Tag Archives: grief

The 5th Belongs to Calvin: You made me a mother

Posted on January 5, 2012 by Crystal Theresa| 7 Comments
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Dear Calvin,

I am the furthest I have ever been in pregnancy, carrying your baby brother or sister. Today, I am 18 weeks and 3 days. I delivered you at 18 weeks and 1 day. Although you did not come out of my womb alive, although you were born two weeks shy of the commonly accepted definition of stillbirth, you were born, silent and loved and wanted. Out of my womb, I delivered you on a Thursday morning, with your daddy by my side and tears spilling from both of our eyes.

We are so grateful to have Bumble Bee growing inside me, but this new baby does not replace you, does not replace Rainbow, does not replace Gaelen. Each pregnancy is it’s own blessing, the creation of a new, separate, and individual soul for us to love and cherish. As I learned of each new life, my heart grew and created a unique space for my next child. And when we lost you and Rainbow and Gaelen, these spaces—your spaces—in my heart remained; they will only be filled when we are all together again.

We pray and hope that baby number four will be born alive and well. We look forward, with cautious optimism, to bringing Bumble Bee home and parenting him or her the way were unable to parent you and your sisters. I know people will look at us and assume Bumble is our first child, our only child, even those who know that I was pregnant three times before. This doesn’t change the fact that it was you, Calvin, who first made me a mother. I will always be grateful for that.

Happy 33 months in heaven, my precious son. I love you so much. I miss you.

Love and kisses to you and your sissies,
Mommy

<3, Crystal Theresa

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Posted in Bumble Bee, Calvin Phoenix, Gaelen Evangeline, Pregnancy, Rainbow Baby, The 5th Belongs to Calvin

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Patterns I shouldn’t dwell on

Posted on September 8, 2011 by Crystal Theresa| 6 Comments
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It was a Sunday. The Sunday after Ash Wednesday. Louie and I were attending Mass at St. Basil’s Church. We wanted to light a candle by the Sacred Heart of Jesus. There were no more candles. Louie stopped one of the deacons and asked him to pray for us and our baby. The deacon placed his hand on my belly and prayed for blessings. That Wednesday, I went in for my Level II ultrasound to check the status of the amniotic bands and to find out if Calvin was a girl or a boy. Instead, we were told that our baby died. Our first child was delivered into this world, silent and still on a Thursday.

It was a Sunday. The week of my first prenatal appointment. We were attending Mass at St. Catherine’s and told Deacon Bobby that I was pregnant again, and he said he would pray for us. I started spotting and cramping on Tuesday while I was at work. On Wednesday I woke up, and I was bleeding red. Two friends accompanied me to the ultrasound. There was an fluid-filled sac. They said it could be too early or a tubal pregnancy or a very early loss. I knew my dates weren’t off. I got my blood drawn. On Thursday, my Rainbow slipped out of my body on the anniversary of when I first saw her big brother’s heartbeat.

It was a Sunday. It was outside of the church, after Mass, when we told Father Kinane that I was pregnant again after losing two babies. He took my head in his hands and surrounded me in prayer. The next day I had an ultrasound that showed a yolk sac and what looked like a very small fetal pole. The following Tuesday, the sac looked empty. A week later, on a Wednesday, I had one last ultrasound (just to be sure) and my RE confirmed our baby was gone. No more yolk sac. No fetal pole. My third pregnancy ended on a Thursday, just a few weeks after her big brother’s 2nd anniversary in heaven.

With each of our babies, we were blessed on a Sunday, devastated on a Wednesday, and heartbroken on a Thursday. It really isn’t that simple though, is it?

<3, Crystal Theresa

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Posted in Calvin Phoenix, Gaelen Evangeline, Rainbow Baby

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I Would Die for That by Kellie Coffey

Posted on September 2, 2011 by Crystal Theresa| 6 Comments
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Every time I watch this video, I am reduced
to big, heavy tears.

Tears of missing Calvin, Rainbow, and Gaelen,
Of wanting them here—alive.
Of wanting Calvin and Rainbow nestled on either side of me and Gaelen still growing safely in my belly.

Tears that question if Louie and I will ever have
living children a living child
or if I can even get pregnant again.

Tears that mourn
my diminishing fertility.

Tears of jealousy
and of self-resentment for feeling this envy.

<3, Crystal Theresa

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Posted in Family, TTC & Infertility

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S is for Stop (and sit with the grief)

Posted on August 10, 2011 by Crystal Theresa| 14 Comments
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Be strong. Don’t cry. You should be happy. He wouldn’t want to see you like this. Don’t let him see you like this. Don’t cry. He’s in a better place. You should be happy. You’re lucky. Just try again. Be strong. Keep busy. Just have another one. Don’t think about it. Move on. Let go. Move on. Life goes on. Don’t cry. Be strong. I’m hurt. I’m hurting, too. Don’t make people sad. You’re making people sad. You should be better. You should be healing. Let him go. Don’t dwell. Don’t cry. Move on. Be strong.

The weight of those words, those demands on my grief and mourning, were enough to shatter me. I have no doubt I would have found myself in need of long-term, intensive psychological care if it weren’t for these words: Sit with your grief; honor your feelings.

Sit with your grief; honor your feelings.

These seven words were my refuge. I built a new home with them. I stacked my walls with everyone grieves differently and curtained my windows with there is no timeline. This is where I began to find solace, in my shelter that was fortified with words against words. I built my home out of words that gave me permission to cry and to be angry and to hurl those damn eggshells hard against the ground.

S is for stop and sit with the grief - unpacking grief

I made my bed of missing and wishing and prayers and reliving the morning I gave birth to my son and held him and saw him in his father’s arms. I made that bed. And I lay in it. And that’s how I regained life. I fed off the words of other grieving mothers. I drank of the tears that spilled freely despite don’t cry don’t cry don’t banging on my door and move on move on urging through my windows.

I sat with my grief. I was still. Not in the physical sense, because the sobs did wreck me. I was still with my grief. I was still in letting it rise like fog or fall like rain—whatever it needed to do. I breathed it in, honored it like it was my child—It’s what I had left. I breathed it out. I exhaled my mourning into words and art and prayer and intention. This is what brings me comfort. This is what saves me.

What does sitting with grief mean to you?

What does it look like? What does it feel like? How often, if at all, do you find yourself doing this?

And because we all find solace in different places, where do you find yours? What helps you cope? How do you mourn?

This post is a part of a series called Unpacking Grief, which I began as part of the Blogging from A to Z April Challenge.

<3, Crystal Theresa
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Posted in A to Z Challenge, Calvin Phoenix, Grief, Life, Unpacking Grief

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