</span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><br /></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> It’s </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><b> “Well... she can come a different day?” </b></i></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><i><b>“She can come visiting me annuuuder time? Right Momma” <br /></b></i></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">Each time clinging to her pink teddy bear that she “ let him keep”. After four nights of going through the exact same conversation and feeling like my breath was being sucked out of me when I answered.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"> <br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">I finally had to tell him, bluntly and honestly….<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><i>“She can’t baby, because she died. Leeona is Dead.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></i></span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><br /></i><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">The amount of understanding that this boy had blew my mind and honestly tore me open even a little more….</span><br /><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><i><b>"ohhhh She died? Like Tadashi?”</b></i> </span><br /><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">-(Tadashi is a big brother in one of his favorite cartoon movies, who goes into a burning building to save a teacher, and then the building explodes.)</span></span></div><div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><br /></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">I told him yes… That she died like Tadashi... Then we had a bit of a tangent and I had to explain she didn’t die from fire… but that we should never run into burning buildings… he put his attention back on her and continued questioning me.. </span><br /><b><i><br /></i></b><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><b><i>“So she’s wrrrellly wrelly gone…"</i></b></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><b><i>" She can’t play with me… never-ever?!”</i></b></span><br /><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><i><b>“Mumma…. Where you wrellly wrelly sad?”</b></i></span><i><b><br /></b></i><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><i><b>“And was daddy wreally sad too?”</b></i></span><i><b><br /></b></i><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><i><b>“And Neverybody criweddd and criewedd?</b></i></span><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><i><b>”</b></i></span><i><b><br /></b></i><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><i><b>“That’s really sad…. We miss her so muccchhh, huh?”</b></i></span><br /><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">So we continued talking about how sad I was and that yes, I do miss her every day... I told him how excited we were when we found out we were pregnant with him, and how he saved Mommy and Daddy from a place that was really hurting and that we are so thankful to his sister for bringing him to us.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><br /><span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Parenting after loss is beautiful, and hard and has some super unexpected moments, that I probably saw coming, just not this soon… Not tonight, not the middle of the almost summer as my son is winding down for bed, but<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I think the beauty of parenting a child is all the moments you learn to get through together.. I wasn’t ready for the talk, I wasn’t ready to break his little innocent mind, until I had to be in that moment… and then realized I wasn’t. I didn’t break him, and everything I thought would hurt him was something his little mind had already processed off a cartoon… Kids understand so much more than we think they do, and he maybe even taught me a little bit. <3 </span></span></div><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: georgia; font-kerning: none;"></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: georgia; font-kerning: none;"></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: georgia; font-kerning: none;"></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><b><i><span class="s1" style="font-family: georgia; font-kerning: none;"></span></i></b></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: georgia; font-kerning: none;"></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><i><b><span class="s1" style="font-family: georgia; font-kerning: none;"></span></b></i></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><i><b><span class="s1" style="font-family: georgia; font-kerning: none;"></span></b></i></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><i><b><span class="s1" style="font-family: georgia; font-kerning: none;"></span></b></i></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: georgia; font-kerning: none;"></span></p>Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-28569732174344565792020-12-18T20:30:00.003-08:002020-12-18T20:32:37.291-08:00Oh, you left so fast. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> “I’d never pictured every minute without you in it,<p></p><p>Oh, you left so fast…</p><p>Sometimes I see you standing there.</p><p>Sometimes it's like I'm losing touch…</p><p>Sometimes I feel that I'm so lucky to have had the chance to love this much,</p><p>God, give me a moments grace… </p><p>‘cause if I’d never seen your face; </p><p>I probably wouldn’t be this way.”</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z3Wh93QN5qU/X92A2_A0XZI/AAAAAAAAAbk/sYCap9HkfB8_gpNZIkNo1nDdlpFxUjc2QCNcBGAsYHQ/s1500/66CFCC99-A772-4FAE-9AB7-300502A3BF8D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1500" height="260" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-z3Wh93QN5qU/X92A2_A0XZI/AAAAAAAAAbk/sYCap9HkfB8_gpNZIkNo1nDdlpFxUjc2QCNcBGAsYHQ/w437-h260/66CFCC99-A772-4FAE-9AB7-300502A3BF8D.jpeg" width="437" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>Today it’s been 11 years since Matthew asked me out on our first date. Every time I think of our growth as individuals, and as a partnership so much of it revolves around this day. This little girl, who we had to say goodbye to in such an unexpected way and time. I’ve been thinking a lot, about how far we have come from a couple of kids to two people who are still figuring out exactly how to be the best of ourselves. This song, ^^ it got to me today. The date, it got to me. The photos that I flip through when I’m needing to remember all that she was, they got me.</p><p><br /></p><p>And I think thats okay. </p><p><br /></p><p>I am SO much more mentally healthy, with in our loss than I was. I have coped, I have learned how to use our tragedy to help others, and to give back. I have learned and taught myself healing, I have figured out how to have a ‘normal’ life and move forward. I can tell my story with detail and not bat an eye, hold it in.. </p><p><br /></p><p>I’ve learned how to do all that when I see it coming ( and I’ve learned to - almost always- make sure I see it coming) but today, I didn’t. I didn’t prepare for the way it would hit me when the song sang; </p><p><br /></p><p>“Oh, you left so fast” </p><p><br /></p><p>She left me, so fast. She was gone before I knew it - in the most real way that sentence could be read. She was gone. So fast. And Somedays I am still trying to catch my breath with that. </p><p><br /></p><p>I was gone with her, so fast. Who I had pictured myself becoming was gone, and who I thought I was, what I wanted to be. It was all gone. </p><p><br /></p><p>I was an empty shell of who I used to be, with an empty stomach to prove it. </p><p>And some way, some how.. this man stood by me. Through postpartum hurricanes and grief tidal waves he held on to me and we pushed through to the other side. We both have things, and worlds of work to do on ourselves but we aren’t the people we were before. </p><p><br /></p><p>“Sometimes I feel that I'm so lucky,</p><p> to have had the chance,</p><p> to love this much</p><p>God, give me a moments grace… </p><p>‘cause if I’d never seen your face; </p><p>I probably wouldn’t be this way.”</p><p><br /></p><p>I’ll feel lucky, for the rest of my life that we had a chance to love her that much. And I feel lucky that loving her this much, lead us to be better people, better parents better spouses. If I hadn’t gotten pregnant with Leeona, I don’t know where we would have ended up. I don’t know who we would have grown into. But I do know that she made me “me” and mom, and who I am now, and she made Matt a Dad and who he is now. </p><p><br /></p><p>I’m thankful to all the grace ever given to me during that time - lord knows I needed it. I’m thankful that I saw her face, and that she made me this way. Even if today it’s a mess, and a broken heart that can’t be reined in. </p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y9LamZo7hvk/X92BtaTQq6I/AAAAAAAAAbs/SH8qO389snoSjD27tTcufOMAhw7APhcswCNcBGAsYHQ/s2048/CEB19F9D-EAC7-4E59-824F-E1B26F8B2C39.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1347" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Y9LamZo7hvk/X92BtaTQq6I/AAAAAAAAAbs/SH8qO389snoSjD27tTcufOMAhw7APhcswCNcBGAsYHQ/s320/CEB19F9D-EAC7-4E59-824F-E1B26F8B2C39.jpeg" width="320" /></a></p><p><br /></p><p>I miss my daughter, and the life we could have lead together, the sister she would be to her Brother… And today, I’m not able to hold it all in. Tonight, I’m not able to act, like I have ‘healed’ I’m not able to pretend that it’s not hard. </p><p><br /></p><p>So hears to 11 years of love, and loss. Happiness, sorrow, growth, falling down and standing up.</p><p><br /></p><p>I’m thankful to her, that “I am this way” and that we are this way, and that we are still figuring this out after 11 years.</p>Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-79188222298032617702019-08-12T13:05:00.001-07:002019-08-12T13:06:39.084-07:00To everything, there is a season.... <style type="text/css">
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">In the mornings, before work, and before my little guy is up for the day, I sit outside on my and drink my coffee. It’s usually the only quiet moments I get until Mitchell is down for the night. There’s something about peace and quiet with hot coffee, even in the summer, that just feels right. My dog Bella, roams around the yard and takes off after rodents, occasionally a car will head down the drive way, presumably for work, and maybe a bird will chirp; other than that the only noise that I hear over and over again, is the acorns bouncing off my car.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">We park our cars in a row that begins in front of our porch, my car, my husbands truck, and then his work truck. Between my car, and his truck is a big old oak tree, when the cars are moved, my son is able to swing high in his infant swing that hangs from the limb.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Every summer I sit out there and listen to the acorns dropping.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It starts at the end of July, and goes through September.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When the acorns fall, it is my season. My season of grief.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">At Leeona’s funeral, my aunt read scripture from Ecclesiastes;<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WIxQTbUxxQw/XVHCRVfgTqI/AAAAAAAAAXw/iEQV8n29bvsgzmKE1MI3dqSctIT6YyhSACLcBGAs/s1600/217A2084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1053" data-original-width="1600" height="420" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WIxQTbUxxQw/XVHCRVfgTqI/AAAAAAAAAXw/iEQV8n29bvsgzmKE1MI3dqSctIT6YyhSACLcBGAs/s640/217A2084.jpg" width="640" /></span></a><span class="s1"><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This is my season of grief and of mourning.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">It’s weird, how something similar can bring you back, my body remember<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>things that I didn’t know I remembered. It’s the heat somedays, crisp, no moisture sun on your face kind of heat, that I remember at the funeral. I couldn’t bring myself to take off my cardigan, I couldn’t bring myself to strip off that bit of color and be left wearing black. The breeze was enough, to allow me to keep it on. The sound of the acorns falling, the sound of my cousins voice belting out “Amazing Grace” only cracking occasionally when her grief took over for moments. I remember the sound of feet crunching the dry over growth on the ground beneath us, and the sound of a dragonfly wizzing by my head.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">So I sit on my porch, and I listen to the sound of acorns falling and with every ping, off the top of my car, I miss my daughter. I wonder who she would be and where life would take us, and what her voice would sound like. I wonder what would make me think of her, I wonder what smells, and sounds, and moments should make me remember her. How different this list would be if she had survived.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Theres this weird thing that happens when you grieve. Its like everyone in the world is “there for you” and they understand, and they want to help in whatever way they can, and then all of a sudden, their lives move on, and you are left there still struggling to keep your head above water. All of a sudden they have climbed into a speed boat, thrown you a life preserver and sped off into the sunset. You are bobbing there, trying to breathe trying not to drown. Like they have forgotten that you’re still learning to swim. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’ve gotten good at floating, I think I have learned to swim, but there are still times that I need a boat. I think that if I had never been given the gift of being Mitchells mother; I would have drown already.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Remember when you see people who have faced a significant loss, that their pain goes with then everywhere they go. It doesn’t just stop once everyone has sped off. Remember that they will go through seasons, seasons of happiness, and love, and loss, and grief, it will come back and slap them in the face, sometimes even when they aren’t expecting it.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I feel my daughter more, during this calendar season, than usual. I face more pain, and more guilt, more emotions during this time of year, because im always left with the “what ifs”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I don’t really have a point to this post. I don’t have some kind of story to tell you, or a revelation that I’ve come to. I guess, I’m just asking, to forgive me if I’m distant, forgive me if I’m rude.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Be gentle with me.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I’m in my season.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></span></div>
