Nap Time

I absolutely hate to hear her cry. I know she’s exhausted. I’m exhausted. She was asleep in my arms but the moment that sweet head hits the mattress in her crib her eyes fly open and she screams. She wants her Mama. She doesn’t want to sleep alone. How am I to navigate this moment? Should I give in? Should I cry silently outside her door?

She’s crying so hard that I hear her gag. I’ve set my timer. Ten minutes, ten minutes and I will comfort her. Ten minutes and then I’ll see her tear streaked face, lay her back down, rub her little back and then leave again.

The time is up and I race back into her room. She’s sobbing, standing at the end of her crib with her doll in her hand. I can smell that in her anxiety she’s pooped. Should I take her out? Should I change her and start the process again?

I rush to her, wrapping her tiny body in my arms. I kiss her and the screams turn to quiet sobs. I slowly move to lay her back into the crib. Her arms and legs desperately tighten around me. Her head shakes no and her little voice says “uhoh, uhoh” over and over. Her one word to describe a problem, a situation she can’t fix and that requires my help.

How do other parents do this? How do they get their children to sleep on their own? Have I failed somehow, loving her so much that she can’t sooth herself or fall asleep without me?

She tries to sit back up, I lay her down. We do this a few times. She’s mad at me. I rub her back and begin to sing. She calms instantly at the sound of my voice. After a few minutes, she begins to match her whimpers to the sound of my voice and we sing a melancholy duet. Her eyes start to close. Should I leave now or wait?

I stop singing and stand frozen. She rolls over, sits up and looks at me. I close my eyes to show her what she should do. I begin singing again, rubbing her back and swaying with my eyes closed. My legs are tired and my arms are sore from stretching over the crib. “Sleep well my love” I whisper and slowly walk out. I close the door to her nursery behind me and pause, I’m immediately affronted by the sounds of screams. Sighing I set my timer for another 10 minutes and begin the process again.

Writing through Grief

Prompt #8

Current feelings: itchy, tired, pounding head ache

> Write a journal entry “one year from today” in which you fast-forward yourself to the future. What does life look like in a year? What are your hopes and fears for this time?

I’ve been thinking a lot about our future lately. I supposed this is a good thing. For the longest time, we couldn’t think about the future. It was impossible because Millie’s health was so unknown. We couldn’t plan vacations, we never knew if we would be home, in Halifax at the IWK or in Toronto at Sick Kids. We often would have to leave at a moments notice. I kept our bags packed. We learned to live with very few things.

I remember one time Derek and I returned home after a long trip to Toronto and we were overwhelmed by all our things. We immediately started filling give away bags because we couldn’t believe that we would ever need all the clothes and items we had.

Then when Millie died, our hearts were broken and we didn’t want to think about a future without her. We lived in the moment and tried to meet our present needs, we tried to feel okay again.

Then I got pregnant with Evelyn. You think at this point we would be able to think about the future but I still struggled. I lived in our past and I couldn’t get over my heart ache. Even when Evie was born, it was hard. I was a new Mom again, learning what it’s like to care for a healthy child that the hospital actually allowed me to take home.

I lived again in the moment. I focused all my attention on Evelyn Joy and her needs. She was everything and I got through the days for her.

This Friday, May 22, my little rainbow child turns one. I can’t believe I have lived a year in this fog, in only the present moment and her needs.

The last few weeks I feel like I’m resurfacing. I’m thinking more. My brain is a little clearer and I’m able to get more done.

Derek and I went for a walk last weekend. We talked about how we are both turning 30 this year. I realized all my life goals, the things I had worked the hardest to achieve, they were planned for my 30th birthday.

I’d wanted to have my Masters Degree, establish myself professionally, buy a house, and get married. The one goal that has been troubling my mind was that I wanted to have all my children before I turned 30, I wanted to be a young mother.

I realize looking back that I had set lofty goals for myself. That I pushed myself hard and that with every accomplishment instead of feeling pride, I felt a short relief and then set my next goal.

I know this sounds insane but I wanted two kids before I turned 30. I’ve had two children but one died. One is gone and it feels like I failed. Like I need to replace her to meet my goal.

But I also look in the mirror and I see my stretch marks. I feel my aging body. I see laugh lines around my eyes and even a few grey hairs. I realize my body did carry two children. That just because Millie died, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t count. I try to be understanding of myself, I tell myself that I did well. That I met my goals and I don’t need to have more children because a Evie and Millie are enough.

But now what? What do I want? What does Derek want? Where are we going in life?

I surprised myself recently. I spent some time looking at online courses a Rhyerson. I want to learn. I don’t know what I would do with more education. I don’t know what career or life I want. But I think wanting something, that’s a start.

So on this walk, Derek and I talked about our next 30 years. We need new goals. I said I want to watch Evie grow up, I want to have grandchildren. I’d like to run a marathon. I want to learn gardening and how to keep a plant alive. I want to write and I want to draw. I want to learn how to sew. I still want to learn how to skateboard! Derek wants to go on a road trip and out trip camp by himself...

