On this day last year, I had my third and last prenatal appointment with Calvin. It was Ash Wednesday. Louie and I went to Mass in the morning at St. Ignatius Church before going to UCSF. (That day, there was a young man sitting in the pew in front of us, and he started sobbing after communion. We didn’t do anything or say anything to him, but we talked about it later and how we felt for him. I think about him every now and then, and hope God has brought him comfort.) It was also the day before my birthday.

At the appointment, we saw a doctor we had never seen before, and when she spoke to us about my membranes coming apart and the risks of the pregnancy, it was like being told all over again about the amniotic bands. We had to tell her, like we told the other doctor and the genetic counselor, we would wait. At the end of the appointment, she confirmed that we were having a follow up Level II ultrasound, and told us we would wait until after the ultrasound to schedule my next appointment. Hearing those words felt like a death sentence for my baby, and just thinking about that moment puts me back in that place. Maybe it was a blessing that I didn’t need to call to cancel the appointment and say “because my baby died.” But it didn’t feel that way then. It doesn’t feel that way now, either.

It wasn’t all bad, though. As she placed the doppler on my belly and proceeded to move it around searching for the baby’s heart, I felt the tears well up. I was bracing myself. But then, after what seemed like too long for hope, she moved it left and down, and there it was: a fast, whooshing, thumping. It didn’t sound like I remembered from my second prenatal appointment, maybe because I was overwrought and ready to hear the words I feared most. But she said that heartbeat sounded fine, and that was enough for us. My baby was alive. It was the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.

Here I am a year later from that day.

And I have seen that same doctor again. What should have been my first prenatal appointment with her for my rainbow baby became, instead, a confirmation of my miscarriage. My second baby. My second loss.

I don’t know how I feel about turning 28. At first, I felt indifferent. Right now, though, I feel as if it moves me further away from my son. I don’t like feeling that way. Right now I long for where I was last year. I long for the sound of Calvin’s heartbeat. I long for the hope and joy and happiness I felt. I long for the days that came between life and death for my first child. For the way my birthday felt last year. For the Saturday after, when Louie felt him move for the first time. I miss the sound of his heart beating. I miss the swell of life growing inside me. I miss looking forward to seeing him on the ultrasounds and waiting to share the secret of his name. I miss my son. I miss my Calvin Phoenix.

On December 6, 2009, a friend of ours, Abe took pictures of me, Louie, Calvin, and Rainbow (though he didn’t know I was pregnant with Rainbow when he took them) for a digital photography class project. He wanted to share our story.

After some apprehension of being made vulnerable, Louie and I decided that, yes, we would do it. It was important to have Calvin’s life recognize and to help others to understand that this loss is so much more profound than the silence around pregnancy loss would have some people believe. And if losing Calvin can touch others in any way – whether it be providing others with insight to the grief of losing a child or letting someone else know that she or he is not alone – it makes the pain of being without him just a little bit more bearable.

Thank you so much, Abe, for being so willing to take on a painful story, for honoring our son, and for acknowledging our grief. This video means a lot to me and Louie.

These pictures were actually taken just four days before I started miscarrying our Rainbow baby, and it means so much for me to have these pictures — this is the closest we can get to having family pictures this side of Heaven. I love that through Calvin’s story we are able to have these images and remember not only our firstborn, but also our second baby in heaven.

Happy 11 Months in Heaven, my sweet little boy. I miss you so much, Calvin. I hope you and Rainbow are having fun in Heaven as you watch over Mommy and Daddy.

Thank you so much to Amanda at Written in the Stars for putting my sweet babies’ names in the sky and giving me another beautiful way to remember my children.

Amanda is a baby loss mommy who lost her girl, Ireland Lila, at almost 15 weeks, and was inspired to write her little girl’s name in the stars. She now does this for other grieving parents.

This sweet mommy, who is expecting her rainbow baby, also has a photography business, through which she offers complimentary sessions for family’s who have been touched by infant loss or terminal illness.

“Walking With You” was created by Kelly at The Beauty of Sufficient Grace to help support those who have lost a child.

Together we share our stories, helpful information, scriptures, encouraging words, prayer requests, and more. To learn more and/or to join, please visit Walking with You.

Praising God - Let’s take some time praising God for who He is, because no matter what we may be facing, our circumstances cannot change our steadfast, mighty, unchangeable God. If you would like some ideas on attributes of God, please click here: Moms in Touch website Attributes of God list.

