(That is one of the beautiful things about becoming a part of this loss community, finding someone else who makes you gasp because the words that pour out of their heart so adequately encapsulates your own feelings, and in doing so, makes you feel less crazy and less abnormal less like you’re some sort of freak or head case who can’t seem to move forward. Thank you for that, by the way. And thank you also, to those who reached back when I reached out, for the words of kindness and compassion that washed over me and Louie through comments and emails and Twitter and Facebook. I am so grateful to you, so blessed by each of you who walk alongside us.)

I knew the 5th was coming, but this morning, I wasn’t fully aware that it had arrived. It wasn’t until I after I had read through hundreds of blog posts (I am still trying to catch up) – and found myself welling up with almost everyone – that I began to question:

Why this day? Why not yesterday when it was Calvin’s due date?

Oh.

His due date is August 4. That means today is August 5.

Then it started to make more sense. And here I am.

The artist and the writer

For our wedding, Louie and I wrote our own lyrics to the song “Anyone Else but You” by the Moldy Peaches from Juno. Someday, I’ll post the video. One of the verses went like this:

(Louie) I’ll be an artist,
(Crystal) and I’ll be a writer –
(Louie) we’ll never be rich –
(Crystal) but that doesn’t matter
(Both) I don’t know what anyone can see in anyone else, but you

Some of you know about the day that the genetic counselor told us that the ultrasound tech thought it looked like the tips of our baby’s fingers on his right hand had been amputated by the amniotic bands. Later on, Louie said that it just seemed so cruel because he’s an artist, and I’m a writer. Then we started talking about how he would be amazing, that he would still do everything, and even play the guitar. The next day, we learned the next day, after a 3-hour Level II ultrasound, that our baby’s fingers were just fine, and though three bands surrounded him, he was untouched.

And last month, my mother-in-law, sent me an email with the subject Sheer Talent. I was perplexed and didn’t really believe her at first. Then, she showed us this:

Tell me what you see. And, in few days, I’ll show you what I see. For now, all I’ll say is that my baby boy is a gifted, and the sky is his canvas.

My amazing little boy, you are wondrous indeed! Thank you for making your presence known to us, and showing us just how whole you are in heaven and for showing me that my failings can be undone through His grace and gift of eternity. Happy 17 months, Calvin! Mommy and daddy are so proud of you.

Last week, in addition to the running around and tests for my arm issues, I also had an appointment with a nurse practitioner at Kaiser. I scheduled it over a month ago, because I wanted to talk to my caregiver about transferring my medical information from UCSF and give her a head’s up about everything that happened to me and losing my two babies. It was difficult being in the obgyn department and having to lay on the exam table in the dressing gown. The NP told me I looked sad, and I explained that it was hard being back in a hospital and that their due dates were so close. Her response was one of the best things anyone could have said to me: I would have heartache, too. On my way out, as I was waiting to schedule an appointment with a counselor, I watched a newly pregnant couple as they were told, We’ll schedule your 18-week ultrasound. Congratulations!

These past few week’s have been challenging for me. And that may be an understatement.

I feel like my body is breaking down, and I feel lost about my career goals and what I really want to do. Most of all, I just feel so heartbroken – especially tonight. It’s August 3rd, and I know what could have been. I was going to write should have been, but I know that in the greater scheme of God’s plan, everything *is* as it should be. Knowing that, however, doesn’t make it hurt any less right now, and it doesn’t stop my heart from feeling like I should have a baby in my arms and a toddler clambering into my lap.There is no “either Calvin or Rainbow.” We could have had them both.

I’ve been told that grief comes in waves, and today, I was overcome by a big one.

It was/is the sobbing, whimpering kind of grief. The kind with lots of tears and a runny nose that turns stuffy and makes it hard to breath. The kind that leaves you feeling breathless. That makes you feel both heavy and empty at the same time.

I wish I knew what it was like to have a pregnancy that ends with a living child. I wish I knew what it was like to raise two children almost exactly a year apart, to hold them both in my arms and be oblivious to the world of baby loss. But that isn’t my life – not yet, not in this world.

So I’ll just continue to bow my head in thankfulness for this aching love and cradle my babies in my heart.

This man has been by my side for the past 11 years. He’s seen me at my worst, at my weakest, at my most vulnerable. He encourages my creativity, is amused by my quirks, endures my wrath and even stands up to it. He prays with me and for me and humbles me. Through our marriage, I have learned what it means to submit to my husband – and it does not mean being submissive or losing myself. With him, I created life and received the greatest blessing I could imagine in my two children who await us in heaven and walk with the Father. I love the ways he laughs with such commitment that it becomes infectious. I love the way he willing holds me in silence when all I need stillness and his arms around me. I love the way he speaks of our babies.

Anyway, if you could send my husby some birthday love, I’m sure he would appreciate it . He just started a blog which you can get to here: ejanda.blogspot.com, and he’s also on Twitter: @lifewithlouie. Thank you!

I love your guts, Louie!

it is with much gratitude and warmth in my heart that I share these beautiful name images, which were created by such loving hands and hearts for my precious loves:

My sweet boy, I miss you and Rainbow so much, and am so thankful for the wonderful reminders we have of you both. You are my reason for seeking joy in this life. Happy 16 months in heaven, Calvin. Mommy and Daddy’s love for you just deepens with each passing day.

For the man
who’s given himself
to provide life to another
and placed his joy
in the hearts of his children –
those which beat on this earth,
those whose measure
are yet to be,
and those that have silently
passed to be carried
in the rhythm of our own.

I’ve spent the entire past week (including last weekend) preparing these:


so Louie could have them for this:

And we were there tonight because Louie is graduating!

So please show my amazing husband some love by…

• Visiting Louie’s site at Calvin’s Canvas
• Giving him some shoutouts on Twitter @lifewithlouie
• Friend’ing him on Facebook/lifewithlouie

Photo credit: Ed Pingol Photography

I am very proud to call this man my husband, my best friend, and the father of my children. (I guess you can call him my homie-lover-friend-baby-daddy ). I love him and the way he loves me and our children. He isn’t perfect, and there are times when I don’t know whether to scream at him or tear my hair out. But his imperfections – and the way he so gracefully (most of the time) accepts mine – are part of what makes him right for me.

We are by no means one of those couples who are always on the same wavelength, and sometimes it takes a lot of work to understand things through each other’s eyes, but that’s okay with us. I will never know the hurt I caused in my moments of anger, selfishness, and spite. I will never know how it felt for him to doubt our relationship right before our wedding but still decide he loved me enough to make it work. I will never know what it was like for him to watch me deliver our dead son beyond the I’m sorry’s he tearfully whispered into my hair over and over or the helplessness he must have felt I bled and lost our second pregnancy, our Rainbow. What I do know is that he does not ask it of me.

The day Calvin was born, it wasn’t until my arms were heavy and weak that I asked Louie if he wanted to hold our baby. (I will never forget the weight of him – my first child, my son – in my arms, it helps me know that he was real and he was here and he lived.) The way Louie’s face lit up, as he smiled and said, Really?, will never leave me; he was willing to let me carry Calvin in my arms for as long as I wanted, the whole time, even, without thinking twice about it. The pride and love in Louie’s face, the gentle rocking and soft sweetness in his voice as he sang to our baby, and the way he carried him over to the window overlooking the city to have his daddy-son talk – These moments make all the heartache that came with leaving the hospital worth it. I am so thankful to have been able to see Louie father our son.

Photo credit: Ed Pingol Photography

I know that I neglect to tell him how much he means to me and that, though it may seem like I take him for granted, I know that he has gone through so much in our 11 years together, and especially in the past year and a half. The rate of separation between couples who have lost a child are higher than those who haven’t (which is already high as it is), and I feel lucky to have a husband who is willing to walk through the valley with me in a very real way: from losing friends to family to our only children. He has stayed with me and held me in my brokenness, sharp edges and all. I am so blessed by Louie’s heart. I am in awe of his strength and his sensitivity. I am so jealousy of his creativity and artistic talent. I am inspired by his way with words, especially when they are formed by compassion. And I am especially in love with how much he loves our babies.

Happy 15 months in heaven, Calvin Phoenix. I am so proud to call myself your mommy. Thank you for blessing me and daddy. Thank for all the ways in which you’ve inspired me. And thank you for helping me see just how great your daddy is.

Congratulations, sweetie, I’m sure that giving this book to your hospital or midwives’ clinic will be of help to the families that borrow it from their library. You have a a great heart. Melanie, please email me your address at crystal@blessedtobebroken.com so I can send you the book.