That’s it, those are our goals. This is our future. It seems so minimal, so achievable, compared to our first 30 years of life. Reflecting on our conversation I realized all we really want is to be together, to be a family and to grow old happily.

I think we are off to a good start.

Feelings after exercise: Reflective, tired, relieved.

Writing through Grief

Prompt #7

Current feelings: Exhausted, Nauseous, Pain

> Holidays and special occasions can be a painful time when you've lost someone you love. What have you been most worried about diuring these times? What helped you work through it and what didn’t?

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. A bittersweet holiday with low expectations.

Mother’s Day four years ago, I gifted my mother with a pregnancy test. She was going to be a Nana. I was sad I couldn’t celebrate with champagne but so very excited.

Mother’s Day three years ago, we were at the IWK and staying with my parents. We were learning how to care for our very sick child who we were taking home on palliative care.

Mother’s Day two years ago, I was mourning the death of my baby. Her Celebration of life was the day before. On this day, I hid in my parent’s basement and I ached. My heart hurts so much. I pretended I wasn’t a mother and that the last few years never happened.

Mother’s Day last year, I was pregnant. I was scared, I was in pain and I was so very very sad. A sweet little heart baby who I had the biggest hopes for had passed away. I felt his death so much. I was very confused about my pregnancy, I wanted the baby to be Millie, I believed she would be. Moving forward, seeing a future for my small family was inconceivable.

Mother’s Day this year, I crawled out of bed. I felt sick to my stomach. We’re in isolation. I didn’t expect much. My beautiful daughter, Evelyn, very much loves giving kisses and hugs. She’s affectionate and when her little hands grab your face, when she makes eye contact, gives you a kiss and curls in for a hug, it is the most amazing feeling in the world. I spent my morning with her. We painted, we watched cartoons and we ate breakfast. She made every moment feel so special. How blessed am I to be spending the morning with my baby? We watched a live church service together. Her covering me in kisses, hugs and stroking my hair while we sang the hymns.

She was so excited to give me her Mother’s Day gift and to help me open it. I received my beautiful family ring, Evie’s small birth stone appearing as a stitch, a special addition to bring our family back. I also receive fabric sheers to go with my new sewing machine, I’m going to learn a new skill.

I cried. I cried of happiness for the peace in the moment. I can’t remember the last time I felt happiness like this.

We went for a walk on the trail. I talked about nothing, chattering away to my husband for over an hour. Feeling the sunshine on my cheeks.

My day didn’t end there. I watched Modern Family and laughed at every joke while my husband and father cooked. I was served the most amazing dinner! Home made lobster ravioli, steak, Brussel sprouts and ice cream. My favourite foods.

Yesterday, was more then I could have ever expected. Yesterday was a good day. Yesterday was the first of more good days moving into the future because I’m ready now. I’m ready to think about the future, to be thankful and to experience special occasions for the happy and blessed moments they are.

Feelings after exercise: Stressed, better, excited, nervous

Writing Through Grief

Prompt #6

Current feelings: Clear Headed, Anxious, Thankful for Evie and Coffee

What have you learned about yoursself that you did not realize before?

I’m strong.

I never thought of myself as strong. If you asked my family, friends or teachers about me, before Millie, they wouldn’t have described me as strong. They may have said compassionate, sincere, sympathetic or sensitive. All words that show I feel. I feel for everyone and everything and I don’t handle pain well. Never did.

In fact, it’s a running joke in my family that if there is something wrong with me, it’s probably fine but if my brother, who is so insanely tough, complains then he needs to go to the hospital.

But from the moment I found out I was pregnant with “Baby Robertson”, from the time I heard the diagnosis, from the time I was asked if I wanted to continue my pregnancy and instead chose to name our Millie and focus on the future, I became strong.

I moved through truly challenging and disturbing situations without flinching. I made decisions off instinct. I placed my needs so low on my priority list. I hurt, I ached, I cried but I did not ever focus on myself. Everything I did for those two years was for my baby. Millie is and was everything. I had to save her but I also had to ease her suffering. I had to weigh what was best for my child in every moment.

When we made the decision to remove her life support, I told myself to wait. I told myself to be strong and make her final hours safe, warm, and loving. I told myself that when she was gone, I no longer had to be strong. I could feel everything we went through that I had been numbing, ignoring and avoiding processing.

I was wrong though.

Continuing my life without her, that is the strongest thing I’ve done. Some days it takes everything in me to get out of bed. Moving on, how does a mother do that?

Leaving her behind. Slowly losing my memories.

Millie no longer needing me is the hardest thing I’ve had to accept. It’s required strength that most days I don’t believe I have and yet, I’m still here.

So, I repeat it to myself, I am strong.

I am strong.

Feelings After Exercise: hungry, affectionate, can’t wait to go play with Evelyn

Writing through Grief

Prompt #4

Current Feelings: Content, calm, oddly satisfied with the day

“What do you want to say to the people around you right now? Address whoever feels important to address. This can include your family, friends, your child’s care team, anyone that has been on your mind. This is an opportunity for honest reflection - think of it as a letter you are not expected to send. “

To the People Who Love Me,

I’m still broken. Having another child did not “fix me”. Losing Millie after fighting so hard and believing she would be okay. Watching them do chest compressions on my daughter. Begging God, who I don’t know that I even believe in, to save her and being disappointed. I am not me anymore.

It’s spring now, I see daffodils and I think of that night, the night that everything changed. I think about how hopeful I was, pausing to take a picture of the flowers. I think about how relaxed and calm I was while getting into bed. I remember how sure I was that everything was going to be okay. But it wasn’t okay.

I can still hear Derek’s desperate pleas over the phone as my sleepy brain processed his words. I can feel the terror as I jumped out of bed and began to run. I constantly feel the desperation to move faster, to get there, that if I just get there, it wont be real. I often sink to the floor, I sit there in a ball and remember what it felt like to be on my knees on the dirty hospital floor. I hear the sounds of the “code blue” in my nightmares every single night. I see the nurse crouching on the bed doing CPR as the doctor prepares his scalpel to cut open my child’s chest. I see the dreaded ECMO machine and I hear the soft hum as it prepares to once again oxygenates and circulates my baby’s blood.

I can feel the tears stinging my eyes. I can hear my husband saying over and over again “I just left for a second, I wasn’t there. I was getting ice. I’m so sorry”. I can hear the pounding of my heart, accelerated and scared. I am sure this is all a dream and I suppose it is just a dream now, one I have every night.

I hear the murmurs of the doctors, people I have gotten to know intimately over the 16 months of my daughter’s life. I can hear their sadness and their resign. “Do you want us to stop?” The Australian doctor asked me. She is on her hands and knees on the floor, trying to look into my eyes. “Stop?” I ask stupidly. “What would happen if you stop? You can’t stop”.

I can see my father pacing, checking his watch. He’s saying “It’s been too long”. My breathing is too quick. I’m panicking, not truly understanding the situation but scared all the same. I think I’m pregnant. I’m worried that in the terror of the moment I am losing both children. I go to the bathroom to check for blood.

My Mother is at the door. She’s using her stern voice, I think because I haven’t answered any of her other tones. “Caroline, are you okay? You need to come out. Caroline, do you need help? Are you bleeding?”. I’m trying to hide that I may be losing another child from my mother in law. She’s saying over and over again “our baby, our baby”, while Derek is shrugging her off. I don’t understand that because all I want is to sink into my mother’s arms, for her to make everything right again.

The whole time the doors to the ward are open. My family are watching the doctors, the nurses and the respiratory specialists. I’m watching the surgeons. I’m watching them all as they hope and work on my child. I’m terrified and trying not to make a sound. I can’t distract them. I can’t cause them to make a mistake. They will save her.

Finally, after 40 plus minutes, they have her on ECMO, she is “stable”. She’s not really stable though. She has a machine pumping her heart and circulating her blood. The Head of Cardiac Critical Care slowly sits down on the floor with me. He says it’s been a long time. She’s alive but her heart is still broken. He says only time will tell. I can hear the sadness in his voice. I know he was routing for my baby. I know he liked our family. I can hear that he no longer has hope.

We stay with her. But I’m so broken, so hurt from this moment, that I’m not me. I’m unresponsive. We all are. I wont leave the hospital. It’s the middle of the night. I’m so tired I can barely move, my eyes are sore and swollen from crying.

Derek and I pull ourselves away from her to go up one floor. We stumble into the Ronald McDonald Family Room. The volunteer takes one look at us and doesn’t say a word. It’s dark. There are families sleeping everywhere. She makes a small bed for us on the couch. I curl up in my husband’s arms sure that this is all just a bad dream. For a few hours I am safe with him but missing my child.

This is just one terrifying moment of Millie’s life. This is just one of the many frightening times we fought for her. This is just a small part of the horror that haunts my mind.

Sometimes I see glimpses of my old self. Sometimes I get excited and happy while thinking about a project or the future. Usually the things that make me feel the happiest are doing things to help others or make them happy.

I spend my days hiding my sadness and pain. I don’t want you to have to feel it too. Sometimes I’m too tired to pretend and I choose not to respond or to ignore you.

I love Evelyn Joy so much. I’m so thankful to have her. But sometimes she is tiring for me too. Sometimes it’s hard to be the Mom I want to be. I constantly feel like I’m letting someone down. I am always scared of losing someone else I love.

I’m a pleaser. I’ve always been a pleaser. I pretend, I lie and “suck it up”. The days that I can’t, the days that you see my sadness, those are the days that I am the most scared that I will give up.

Everyday I feel the pain of losing her, and to everything else I feel numb.

I am exhausted and I feel like I am losing my fight. I want a future, I want to be me again but I’m not. I can’t accept that I’ve changed and I can’t move forward. I can’t forget the past.

I don’t think you can help me. I will never tell you these things. I don’t want you to worry. I don’t want you to feel responsible for me. I don’t want anyone else to hurt.

I love my family. Family is everything. Millie taught me that and I will never forget. My priorities and perspective have shifted.

I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know who I want to be or what I want to be. All I know is I am MIllie’s Mom. I will always be Millie’s Mom. I will carry her with me everywhere I go.

Sincerely yours,

Caroline

To my beautiful baby with the broken heart,

You were so wanted. You are so loved. We miss you so much my sunshine.

> “the other night dear, while I lay sleeping, I dreamt I held you in my arms. But when I awoke love, I was mistaken, and I hung my head and cried.”

Feeling After Exercise: I want to hold Evelyn. I want to curl up and go to sleep. My mind feels like I’ve emptied some of the pain.

Writing through Grief

Prompt #3

April 16, 2020

Current Feelings: Calm, Antsy (I know those are opposites), Ambitious. I feel like I need to do something productive, learn something new or create something

“Write about a happy event or memory of a time spent with your child. Describe it in full- think about all five senses (sight, hearing, taste, smell, feel) when you reflect upon this time.”

One of my most favourite days I spent with my family was the first and only time we took Millie to the beach.

It was a lazy weekend day and Derek and I were both home with Millie. It was the last weekend of August, the last of summer, and we had just returned from the Hospital for Sick Children in Toronto. We missed out on many days at the beach, my favourite place, that summer, including my birthday vacation at the White Point Beach Resort that I booked while I was pregnant with Millie.

It was beautiful and sunny. Derek was tinkering around in his garage. I woke up and went for a run with the dogs. When I came back I suggested we go to the beach and Derek agreed. I dressed Millie in this adorable pink one piece bathing suite with ruffles on the top and big polka dots. She still had her feeding tube, I remember tucking it into her bathing suit. She was still so small, her head was tiny and her sun hat was so large. I put sunscreen all over her sweet baby curves. I took a million pictures.

The three of us and the two dogs piled into our car. We only made it to Main Street, about 200 metres, when I decided we should stop and buy a picnic lunch. Derek stayed in the car with Millie and I ran into Bread and Olive. There was so many good things there. This was a new take out business that opened while we were away and I remember wanting to try everything. I got two panini sandwiches, some fancy Italian Sodas, a container of olives and some cookies.

By the time I returned to the car, Derek and Millie had gotten out and were pacing the street, talking to people as they walked by. Millie always drew a lot of attention. She was so cute with her curls and big blue eyes. Also, our Town was in love with our beautiful daughter. Everyone knew about Millie. Everyone supported us in their own ways. They took care of our home, they prayed for us, they left gifts for us and they sent so many messages of support. To this day, we never know for sure when people stop to talk to us if we really know them or if they just know our family because of Millie.

I remember pausing that day, watching my family from across the street. Watching Derek rock and kiss Millie. I knew he was annoyed I left them in the car too long. I could tell he had no more to say to the couple that had stopped and were making of Millie. I saw him impatiently check his watch and look longingly for me across the street. I saw his eyes land on me, I saw him smile and I watched the stress he was feeling leave his body.

It was always difficult to be alone with Millie. She was so much work. Every time she cried we were terrified that at the worst there was something seriously wrong and at the best we were concerned her oxygen saturation levels would drop too low with her tears. Feeding her, preparing her medications, giving her blood thinner injections, timing everything we did to her schedule. It was all too much. But, when Derek and I were together, we became this super team. Our emotional responses and abilities complemented each other. We were strong together. We could do it together. We loved our baby that we made together, our perfect child, so much that we would do anything, anything to save her.

We loaded back into the car. Derek said I took too long. I excitedly told him what I got to eat. We drove out the road by the hospital towards Cape Forchu and stopped at John’s Cove Beach. The side that is warmer was packed with kids and families. The last good beach day. We decided to go to the other side of the cape, the colder side, so we could have the beach to ourselves and let the dogs run and play. I carried Millie and Derek carried her car seat. We grabbed our food and towels. Derek opened the back hatch and our dogs bolted up over the rocks and straight to the water.

I had my sunglasses on and my red one piece bathing suit. I needed a hair cut from being away for so long, I had my over grown bangs braided to the side. My boobs were swollen because I’d pumped before we left the house but had taken too long on Main Street. I paused and let out a huge sigh. I really truly missed the ocean while we were in Toronto. Seeing it and having my whole family with me meant everything. The smell of the salt water, the feel of the sand in my toes, and the sound of my dogs barking happily at seagulls, I appreciated it all so much.

I made my way down to the water. I took Millie out of the carrier and planted her bum in the sand right where the water was coming in. I was sure she would love it. She cried.

Derek was running up and down the beach with the dogs. He was throwing sticks. Kirby was leaping so high, I thought she could jump straight over Derek’s head. Every time we went to Toronto we had to leave our dogs. We love them so much, they’re our family. But leaving them was harder then that. They provide us with comfort. Watching Derek laugh and bound into the water with Kirby while she swam made my heart ache both with happiness in the moment but also with sadness for the time we lost while in hospital.

Millie was not enjoying the water. I laid out our towel and held her close to me on the beach. She was a little cold and I wrapped a second towel around her. We sat there on the beach eating our lunch. The food really was amazing. It tasted better then anything we had ate in Toronto. It tasted like home.

We posed for pictures. We wanted to remember every second of Millie’s first beach trip. We took turns taking pictures of each other holding her, of the dogs playing and the ocean. I remember looking at those pictures afterwards and thinking I looked beautiful. I remember thinking that my smile was so big and I was so happy. I never look at pictures and like how I look but, in pictures with Millie I was always proud to be her Mom. I wanted every photo.

Her soother fell in the sand. Millie’s diaper was wet. She wasn’t happy. Derek cleaned the soother by putting it, sand and all, into his mouth. We changed her into her clothes and strapped her into her car seat. She was so small, still in her infant seat. She fell asleep immediately. She had a little blue stripped boy shirt on, her big pink sun hat and her soother, which we never went anywhere without, attached to the hat so it wouldn’t get lost.

I had blue toe nail polish on my toes from a manicure and pedicure I had done on a particularly hard day in Toronto. On that day I left Derek and Millie. I turned off my phone and I wandered. I hoped to get lost. I had my nails done and I sat at a bar drinking alone. Derek received bad news that day, he received it alone. They wanted him to make a decision and I wasn’t there for him or her. I regret that day a lot now, but sitting on the beach looking at my toes, I remember thinking it was all behind us now.

Millie looked so cute in her sunglasses. She was sleeping but we knew soon she would need more from us then we could give her at the beach. Another family with their two dogs came over the rock wall. Our dogs met each other happily and ran together. It was then that we decided we should head home. We packed up our things. We carefully carried our sleeping child back to the car and we drove home. Millie woke up on the way. She was crying. We hated when she cried in her car seat, always so worried about her saturation levels. We put her music on. She loved music. Derek and I sang Wiggle songs and Baby Shark to her the rest of the drive home.

Feelings After Exercise: So Sad, Ache in my heart, tired, the feeling of wanting to be productive or creative is gone. I miss my baby.

Writing through Grief

Prompt #2

April 12, 2020

Current Feelings: Nostalgic, Sad, Resigned

“What does grief mean to you? How have your thoughts go about grief changed and evolved?

Grief means different things to me on different days. Today, grief feels exhausting, heart breaking, and it’s the feeling that something is always missing even during the happiest moments.

Today is Easter Sunday. We are quickly approaching the anniversary of Millie’s death and her sister’s first birthday.

Having another child gives me an excuse to move past my grief and to try and feel excited. I want to give both my daughter’s the best life experiences, this has always been my goal as a mother. So last night, I prepared for an Easter Egg hunt, I arranged gifts and I wrote cards from the Easter Bunny.

When Evie woke up, I played Easter music, we put her bunny ears on and she opened a present in bed with us. We had our Easter hunt for small gifts and chocolate. Evie had so much fun. Every item she found she had to sit, explore and understand before moving on to the next. While I watched her, I compared her to her sister.

> The rabbit hair clips stayed in Millie’s hair, poor Evie has no hair.

> The Easter pyjamas that they both wore fit Evie tight, in pictures they are hanging off Millie’s slim frame.

> Millie smiled more while Evie has this quizzical look on her face.

> Millie did the hunt faster, catching on and moving quickly to fill her basket. While Evie was so interested in her first gift that she didn’t notice all the others hidden around the room.

> Millie listening and focused when I read her a card or book, Evie is so much busier. Evie tries to rip the book, move me away to something else or just leaves when I try to read to her.

> When Evie became tired, she curled up in my arms, watching the church service on tv and falling asleep. As she drifted, she reached up and held my hand and for a moment, she could have been my Millie.

But Evie is not Millie.

I’ve struggled with that a lot. I want her to be the same because I loved everything about Millie so much. But when I stop, push Millie from my mind and focus on Evie, I have new moments that are for just for her and I. I feel happy and for a fleeting moment like I can really do this, like I could really move on. Then the guilt kicks in. My stomach feels sick with despair, I begin not just comparing our life now to the past but I begin picturing what could have been if she was still here.

Needless to say, it’s been a difficult day.

Derek and I put Evie down for her afternoon nap and then parted ways to try and enjoy a moment alone. He went for a bike ride. I drew myself a bath, grabbed a glass of wine, turned on my music and realized I forgot my book. As I headed down the hallway to find it, I heard a small voice say “mom”. I looked up and there was Evie standing wide awake in her crib smiling at me.

“Okay, I can work with this” I thought, refusing to change my plans, I scooped her from her crib. I grabbed some toys, closed us into the bathroom together, quickly baby proofed and left her to play while I enjoyed my bath.

It did not go as planned.

Evie loves baths. Millie loved baths.

She immediately pulled herself up and pushed open the sliding shower doors on our tub to peak in on me. She quickly used the stool that was acting as a table for my wine glass and stood up tall, preparing to launch herself into the tub with me. I caught her in my arms and tried to hold her up so she wouldn’t get wet. She wiggled and angrily yelled “mom” at me.

Finally, I gave in. I stripped her off and plopped her down in the tub with me.

> She started playing with the bubbles. She was amazed as they floated up and sat on her hands.

> She stood up tall and then would crouch low, essentially doing baby squats, soaking her body over and over again.

> She looked at the speaker playing music and said “mom, mom, mom” and began dancing up and down smiling.

> When she got tired, she crawled her way to me, curled up on my stomach and began nursing.

When the water got cold, I didn’t want to get out.

I was enjoying her and the moment so much. She stood at the tap and helped me add hot water and more bubble bath. She became excited again as more bubbles appeared.

It was in this moment that I began to cry.

I was so happy watching my child’s delight. I was so carefree in that moment that I began to think, this is what life is about, these moments. I looked down at my hands and they reminded me so much of my mother’s hands. I considered what it must be like for her to see her baby, who was small just like Evie once, all grown and with her own children. I want to see my children grow old.

I want more babies. But then the moment stops, I realize there should already be another baby here.

I picture how happy Millie would be to have a little sister to take a bath with. How much fun it would be to have both my girls to enjoy the day with.

No, I can’t have more children. I can’t risk feeling the loss of them again. I can’t promise them that I am the mother I should be, the mother I was to Millie.

What is grief to me? It’s chaos. It’s a constant stream of conflicting emotions in my mind. It’s the unbearable pain that no medication can take away. It’s the road block for my life and it’s impassable. Grief is everything, it’s everywhere and overcoming.

Feelings after Exercise: Cold, Sick, and Tiredness

Writing Through Grief Course

Prompt #1

April 6, 2020

Current Feelings: Numb, Quiet, Reflective, Sad

“Choose one of the words that best describes how you are feeling right now. Then describes the emotion in detail, as if you are explaining it to someone who has never experienced it before. “

The world has felt incredibly overwhelming these last few weeks. My family has already been through so much, we already have felt so much, that I don’t think we know how to respond to current events.

I’ve guiltily thought, many times, that I’m glad Millie is not alive to experience this new reality. I am glad that I am not living in constant fear that she will die, because she’s already died.

Our new daughter, our rainbow child, is healthy. She’s happy to spend her days at home with Mom and not leave the house. We are taking precautions to keep her safe but I don’t feel the worry, the overwhelming terror, I felt when taking my medically fragile child into the world.

My husband feels differently. He’s been considered an essential service. He goes to work every day. When he comes home, he washes his hands, he strips off his clothing and he’s careful not to interact with us until he feels he is “clean”. He’s worried I’ll die, because I have asthma and am already experiencing difficulty breathing. He read a story about young children in the United States contracting the virus and dying. Those stories overwhelmed him. He told me that the idea of seeing another one of his children on a ventilator would be his worst nightmare. He struggled with returning to work the next day. He would rather die himself, then see our daughter sick and recover.

When you’ve experienced the death of a loved one, there appears to be two overwhelming feelings. You feel them both, at different times and within different situations.

The first is the idea that death doesn’t scare you, that you would be okay with dying. The feeling that you just want to be with your loved one, and is this world and living truly worth it? Not suicidal thoughts, just... would it be so bad? The other is the terror of losing someone else you love. The contrast of your acceptance and understanding of death for yourself and the terror of the death of a loved one is difficult to understand.

All these emotions and feelings wash over my body and my mind. I feel them in many ways. After awhile though, I’ve just become numb. It feels like too much. I’ve experienced and felt so much pain that my body wont allow me feel anymore. I remember the pain, the excruciating, heart stabbing pain of losing her as well as the constant stomachache of knowing she’s no longer with me.

But today, as I sit here reflecting on my current emotions, I’m just here. I just feel here, calm, and serene. I don’t think about the future much anymore. I try not to think about her anymore. I try not to think and I try not to feel. I’m numb to the world around me.

Taking into consideration the current state of this world, perhaps this is okay for awhile?

Feelings after Exercise: Exhausted, peaceful, soft

Coming Home

# Chapter 1

## Touch

“It will be a couple hours before your room is ready. We’re offering spa treatments with room bookings this week, is there something I can book you in for while you wait?”

Contemplating a moment, Allie agreed and booked a massage. She headed to the small out building that serves as the resort spa. As she walked up the steep outdoor steps to the second floor she saw an older women smiling down at her from the window in the door. The door then swung opened as the lady announced “Welcome, I am Theresa and I will do your massage to help you relax”.

Theresa asked Allie to fill out a medical form, and to state any illnesses she may have as well as any medication she may be taking. Allie stared at the form for a long time and then she quietly spoke “I have nightmares, panic attacks and anxiety” she paused and closed her eyes. Before she could speak again Theresa interrupted “Ah yes, I know much about this, I struggled for a long time too but I’m doing better now. Take off your clothes and lay down on the bed dear. I will try my best to help you”.

Allie slowly took off her clothes, looking in the mirror at her body. Her finger traced the scar on her chest where glass had embedded itself in her skin. She heard a knock on the door and quickly jumped onto the bed and covered her naked body with the sheet. Theresa began massaging her legs and bum. While she worked she asked Allie questions. “Are you here on vacation with your family?” “How long are you staying?” “Do you have any children?”.

Allie tried her best to respond but realized she didn’t have answers. This made her feel anxious and she began to think coming here was a bad idea. Her breath quickened. “No, my family isn’t with me, I guess this was an impulsive vacation. I didn’t even book a room, I just showed up. No kids...” she paused then and whispered “no family at all, I have no one”. Tears began to slide down Allie’s cheeks. Theresa was kind and pretended not to notice, instead she said “I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry. Tell me about your sleep”. “I don’t sleep” Allie replied, relieved Theresa did not ask her anymore questions about her family.

“What happens when you try?” Theresa asked. “I fall asleep quickly, I’m always so tired. But I have very vivid dreams, I always have. Lately the dreams are nightmares, they terrify me. I wake up many times throughout the night with my heart pounding in my chest and tear streaming down my face. It takes a very long time for me to calm down enough to return to sleep and then it happens again” replied Allie. Theresa moved to the top of the table and asked Allie to flip onto her back. She obliged and quickly came face to face with the older women. Allie was shocked for a moment and then began to examine the wrinkles on the other women’s kind face. She took in the unruly white hair and her stormy blue eyes. As she breathed out a question unexpectedly tumbled from her lips “how did you get rid of your nightmares?”

The lady let out a sigh and sat down on the chair in the corner of the room. She stretched her face into what appeared to be an attempt at a smile and said “I had troubles just like you. I lost someone... I think you know how that feels. I struggled for a long time, sleep would not last for me. I tried many things and then I found my Reiki Master. He helped to take away my pain and he taught me his ways”.

Allie had heard of Reiki. She often listens to an investigation podcast where the hosts take part in fringe and occult behaviours and report back on the experience. They had tried learning and performing Reiki. It had sounded strange and uncomfortable to Allie. A stranger laying their hands on your body trying to move and remove pain? There wasn’t much science behind the practice but in some situations, she supposed, if you were comfortable, it might feel good to be touched and know the other person wished to help you.

Theresa stood back up and approached the table. She began massaging Allie’s temple. “Close your eyes” she commanded. Allie relaxed, happy the strange conversation had ended. Slowly, without Allie even realizing, Theresa stopped moving her hands, instead she kept them still. They felt very warm, radiating her body heat. She held her hands just slightly over parts of Allie’s body breathing deeply as she moved. It felt good so Allie just let it happen.

After some time Theresa stopped. She said she hoped that Allie would sleep tonight and asked if she would mind leaving a note for her at the main desk saying if the treatment had helped. Allie nodded her agreement, not wanting to speak. She felt emotionally drained and almost as if she was in a trance. She slowly dressed, clasping the chain with her tiny gold feather pendent around her neck last. The pendent was worn, showing imprints where here anxious hands often touch.

She quietly slipped out of the room and rushed down the stairs outside. She needed a moment by herself to wake up, her mind was cloudy. She closed her eyes, inhaling the salty smell of the ocean and listening to the waves crash on the shore. She moved towards the ocean as if it was calling her near. “Watch it!” a snarl snapped Allie out of her mind and back to the moment. A man was looking back at her with an annoyed face as he headed in the side door of the lodge with a guitar slung over his shoulder. Shaking his head, he disappeared into the building and out of Allie’s thoughts.

She reached down and undid the buckle on her sandals, sliding the shoes off her feet and then began to navigate her way over the rocks and to the sandy beach below. She looked down the stretch of white sand and saw families scattered along the coast, set up for a day of fun. Many had pop up tents to protect them from the wind and sun. Children rushed back and forth from the water to their parents, carrying buckets of water to wet the sand in order to make it more pliable for sand castle building. A few young men in wet suits jogged by with their surf boards under their arms. They laughed at an unheard joke as they passed. One looked back appreciatively at Allie. She smiled slightly but then quickly averted her gaze back to the ocean. She didn’t have a bathing suit because she hadn’t planned to end up at the beach. She wore a long white sun dress, the bottom of the dress was wet from the waves washing over her feet and was quickly being coated in sand. The water of the Atlantic Ocean was freezing! She moved in deeper, shivering as the water encompassed her dress.

Sighing she laid back into the water making a star fish. She floated on top of the waves while she looked up at the sky. Allie had grown up in Nova Scotia with her family. She had spent all her life on or near the beach. She had missed it so much when she went away for school. Laying in the cool water as she bobbed up and down with the waves she relaxed, she was home.

Last Moments

By: Caroline Robertson

How do you want to be remembered after you die?

What do you want your last moments with your loved ones to be like?

The happiest child, with the perfect broken heart, smiled, waved and danced as they wheeled her into the operating room.

This is the last moments I spent with my baby.

She had beautiful bouncing curls, round fat pink cheeks and sparkling blue eyes.

I let her sleep with me the night before.

I didn’t sleep.

I held her in my arms

I rubbed her back

I listened to the sounds of her breath.

The next morning was normal. We had to hustle to get to the hospital at our scheduled time. She couldn’t eat, fasting before the surgery, but she was still happy sipping on her clear liquids.

We arrived. The nurse and I gave her a bath. She smiled so big. I dressed her in a Johnny shirt. She laid in my arms and looked up at me with her big eyes. “Mama” she whispered.

They came with a drink for her, they said it would make her calm, it would keep her from being scared. She was scared and didn’t want to drink it. Her father danced with her, singing songs and twirling her. She trusted us.

Then it was time. We were moved to pre-op. There were so many families there in the big open room. So many scared families and children shaking hands with surgeries and praying their babies would be okay.

The anesthesiologist introduces herself, I don’t remember her name. She gave my baby a little purple toy car with a big orange button. She loved to press buttons.

When she pressed the button music played and she began to bob her head and dance. As she looked around the room for reassurance she began to notice all the other children. She smiled at them and waved. As they began to respond, smiling at her in turn, the excitement overcame her and she started to really dance and smile.

The doctor came, everyone smiled and laughed. They told me everything would be okay, that they would take care of her.

I watched as they wheeled her through the big doors, everyone smiling, dancing and laughing with my beautiful child.

The happiest child, with the perfect broken heart smiled, waved and danced as they wheeled her into the operating room and I never saw her again.

Do Not Forget to be Thankful

Word Count: 2007

I sit in my chair, slowly taking deep breaths of the steam coming from the top of my Americana Misto. This was supposed to be a treat for making myself go out for a run, despite the cold winter weather. I warm my hands with the heat from the cup. I close my eyes and try to calm my agitation. I try to focus on the Christmas music that is playing and the soft humming as the barista sings along. Despite this, I can’t help but overhear the conversation at the next table.

“I swear they drive me crazy! So I pick them up from school and I didn’t have time to cook. I decide to stop at the grocery store and buy one of those pre-made chickens for us to eat. Alex is running around the store stuffing his pockets with all the things he wants. He is oblivious to the concept of stealing despite us explaining, in detail, that he can’t just take things that are not his. I’m placing my order when I hear this huge fart, I mean it was really loud; People stopped to stare. I look down and the baby is covered in poop. I am of course also covered. The tween girl at the counter looks at me horrified. The whole time Anna is pulling on my hand trying to tell me about some girl in her class. I’m so embarrassed that I could just die right there. I yell at the kids to get their little buts back to the car. I pay the girl and rush out. When we get to the car I just hand the chicken to the kids and tell them to eat it quickly before Karate class. They’re in the car literally ripping pieces of chicken off the bones and eating it with their fingers like little animals. I’m undressing the baby in the trunk. Her clothes are coated in shit, just coated! I’m telling you, there is not enough hand sanitizer in the world to clean up this mess. That is when I realize I forgot to pack a back up outfit. So I just put the baby in her car seat naked and drive to drop the other two off at their class. We get there and there are no other cars or parents. I’m looking around thinking this isn’t right. That’s when I remembered that class was moved to Friday. I gave up then and drove home with all the kids dirty and screaming. I pulled in the driveway and just sat there and cried. Being a mother is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Some days I just wish they would all disappear.”

“I hear you” responded her companion. “You wouldn’t believe the shit my ex husband has been giving me. The other day he was supposed to take Holy for the night. He picks her up and they head out together. I’m thinking this is going to be a nice peaceful evening. I’m going to have a bubble bath, maybe a glass of wine and watch a movie by myself. They’re gone a only a few hours when he calls me freaking out. Holy is having a panic attack, she doesn’t want to sleep at his house. She’s been having anxiety about sleeping away from home lately and she’s scared. Her father is angry because his house is her house too and why is she upset. Anyway, he packs her up and drops her off on my doorstep crying. As he’s leaving, obviously pissed off, she says through her tears “I’m sorry Daddy, can we have breakfast together tomorrow?”. Do you know what he said? “No!” I’m serious, he said he can’t handle this crap and that I coddle her and he left. There I was with my exhausted and hysterical eight year old who is feeling completely rejected by her father. He doesn’t make time for her and when he does he makes her feel like there is something wrong with her! