XO, Isabel

Hope and Courage: Our Surrogacy Journey

Random Acts of Kindness for Leo

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Today marks the third anniversary since losing our son Leo. A few months after he died, we did one of our first Random Acts of Kindness (RAK or #LeoRAK) in his memory by purchasing a birthday cake for a stranger on what would be his due date. For his first anniversary, we did the same thing — bought a cake for someone and then we added more #LeoRAK ideas to the list. We donated books. We sponsored a Lion. We donated to various organizations in his name. Last year for his second anniversary, we did more of the same.

This year was no different, but we decided on an ideal number of RAK’s to complete — 12. We chose this number as it represents the months between honoring his last anniversary, and 12 because it’s the day of the month that we lost him.

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Our day started off early! We both had doctor appointments with our IVF doctors to have a medical exam as we are preparing for IVF in short order. We made a stop to pick up some sweet treats to leave with the staff at our fertility clinic. This was #LeoRAK number 1 of the day! It was great to leave a note behind to let them know that we were honoring our son, but, that we were also there today to begin our new journey with their help. We were excited to start our day off this way!

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Next, I had a haircut appointment (some kindness for me, too!) and stopped off for lunch. For our RAK number 2, we tipped our server more than our lunch amount. That was really a fun thing to do!

A photo posted by XO, Isabel (@xoisabel) on

Next, we headed off #LeoRAK number 3 which was a local organization that serves as a homeless shelter, but also helps improve the lives of members of our homeless community by providing them the tools to help them move to high levels of self-reliance. Usually organizations like this will have wish lists that they will post that will list items that they are most in need of to continue to help serve their communities. When we dropped off the diapers, the coordinator commented that this was the biggest box of diapers that she has seen. And that the fact of the matter is, if they run out of diapers, then they run out of diapers. That child may have to deal with not having enough diapers to keep him (and everyone around him) comfortable. We were so glad to be able to help provide a supply that will help, even for a short while. My husband also included lots of socks, which I thought was a brilliant idea. With the Fall and Winter seasons quickly approaching, simple things like this are taken for granted.

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After we finished with this drop-off, we headed over to a local animal shelter in hopes of pre-paying some adoption fees for a cat (or FOUR!) When we got there to ask, they were delighted to help us. They told us to go to the building where the cats are waiting to be adopted and spend some time with the cats and choose to sponsor individual cats that just clicked for us. We were all about that! We took a look and found a couple right away that we wanted to sponsor. We had the intention of sponsoring one, but walked away sponsoring two adult cats and two kittens! So that took care of #LeoRAKs number 4, 5, and 6! The kittens were siblings and their foster parents were really hoping that they would be adopted together, and that’s what we were really hoping as well. We sponsored another cat that was about a year old because she reminded us of both of our cats combined! The final cat that we sponsored was a 15-year old cat. My heart broke for her that after her long life she was spending time in a shelter. Our hope is that she finds a nice and comfortable home with someone that understands that at her age, sleep is what’s on the agenda. Lots of sleep and cuddles.

When we were pregnant with Leo, the only cat we had at the time was Immie. We adopted Zappa about a year later. We had always wondered what Immie would have been like when Leo came home. She seemed awfully snuggly with him when he was in my belly. From the moment I got pregnant, she began to never leave my side, including sleeping right next to my growing belly. It was the sweetest thing. I remember how much comfort she gave us after Leo died. There were days when I was barely able to get out of bed and stop the tears from falling. Those were the days where she would cuddle extra close and smell the tears on my cheeks and then head butt me.

Finally, I’ll never forget how she reacted when we brought Leo’s ashes home in his tiny heart-shaped urn. She just smelled it. And then I put it down and she laid her head right on top of his urn and cuddled with it. That’s the kind of love we wanted to share with others. Our hope is that they would be able to treat their cat to extra special treats with the money the saved and also to express to them that we were so thankful that they chose adoption.

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Running around all morning and all afternoon made us have a case of the yawns! So, we decided we needed a Starbucks run. Since we were there, we decided to do a quick act of kindness to bring us to #LeoRAK number 7 and paid for the order for the truck behind us. The barista that helped us was all smiles as he was excited to help us complete this act of kindness.

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Now that we were all fueled up we continued forward to RAK number 8. This is our tradition of heading to a local bakery and asking if there were any birthday cakes on order that we could pay for. We struck out at the first bakery we went to, so we made a call to another bakery and found that someone had a birthday cake for Burt on order. Happy birthday Burt! We hope you enjoy your cake.