<br />Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-47817706857421903142019-06-07T13:35:00.001-07:002019-06-07T13:35:38.503-07:00Being thankful for a scraped knee. <div class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; color: #454545; font-family: ".SF UI Text"; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">I needed my son to scrape his knee today. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">You see, my son has pushed me to my limits this week. He hasn’t been sleeping; he’s been wild and all boy, and screaming his lungs off every time he wants attention. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Ive always been incredibly grateful for him, and have been feeling guilty about how irritated I’ve been with him lately. No sleep will do that to you.</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">Today, we played all morning. He napped when he decided he wanted a nap, I let him run the schedule. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>We played in the yard, in his little blue truck, and Sometime during that he decided he wanted his Dada. So he wobbles and runs up the drive way towards our garage, and once he made it to the tar, he fell. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">Insert scraped knee. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">It wasn’t until I sat him on my counter and cleaned up his leg, did I realize that this was the first of many. He had never scrapped his knee before, and I remembered how incredibly lucky I am to be present for another first. I was never able to be a comfort for my daughter. I was never able to kiss her boo boos or hold her when she cried, I never stayed up for hours and hours trying to soothe her. Oh, but I spent so many nights staring at the ceiling wishing I could hear her cry. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">My point, is that I got to put my baby boy up on my counter. Clean up his little booboo. Slap a bandaid on it, and give him snuggles. I’m grateful for that, because it’s a privilege to be his momma I needed something this week to remind me of that. </span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-family: ".SFUIText"; font-size: 17pt;">It’s not that I don’t always know it, but of course somedays are harder than others. </span></div>
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Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-39441975772572606732019-05-06T19:55:00.003-07:002019-05-06T20:02:09.304-07:00I can finally say, I know what killed my daughter...<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">I’m finally able to say it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I think I know what killed my daughter. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I don’t have anymore medical evidence today, than I had yesterday, or six months ago, or a year ago. Things have just started to click together more in my brain, and fell into place for me. </span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rNdbrSnPK7Q/XNDxkLULJbI/AAAAAAAAAVs/w8fSo1DUjT03kQHZJ1U4pHXqbXd3m1kbgCLcBGAs/s1600/393785468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1500" height="425" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-rNdbrSnPK7Q/XNDxkLULJbI/AAAAAAAAAVs/w8fSo1DUjT03kQHZJ1U4pHXqbXd3m1kbgCLcBGAs/s640/393785468.jpg" width="640" /></a><span style="font-kerning: none;">If you follow my blog, you’ll have read a post not too long ago, about finding my old planner. That planner held my life in it. I had “mom brain” ( which is really just Kassie Brain) so I wrote down all the things I wanted to ask my care providers at my next meeting, and if I didn’t write it down, I would forget. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">So I still have those notes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">They had comments like </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“Dark Pee. Water intake?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">So I asked my midwives how much water I should be drinking. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“itchy Skin. Benadryl?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">So I asked my midwives if Benadryl was okay to take.</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">~ Reading that note brought up a memory of Matthew attending one of my appointments, he told my midwife that I had been itchy. That</i><u><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "helvetica neue";"> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue";">immediately</span></u><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"> caught her attention, and when she asked </i></span></div>
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<i>me about it, I brushed it off to a medical condition that I have, that causes hives when my skin temperature changes, I told her it was (my) normal. </i><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“Changing her position.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">So I asked for stretches I could do to keep her out of my rib cage. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"> <i> ~And that one sparked a memory, about how she seamed to Always have her foot under my ribcage Always on the right. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Dark Urine, Extreme Itching, and Upper Right Quadrant pain are all the top symptoms of Intrahepatic Cholestasis of pregnancy (ICP). </span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WboTEJyk-Nk/XNDxndGsG-I/AAAAAAAAAV0/3xbJnqPG_Kovihf7LE1T7vMIfKjth5bLQCLcBGAs/s1600/393805864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1500" height="425" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WboTEJyk-Nk/XNDxndGsG-I/AAAAAAAAAV0/3xbJnqPG_Kovihf7LE1T7vMIfKjth5bLQCLcBGAs/s640/393805864.jpg" width="640" /></a><span style="font-kerning: none;">“ICP is a liver disorder that occurs in pregnant women. Cholestasis is a condition that impairs the release of a digestive fluid called bile from liver cells. As a result, bile builds up in the liver, impairing liver function.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">~It also dramatically increases your chances of Stillbirth. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">~It reoccurs in 60-90% of following pregnancies,</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">~And it occurs more often in women who’s sisters or mothers have also had it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">My sister was diagnosed with ICP in her pregnancy less than six weeks after my daughter died. I was diagnosed with it 2 years later while I was pregnant with our second child. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">And I had all the signs. I just never said them out loud to my providers. </span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5VqgAX21bXE/XNDxoUnVPwI/AAAAAAAAAV4/jB3aZiTGwXgJyXurBYYCt3o5T-IOHs9AACLcBGAs/s1600/393841573.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1500" height="425" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5VqgAX21bXE/XNDxoUnVPwI/AAAAAAAAAV4/jB3aZiTGwXgJyXurBYYCt3o5T-IOHs9AACLcBGAs/s640/393841573.jpg" width="640" /></a><span style="font-kerning: none;">In up to 100% of Intrauterine deaths, related to ICP there is meconium present. (Also present in 15% of live births) There are also symptoms of oxygen deficiency recorded in the autopsy, a majority of the time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">We chose not to have an autopsy preformed, but she had a heavy presence of meconium, and symptoms of anoxia including purple lips. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I don’t have any new evidence, I just have my gut, and when I throw all this information together, for me; its enough. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I can finally say what killed my daughter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">When someone asks me, what happened? Instead of saying, </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“I don’t know. We had a ultrasound 6 hours before and everything was fine.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I will look at them and give them an answer. I will tell them that she died of a medical condition, that occurs occasionally in pregnant women. I will tell them what my symptoms were. I will tell them to speak up about their symptoms, and tell their providers. I will tell them so that maybe, they will be able to catch this before it gets ahead of them, or someone they love. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Just like I did a few weeks ago. I told a Momma about my story, about my daughter, and she told her Doctor about her symptoms, and was able to take action during her pregnancy, she delivered a healthy baby, and for me, that helped me cope with my daughters death a little more. </span></div>
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Talk about your symptoms. Even the small ones. I promise you, you'll never regret telling your doctor/midwife too much. </div>
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Leeona Christine, where ever you are, you are loved beyond measure. </div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2678574/</span></div>
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Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-8495477370787849632019-03-18T17:48:00.000-07:002019-03-18T18:23:31.866-07:00Pancakes and Pajamas. <div style="text-align: center;">
A birthday party for a little birthday boy. </div>
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I read a post once about a mom to a rainbow baby going "over the top" for her rainbows birthday party. She felt like she had been robbed of birthdays with her first child, and so she made a point to make each birthday party special for her next baby. I'm not sure I can blame this on loosing my daughter. I think her first birthday party probably would have been a little extra cute too. </div>
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However the day of his actual birthday, I spent alot of time thinking of her, feeling extra grateful for him, and considering how lucky we are to have this sweet boy. We spent the whole day, just the two of us, ( with the occasional interruption for Bella, our Jack Russel) We snuggled, and played with his new birthday truck. We read books, and giggled, and it was a great day. I am so so thankful for this sweet little boy! </div>
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NOW; LETS TALK PARTY. </div>
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I've learned that I'm a Pinterest Momma. I got it from my mom, who is a party planner extraordinare. And thanks to all kinds of help from<a href="https://www.facebook.com/Indulge52/"> </a><i><b><a href="https://www.facebook.com/Indulge52/">Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery</a></b> </i>in Ellsworth, we made his party ADORABLE <3 She flipped pancakes to order, and set up the cutest breakfast bar. We had a muffin tower, yogurt parfaits an adorable mimosa bar, and sprinkle dipped milk cups!💗💗💗💗 </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_VmoX5hl6W8/XJA3Uq7V_CI/AAAAAAAAATg/5PaiuPSbzLYo3zN1uLyPXnbsZxC-6H2rACLcBGAs/s1600/54350269_2422338534465847_4594894813718904832_o.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="1037" height="442" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_VmoX5hl6W8/XJA3Uq7V_CI/AAAAAAAAATg/5PaiuPSbzLYo3zN1uLyPXnbsZxC-6H2rACLcBGAs/s640/54350269_2422338534465847_4594894813718904832_o.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Watching his face when he realized he was allowed to smash into this adorable cake was priceless! </div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_Icp8OxX6mo/XJA3UGzq8nI/AAAAAAAAATY/YfjY-OJsEMIbDR_fn6au3VIeviThw9RYgCLcBGAs/s1600/54377103_10216954327003050_4913568201532506112_n-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_Icp8OxX6mo/XJA3UGzq8nI/AAAAAAAAATY/YfjY-OJsEMIbDR_fn6au3VIeviThw9RYgCLcBGAs/s640/54377103_10216954327003050_4913568201532506112_n-2.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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ess!<br />
We had a Cereal Bar!<br />
Complete with Strawberry milk, whole, and Chocolate!<br />
A home made pancake banner draped across the front of the table,<br />
Mitchells Daddy glued 100 tiny pancake confettis together by hand!<br />
And Mitchell happily helped himself to some Yummy Fruit Loops! </div>
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<span style="color: #76a5af; font-size: large;"><span style="color: #76a5af;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(118, 165, 175);"> </span></span> </span><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rFannCfAvPY/XJA3UJ-ssGI/AAAAAAAAATc/MSfAuf_Q1not1-coc382o5Ps9z_xzS6GACLcBGAs/s640/54377156_10216954325563014_60409831709736960_n-2.jpg" width="480" /></div>
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My Birthday boy <3 </div>
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So grateful that we got a couple photos of him in front of this cute set up <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Indulge52/">Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery </a></div>
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The Muffin Pile was QUICKLY devoured!</div>
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Can you really have a brunch without a Mimosa Bar!?</div>
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Frozen Grapes to keep those Mimosas cold!<br />
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Kisses from his "Cookie" (Grandma Cook) </div>
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Scrumptious Yogurt Parfaits!<br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/Indulge52/">Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery </a></div>
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Having fresh made pancakes during his party was THE CUTEST and they made the whole place smell amazing! My personal pancakes were made with sprinkles and topped with whipped cream! Although I was eyeballing those chocolate chip and banana ones! ;)<br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/Indulge52/">Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery </a></div>
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All Kinds of good toppings!<br />
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TELL ME THESE MILK CUPS AREN'T THE CUTEST THING YOU HAVE EVER SEEN?</div>
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Oh you can't?!<br />
That's right, because you would be lying! </div>
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I loved these.<br />
They were probably my favorite part,<br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/Indulge52/">Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery </a> went<br />
ABOVE AND BEYOND with these..</div>
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/Indulge52/">Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery </a></div>
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A nice Pop Tart Selection on the Mimosa bar! </div>
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Harper was pretty impressed with the sprinkle cups by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/Indulge52/">Indulge Cakes and Cupcakery </a> </div>
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<br />Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-82424376888281650582018-12-29T18:07:00.000-08:002018-12-29T18:44:23.892-08:00Dear Mom. <div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">Dear Mom. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-kerning: none;"></span>The day I lost my child, you lost your grandchild. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">When I look back at pictures from the funeral, there are pictures of me hugging everyone else, but you. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">And I’m so sorry. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">While I was grieving, and I was lost, in the sorrows of moving on with out my child, I forgot that you were grieving too. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">And I’m so sorry. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">While I was being hugged by people, some that I barely knew, you were working. You were setting things up, and tearing things down, and organizing flowers, and taking care of me, of my pregnant sister. You were passing out tissues and drying my tears. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">And I’m so sorry. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">I wouldn’t have survived my grief with out you. I wouldn’t have been able to pull myself out of some very dark spaces, with out you. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">Thank you. For reminding me to shower, for brushing my hair, and bringing me coffee. Thank you for letting me know, that a little deodorant, and basic hygiene would go a long way. Thank you for the smiles and the laughs, that you forced onto your face to keep me moving in the right direction. I know that that couldn’t have always been easy; and I’m so sorry, that I never stopped to ask if you were okay.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I know people will say that I was lost in my grief and that it was okay, to think of myself, and they are right. But it would have been okay for you to think of yourself too; but you didn’t. You thought of me.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-glj5E9C-0VE/XCgvZIqVhJI/AAAAAAAAASc/fFwCs7CWbCMzdiuOQ3TGbNpeCB-4vx8PwCLcBGAs/s1600/34D31EE2-C486-4CE6-A802-B77972537342.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-glj5E9C-0VE/XCgvZIqVhJI/AAAAAAAAASc/fFwCs7CWbCMzdiuOQ3TGbNpeCB-4vx8PwCLcBGAs/s400/34D31EE2-C486-4CE6-A802-B77972537342.jpeg" width="400" /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">You put your daughter before yourself, and you met my needs before you even evaluated your own. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1sOTfMgthqk/XCgvdGJYQSI/AAAAAAAAASk/gJ4O5aJYogE_Ap_RTs7-6b-loM1rDrilQCLcBGAs/s1600/66177068-6BEB-4CD3-A5C6-34A2BAE619D0.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1sOTfMgthqk/XCgvdGJYQSI/AAAAAAAAASk/gJ4O5aJYogE_Ap_RTs7-6b-loM1rDrilQCLcBGAs/s400/66177068-6BEB-4CD3-A5C6-34A2BAE619D0.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">I’ve always been good with words. But I’m not sure I will ever be able to say how much I appreciate who you are. All that you’ve done. And all that you’ve taught me. I made decisions about my daughters life, death, and funeral, with her in mind. What was best for her? What would she have (hopefully) grown up to want? What choices might she had made if she were given the choice. And I made those choices because you taught me to put my child first, by always showing me that. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ApvIio3AhsI/XCgvckvw3zI/AAAAAAAAASg/1HYUSkScL38QiQpDzRYRR1f_yx7Pprh8wCLcBGAs/s1600/A8C8013E-C44D-4A63-B133-B7D5901549BB.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ApvIio3AhsI/XCgvckvw3zI/AAAAAAAAASg/1HYUSkScL38QiQpDzRYRR1f_yx7Pprh8wCLcBGAs/s320/A8C8013E-C44D-4A63-B133-B7D5901549BB.jpeg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">You’ll never ever know, just how amazing of a mother you really are… and I’m so sorry that I don’t have the ability to make you see. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;">I love you, to the moonshine and back, Momma. More than Iced Lattes. </span></span></div>
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Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-1706963477337710932018-12-29T17:22:00.002-08:002018-12-29T17:43:59.931-08:00Ditching the guilt. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YEjbi5DixOA/XCgZhV9lp1I/AAAAAAAAARs/60E50qotaI0xztiIMpz_wLcmnYoYgB1gwCLcBGAs/s1600/K21A9369.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="425" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-YEjbi5DixOA/XCgZhV9lp1I/AAAAAAAAARs/60E50qotaI0xztiIMpz_wLcmnYoYgB1gwCLcBGAs/s640/K21A9369.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">When you find people who love you unconditionally, with out reservations, with out fear; hold on to them. </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">I’ve never had a hard time sharing images of our daughter, images of our grief, but there are some photos that I shy away from posting. Mostly fear of judgment, but also guilt. I feel so incredibly guilty that there are several images of me smiling after my daughter died, smiling at her funeral. When we were in the hospital, they give you a “pillow” which was actually a rolled towel in a pillow case, to press against your incision, when you need to sneeze laugh or cough, after a cesarian. After I had my daughter, my family labeled mine, my “Giggle Pillow”, and it drove me nuts, I felt guilty every time someone said it. </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">So while I was going through the images of her funeral today, I stopped on this one. It wasn’t a moment of happiness, but a moment of love. Loving this man who had taken such good care of me unconditionally. Loving him so much, that I could look into his worried and stressed eyes, and know that somehow we would survive this. Our daughters casket is behind us, and our family is all around, but in that second we found a way to just be him and me. We found a way to communicate that we loved each other endlessly, and that we were gonna push through this together. </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">And I thought “It was okay, for me to feel that. It was okay, for my grief to not overwhelm every single second of me.” And I thought about how this may be one of the most intimate photos of the two of us, ever taken. And that its okay, to share, and okay, that it happened on what was one of the worst days of our life. </span></i></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">When you find the people who love you unconditionally, with out reservations, with out fear; hold on to them. And if you’re grieving; ditch the guilt. Embrace every single second that the guilt isn’t drowning you. It’s okay, I promise.</span></i></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: "helvetica neue";">So while I am at it, Here are a few </i><span style="font-family: helvetica neue;"><i>more. </i></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: helvetica neue;"><i><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fni4wHmWAPA/XCgfuw8pT8I/AAAAAAAAASA/zSaK6vzOC7gkttKBy55CUjCmpcGXTyQnQCLcBGAs/s1600/217A2061.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1058" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fni4wHmWAPA/XCgfuw8pT8I/AAAAAAAAASA/zSaK6vzOC7gkttKBy55CUjCmpcGXTyQnQCLcBGAs/s400/217A2061.jpg" width="263" /></a></i></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: helvetica neue;"><i>Pretty sure Matthew wasn't impressed that I forced him to smile for the first one ( tickling never fails) but the second one was much more free. It was us releasing balloons in her honor, and It felt like a beautiful way to say "happy Birthday" to her. Even tho her Birth, day was shadowed by her death .</i></span></span></span></div>
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Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-63600137984678582302018-11-08T16:27:00.001-08:002018-11-08T16:42:12.929-08:00Finding my 2016 Planner. <div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aRWphTA4i4U/W-TSwxLlL8I/AAAAAAAAAQw/iPQ-XvmepRwkyrW9FkIdpii_h366ShiDACLcBGAs/s1600/H36A6494.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; font-size: 11px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aRWphTA4i4U/W-TSwxLlL8I/AAAAAAAAAQw/iPQ-XvmepRwkyrW9FkIdpii_h366ShiDACLcBGAs/s400/H36A6494.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-kerning: none;">My son is almost Eight months old, he is happy, and crazy and full of giggles. He is absolutely the love of my life, and my sun rises and sets with him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Two years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to even imagine this life. I’m sitting in our kitchen, writing; my husband just changed our sons diaper, in the same little nursery that was meant for his sister. They are “playing” on the couch, where Matthew desperately tries to teach him how to say “Dad-Da”, which Mitchell is having none of. Two years ago, I thought the pain would never end, and that I would never ever get to feel this calmness, and happiness that my life has become. I was lost, and most days now; I’m not. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Today, Mitchell had a doctors appointment. It was just a booster for a vaccine that he needed, these booster appointments literally take 2 minutes, so knowing that ahead of time; I decided to pack a “mini” diaper bag so that I didn’t have to bring my giant one in. I dug through our closet to find a medium sized bag that had enough space for his formula, diapers and wipes, and a change of clothes; just incase. So the nurse made me hold him down while she gave him his shot, and after a horrific scream, and a bottle in his mouth all was fine again. So we made our way home and after putting Mitchell down for his nap; I noticed the notebook on my counter… I had pulled it out of that purse, that had been sitting - apparently for 2 years- in my closet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">That notebook had been used as my planner. Each new page would be my one week spread. I wrote down everything ; I had notes from my old job, bills that were due, things that I had bought; appointments and sticky notes everywhere. This book was packed full of information; my whole life… and in the corner of each weeks spread, was a little note at the bottom, counting down the weeks until Leeona would arrive. My work was highlighted in a certain color, and my midwives appointments highlighted in another. There were notes next to every time I paid a bill, about when and where I was when I paid it so I could remember If I needed to look back. Details, details, details. And then there is the week Leeona was born. She was due the following week. She was born on a Thursday, on Wednesday I had an appointment, with my midwifes; Pink Highlighter, and an ultrasound, also pink highlighter. Breastfeeding class on Saturday, on the sticky note (Blue highlighter, baby related, but not doctor related) . A visit to daycare to get her officially signed up, and appointment with her insurance, (both blue highlighter) Check marks on my bills to pay; my car insurance on my new soccer mom SUV, my rent; pay an amount on my Zi Photography bill; and a check mark on picking up Matthews birthday present. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Her Due Date, Matthews Birthday, and another ultrasound that she never made it to. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">There is emptiness for the next several pages. There are no check marks, and there are no sticky notes.. Theres is just emptiness, where it looks like my life just stopped; like it ended with hers. And that stuck with me as I flipped through it. The blank pages were starring back at me begging for a story to be told. So I sat here, with Mitchell now asleep in his crib, the same crib that still has residue from the decal that once read “Leeona”. And I wonder what those pages would have looked like. </span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VjeaDooQI54/W-TXW_TKqpI/AAAAAAAAARY/rH3U8VaDGzUpyIa5KqYyGv6SYO_IsPorQCLcBGAs/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VjeaDooQI54/W-TXW_TKqpI/AAAAAAAAARY/rH3U8VaDGzUpyIa5KqYyGv6SYO_IsPorQCLcBGAs/s320/FullSizeRender.jpeg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h8_O_3m5QfY/W-TSTSwVZKI/AAAAAAAAAQc/1uctJrb_oqcYU9UrHsJdmwO42c2z4cDowCLcBGAs/s1600/H36A6644-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="265" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h8_O_3m5QfY/W-TSTSwVZKI/AAAAAAAAAQc/1uctJrb_oqcYU9UrHsJdmwO42c2z4cDowCLcBGAs/s400/H36A6644-2.jpg" width="400" /></a><span style="font-kerning: none;">When I flipped the back of the book closed, something caught my eye. There was writing in there, that wasn’t mine. There was a list, of money that people had left for us at the hospital. A list of nurses, and their names, and what they did for me while I was there, Deb and Connie checked me in, Jen was an ICU RN that took care of me, Nichole and Michelle took care of Leeona and gave her her first bath, which just dawned on me that it was probably her only bath. Katie shared stories of her dad, and how he was taking care of her in heaven. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">When Leeona died, I lost the need to plan out my schedule. I lost the want to stay organized and control things. She threw everything out of my control. Loosing her changed everything about my life, and my plans. I quit my job, I didn’t need daycare, I didn’t need my new SUV with the carseat already strapped into the back. The only schedule that became my life, was the strict rules my body made about when I needed to empty my Breasts of the milk that she would never need. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">She made my life unpredictable, and uncontrollable; but it got me to right here, right where I am. She threw everything I though I knew my life would be; right out the window. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">So now, I am the mother of a boy. I never got to raise my daughter. But she shows up, she pops in and reminds me of all the things that I missed, I see her in a note book, or in a purse that I’ve pulled from my closet. The pain she left behind, hasn’t left me, I’ve just found a way to live beside it. I’ve found a way to hold space for that pain, yet push on for this baby that is before me. And forever be grateful to her, for bringing him here to me.. </span></div>
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****As always, Photos by Zi Photography ***<br />
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Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-72454172531685637002018-05-03T11:54:00.000-07:002018-05-03T13:23:53.797-07:00MY birth. MY way. I am a Labor and Delivery Photographer. I eat, sleep and live for births. I will never ever get tired of witnessing those miracles, and seeing the strength these woman have. With my first pregnancy I never considered that my birth may turn into a C section. With my second, I knew I would have one. Of course I could have said no, and requested to have a VBAC (vaginal Birth After Cesarean) but because of factors in Leeonas Birth, this was recommended as the safest form of delivery. I was then diagnosed around 35 weeks with a serious liver condition called Cholestasis, which nailed it down that we would deliver this baby at 37 weeks to have the lowest risk of a repeat stillbirth.<br />
For me, giving up that dream of a VBAC was hard. If you've never been a part of a birth, or had a child yourself, you may not understand the need that some moms have to deliver naturally. However for me, it was a very real loss, and what felt like another thing taken from me. My daughter was taken, a part of how I see the world was taken, some faith, some trust, and a lot of the confidence I had in my body, and its ability to become a mother, was taken.<br />
I set out on a path to find out how I could make my next Cesarean, as comfortable for me as possible, and for it to resemble my vision of MY birth. My instant train of thought, was photos. I do this for a living, how was I NOT going to have images? <br />
Would they Let my photographer in the OR? <br />
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and the questions kept coming.<br />
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Would I be able to deliver in the same hospital?<br />
Who would deliver him?<br />
Would I be able to see my baby right away?<br />
Would I be able to hold him right away?<br />
Were they going to keep us together, instead of separating me from him while I'm in recovery?<br />
Would I be able to try and breast feed as soon as he was out?<br />
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The answer to most of these (all in thanks to MCMH Staff) was yes.<br />