Angie at Bring the Rain and her husband, Todd, who is a singer in Selah, wrote the following song for their daughter, Audrey Caroline, who received a fatal diagnosis at Angie’s 20 week ultrasound. They chose to put their faith and their daughter’s life in God’s hand and continued with the pregnancy. Audrey was delivered and when home to God on April 7, 2008.

I have been playing this song over and over, crying both tears of sorrow and of love. The past few weeks have been difficult for me, and I’ve found myself feeling more lost, more sad, and more exhausted (physically, spiritually, emotionally) than I have been in a while. I know part of it is because we lost our Rainbow Baby. I know part of it is my body having to readjust after the miscarriage and the needs for hormones to balance out. Part of it is also because of all the milestones that have just passed and that are fast approaching.

Did I ever tell you that I miscarried Rainbow on the same date I first saw Calvin’s heartbeat? Or that I found out we were pregnant again during Thanksgiving week (the same week we found out about Calvin)? Last Thursday, January 28, was the anniversary of when we first heard Calvin’s heartbeat on the doppler. January 29th was when we found out about amniotic band syndrome. That next day was by a Level II ultrasound that confirmed 3 amniotic bands; that was also the day Louie and I chose life for our son. Next month with be 1 year since we lost him. And I don’t understand how I got here. How Louie and I have managed to survive these past 11 months without our son, without our second child.

Much of the anger has left me… not all. A great deal of the shock has left as well, though some of it remains. And I’m left with the same raw aching for my children. My arms have been feeling so empty lately. I find myself waking up and reaching for something to hold. Not my husband. Something smaller. Something unreachable. So I settle for a folded up pillow or one of the stuffed animals we bought for Calvin. Sometimes I reach out and lay a few fingers on his urn. Lately the tears have been just under the surface, and I’ve been holding them down. Maybe for fear that they will never cease? Tonight though, listening to I Will Carry You, the tears have finally fallen and flowed freely. And I think I’m starting to feel a little better.

These lyrics (which I’ve copied below) express much of what is in my heart. Lately, these words: People say that I am brave but I’m not / Truth is I’m barely hanging on, have been feeling especially true. But as I listened to the song again and again, these started to hold more power for me: And I will praise the One whose chosen me / To carry you. It is easy to praise Him when things are good. It is easy to get angry with Him and even turn away from Him when things are bad. But I can’t forget that the devastation I feel is born out of a greater good that I would never wish away. I do not regret my pregnancies. I do not regret choosing to continue with my pregnancy after learning the risks of amniotic bands. Just as God chose me to carry Calvin and Rainbow on this earth, I chose to give life to my children. And although I feel like I failed to keep life for them, I stand by that choice.

So I will Praise Him

God is our shelter and strength,
always ready to help in times of trouble
So we will not be afraid even if the earth is shaken
and mountains fall into the ocean depths;
even if the seas roar and rage,
and the hills are shaken by the violence.

There is a river that brings joy to the city of God,
to the sacred house of the Most High.
God is in that city, and it will never be destroyed;
at early dawn he will come to its aid.
Nations are terrified, kingdoms are shaken;
God thunders, and the earth dissolves.

The Lord Almighty is with us;
the God of Jacob is our refuge.

Psalms 46: 1-7

I praise you, Lord God, because your are are always with me. In times of joy and of despair. In times of heartache and of happiness. Whether I am clinging to my sorrows and unwilling to give them up or laying my burdens down at the foot of the cross, you are there. You are with me. You are with my husband. You are with my children. Lord, you are everywhere, in all places, at all times, and I praise You.

Ever present, You are the God who gives and who takes away, and in all things you are steadfast. You are the same, unchanging, immutable. You are the same God when I hope and when I despair. So, I praise You, Lord, when you bless me, and I praise You when you afflict me.

I thank You, Lord, for allowing this grief into my life. That pain is born out of the love for my children and has softened my heart. In this weakness I am learning to rely on You, to lean on You, Lord, who is always at my side. I praise You for your faithfulness. I am learning to reach for You. Even when doubt starts to set in, I choose to trust in Your grace and Your mercy. Even in my sadness, I will praise You, because I know You can and You will heal me. Glory unto you, Lord God, in whom my weary soul will find comfort and peace.

Amen.