We were now off to do #LeoRAK number 9. We headed to our local Toys ‘R Us and were going to attempt to deliver an act of kindness face-to-face! We were really nervous as we weren’t sure how receptive a complete stranger would feel about us two coming up to them and their child or children offering up a gift and a note card. As we were entering in, there was a mother and daughter ahead of us. I tugged on my husband’s arm and I whispered “let’s pick them.” We rushed inside to try and buy the gift card faster than they could find whatever it was they were going to purchase so that we could give them this gift and allow her little girl to do a little extra shopping! We managed to get in rather quickly as one of the workers decided to open a new register to help speed the lines up. This man’s act of kindness to us was our saving grace! After we purchased the card we were excitedly looking for this mother and daughter duo. And just like that, they appeared from around the corner. The little girl had a toy in her hand and I finally got up the nerve to tell her that we were performing random acts of kindness today and that we wanted to give her a gift card to buy herself or someone else a little something extra. I then gave them the little card that we wrote up to give along with the gift that tells the recipient that we are doing these acts of kindness in memory of our baby son Leo. This mother’s reaction was instant. Warm and comforting and immediately embraced me. She hugged me so genuinely, we all began to tear up. We wanted to leave before we really started crying! As we walked away, her little girl yelled after us … “God bless!” It was so memorable.

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After the success of this one, we decided to head over to the grocery store next door and try the in-person RAK again. So for #LeoRAK number 10, we purchased a gift card and felt a little shy once again, but, we built up the courage and walked up to a man that was just about to pay for his groceries. We offered him the gift card to help pay for his groceries, and instantly I could see his gratitude in his eyes. We were thankful to witness this.

A photo posted by XO, Isabel (@xoisabel) on

After a quick stop home to cuddle with our kittens, we headed off to dinner to fuel up some more to complete our final two acts of kindness.

For #LeoRAK number 11, we went to one of my favorite stores, Barnes & Noble. One of  the visions that we had in our minds as we imagined a life with Leo was being able to read him lots and lots of books. So even though it was after 9 PM already, we went into B&N and picked up a gift card. We asked the cashier to give it to someone after us along with the note card we had written out.

A photo posted by XO, Isabel (@xoisabel) on


#LeoRAK number 12 was our final act of kindness. We reserved that for for ourselves. After spending an entire day honoring our son with acts of kindness for others, we spent that time reflecting on the qualities that we each love about each other. About why we chose to honor our son in this way. We spent an entire day speaking kind words and sitting deep with the love we have for our son. We acknowledge that his absence has caused us the deepest pain we’ve ever known, but also know that the depth of that grief is due to the depth of our love for him. And we honor him by being the best parents that we can be to him. So, we spent the day being kind to ourselves, for in showing kindness to others we are rewarding ourselves at the highest level. Sometimes being kind to ourselves, especially when we may have moments that are steeped in pain, becomes a tall order. But we must do this.

Thank you for joining us as we shared this special day of kindness in honor of our dearest son. We appreciate all of you that joined us with your own random acts of kindness, whether it was in honor of Leo, or in honor of someone else that you love. We will always make an effort to choose kindness, for its rewards are far greater than any amount that we give. And if you are ever in an position to choose, always choose kindness.

We love you, Leo. And although you are not physically here, you will always be with us. We are your parents and that has been your greatest act of kindness to us. Thank you, Leo.

The first anniversary – May 9th

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And so it begins. The start of all the annual anniversaries of the best of times and then the worst of times.

One year ago today, I found myself feeling a little under the weather (just like today). I was tired and *it* was late. I sauntered into the corner Walgreen’s. I took my sweet time as I neared the pregnancy test aisle. I spotted a co-worker and I quickly made a detour to the snack aisle. Once I knew he was gone, I headed back and picked up a 2-pack of First Response pregnancy tests. You know, the Early Results one. I, like so many times before, believed that by merely peeing on this stick, it would bring on the abnormally-delayed Aunt Flo.

I was back in the office, ventured into the bathroom and took out a test and aced it. Say what!? Two lines. And right away, too. And really quite obviously pregnant. I began to shake. I began to cry. I began to freak out! I wrote my husband to tell him and I’m pretty sure I sent a text of the test. I sent a text to my best friends. There it was, in my hand. In my womb. I was pregnant. Holy ish! I had never really gotten pregnant on my own before.

From that day forward, I had one mission – to get my health in order and get this baby here safely. My hope was that a year from May 9th, I’d have an infant in my arms. I would whisper to my baby that today I found out that he was going to exist. The miracle that he was. I’d be excited to finally find myself honored on Mother’s Day, instead of left out like the so many years before.

But, that isn’t how today is going to go down. Instead, I sit here, probably one of the only people in the world that knows what today is for me.

May 9, 2013 was still a hope-filled day. I’ll still remember it for the rest of my existence. It was the day that my son was born into my heart. He’ll always remain there.

I’ll love you forever,
I’ll like you for always,
As long as I’m living
my baby you’ll be.

A Long December

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Source: http://www.pinterest.com/mynameisnotandy/

I’ve been rather quiet. I never quite knew how difficult the month of December would be. Leo’s official due date is January 11, 2014. So by now, I’d be about 40 weeks pregnant.