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I began communicating my wishes with the Maine Coast Women Care Staff often and early. I had found beautiful images online, by one of my favorite Birth Photographers, of a clear drape being used in an operating room. This way the Mom could SEE her baby be born. I couldn't thank them enough for going out of their way to, basically, MAKE me a clear drape, when they were unable to order one in time.<br />
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Although I couldn't see my incision, or actual surgery, I could look through the clear surgical Drape, and I could see my baby almost the second he was out. I could see my amazing doctor, and communicate with her in an entirely different way than I imagine I would have been able to if I couldn't see her.<br />
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The minute my son was born, I saw him. He didn't scream instantly, so those few seconds of knowing he was out, yet not making noise, -I imagine- would have been horrifying for me. Wondering if he was okay, But I could look through this clear Plastic drape and see him kicking, I could see his arms moving, I knew he was okay, and alive. Then I herd the most beautiful noise possible, a just bawled as his screams echoed in the operating room.<br />
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I delivered Leeona in the same hospital, yet a different OR. I never for a minute wanted to deliver any where else. The staff was amazing, they treated me so well, and my daughters body with the utmost respect. I became close with them, they mourned with me. They felt our loss, and we could tell that they would have given nearly anything to change our experience. So having Dianne in the room with me was so important, having my Nurse Nichole was, as well. And wouldn't you know it, they both re arranged their schedules so that they could be there with me, and witness the Birth of our rainbow baby.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ywrDHOFwWPo/WutilxwmvSI/AAAAAAAAAPc/CeYRuMpHAv8ONCV7Gi92Ac-V7GAgIircQCLcBGAs/s1600/FB_IMG_1525375089688.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: left; color: #0066cc; float: left; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="646" data-original-width="968" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ywrDHOFwWPo/WutilxwmvSI/AAAAAAAAAPc/CeYRuMpHAv8ONCV7Gi92Ac-V7GAgIircQCLcBGAs/s320/FB_IMG_1525375089688.jpg" width="320" /></a> Dianne held me up, when they put the spinal in my back, Nichole held my son on my chest when I was getting too week, to have people I knew surrounding me made a world of difference. They weren't just staff, they weren't just medical professionals, they were friends, they were family to my Daughter, and they were routing and advocating for us, every step of the way. The OR has this AWEFUL rule, of only allowing one person in the room with you. I know they have their reasons, but I did everything I could to change that in order to Allow Zelli (Our Photographer) and my Husband in there with me. Having those first moments with all of us together captured was vitally important for me... The OR refused to budge, and which left me extremely upset. It was a deep deep feeling of sadness, and defeat. Again, I know if you have never been in that situation, it may not upset you, but to me that was a staple, and the norm, to have these images to remember just how powerful those moments and emotions were.<br />
So Dianne saved the day, another midwife was scheduled to help deliver my son, so Dianne took my camera into the OR, and after I set up the camera settings the best I could predict, her and Nichole tackled making sure I had what I wanted.<br />
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All in all they respected my wishes, and did everything they could to uphold them. They took me down stairs in a chair instead of a bed, at my request, because the idea of watching the ceiling tiles and lights blow past me, took me back to those moments of running me down the halls to get Leeona out on time. They let me have my clear drape, they made sure I got photos. They (after warming, and delayed cord cutting) put him immediately on my chest, they had my favorite staff there with me, they helped me breast feed my routing baby right away. And most importantly They had an extra staff member on hand to keep him with me throughout my entire recovery. They made this birth MINE. And I will always be grateful for that.<br />
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My advice to you, if you're pregnant ( or really in any medical situation) is to find providers that support you, to find people who understand your wishes. You CAN fight for the birth you want, or at lest to have it as close to what you want as possible.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Xmk34ZGymEw/Wutii7oTVhI/AAAAAAAAAPY/nszAt5xHItYA3TVB54OFO_aZcSpWmlPlgCLcBGAs/s1600/FB_IMG_1525375072014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> Delivering my son is the <a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-68itVQme6dQ/WutipigojtI/AAAAAAAAAPk/GOxRiPbLqnosk4C_N5dtLtmTfvcAm8VswCLcBGAs/s1600/FB_IMG_1525375104596.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-left: 16px; margin-right: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="646" data-original-width="968" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-68itVQme6dQ/WutipigojtI/AAAAAAAAAPk/GOxRiPbLqnosk4C_N5dtLtmTfvcAm8VswCLcBGAs/s400/FB_IMG_1525375104596.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a>biggest accomplishment I have ever completed. Seeing his beautiful face everyday, is something I never thought I would have. It has made me love deeper than I could ever know, and cherish my moments. It has made me selfless, and put him before myself everyday. I have this overwhelming place for him inside of me, in my heart, in my brain, in my bones. He is all of who I am, and in everything I am made of. Losing his sister has shown me how precious moments are, and how fleeting time is, she has taught me to adore the way he smiles when he has a poop explosion, and embrace the way he pukes down my back. To be thankful for the sleepless nights, and all the screams. I would do anything to see what they would look like together, but we will never know. If I can't do that, if I can't see their bond, and relationship grow the way it should, than I will at the very lest, remember all that she was, and all that she is, take that and make myself the best mom I can be. I will learn from all the lessons she left me. Everyday, I will Love the two of them, more than I could ever even love myself. Everyday I will live for him, and for her, and give to him all that I am, and all that I should have been able to be for Leeona.<br />
Motherhood after a loss is a world of its own, there is no manual for it, and it is a confusing road. I can't imagine my life without Mitchell, but I know I wouldn't have him, if I had not lost Leeona. He is here because she is not, and I'm still learning how I feel about that. I am still learning how to be this kind of mom. I am grateful for her to bringing him to me, but I wish there was a way to have them both.<br />
However we got here, and as much as it hurt to lose her, I think we have finally found some kind of new normal, and not that the pain from her loss is gone, but Mitchell has brought us a new sort of happiness that has changed the very concept of who we are.<br />
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<u></u><br />Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-74521204639053044332018-02-21T06:08:00.000-08:002018-02-21T14:04:25.015-08:00The Shower Before the Rainbow! We are so so close to welcoming our Little Rainbow Baby! Only 4-6 Weeks (Depending on my exact C section date) and we will have a little oneeee! On Sunday we celebrated with a from friends and family....<br />
IT WAS ADORABLE, Thanks to my mom and Jody, we had the cutest shower around! Our nursery is mountain and adventure theme, so we stuck with that and added in some woodland characters , and picnic style food and called it an adventure! It was so much fun, we got tons and tons of goodies for our little guy, seriously almost everything we needed! Thank you so much to everyone who brought a gift. Jody has been telling me thru my whole pregnancy not to buy too much until after the shower, and she was right! There are now very few things we have left to buy. And I cannot say thank you enough to the very very special people, who took their time to hand make me a gift. We have always been a very hand made, and craft family, and I know how much time and love that takes! Little Mitchell is soooo Loved already!<br />
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Hat, booties and a diaper cover hand made By his Mammie Jo <3 </div>
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Hand made blanket that Jody ordered representing our Rainbow baby <3 </div>
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Hand made hat by Ms Morgan <3 </div>
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Little Owls Hand stitched my Mammie Jo <3 </div>
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Knitted Blanket, homemade by Ms. Morgan <3 </div>
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Mountains for his crib Pillows by Mammie Jo <3 </div>
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This AMAZING "rag" quilt that My jody made, thank you so much <3 It's perfect. </div>
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Matching Boppy Pillow cover <3 </div>
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We left the shower filled our cars with our Goodies and headed home to make the TINY Nursery home for this little guy! </div>
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<br />Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-27954300096311372392018-01-06T15:37:00.000-08:002018-01-06T16:05:43.537-08:00Do not tell me to "Slow down, & enjoy my pregnancy".<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was a bubbly happy pregnant woman, with my daughter. I enjoyed every moment of it, there were only a small handful of people I ever complained to about my aches and pains. My husband, my then boss (who is also a friend), and a handful of close family members. In fact I went out of my way to make sure I didn't complain to others, I made sure that I was enjoying my pregnancy. I was spiteful of the people who would say "you just wait until".... There was always some <i>awful</i> experience that they just <i><b>had</b></i> to <i>warn </i>me of... Just wait until there is a foot in your rib, just wait until you start peeing yourself, just wait until contractions, labor, delivery, sleepless night. What ever it was, there was always someone there to tell you to snuff your happiness cause <i>you're in for it</i>. So I enjoyed it. I spent days rubbing my belly with creams, and anti stretch mark stuff, I took pictures weekly, I tried to slow time as my due date approached. I just knew things would be so different once our little girl was here, and although I was okay with that, I knew I should soak it all in.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4yCbethVlAc/WlFcCSoV6yI/AAAAAAAAAKA/TSqdVx0K-uQP7HRjz8uuP1NtbmR34p46gCLcBGAs/s1600/H36A5936-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="266" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4yCbethVlAc/WlFcCSoV6yI/AAAAAAAAAKA/TSqdVx0K-uQP7HRjz8uuP1NtbmR34p46gCLcBGAs/s400/H36A5936-2.jpg" width="400" /></a> And then I went into labor, full term, and then, she died.<br />
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I never got to feel the rest, I never got to hold a warm baby. I never got to raise her, and I had many many, <b><i>silent</i></b>, sleepless nights. So I am glad, that I didn't listen to anyone, I didn't feed in to their begs to get me to complain with them, because I had a perfect nine months with a sweet little child living in my belly, and I don't regret a minute of it.<br />
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x0C3A5iiyLA/WlFbcfXcI5I/AAAAAAAAAJs/jHem4Qw60OsgFcM3VC6XiLl1bbG2_hRrQCLcBGAs/s1600/H36A5852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x0C3A5iiyLA/WlFbcfXcI5I/AAAAAAAAAJs/jHem4Qw60OsgFcM3VC6XiLl1bbG2_hRrQCLcBGAs/s400/H36A5852.jpg" width="266" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-x0C3A5iiyLA/WlFbcfXcI5I/AAAAAAAAAJs/jHem4Qw60OsgFcM3VC6XiLl1bbG2_hRrQCLcBGAs/s1600/H36A5852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><br />
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With all of that being said, I am ready for my pregnancy with Mitchell to be over. Please, please, do not tell me, that I need to slow down, that I need to enjoy the moments. I love the moments, I love them all. I know how precious, and what a privilege it is to have a little person inside of my body, who wiggles and moves, and dances for me constantly. I love it, and I love being pregnant with him, but I'm ready to hold my baby.<br />
By the time I deliver this baby, I will have waited two and a half years, since my positive pregnancy test, to hold a child that is half me, and half my husband. Do not tell me, to wait, to slow down, because I am ready. I have waited longer than I should have to.<br />
Of course, I had fantasized about having kids with Matthew for years, almost a decade. The last two years however, have been waiting for a promise I was given, that was then ripped from me.<br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-csTM1V24tlI/WlFb-guDUZI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/4o0O08Q6kggb5yCR5TLjdfeX1tgkauDbwCLcBGAs/s1600/H36A5938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-csTM1V24tlI/WlFb-guDUZI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/4o0O08Q6kggb5yCR5TLjdfeX1tgkauDbwCLcBGAs/s320/H36A5938.jpg" width="320" /></a> <br />
Don't tell me I will miss it when I'm not pregnant anymore, I <i>know</i> I will miss the movement in my stomach, I know that <i>more</i> than most, probably more than you. <b>I'll miss it, but I won't want to go back</b>. I won't want to trade the feeling of a live and healthy baby in my arms for a child in my womb. You can say "You just wait, You will" All you want. <b>But I won't.</b> I would rather have never ever felt Leeona move inside my belly, if it means that I would get nine months with my living baby instead. I would take that trade any day. I <i style="font-weight: bold;">promise</i> you, that if you had lived <i>my</i> story; the thought of going back to the way it was while pregnant after delivering a healthy child would make you cringe.<br />
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Again, I will miss the feeling, but their isn't anything you could do that would make me think that the trade was remotely worth it.<br />
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I just don't want to be pregnant anymore...</div>
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I want it to be March, and be full term, and have a screaming baby placed into my arms by my favorite nurses. I want my family to surround me in a hospital room, in the L&D wing, instead of the ICU. I want my family to have happy tears in their eyes, instead of tears of pain. I want to have other words when they walk in my room, instead of my body and mind being able to say nothing else to explain other than; "I'm Sorry".<br />
The first thing I said to my husband when I met my daughter was "I'm so sorry" I want to have other words rolling off my tongue, or I want to be so overcome with happiness that I cannot speak.<br />
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So please, Don't tell me.<br />
Don't give me advise.<br />
Don't "remind" me to slow down.<br />
I don't need it, I don't want it.<br />
I've waited long enough, and I am just ready to have a sweet little one placed into my arms, because I deserve that, and my husband deserves that.<br />