I always knew that he would be born earlier, as with my complicated pregnancy, they planned to induce no later than 38 weeks. Plus, I was only half-joking with my doctor that I wanted a tax-break baby. Ha!

So, the month of December was almost as equally painful as the month of August when I first lost Leo. It was different as I found myself (and currently find myself) steeped in this wide range of emotions and with the great addition of Grief Anger.

It was difficult because it was the month where it felt like I was all alone with my thoughts and the ideas of the plans that were supposed to be. I had gotten through the month of October (or Oughtober, the month of ought-to-be’s) and November only hosted one holiday that I needed to get through. I did. It may have been with the help of several glasses of red wine. And all while trying to maintain composure in front of a lot of people.

December – by then, I felt more isolated and in pain. Feeling that I should be nesting or in the hospital getting ready to deliver. The deliveries and emails increased. Similac being the greatest and most forceful of the advertisers. I didn’t want to be around anyone for the holidays and New Year’s didn’t feel like the resetting of the clock. January 11, 2014 would be the reset instead.

The month of December was filled with a constant fight with the knot in my throat and the tears that I couldn’t stop. No matter where I was, I could be flooded with emotion at any given moment. Mostly in public spaces, like the train or sitting at my desk in the office.

So, I’m starting to come out of this fog, especially since Leo’s due date is tomorrow. Although this date wouldn’t have been the day he’d have been born, it was still a date that we tracked against. Until now, it still just feels like I’m waiting to exhale.

XO, Isabel

My first funeral

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I was thinking about my first funeral the other day. My initial thoughts were that for most people, their first funeral was more than likely a grandparent or an elder relative. A small survey amongst my friends confirmed for me that this mostly holds true. I also found that for most, their first funeral was at around the age of eight or nine.

I am the exception. My first funeral was not a grandparent or an elder relative. I lost two of my grandparents before I was born, and my third after only meeting him once and at the age of five. I was thankful to have my Abuelita (grandmother in Spanish) until 2008. I have been to many, many funerals in my life. Most were lives cut tragically short. My first funeral is no exception. I will describe what this was like, but not before warning you. You should not continue reading if death is disturbing to you, especially if it involves a baby.

You’ve been warned.

I was about eight years old when I went to my first funeral. So far, we’re in the realm of averages for funeral attendance. Here’s where it all ends: My first funeral was for a young woman and her stillborn baby. I can’t even remember this young woman’s name. I cannot recall if her baby girl was given a name, either. I cannot even remember her husband’s name. But, I can remember the name of their daughter that was left to live with the aftermath of losing her mother at the age of four. I remember her little face filled with sorrow and confusion. Her bob haircut and bangs there were cut bluntly across her forehead, just like mine were.

Her mother was in her mid to late 20’s. I’m pretty sure she was around 24 – 26 years of age. She was a Jehovah’s Witness, as I was when I was a kid. She belonged to our congregation and was full-term when she went into labor with her second daughter. Her baby died. All that I know is that she had severe bleeding, beyond that I am unsure as to what exactly happened. However, since she was a Jehovah’s Witness she would have signed a legal medical directive to refuse all blood transfusions. A blood transfusion or blood substitute could have saved her life, but since I am not privy to the details, I can’t say for certain. It was her deeply held belief and it more than likely was a contributing cause to her death. I could write a lot more about what I think about this, out of respect for her choice and her life and others I know, I will not.

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So, there is the context in which I attended my first funeral at the age of eight. It was an open casket funeral with a lot of mourners. The woman had beautiful dark hair, much like the baby in her arms and the daughter she left behind. I remember she was wearing a pretty dress and her baby, with its blue and dry little lips, was cradled in her arms. Forever.

This image has stuck with me all these years. Those images. It’s sort of hard to erase them from your mind. It was traumatic. Even now, I can’t shake that sense of sadness for that little girl left behind. The longing in her eyes for her mother to come back to her. I have no idea what ever happened to that little girl. Her father remarried rather quickly and had more children, too. The hair color of the family always stuck with me because that little girl’s new stepmom had blonde hair. And her new little half-siblings had very light hair. It was a reinforcement that she was the only thing left behind from her mother’s union to her father.

This funeral introduced me to the fact that babies died sometimes. That mothers could die, too.

Later, I would discover that my great-grandmother also died during childbirth and left behind several children, including a very small child that had Down Syndrome and was completely dependent on his mother. They say he died of a broken heart after her passing. Or maybe it’s just that no one knew how to meet his needs and care for him in the 1920’s in Mexico.

Over the years, I’d attend many more funerals. Accidents. A shooting. Cancer. Accidental overdose. Heart attacks. And many more accidents. But even now as an adult, I don’t think I could ever be prepared for a mother and child together in death. It is a sorrow of the deepest kind. More than I can even imagine. For something that was meant to bring so much joy, it was marked with incredible grief and trauma.

I guess the only advice I can give, thanks to one of my friends that is a Funeral Director, is to talk to your children about death when appropriate. If there is a death in the family or someone in your community, talk to your child about death and the funeral process and rituals. Give your child a choice as to whether or not they would like to attend. Respect his or her wishes. And then talk some more. Keep the line open to speak about death and relieve any fears he or she might have. Death is a part of life. It’s a cycle and we will all face it in one way or another. Having a healthy perspective on this part of life will only help your child in the long run.

XO, Isabel

Happy baby shower day

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no-baby-shower

Well, it was supposed to be. Today. My baby shower. The first. Or what was supposed to be. October 26, 2013. 2 PM. A lot of you were on the invitation list. Lots of you. Some very near. Some very far. A lot of you wanted to be there to witness this joy. To cheer me on. To shower me and our baby with love. A lot of you wanted this for me, more than anything else. In some case, more than anyone else. None of you wanted this more than I did. None of you feel as deeply as I do today, my No-Baby Shower day.

My sister had already put a deposit in with the venue, because, you see, so many of you wanted to be there. And I wanted so many of you to be there that we didn’t have enough room at her house. So, we picked a little venue that would give us all plenty of room to enjoy this day. We had picked a theme, even. It was going to feature books. Lots and lots of books! We were going to start Leo’s love for reading from the get-go. Actually, from within the womb. I was starting to read to him and sing to him. I’d feel him kick. But, yes, I was going to start his library. And I was going to read to that little boy. Read and read and read until he could yell at me to “stop reading so much, mom!”

But, my sister had to ask for her deposit back. The party was canceled. “My sister’s baby died”, she told the kind woman on the other end of the telephone. And with her deepest apologies, the woman returned to my sister her very hopeful deposit. We canceled all the plans. I deleted the list I had made of all invitees. I deleted the too-hopeful baby registry entry that I had yet to even publish. I deleted all the books from my Amazon Wish List and from my Amazon shopping cart. I deleted the Pinterest board of all the ideas I had collected for Leo, including all the baby boy outfits and baby nursery ideas.

I still sit in the very office that was going to be his nursery. We were going to share a space. This very room was going to be Leo’s nursery and my office. I was going to have one tiny little corner of the room with a small desk and my computer. The rest was going to be Leo’s space until he was old enough to do damage to my workspace. I was going to pick colors that would please us both. It was going to be our sacred space. Now, it still sits the way it was when I moved in, there are still boxes that need unpacking. There is still my old black desk with a magazine clipping that says “poetry is dead” decoupaged, by accident, on the top. I still have his folder of ultrasound images and my medical records and hospital discharge instructions to my left. The walls are still painted blue, as the previous resident had left them. We moved in knowing we were pregnant. But we didn’t know whether it was a boy or a girl yet, so we left the walls blue, you know, just-in-case. And then it was a boy, so I thought, maybe I liked the walls blue. And so I left them. And now these very blue walls close in on me at times with the little spirit of a boy that was never in my arms. That only sprinkled into my life for a short moment, yet will drown me in memories forever.

Making peace with the answers

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We were waiting on one final piece to close out testing for Leo, and that’s the pathology on the placenta.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much they could tell us, as when there is a fetal demise (your baby has died), nature begins to take course. That means that my placenta had already begun to disintegrate and there wasn’t much they could do with it. They didn’t note anything significant in the pathology and therefore it means we won’t know with 100% certainty what caused Leo’s death. We knew that all along, and in most cases, you don’t always have 100% certainty to explain a miscarriage. There are other things that we suspect happened, for now, they’re all just theoretical.

I’m okay with that. I’m at peace with that.

I had been preparing myself for a while as to what my response would be, given the many outcomes that the test results would provide. They ranged from relief, anger, guilt and back to relief.

I feel relieved. For whatever reason, I feel that Leo is at rest. He was loved for every moment of his life. He never knew anything more than the comfort of that.

I feel relief because, although we only know a small part of the puzzle, it was enough to know that things turned out for the best. I feel some sense of guilt even saying that, but I feel that way in my heart. He had a rough little start, the odds were never in his favor. Part of that is my fault, and most of it is not. I say that it’s my fault, only because I know I could have been in better health at the time of conception. I have to stop playing the game of What-If’s and that’s what I plan to do. I’ve stopped blaming myself for feeling like I failed him and failed myself. I did my best. I did more than my best. I forgive myself for feeling like I was partly to blame. I forgive myself.

I know better now and my life, instead of being filled with despair, is filled with hope. This is what I’m choosing to do and it brings me great happiness to choose hope over despair. My having Leo and losing Leo has left an imprint on my heart and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Leo lived. Leo died. Leo is my baby and as long as I’m living, my baby he’ll be.

XO, Isabel

Little Lion, it’s been one month

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Leo, it’s been one month since you left my body, the only home you ever knew. I don’t have the words to tell you what the past month has been like or what the past several months have been like, since I found out I was pregnant with you in early May. You are one of the best things that has happened to me and losing you, one of the worst. For however brief a moment in time, I’m glad I was your mom.