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<a href="http://www.ziphotographymaine.com/">Images; Zi Photography </a></div>
Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-11640202894720015962017-12-29T19:43:00.000-08:002017-12-29T19:47:19.272-08:00It all started today.... Today was the day I had had enough. I knew there was something different. Something with my body was off, abnormal. I made Matthew go to the store and buy a pregnancy test. A lady at Walmart caught him staring at the tests, she leaned in and said "Let me give you a hint, it doesn't matter which one you get, they all work the same." So, two years ago today, he came home with a couple of tests, and after dinner, when he had all but forgotten what he had brought home, I went into the bathroom and took the test. <br />
We were young, I was 20, he was 21 and even though we lived together, both had decent jobs, I felt like I was doing something wrong. Like taking a pregnancy test was a taboo thing, I didn't mention to Matthew that that was the moment I was going to take the test. I opened the packaging as quietly as I could, as I foolishly didn't want him to hear, and know what I was doing. I read the directions, and did as they said... It said it could take up to three minutes, less than 10 seconds after taking the test there were two very clear lines. I was pregnant. No need to take another test, this one had just confirmed what I already knew. I walked out of the door, and turned to Matthew who was watching tv in the living room, still horrified, I said "Well, I'm pregnant".<br />
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His reaction changed a little piece of who I was, although I didn't know it yet. He jumped up out of his chair, ran to me standing in the hallway, picked me up and spun me around. It was a little movie scene. Acting like we had just won the lottery ( which I still hadn't processed yet) When he put me down we walked into the bathroom, and he looked at the test. Sitting on the toilet lid, it hit me, and I started Bawling. Worrying about everything, how we would afford this, how we would figure out how to be parents, the fact that we weren't technically engaged yet, ( although I could see my engagement ring box from where I was sitting).<br />
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The best thing about Matthew has always been how laid back he is. From day one, he was a perfect counter weight to me being so uptight. He walked me through it. He told me it would be okay, and that we could do this, and that I would be a great mom. He knelt beside my feet and let me put my head on his shoulder. I don't know how long i cried on him, but he never ever let up his light mood. He was so happy, and although this was not anywhere near our plan, or what we had pictured, he knew that this was the best thing that could have happened to us.<br />
I can't believe all the things we have faced, and over come since then. I cannot beleive the test that our relationship has faced, and I can not believe the amount of love we have both grown for each other, and for both of our children.<br />
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<br />Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-18212033934312542382017-10-28T17:02:00.000-07:002017-10-28T17:11:03.266-07:00Painting the roses... Blue... <br />
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My husband spent his week away for work. Any time he is gone is always my "get stuff done" time. Honestly, clutter and messes make him crazy, and when you have wayyy to much stuff and not enough house; reorganizing brings clutter and mess first. My task was to clean out my craft "room" (more accurately described as a closet) and free the space for baby boy warren.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ow1wbt-hyG0/WfUETn4KgxI/AAAAAAAAAIg/6Fmy9R-x3WkfXdIHTYq-3i97e5dSajXkQCLcBGAs/s1600/22752887_10213023637898279_670755053_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ow1wbt-hyG0/WfUETn4KgxI/AAAAAAAAAIg/6Fmy9R-x3WkfXdIHTYq-3i97e5dSajXkQCLcBGAs/s320/22752887_10213023637898279_670755053_n.jpg" width="240" /></a> My first task was painting the pink rails on sweet LeeLees crib, blue. Mom and I went to town and we picked out the prettiest blue I could find, and for later, a can of gray paint. we dug out the crib and cleaned it off, and I got to work. There is something bittersweet about painting a crib, that belonged to a baby who never got to sleep in it. I am so excited to bring a tiny Matthew into the world, yet I long for the child who should be already here, and I wonder who she would be. </div>
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So I cleaned out the craft space, and My mother in law and I painted it grey. Our Tineeey tinyyyy nursery will now be home to our sweet little boy. I painted our changing table which had belonged to Leeona, and my cousin's three girls ( including Baby Morgan, if you've read my other posts). A fresh coat (or ten) of white paint, with a blue accent. Leeona's God mother (Des) and I went shopping for the first boy things that we have bought for the new baby. --- Side note; We scored some greeattttt velvet blue baby hangers, which believe it or not are essential to the cuteness of my nursery. ( I know, I sound crazy, my family thinks I need a hangers anonymous meeting.--- and I began decorating our Adventure and Mountain Theme nursery. </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-um9ntOxBlqM/WfUEWt9RUtI/AAAAAAAAAIk/YrI5tp6zK0EzNTRO-yNYqTuLAaPhgZfKwCLcBGAs/s1600/22766773_10213014821397872_1001463283_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-um9ntOxBlqM/WfUEWt9RUtI/AAAAAAAAAIk/YrI5tp6zK0EzNTRO-yNYqTuLAaPhgZfKwCLcBGAs/s200/22766773_10213014821397872_1001463283_o.jpg" width="150" /></a>All in all, we are out with the pink, and in with the blue. We are jumping full force into this world of boy, which I am heavily ill prepared for. I don't know how to be a 'boy mom' I don't know how to dress a boy, and how to make them into men. I don't know how to teach them to be somewhere in between strong, and sensitive. I don't know how to raise him to be the man that I hope he will be. But we are going to do the best we can, we are going to love him, for all that he is, and for all that we are worth. If our loss of Leeona has taught me nothing else, it has taught me to love and to cherish what we have, to live for today, and for right now. And that is my plan, if nothing else, I will be the very best Mom to him that I know how to be. </div>
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When I was a kid, Everyone used to call me "LittleLaura" Usually when I put my sassy pants on. My cousin Laura had a huge hand in moulding me when I was young. Although people would tell me that, as a way to remind me to rein in my 'tude', I always took it as a complement. As I got older my mom would say "Okay, Laura Marie." and I would often think to myself and say "If I can be half the Mom she is, I would be okay with being 'Little Laura' I never considered all it took for her to be the mother she is. Although she would have been an amazing Mom anyway, I'm sure the loss of her first Born, sweet Morgan, shaped the way she would parent her following girls. So maybe Leeona's loss will make me the best version of myself I can be, the best Mom I can be, and if that is another positive, that comes from her life, then I will do everything I can to fill that. </div>
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Welcome to our Lives sweet Little boy. You are so loved already, and I promise you, eventually you'll have a name, I swear! Your Dad can be super stubborn, but I'm working on him (; </div>
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Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-60592959593066088322017-10-02T15:31:00.000-07:002017-10-02T15:31:03.900-07:00It's a..... It's hard to explain the emotions of child loss. Sometimes it is huge and over whelming pain and sometimes it's looking out into a pit of deep dark emptiness, feeling nothing at all. Sometimes it's being grateful for the time you were given, and sometimes it is being beyond angry at the cards you've been dealt.<br />
Today should be a happy day, but unfortunately today is shadowed by anger for me. Today we got our test results back, our baby is happy, and healthy! There are no medical concerns, and a perfect heart rate... there is also a tiny penis growing. This is where my anger sneaks in.<br />
BEFORE you tell me, yes, I KNOW, I WILL love this baby. I DO love this baby, I don't need your confirmation on that, however I am still disappointed. I am sad that another thing I looked forward to in my life is not going to happen.<br />
I'm sad that we weren't able to raise Leeona. I'm sad that she will never wear tutus, or go to prom, and Matthew will never walk her down the isle. These are all things I looked forward to in my pregnancy with her, but were never able to happen. I never once thought this pregnancy would "replace" Leeona, however it has reminded me, that we may be able one day to do these things with a daughter. And now I mourn that loss again.<br />
There will be a million things to look forward to when raising a boy. A million things I will dream of with him, but I haven't done that yet. When dreams you haven't dreamt yet are taken from you, it doesn't hurt as much. So when you find out your having a girl with your first pregnancy you don't mourn all the boy things, but when all the girl things are ripped from you twice, it's difficult.<br />
This is another step in this crazy long process of grief. Another moment that makes you stop, and admit that your child is <i>dead, and she will never come back. She was removed from this earth, and her life will never be lived. </i>Regardless of the length of time, or the number of these moments you have, they <i>always</i> hurt. Regardless how many children I have, I should always have had one more, and I will never forget that. As a Mother, your heart doesn't get squished for space, rather with each child, you grow another heart for them. I have a heart that is Dedicated to my husband, I have a heart that is dedicated to My Leeona, and I am currently growing my heart belonging to my baby boy. Today my heart for Leeona is aching, again, and often. So please excuse my grumpy mood, and please refrain from telling me annoying things.<br />
Please don't tell me to get over it; because I know, I WILL get over it, when I am good and damned ready. Please don't tell me "I KNEW IT WAS A BOY." Because news flash, we all did, I just held on to hope that it was a girl. Just please please please, let me grumpy, for a day, for two, for 10 if I want. I'm grieving a different part of my story, and thats just the way it is.<br />
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<br />Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-43169995129841363412017-07-07T17:05:00.001-07:002017-07-07T17:14:04.768-07:00Count Your Blessings. 316 Days PP. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When everything you have ever wanted, is taken from you, anger is the easiest emotion to feel. Jealousy of others who have what you want, pain, grief, all unavoidable. I have had to train myself to see the best, to see the silver lining.<br />
Let me begin by saying, I would give up every good thing in my world, to let her live, however this is not an option. People also ponder if i would rather have never been pregnant, and never knew this side of pain. The answer is No. No. No. I would rather, any day, know the love, and pain, I have for her, than to have never known her.<br />
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I think of all the relationships she has strengthened. My bond with my husband has been absolutely tested to the max, and we have never once wavered. He has stuck by me, when I have been the most disgusting version of myself. When I have been at rock bottom, he has stood strong and braved the storm. My relationship with my Mom is much the same, I have counted on her heavily, to drag me thru the dark days, to crawl up in my bed beside me, when I felt like I had finally reached the end of my rope. </div>
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I have found a world of support since I lost her.<br />
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I have gained a best friend, the friendship I have found in the woman who photographed Leeona, is irreplaceable. Zelli wasn't a large part of my life before, and since then, she has become someone I hold close to my heart. My MIL says it's because I don't have to pretend around Zell, I don't have to try to be who I was before, as Zelli never knew that person. </div>
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I wouldn't have the most amazing job imaginable if I had never been pregnant. I wouldn't have met Zell, I wouldn't know her the way I do, and she wouldn't have asked me to be a part of her company. Labor and Delivery Photography is something I have always wanted to do, and the only way that came into doing that for a living, was through my daughter. </div>
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There are five lives out there, that my daughter was able to help continue living. There are tons of lives, that those organ recipients will touch. My daughter will keep spreading good, in the world, that way. </div>
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I met women at the Mothers Milk Bank, who I cherish. </div>
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The point is. This list is no where near as long as all the things I've missed out on. It doesn't even begin to compare. </div>
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But it is pretty long. It's a list that matters. </div>
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My Daughter has made so many points in my life better. </div>
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Her Death is what has been difficult to handle, but that's not her problem. That's not enough, to wish she had never lived at all, even if it was only 40 weeks in my belly. I loved those months, I enjoyed 99% of those moments. </div>
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Today, I remember to count my blessings. I remember that I gave birth to a Beautiful baby girl, and regardless of my pain. I am happy I did.. I got to see the Love in her fathers eyes, when he held her, even if there was pain too. And I got to see the Miracle that we could create together, and I will never, not for a moment, regret that. </div>
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Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-17129079165000944312017-05-28T19:44:00.000-07:002017-05-28T20:00:27.573-07:00[275 days Postpartum] Why I'm not pregnant. Since Leeona passed away, my days were always a struggle to make it to today. This month, this week. At Nine months postpartum, we would be medically cleared to try to conceive another child. This would make for 18 months between deliveries, and leave us with the higher chance of giving birth to a happy healthy baby.<br />