I have a picture story, instead.

This is the positive pregnancy test. I'm amazed the photo is in focus, since my hands were shaking so much.

This is the positive pregnancy test. I’m amazed the photo is in focus, since my hands were shaking so much.

 

The day after finding out I was pregnant, I had to visit the Emergency Room for some tests and to ensure everything was okay. It was scary, but, It was worth it so that we both would be okay.

The day after finding out I was pregnant, I had to visit the Emergency Room for some tests and to ensure everything was okay. It was scary, but, It was worth it so that we both would be okay.

 

My medical team took great care of me. They wanted to take every precaution to ensure I was as healthy as I could be. They wanted to check my beating heart for 24-hours. I would do anything for you.

My medical team took great care of me. They wanted to take every precaution to ensure I was as healthy as I could be. They wanted to check my beating heart for 24-hours. I would do anything for you.


Your dad snuck a video of the first time we saw the flicker of your beating heart.

And then we got to watch you grow! Here, we called you a little alien, because you looked like one.

And then we got to watch you grow! Here, we called you a little alien, because you looked like one.

 

And here you grew even more! Now we could see your bones and we started calling you, lovingly, Skeletor. You even waved hello!

And here you grew even more! Now we could see your bones and we started calling you, lovingly, Skeletor. You even waved hello!

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And then my belly began to grow! I even felt your flutters, like butterfly kisses from within.

xo-isabel_blog--7 xo-isabel_blog--6 xo-isabel_blog--8And then, because your mama is not very patient, we went in to go get an elective ultrasound to find out if you were a boy or girl … and you showed us, oh boy! We just didn’t know that it would be the last time we’d see you alive and moving. We just didn’t know, baby boy. Or we would have looked at you longer. We were so excited to be having a son. A girl would have been just as great, and a first on your dad’s side, but I couldn’t be happier to be having a little son. I was finally allowing myself to dream a little. We window-shopped for baby boy clothes. And started thinking about baby shower ideas with your Tia.

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This was my last “bump” photo with you. It was my birthday. I was 18 weeks pregnant. I was happy to see my belly grow. Little did I know you were already gone. At dinner that night, the waitress brought me a creme brûlée dessert with a lit candle. I made a wish that you would be safe and healthy. That we would get through this and that I would do anything for you. Sadly, Leo, my wish didn’t come true. I worked so hard to keep you, Leo. I did, I promise.

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And then, on that dreadful Monday, we saw your body lying still. We heard no heartbeat, but only the movement from happiness to sorrow at the knowing of having lost you. Maybe one day we’ll have more children, but I’ll always miss you, Leo. I’ll miss the little future that I had hoped for you, for us. And you see, that’s what I mourn. I don’t mourn that I won’t be able to have children, because I know I have options. I mourn losing YOU. You are my son and you died. I can’t change that, I can’t turn back time and bring you back. But, I can tell you how much you meant to us. To me. You were wanted. You are loved. You are missed, and your spark will live with me forever. You will always be my Little Lion.

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I love you.

XO,  Mom

Guest post: My Friend, Isabel

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A few years ago, I met my friend Stephanie. We became fast friends and I am thankful to have her friendship and love. When Leo died and I began to write about this experience, I had asked her if she would consider writing a post for my blog. She is a writer, so it seemed like a natural idea. She had already started writing it.

She sent it to me about a week after Leo died, but it hadn’t felt like the right time to post it. I thought today would be the perfect day, since it has been one month since my son left my body. I’ve decided that today will be the anniversary of his “birth” and also the anniversary of his death. August 14, 2013. The day we found out he died, August 12, 2013 now belongs to someone else. Adopting August 14th feels better.

I wanted to share her perspective as my friend, one of many that has been by my side every single day and has had to experience her own emotions during this time.

XO,  Isabel

Isabel & Stephanie

Isabel & Stephanie

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My Friend, Isabel

I’m sitting with my son and we are watching the original Dumbo. In the opening scene, animals at the zoo receive gifts from storks in the night. My son says “Moon.” When he sees the storks, he says, “Bird-teet, teet.”  As all the animals receive their babies, he says “Baby…Mama.” Then the elephant looks into the sky for her baby. It never arrives. My son says “Where’d it go?”

I burst into tears.

A week ago today, my best friend lost her baby boy. She was just shy of five months pregnant. His name was Leo, and he existed. He was loved.

“Straight from heaven, up above, here is a baby boy for you to love,” says the stork. I can barely keep it together. My son is squealing and I try to smile but I cry because he will never know Leo, and my friend and I had just started to make plans for these boys. We hadn’t done that for 16 weeks. We were cautious. We thought she was past the point of miscarriage. We were wrong.

Isabel and I met in 2008 at work. I had been a temp there for a few months when she was hired. We were put into the same orientation class together and coincidentally sat next to each other. Within the first few words, I was drawn to her on a spiritual level. I don’t know why, but there was energy there.