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v2qv3Vd1hJo/WSuOi8Dxx_I/AAAAAAAAAGs/LqjUUkEXVNYNwZlTICQs3CrGRMLnyi7UwCLcB/s1600/13731715_10208907941088431_6318344944717266589_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="528" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-v2qv3Vd1hJo/WSuOi8Dxx_I/AAAAAAAAAGs/LqjUUkEXVNYNwZlTICQs3CrGRMLnyi7UwCLcB/s320/13731715_10208907941088431_6318344944717266589_n.jpg" width="176" /></a> I have counted down the days. Literally. All I wanted was for this day to be here, I know I can never ( nor would I ever want to ) replace my sweet LeeLee, but I could at least bring back a happiness that we are missing, right? Yes. I could. That was my driving force, if you make it thru t<i>his many</i> more days, then we can have another baby. I spent all that time excited for this day, and now that it's here. I realized it hasn't changed anything. It wasn't this magic number, that made everything better. It wasn't this magical day, that I decided it was time for baby #2. I kept Leeona's nursery just the way it was, mostly out of laziness, really. If we were just going to turn around and have another baby in a couple months, then was it really worth the hassel? Do I really wanna pack it all up, and then unpack it? Especially if its a girl? So I decided to just leave it until Baby Warren 2 showed up.<br />
<i><b> Grief</b></i><br />
I finally got here. I got to today, and do you know how I spent my day? I went to home depot, bought some vacuum seal bags, and totes, and packed up my little girls entire life, down to a few boxes.<br />
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I'm not ready to have another baby.<br />
There. I said it.<br />
I want nothing more in the world to have another baby.<br />
But we are not ready. Yet.<br />
<br />
I've always been a bit of a grouchy human. Snippy and irritable. More irritable, because I have a difficult time allowing other emotions to show thru. If I'm sad; I'm grumpy. If I'm hurt; instead I project grumpiness, and since the loss of our daughter, there are more of those moments, than there ever were before. I'm working on them, I'm working on not being a total pain in my husbands ass, just because I'm having a moment.<br />
Matthew is very in-tune with my emotions, he see's them, and knows them, sometimes before I even know I'm feeling them. He know's things that are going to upset me even before I see them. He has been able to do that since we were kids. I sincerely appreciate that quality in him, however, that doesn't make it okay for me to be grumpy with him, due to things out of his control. I don't want to bring another human, into an emotional mess, until I am able to control those emotions. I've dealt with Leeonas loss, with being grouchy, I don't want my next child to be a failed attempt to "fix" that.<br />
Matthew has run into his own sets of problems, when it comes to the way he grieves, we are both two completely different beings, with different coping skills, and different needs and wants, and YES we are STILL grieving, and figuring out where we go from here.<br />
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<i><b> Health </b></i><br />
I had a doctors appointment a couple of weeks before I delivered Leeona. Baby looked perfect and completely healthy, the only thing that my midwives were concerned about was my weight. More pointedly my BMI. Once you get to a certain BMI you are considered high risk. I was already over weight before my pregnancy, and the additional 12 lbs I gained while I was pregnant <i>almost </i>put me in that special category. When I asked what the high risk was, she told me a list of things, that I cannot remember now, but I do recall her saying <i>"Stillbirth, and a whole bunch of other scary words like that, that you don't want me to list. Let focus on keeping you out of that category" </i>So I did, i stayed my two lbs shy of that BMI.<br />
I know that the likelihood of another pregnancy ending this way, is slim, however it's still a possibility. If for any reason, this happened again, I need to know I did every single thing in my power to avoid it. I need to know that I looked at this pregnancy with newly opened eyes about the possibility of stillbirth, and that there is nothing i could have done to stop it, just as I know I couldn't have changed this outcome. That includes keeping myself out of that category, and far from it. So until I'm going to work on making myself healthier, before I am in that situation again.<br />
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<b><i>Fertility </i></b><br />
I have made most of my journey public knowledge so I may as well throw this in there too.<br />
I am surprised that we ever became pregnant with Leeona with out actively trying, and timing. My cycles have been horrendous and unpredictable my whole life. I had to start taking birth control almost immediatly after getting my first period, because they were so unmanageable. After Leeona's birth, I taking a little more interest in tracking all things relating to fertility, knowing I'd be able to try again soon.<br />
What I learned from that is; that my body is irregular. My body rarely ovulates, which means I will likely have to try very hard to conceive my next child. Which is another thing I'm not ready for. I'm not ready for the tracking, and the planning, and trying. And worse; I'm not ready to pee on a stick, and then look my husband in the face month after month, and say "I'm sorry". If we do end up having struggles in that department, I'm not ready for it to be my fault, or to take on the emotional toll that I've seen people struggle with.<br />
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<br />Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-3271618548780334192017-02-24T21:56:00.000-08:002017-05-28T20:13:30.403-07:00184 days... Tonight, is much like my night was exactly six months ago. I just got out of the shower, and I am headed to bed. My husbands job called him in, so I will head to bed alone. . Six months ago, I went to bed with out him, when I woke up, he was curling up beside me, silently slipping into bed after working for 20+ hours. As he laid down, I realized I was extremely uncomfortable, more uncomfortable than I had ever been. When his head hit the pillow, I rolled over, kissed his cheek, and said "Get some sleep, you're going to need it. I think this baby is coming tonight." <br />
There was no sleep to be had. I went back and forth between the bed and the toilet, the toilet being the only seated position that really felt comfortable. Matt was on high alert, he ran around the house, he collected all the stuff we needed. The magical list of everything we needed to bring was no where to be found and I counted my contractions on an app on my phone, as they got closer and closer, I called the hospital. They told me I was fine to stay home for a little bit, or come in if I wanted, I spent a little more time counting the minutes between the pain, and then I cracked my back, or so I thought. turns out that little popping noise was my water breaking. So I called the hospital again, Nurse Connie asked me what color my water was, and after checking, [and gagging] when I answered green sludge, she told me to come in. <br />
I guess that discoloration had ment that the baby had passed a bowel movement in the womb, this is the very same stuff that would pack her lungs, and be another possible contributor to the worst moments of my life. <br />
So we went in. <br />
There is not a single time that Matthew has catered more to me than in those minutes. He apologized at every bump we took, threatened to get out and kill the construction flagger with a stop sign, for me, he was there for what ever I needed. We stopped at the store because I wanted him to get some caffeine. If I was gonna push out an estimated 8-9 lbs baby, he was gonna have to be awake enough to push me through it. <br />
It was august, I thankfully had thought to grab my sisters "Epping Well and Pump" sweatshirt on my way out the door, beneath the sweatshirt, i was wearing Matthews "Clean Harbors" tee shirt, and black yoga pants.<br />
The air outside the store was crisp, it was barely chilly and the cool air helped me stay calm. I paced back and forth perpendicular to my car while he was inside the store. With each contraction i was becoming far to uncomfortable to sit, so I sucked in the night air, in and out...step.... step... step... in and out... step... step... step... Ellsworth is pretty quiet at 3 am, this town is just too small to be awake quite yet. I was so excited for my little world to wake up, and find out our baby was coming. <br />
We pulled into the ER entrance, and headed straight to Labor and Delivery. Deb checked me in and told me I had dilated 3 Centimeters. I called my Mom to let her know I was in labor. <br />
After that it all happened so fast. <br />
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Weird pregnancy dreams, are a thing right? I always chalked my dreams up to hormones. I have never believed in that dreams have the ability to teach you things that may happen in the future, I have never given them much thought. I had SO many weird dreams, I look back on them now though and I wonder if my body, mind, god, the universe, (what ever) was trying to tell me something... Trying to prepare me for the devastation that was coming. <br />
I dreamed a million times, that people would ask me how my breast feeding journey was going, and in this particular dream I would start to panic because I had just then realized that I had never nursed my baby. <br />
I had dreams of going out to town, and leaving her home. <br />
I had dreams of going to my Photographers studio for my newborn session, only to realize that I had forgotten to bring her with me.<br />
The night that I went into labor I told my mother in law about dream that I had had. In the dream I had fallen asleep and when I woke up, my baby was out, no baby belly. No one around me was going to mention to me that I was not longer pregnant, i was so confused, I yelled at them all and demanded to know what happened. In my dream someone eventually handed me my baby, and everything was all right.<br />
I wish I could make that happen. I wish I could scream until someone hands her to me. I wish she was screaming so loud right now that I wouldn't be able to concentrate. I wish more than anything to hear her laugh, to see who she had grown to become. <br />
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Leeona Christine, Where ever you are. You are loved. <br />
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Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-2842698967193687862016-11-23T18:17:00.002-08:002016-11-24T06:07:07.292-08:00Thanksgiving {90 Days post partum}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We dedicate one day a year to being Thankful. The rest of the year we whine about what we don't have, we complain about what we want. Hell, the next day, we push through lines, and fight to shop for things, and deals, we probably don't need. Traumatic events sometimes make you hate the world. There are days, that I. am. so. done. There are days that I do not want to crawl out of my bed, times I literally have to force myself to stay off the internet because I a<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gTcIJaTJYjk/WDZNkvTWdvI/AAAAAAAAAEk/Sts2Fu-4D5cXn19jW9Gv7qkoA_nsTGfYQCLcB/s1600/K21A2667.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gTcIJaTJYjk/WDZNkvTWdvI/AAAAAAAAAEk/Sts2Fu-4D5cXn19jW9Gv7qkoA_nsTGfYQCLcB/s1600/K21A2667.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>m soo soo tired of seeing people complain about amazing things. Yes, your kid shit all over you house, but HELLO. That kid is amazing, and some days I am way to prepared to tell you to shut the hell up about it. <br />
I have to force myself to realize though, that there are things I have to be thankful for. I have met some amazing women through this process. I have met women, who have suffered pain that I can't begin to imagine, yet they are still out there, kicking ass. So I will start there, I am thankful that I do not have their pain. I can not imagine, having multiple still births. I am happy I have not suffered that pain. I, in theory am completely capable of having more children one day. I am thankful for that. I feel awful that what I'm grateful for, is that I am not in as much pain as someone else, but it's true. I think that meeting people who have suffered deeper pain, and survived, is helpful in your perspective on life. Their stories give me that, just as I hope my story gives perspective to people who may take their children for granted occasionally. <br />
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CaolJnqcVVg/WDbyF1NWm5I/AAAAAAAAAFg/BZ1hyUsjxOMkCFPbtNmejJ8ve21DslCNQCLcB/s1600/20161123_225353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CaolJnqcVVg/WDbyF1NWm5I/AAAAAAAAAFg/BZ1hyUsjxOMkCFPbtNmejJ8ve21DslCNQCLcB/s320/20161123_225353.jpg" width="180" /></a> Mostly I am grateful that I am not alone... I'm grateful Matthew and I didn't get the house we wanted, a five bedroom, with some cosmetic issues, but I wouldn't want to be in a big old house, alone. I'm grateful I live next door to my Mom, I send her a whiny text message, and in a minute and a half, she has climbed up in my bed with me and crying beside me. I'm thankful that she gets me, that she can see a look on my face, and know I'm just having a really really bad day. When I get in ruts, she makes me lists of things, to do. <br />
When I first came home from the hospital, my list was to Get out of bed, take a shower, and to eat. Once I started to kind of get that down, she added to put on deodorant, to brush my teeth... To do all the little things that used to come naturally. She helped me shower, when I couldn't get in and out of the tub on my own, she stood by and didn't complain when I lost every single ounce of modesty that I had left. She definitely laughed, but she still helped me. I'm grateful every single day, that I'm not alone. <br />
I'm grateful for my Momma. <br />
I hope one day, I have a child, who feels the same way for me. <br />
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Mom, I'm sorry I'm an ass. I'm sorry, that I probably drive you crazy a million times a day, but I can't imagine going through this, at all, with out you. <br />
Smooches. <br />
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<br />Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-73489567762251364102016-11-15T19:52:00.000-08:002016-11-16T09:50:10.875-08:00"It will be just like one of my sunny days " {82 days Post Partum} "I'd like to talk to you, and Matthew, before you are discharged. I am an RN, but I'm also a grief counselor. One thing I want you both to really understand, before you go home, is that you both are going to grieve at different paces. One of you may be having a wonderful day, and thinking about the sunshine. The other one may think of the sunshine, and remember that your daughter died on a sunny day, and that is okay. You need to support each other at every level, and remember not to hold it against each other. "<br />
"Another thing that you will learn, unfortunately fast, and hard, is that she is the center of your world. You revolve around her. Other people do not. There lives will move on, and you WILL be left behind, and that will hurt. A lot. People will expect you to be okay, and someday's you still wont be, and as unfortunate as that may be, it's okay."<br />
I never ever thought that my family would be that way. I never ever thought I would feel alone in this battle. I never thought I would hear someone say "Get over it". I understand, that they aren't reminded, every single moment, like I am. When someone says how nice it must be for me to sleep in in the mornings, I think of all the mornings that my daughter should be screaming, and waking me up. When someone says "I wish I had time to _____ all day, I'm busy chasing this one around" I think of all the time I would give up doing ____ to chase my daughter around, or change a stinky diaper. When people complain about pregnancy pains, when people complain about there child having a bad day, when people are excited their children's accomplishments, I long for every awful crying moment, and all the good ones too. I know, that these things don't make them think of my daughter, but everything in the world, reminds me of her.<br />
I'm never going to not think of her. I understand that it others lives move on, but I haven't. <br />
WHOEVER you are. Don't you <em><u>dare</u></em> ever look me in the face and tell me to <em>get over it</em>. <em><u>I never will</u></em>. I look like I'm okay, some days. The truth is, though, is that I'm drowning more today, then the day I lost her. I'm more broken, right now, than I was a month ago. I'm a wreck. I hate being alive, I hate getting out of bed in the morning more than I ever have. <br />
When all of the attention is on you, it's easier to feel okay. Wahh Wahh, pitty me, because the attention isn't on me anymore, right? Yeah. You can shut up too. When someone is looking at you everyday, checking to see if you're okay. You feel like you are okay, you have that support, you know that if you need it; it's there. When that goes away though, it's so easy to feel helpless. To feel hopeless. <br />
The smallest things break me now. I was told today, "Oh my fuck, you have to get over it at some point " and "We can't walk on eggs shells around you forever" <br />
If only you knew, how much of my life, of my heart, and of my soul, is an egg shell. You're right, you don't have to. It's not your job, to take care of me, it honestly never was. I need my family to understand that I am still grieving, and I understand that that is hard. It is impossible, however, for me to deal with negativity. I am holding myself together, with the thinnest of threads, it is literally the smallest of things that tear me open. <br />
If you are my family member, please know, I can't. I can't deal with any of it. I want to plan this happy wedding, and I can't. I can't because my family can't set their differences aside. I can't be happy, because my daughter is dead, but today, I feel like I can't even hold myself together, because my family has given up on "walking on eggshells" I wish everyone in my family could understand, that the things you are doing to each other, make you feel a little better for two minutes, but DESTROY me, for much longer. I know I can "stay out of it" and "Quit being so dramatic" but it's impossible, for me not to feel. For me not to dread, what I've seen my family do to each other a thousand times. <br />
I was so afraid, of my daughter being brought into this volatile mess of a family, while I was pregnant, I am now sad, she will never see it, yet, happy she will never feel this conflicting hate... She will never be caught in the middle, like I have been, my whole life.... <br />
<br />
My friends have their own children to focus on, my family has holidays to prepare for, they have vacations to take, and people to see. My parents have their grandbabies to spoil, and a new one to kiss, my sister has her newest little one to keep her up all night. Here I am, stuck, and focused on the baby I'll never hold again, the baby I will never hear cry, the baby everyone else lets slip there mind, my sweet little girl, who has brought me the biggest happiness, and the deepest pain. Maybe one day, I will function, like a normal person, but today I can't. I apologize to anyone who has crushed my shells today. But I just can't cope today. <br />
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Thank you, Jody, and Matthew. For being two rocks tonight, in a bumpy sea. Thank you, for standing behind me %100. I wouldn't have survived this day with out it</div>
Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-82392313626864714212016-10-06T09:28:00.000-07:002016-10-06T09:28:25.090-07:0042 days postpartum MothersMilkBank<br />
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This is possibly Leeona's final gift to our world. She gave every bit of herself that she could. She was able to help the lives of five children with her organs, and she will now gift children of the NICU, the milk that was intended to nourish her body. <br />
I read something, I believe on the mothers milk bank page, that was written by a bereaved mother. It said something about milk being the tears your body cries for your infant. Its true, I have cried and cried, so many days I feel like I can't stop crying, and then there are days, that my body couldn't produce another tear if it tried. Here they are though, here are the tears that my body has cried. Not my eyes, My body begs to take care of her. But it can't. It is my job as her Mom to make the best choices for her. Her father and I chose to donate her organs, because that was what was best for the world. That was what made her live on in others, and hopefully, that is what she would have wanted. So then, when my chest was engorged, and felt like it was going to crush me, if I didn't do something, I knew I HAD to do something. <br />
I expected everyday, to panic if I had to pump. I expected one day it was going to hit me,<i> hard</i>, that this wasn't right, I shouldn't be pumping, I should be nursing. Although these thoughts did cross my mind, it was never in anger, it never caused me anxiety. Those were the times that honestly I felt closest to her, like my little Leeona was guiding me. She was holding my hand, and walking me thru it. She was right beside me, telling me, that I was doing the right thing. <br />
I donated 202 oz of her milk. I have a little over 100 more oz that the milk bank is unable to use, do to pain meds after my emergency surgery, that milk will go to my sweet nephew who is on his way in a few short weeks. <br />
This has been another step in my healing process. She is still with me, where ever I go. I have stopped pumping now, and have begun the process of drying up. Still tho, when I think of her, or when I hear a baby Scream and cry, my body cries for her. <br />
I know my daughter is loved, and I know she has touched the lives of many. In her short nine months that she lived, she has saved the lives of some, and helped the lives of more than I may ever.<br />
Many see the lives of stillborn, as never living. My daughter lived for ten months, and then she died, and then she was born. Those ten months are the best months of my life. And I would do it all over again, I would feel this pain tenfold, as long as I could feel her wiggle and hiccup in my belly again. <br />
Leeona Christine Marie, Where ever you are. You are loved, by so many. <br />
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<br />Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-75716919032609639772016-10-02T21:37:00.001-07:002016-10-02T21:37:42.255-07:00An open Letter to the Support group Admins, who betrayed my love. { 38 days PostPartum } Irony. <br />
Irony is when your original plan for your daughters nursery was Peter pan and tinkerbell, and in fact she ended up in never land. <br />
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Irony is when you tell someone days before. "I can't imagine what you're going through" and boom. It happens to you... <br />
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Irony, is when the most pain and betrayal you've ever felt, in your entire life comes from a support group. <br />
I joined a "Infant Loss Support Group" on facebook. This was a forum where I was able to freely express my emotions. I do this on my blog, too, but having endless support, and response from people who truly feel your pain, is an invaluable gift. I posted pictures of my baby girl, instantly tons of people said, I'm so sorry, I am here for you, please, message me if you need too. All of these people actually meant what they said. They know me, they are me, they feel my pain. <br />
I've been a part of a new mama group on facebook since I got pregnant, and they were awesome! full of support, and full of love and advice! Sometimes that page is hard to look at now, to go to, and ask for advice. I did right after I loss my daughter, and they responded with love. I went in search of a Infant Loss group, hoping to feel the same love, and support, I found it! Those Moms are the definition of love. <br />
Unfortunately, part of the rules in this "support group" is that if you have a photo of your child and they are no longer living in the picture, you must only post it in comments. You can't post it on the page. I didn't read that until I already had. My heart dropped when I read it. I went on with my day, but the more, and more I thought about that rule, the more emotion stirred in me. I feel so betrayed, I feel so much betrayal. <br />
A lot of people have said "It wasn't meant to be" think about how that sounds to a Mom. "Your baby wasn't\meant to be alive" it sounds horrible. Never once have I felt offended by that though. Because I know they are saying it hoping it would make me feel better. When someone says "You're lucky you had a c section, when I had my baby I ..." I'm not lucky. I had a caesarian because my babys heart was giving out. She was dying. She did, die. It never offended me though, I know they don't mean any harm. They just don't get it. <br />
This infancy loss group, did not mean anything by it. They think its better to post the living babies freely, and the dead babies in the comments. It bothers other Moms to see dead babies. I tell you what, the photos I have of my daughter are BEAUTIFUL. My Daughter was PERFECT. She looks like a sleeping baby in these pictures, you would never ever know the difference, if I didn't tell you. If a photo of a "stillborn" ( I hate that word) triggers extreme emotions for you, then I'm sure a photo of a living baby will to, because in photo it is the same thing. Believe me, I understand how seeing a tiny baby can make you cry, because sometimes I see them and just want to hold mine. I get that. But seeing a baby is seeing a baby... Mine looks just like theirs. They don't ban photos of extreme premie, because those are easy to look at. NOT. seeing a premie, is hard, living or gone, babies who are born way to early, in a photo you KNOW they are fighting for their life, or have already lost it. They don't ban babies who are born "deformed" (Again, a word you shouldn't apply to a baby) who pass away later. WHY? Because they SHOULDN'T! Because they are beautiful, they are perfect, every child, is beautiful and perfect.<br />
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I should clarify, "stillborns" are not banned, they are just to be kept in the comments only, because you know; Stillborns bother some people, and people don't like to see them... Its hard, you know, keep them tucked away unless some one straight up asks for it. <br />
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Their rule is "rarely Enforced" and its "not the end of the world to post your baby in the comments". Its true, it's not the end of the world. Especially not for me. My support system is HUGE. My support is amazing, I live in a small town, and my child's name has rolled off the lip of so many in our community. My family is huge, I will not end my life. I have enough support that I know I will get through this. <br />
I am not going to lie, I have looked over the edge of a balcony and wondered, would that drop kill me? I<i> never</i> seriously contemplated jumping, I would never put my family through that. But as a Mom who's lost their child, I see how some people could do that. Unfortunately I am not the first one in our family to loose there child. So infancy loss is not a taboo subject in my home. I am able to take refuge in those conversations, and those people who know my pain.<br />
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If I had no support, if I had no one around, if I didn't have Matthew, Leeonas Dad, I could understand making that jump... I get it. So if that Momma who has no one reaches out, to a support group, and someone says to them : it's not the end of the world, to post in the comments.... It COULD be the end of her world. It could. If your last place you have to turn, is to the one people who are NEVER supposed to judge you, who are supposed to be your safe place, your shelter from the cruel world, and they betray you, I get it. <br />
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I know that admin is trying to do what is best for everyone in the group, and she had complaints about "post mortem" photos in the past, but she never enforces the rule. <br />
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If you don't enforce the rule, I encourage you to take it down. I know you're trying to appease everyone, but I ask you to hear my plea. When people say the wrong thing, it stings. When a support group makes you feel like you have to hide your sweet child, it tear your insides. Any support group should be 100% safe. And honestly there are enough stigmas in the world, there are enough places where people can make you feel bad about it. Where people can make you feel like you aren't really a parent, because well, they never lived. <br />
My daughter did live, she lived nine beautiful months in my belly, she kicked, she moved, she hiccupped all the time. Her life counts. She is real. I am a Mom, I am her Mom. Telling Moms not to openly post about there babies in fear someone won't like it is perpetuating that culture. That stigma that there babies don't quite count as much as someone else's does. <br />
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Have you ever herd of rape culture? You literally just looked at a rape victim and said don't talk about it unless someone asks. It really is something that should be kept to yourself unless someone needs to know. Do you see that?<br />
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Oh, and by the way, what were you wearing when it happened. Not that short skirt, right?<br />
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I know I already posted this picture to my blog before, but this bottom picture, I believe in black and white is what I posted. I assure you, she looks just like a baby who is living, but asleep. </div>
Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-66642915484897591242016-10-01T19:55:00.004-07:002016-10-01T20:02:17.093-07:00Matthew {37 days Postpartum}<i> Flipping through the pictures of our daughter, she is perfect. Ten little fingers, ten little toes, a beautiful face, and in one photo, that I have only shared with few, she has beautiful brown eyes, they are a mirror image of her Daddy's. As we sit there, someone says that they never really saw the love I had for Matthew, until this person saw us holding our daughter... That statement is almost offensive to me. I always tell Matt, that I have loved him, my whole life.</i> Well, technically it's been like half my life. Matt and I have had some ups and downs, to say the lest. When you find your soul mate young, the way you find their soul, is just that; young. Especially when you're dealing with a teenage boy. I'm not going to say he hasn't pulled me through the mud, because he certainly has. He will be the first to admit it. I cried so many tears for that boy, so many, but I never left his side.<br />
One of his redeeming qualities through our younger years, and now, was that he too, never left my side. Sure, we broke up, we even dated other people, but when my home life fell apart at my feet, he was there. When my parents divorced; right there. When my Dad moved out of state, when my sister had a small gypsie phase, and disappeared at her own will, when doctors told us my grams life would likely "expire" with in hours, you guessed it, Matthew put me back together. <i>If I didn't love him, though, I wouldn't still be with him. I would have walked away, long before today. I wouldn't have put up with his shit, with his attitude, with his problems, and his flaws. I wouldn't have it any other way though, those issues have never been enough to take the place of the love I have for him. Anyone who actually took time to know me, to know him, would have known long before, that my love for him, was, and is nothing but pure, and strong.</i><br />
Matthew has always had a spot in my life, always. When we were kids he was always my best friends "boyfriend" I remember four different friends that claimed him as theirs. Of course, I'm talking fifth grade stuff. The first friend held his had once, it was our gossip of the week. The next year, another one of my friends kissed his cheek, and ran away, CRAZY! Eight grade though, was the first time I actually noticed him. The first time I probably ever really had more than one conversation with him. It was September 11th, and we had a fire drill at our school.<br />
He was such a goof. He was funny, and he was happy, about seemingly, anything. I had turned 13 two months before that. I remember, at thirteen years old thinking to myself, that is the type of person I'll have to marry. That is the type of person, who will balance me out. I really didn't think it would actually <i>be</i> him. We were outside, in the chilly weather, waiting for the firefighters to "clear the school" and little did I know, I had started to fall in love with him that day. Who can say that? Who can say they remember the day they started to fall for the love of their life. <br />
I'd made up my mind, I was gonna make this boy MY boyfriend. I was gonna do it, I'd walk up to him, say something, I had no idea what, but I would say SOMETHING, and make this boy find me interesting. HA. Right. <br />
Eighth grade Kassie, in fact, has no balls, and would never do this, even if she had the chance. Thing is, is that, I didn't have the chance anyway. <br />
The way our school worked, eight grade students boarded "shuttle busses" at the end of the day, and were brought to the elementary school, where we would meet the other busses and unload, to get on the correct bus. We all boarded up that day, and lookie there! An empty spot in Matts seat, and an empty seat in front of him! Guess where I ended up? The seat in front of him, because the girl in front of me, sat down beside him, and held his hand!- She was best friend number four. - I later learned, she snagged him up. Again Matt was "Dating" my best friend.<br />
Turns out, two weeks later, she caught him being too nice to another girl, slapped him in the face, and cleaned her hands of him. We all stayed friends, and in December of that year we started dating. I didn't put dating in quotes this time, because it lasted well into the next year, and I truly believe that I fell in love with him during that time. Everyone told me I couldn't possibly know what love was, but I have never had a moment since, where I didn't want to be with him. <br />
Shortly after, we found out his Dad, was my next door neighbor. Matthew visited his Dad a lot more then. One day my mom and I were driving up the drive way, and I saw a pair of jeans on the ground. I knew they were Matts, he had a big old hole in his backpack and (somehow) didn't notice they fell out, I grabbed them. My friend Aleta, and I decided we were going to take them to him that night, so we did. And that was the first time I ever met my Father in law. <br />
So with out that little back story I just gave you ( even though I still think they don't believe it) Imagine how that looks, your sons girlfriend, that you didn't know he has, shows up at your door. When you answer the door, she introduces her self, and produces a pair of his pants to give back to him. <br />
Facepalm. <br />
If I only realized how inappropriate that innocent action probably looked. <br />
"MATTHEW! There is, um, someone here for you. She has your pants." Shaking his head. <br />
Nice, Kassie. Nice first impression.<br />
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<i>Eighth grade Kassie no longer exists. This Kassie has balls. Matthew has rubbed off on me a little, I have slowly absorbed part of his carefree attitude. He has taught me that I am beautiful, and to not be afraid to be me. He has shown me, that I am strong. Our love is strong. Our love does not move mountains, true love never does. Love shows you how to climb mountains, to go over, and down the next side, so you can look back, and see how far you've come. I don't know how to climb this mountain, but we will do it together.</i> <br />
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This is, and may always be my favorite picture of us. We had Just graduated eighth grade, and were standing outside of my parents house, We were just little babies, with no idea where our love would go. No idea that together we would create a miracle. <br />
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Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-61084713470768597962016-09-30T17:10:00.004-07:002016-09-30T18:05:19.726-07:00Morgan Elizabeth {36 days postpartem}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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See that little girl? Holding on to her Daddy's arm? That is me. I was 9 years old, and I was crying for my cousins. I was standing with my Mom and my Dad, pawing for more tissues. I was looking at cousin and her husband, who are very near and dear to my heart. My cousins were looking at a casket. A tiny little casket, that held the body of their lifeless little girl.<br />
Before the funeral, I was confused. I wasn't able to wrap my head around what was going on. I remember my Mom telling me not to ask questions, and not to talk about it, unless Laura talked to me about it first. I remember being so confused about WHY. WHY could this happen, what happens now? And honestly, I remember thinking that it was odd to go to a funeral for someone I had never known. I don't think I had ever been to a funeral before. I think I had begged my Mom to let me go to my Great Grammies, but I don't think I went. Although I was close with my "Grammie Chick" I don't remember much about that time. I do remember Morgan's funeral. Sweet Morgan Elizabeth, their tiny little girl, in a tiny little casket. I remember that that was the first time I understood what it meant to love someone you never got to know. I didn't understand until I stood there with my parents, and wept for my cousins. I saw all the pain on there faces, I knew, at nine years old, that they would never ever feel more pain, than they were right there. <br />
Their house warming was a few days later, and in a search for normalcy, the family decided not to postpone. Again, I was told not to talk about Baby Morgan unless her Mom or Dad brought it up first. That never became an issue. Laura asked me immediately if I wanted to see picture, of course, curious little Kassie did. We were standing in the hall way of her new home, beside her stairwell. There is now a photo of me, with her, on that wall, from a couple years before, when I was a flower girl, in their wedding. She handed me a tiny polaroid picture of her tiny daughter. Morgan was premature, so she was just an itty bitty thing, but she was perfect, she had ten fingers, and ten little toes. There was a stuffed animal in the picture beside her, I believe it was a bunny, I think it was almost as big as she was. Never once was there a question that Laura, and her husband Jon did not answer for me. Some times the answer was, "I don't know honey", and that was there honest answer, they didn't know why this would happen to them. Still, every question was meant with a raw, and honest answer. She never cried when I asked her, or if she did, she protected me for that. She never once, made me feel bad for my curiosity. Morgan was never a secret. Morgan was never Taboo. <br />
I text my cousins, every year, on their daughters birthday, I let them know I am thinking of them, and I talk to Morgan every year, I never forgot her. I still ask her questions, about her pregnancy, about Morgan, about anything. I don't ever remember, after her housewarming, a day that went by that I was afraid to ask her a question. Morgan's life has had a profound effect on my life, she always will be with me, forever in our hearts. <br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kR82O_E65wM/V-8DZQkawdI/AAAAAAAAAAs/mxeIY0hjDWU3m4BrKpRulrbT_b7wjsFHACLcB/s1600/K21A9443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a> The unfortunate truth of this blog post, it's not entirely true. That little girl, is not me.That is not my Dad, and that is not my Mom. Those are my cousins, and that is Morgan's sister. She looks on at her cousin, she looks on at me, as we look on at the casket that holds the lifeless body of our sweet tiny little girl. But that could have been me, I have walked in those shoes, I have felt her feelings, and cried her tears. <br />
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I'm sure she has questions, and I'm sure her Momma and Dad answer them with full honesty, even if that answer sometimes is "I don't know honey". I hope no one ever looks at a child, who has a question about my daughter, and hides her from that child. My daughter will not be taboo. She will not be a secret. So when a different one of my little cousins, who was adopted into our family long after Morgan, asked me "Didn't your baby come out dead?!" I took a deep breath, steadied my voice, and answered him, to the best of my abilities. I will do my best, to never make ANYONE, feel guilty about any conversation that revolves around my daughter let alone, a child. <br />
I said that the worst part of this blog post, was that it was not me standing there. It's true. It sucks, that after all the pain they felt over ten years ago, they have to watch someone the hold close, go through the same thing. BUT the best part about this, is, that that is there little girl standing there. Morgan has a sister, who is happy and healthy, and living, partially because we know what caused Morgan's life to end. Morgan has two happy and healthy sisters. Her parents are standing with there arms around one of their girls, while another one of their girls shows my baby around heaven. That little lady, is a representation of hope, of life, and light after darkness. <br />
I would do anything, to have either of them back, but we can't change it, even though we would. Our children have purposes in life, all of them. One of Morgan's was to save her sisters, but years later, we are still finding those purposes, one of them, I'm sure of it, was to help me through this. My daughter was able to help five others with her organs, but I hope in ten years, I am still finding reasoning in her life, and not focusing on her death. <br />
You will never be forgotten, sweet girl, you too, are forever in our hearts. <br />
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<br />Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6643356861497701135.post-16486189083659831212016-09-29T17:45:00.000-07:002016-09-30T18:41:53.368-07:0035 Days Postpartum. Telling the world we were pregnant. <br />
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We wanted to tell people in person. We stopped at Walmart and picked up a tiny gift box, some tissue paper and a tiny tag. A five word question from Baby Warren was written on the tag, wrapped in paper, and placed inside the box. My best friend cried and cried when she opened it, and read the words "Will You Be My GodParents" they obviously accepted and congratulated us 100 times, on our up and coming little one.<br />
My Step Dad was out of town, so we had to wait until he got home to tell him and my mom. Mom and I picked him up from the airport, I stressed all the way home on how I was going to tell them. When we got home, I planned on going to get Matthew, and telling them together with him but before I was even able to mention babies, or pregnancy my mom called me out on it. I was sitting at the small table in her living room, when she stopped dead in her tracks, turned around and said "Are you Pregnant?" I think a small part of her still expected me to say no. She looked at me slightly confused when I said "yes". Some how Mommas always know. <i>Until the moment I woke up in the operating room I never thought much about Mothers Intuition. I honestly think I already knew my daughter didn't survive birth, before Dianne even told me, this mothers intuition, it's a thing, I'm telling you, it is. </i><br />
I can't say I was afraid to tell my Dad, Yes I was only twenty, kind of young for pregnancy. My Dad has always been the one to Congratulate even if the situation isn't ideal, like when my sister went to the courthouse with a moron, and took his last name on a whim. <i>I had already called his wife, and told her on the phone, I made her promise not to tell my Dad, I wish I had been there when told her, but i remember hearing her voice crack, as she pulled over on the side of the road to cry happy tears for me.</i> Dad asked me if we were going out that night, I told him we were staying in. He said "What, no partying and Drinking?!" knowing all to well that that wasn't my scene. <br />
"Can't Dad, I'm Pregnant" He kept making his coffee like it was no big deal, and said "Cool" as he put the milk away in my grandmothers fridge. "I'm serious Dad" "Cool, Babe, you'll be a good Mom". And that was that, we were sitting at my grandparents kitchen table, My nan, my Pa, and my Dad all said congratulations, and that was that. <br />
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I told so many people that day! They were all so happy and excited. We told my mother in law, at her work. We stopped at the bank to see her and tell her the news. I knew she would cry, she had adopted me into the family when I was just 13. Matt and I dated on and off, but I was always her daughter since she knew me, regardless of my relationship with her stepson, I was always her "spare child". Now she would get to see her new grandbaby one day. I went to tell a very special cousin of mine next. She was at the pool with two of her daughters. <em>Before my loss I would have written that differently. I would have said she was at the pool with her two daughters. Now I am extremely aware of her Angel Baby Morgan who is showing my little girl around heaven, and feel that I need to write this differently, as Little Morgan is actually quite essential to my story, and my coping. </em>I told my aunt next, Morgan's grandmother, and then I went home to tell my gram, and call my sister in New Hampshire. My grandfathers response cracked me up! I asked him when he was gonna quit smoking, and he told me he would when he was dead.<br />
<em>W</em><em>ell, your new great grandbaby isn't going to like it!</em><br />
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<i> What? You pregnant? I was starting to think Matthew wasn't man enough!! And gave me a big old bear hug, with my congratulations. </i><br />
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My sweet LeeLee was loved already, so many good memories of the people I told, I went to my Dads ex girlfriends work to tell her, she was so happy. I called my cousin, who was also pregnant, she just didn't know it yet. She has several siblings, and as she screamed to her mom I heard them all yelling in excitement in the back ground. I brought my ultrasound down to my Photographer to immediately set up her newborn session. <br />
Everyone cried for me, every one cheered for me, and 8 months later, they all stood at my hospital bedside and cried for me again. <br />
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Her loving God Parents. </div>
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Her Mammie Jo, and Pappa PJ</div>
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Morgan's Mom, and Grandmother. Leeonas Cousin, and Aunt. </div>
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<3 </div>
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<3 </div>
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Leeona's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08195864127458642215noreply@blogger.com0