During our lunch break, Isabel left and I went back to my desk. Everyone wanted to know about the “new girl.”  I happily announced to my co-workers “Her name is Isabel and I love her. We are going to be best friends. You’ll all love her too.”

And there it was.

Isabel joined our team and we became fast friends and everyone loved her. For the next three years, we shared lunch and lots of talks. Our life stories, secrets, love for Coldplay, new realizations, religious beliefs and disbeliefs. I went to her wedding; she came to my family BBQ and my house for New Years Eve.  We had so much in common, including infertility.

Her struggle is a deep, long battle between her body and science. She suffered miscarriages and had undergone several rounds of various treatments before meeting me, all were unsuccessful. I myself had struggled with secondary infertility after having one child and trying for ten years for another. When I met Isabel, I was at the end of my hope.

We both have family members who seemed to get pregnant with apparent ease and with each pregnancy, we would console one another. Not because we weren’t happy for our family member, but because the sting of not being pregnant, the thought of attending another baby shower, the pain of watching others’ create families and grow children—that pain that we may never, ever feel that, is too hard to describe. Infertility is a constant reminder that our bodies didn’t work.

My struggle was emotionally tough, but not nearly as tough as hers. I always felt guilty because hey, “at least I had one,” but that wasn’t enough for me. I never really had anyone talk about or addresses secondary infertility. But Isabel did. One particular dark day for me, I explained my guiltiness to her. She said I had nothing to feel guilty about and that she totally understood the frustration that comes from “wanting our bodies to do the one natural thing they were made to do.” We felt broken. Even though I had a daughter, there was void and Isabel helped me realize that it was ok to be sad.

In 2011, I got pregnant. I couldn’t believe it. I drove to her house and told her face-to-face. She deserved that. And she was happy for me. I know she was. I was sad, guilt-ridden, happy and vulnerable. I love my friend and as much as I wanted this pregnancy – I wanted it for her first. Early on, we had difficult conversations about my feelings that our friendship would change. The fact that we discussed these thoughts together created a boundary that helped us get through the following nine months, and maintain a close friendship to this day.

I had my baby, and she was there for me. She took his photos as a newborn and again at six months. We talked candidly about my guilt. She reassured me, but didn’t minimize her sadness. This is one of the things I love about my friend. She will not minimize her suffering. It is real. She will simply converse and explain that today isn’t a good day, etc. and I completely, totally respect that.

A few months ago, she texted me a photo. It took a while to download on my phone and I remember being frustrated with my phone … and then there it was. A positive pregnancy stick. I lost my shit. She was pregnant!!  BUT, I knew better than to celebrate my friend, for her track record isn’t the most positive. So I called her and tried to hide my excitement. I couldn’t.  As soon as I heard her voice, almost immediately, I felt something different. The past year, she had done SO much work to get healthier, be more active, and evolve mentally and emotionally. In my heart, I felt that this was it—this was her time. She was more cautious than I, but I know part of her felt the same.

For the next few weeks, our conversations were timid. At times, our words walked on eggshells. With each week that passed, we just wanted to get to week EIGHT – Then TWLEVE—then THIRTEEN—and then FIFTEEN. Yes, we were encouraged that the rates of miscarriage significantly decrease after these monumental weeks. I cried happy tears when she heard the heartbeat. I saved the ultrasound picture. I bragged to mutual acquaintances. I cried when I saw her announcement on Facebook. Then, she found out the gender, a boy. And the tears poured again. My friend would be a mother!  Our boys would be buddies.

“So how’d you guys meet?”
–“Our moms are best friends, we grew up knowing each other our whole lives.”

Isabel is family to me. My family loves her. And her husband is my husband’s buddy. And our boys would be lifetime friends. Cautiously, we let ourselves dream a little. I was SO HAPPY for my friend and her hubby, at times I couldn’t resist the urge to text her my dreams….she was 16 weeks—way past 13, things were moving along just right.

One night last week, she posted a photo of her belly. She doesn’t do that often and I took it to my husband. He said “WOW, she’s showing! I’m so happy for them.” And we were. But the next day, I received the news. Leo had gone still. Sometime in the past few days, his little heart stopped beating.

When I found out, I was in my car.  I burst into inconsolable tears, and sat on the side of the road for a few minutes.

What do I say?  What do I do? Why her? I cursed God. I wanted to hug my friend. I wanted to hack into her Facebook account and just delete it. Her most recent photo was of her growing baby and the one before, the gender announcement.  I wanted to drive to her home….I wanted to make this go away for her.

NOT HER. NO.

I wanted to protect her. I wanted to comfort her. All of these things came to mind within 30 seconds. But I could do nothing.

I eventually got back on the road and I ugly cried all the way home and for the next three days, I cried.

What do you do when your someone you adore experiences this type of loss? What do you say?

I Googled what to say and found a great list of things to avoid:

http://moms.popsugar.com/10-Things-Say-Say-After-Miscarriage-27333906

It helped.

So I simply said “I don’t know what to say. But I love you.”

For the next three days, my friend had to carry her deceased baby in her tummy. My spirit was with her. I was consistently trying to put myself in her shoes. I would have shared the burden if I could. But I couldn’t do much. It gave me comfort knowing that her husband was by her side, but my heart broke for him as well. He’s such a softy.

For three days, I just checked in with her. I never once asked ”How are you doing?” Not in the beginning and not during that first week because if you even try to imagine her loss – you would know, she was NOT ok.

As much as I wasn’t prepared for her loss, I was oblivious to the horrific details of what a mother goes through in those 72 hours. Induction or D&E? Cremation or discard as medical waste? Instead of picking out a going-home outfit, my sweet friend and her husband picked out a crimson heart urn.

I tried to stay strong, but I couldn’t. When your close friend is in so much pain, and there is nothing you can do, you feel so helpless.

“What can I do?” I asked her. I know it’s on the no-no list of things to ask. But we live pretty far apart and she didn’t want me to come see her yet. She said just knowing I was here was enough. But it’s not to me.

I spent countless time reading people’s condolences on her Facebook account. Most were genuine and thoughtful, but some, “it’s God’s will” – “God is preparing you for something great” — these messages drove me INSANE.

I have advice for people who don’t know what to say—JUST FUCKING SAY THAT— “Isabel & Randy, I don’t know what to say. But I am thinking of you. I care.” THAT is enough. When you take the GOD’S WILL route, you exasperate the unanswered WHYs—questions that will never, ever be answered and it’s not enough to say it was up to GOD. Because if GOD knew my friend the way I do, she would be a mom to her own child. So, don’t.even.go.there.

A week has passed since my friend suffered this unimaginable loss and trauma to her body that no one talks about. Unsurprisingly, she has already started a blog and joined a group to bring awareness to miscarriages, stillbirth, loss, and grieving parents. This process of losing a child in utero is one that no one talks about enough. Women aren’t encouraged to grieve. They don’t know their choices in the hospital. They don’t know the questions to ask. This is going to change. Isabel will help change that, the world, you watch. Isabel is going to be heard. Leo was a lion, and even if he isn’t coming back, you’re going to hear him roar through his mama and I’m going to be there for her forever.

I still cry for my friend. I do pray. But most importantly, I am just letting her know that I am here. I am available. I check in with her daily. I will listen when she wants to talk. I don’t have advice per se, but I will do my best to honor my friend through this process and into the future. And through our most intimate conversations, I do not judge her decisions or feelings, I will not ask her how she’s doing, and I will never tell her what to do. I will never know what she’s gone through and I won’t pretend to. I am a friend, and my friend is in pain. I just need her to know that I don’t know what to say. But I am here and I always will be.  That’s what friends do.

XO,  Stephanie

———–
About Stephanie:

Stephanie Garcia is a Comedienne best known for her quick wit, sarcastic sense of humor, and impersonations of “Drunk Girls.” From a young age, she was fascinated with sketch comedy. At the age of five, she would impersonate any SNL character and entertained friends and family for hours. Steph moved around often, attended several elementary schools and three different high schools and learned quickly how to make friends – by making people laugh. In high school, Steph wrote parodies about current friends, bad habits, teachers, and embarrassing situations. Eventually she turned these parodies into live entertainment by acting out the stories behind the songs. People started telling Stephanie that she should do comedy. So, with the encouragement of close friends and family, in 2004, she entered an open‐mic contest and placed second. Now, in her 9th year of performing on stage, Stephanie draws upon experiences from her drunken nights as a single gal to getting married to a U.S. Marine, to becoming a Mother. Professionally, Stephanie is a copywriter and is working on her first book.  She regularly appears on Good Day Sacramento and was a finalist for America’s Funniest Housewife contest on The View last year.

Why I don’t like the DMV

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It was August 8, 2013. It was two days before my birthday and before my drivers license would expire. Yes, I procrastinated. But, I felt proud that I was going to at least get it done BEFORE it actually expired. Yay me!

I didn’t have an appointment and the line was out the door. Once I got a peek inside, I realized the line wasn’t so bad. I had gotten up earlier that day and actually used a blowdryer on my hair. I put on extra makeup, including eyeliner. I never do. I was so excited to actually take a new picture for my license because I was pregnant. I was excited to be able to show Leo my license one day and say “you were in the picture, too!” My current picture was taken just after our honeymoon and I had a nice smile and glowing, tanned skin. Both memories I was looking forward to sharing with our kid.

Back to the line. I eventually made it to the point where you’d be assigned a number. G93, I think it was. The wait wasn’t very long. I had all my paperwork ready. I was sitting down and fiddling with my phone. I was observing everyone and posted to Facebook asking if there was a site like the People of Walmart, but for the DMV. A few moments later my phone was ringing. It was a number I somewhat recognized and figured it would be important to answer. It was our Genetic Counselor. He called with some new and some “scary numbers”, as he called them. My number was called right at this very moment. I tried to see if I could put him on hold while I dealt with the clerk. I was a little bit distraught. I told the Genetic Counselor to please call me back in 10 minutes.

I completed the initial part of my paperwork and was supposed to go back and sit down and wait to be called to have my picture taken. Tears were already filling my eyes. How could I take a picture now? Instead, I left and sat in my car to wait out those minutes. He called back in 17 minutes. I remember, because I looked.  About 9 minutes of crying and anxiety. He called to tell me that our second trimester screening had come back as positive for Down Syndrome. And the rest of the story has already been told.

I’m sitting in the car, I didn’t know if I should go back in and handle the rest of the DMV transaction. I mean, how could I? I now had tear stains on my cheeks and the whatever was left of my mascara and eyeliner was hanging on by a thread. I called my husband instead. I asked him to come home and then I began sobbing. That we had received bad news. He tried his best to comfort me, and I tried my best to convince him that it was all going to be okay.  It wasn’t.

And, my license is now expired. I have to go and get that taken care of. And it’s taking every bit of my strength to make myself go. Every day I delay it. I understand why, now.

I don’t want a license photo that is just of me. It was supposed to be the both of us.

XO, Isabel

Why do we wait?

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During the past week or so, I’ve stepped into myself. You see, I’m an introvert and I spend a lot of time in my head, with my thoughts. They quickly oscilate and would be hard to keep up with. Usually, I have an easy time of remembering things. Keeping calendars in my head. Remembering faces and names. During my pregnancy, it was the first time I had truly experienced what everyone dubs as “pregnancy brain.” I didn’t like it one bit, I’ll admit. Anyway, the point of this is because there is one thought that has been bothering me. And rather than keep it in my head or write it down to discuss another time, I decided to just stop what I’m doing and write about it now.

It’s about announcing pregnancy. So many times you hear someone give a newly pregnant woman the advice of “wait.” The advice is simply that you shouldn’t share the news of a new pregnancy until your second trimester. And most of us oblige. And I ask – “Why?”

Why do we wait to share such exciting news? Nowadays, we live in a world of Social Media where we live with Facebook and Twitter and INSTAgram. We want to share everything NOW. What we’re watching, how we’re feeling, what we’re eating and the color of our new nail polish. But, to share that you’re pregnant when you first find out is somehow taboo.

Why?

I understand, truly I do. As a woman that has now experienced five (5) pregnancy losses, all in different stages of pregnancy, I subscribed to this rule, mostly. But, the more miscarriages I had, the less and less I believed that this rule was actually any help at all. One could explain away the reasons for waiting to share news, and that would simply be so that we don’t have to explain to others that our pregnancy has ended, should we be met with being included in the most unfortunate of statistics; miscarriage.

But, why are we afraid to share? Why are we afraid to let people know of our loss? Do we feel shame? Do we feel embarrassment? “Oh no! I lost the baby, now everyone will think I was so stupid for sharing my news so soon, I JYNXED it!”

Bollocks!

I began to believe that I should share the news as early as I feel comfortable and with those I felt comfortable with. As much as I wanted to contain my news from others, I felt the need to share. And, yes, we did wait until our second trimester to share the news publicly via Social Media and the like. That didn’t make me any safer.

What it did prove to me is the immense support system that I have all around me. I didn’t need to apologize for my sadness and grief. I didn’t need to feel shame or embarrassment. I got to be the face of miscarriage and infertility to my family & friends. The same people that experienced joy at our happy news of expecting could also be an integral part of our healing as we announced the loss of our son. The same people that would be happy for us can also grieve with us.

And I think…what if I go through this again? What if I get pregnant again? Now waiting 13 weeks isn’t safe anymore. But is waiting until 18 weeks? What about 38 weeks? Sadly, a loss like mine and like those of countless others can happen at any time.

I refused to be paralyzed by the stigma that miscarriages should remain unspoken. That early pregnancies shouldn’t be celebrated. I’m not saying that should I ever get pregnant again that I’ll be out & about blasting the news over loudspeakers, but, I certainly won’t hide the fact that I am pregnant out of shame, fear or anxiety. I refuse to sit back and let the fear of the unknown overpower the great joy that being pregnant can be.

So, next time you are tempted to give the advice to someone, especially a daughter, daughter-in-law, sister or best friend, consider why. Revisit those reasons and consider other options. Analyze why you think she should wait to announce. Make sure it’s not because of fear.

You share your news with anyone you wish to share with. Allow those that can feel joy with you to also feel and see you through your fears. The biggest difference between sharing and not sharing is in who can be there to support you. For if you never share what happened, you will live with Unspoken Grief, and well, girl, that just isn’t fair.

XO, Isabel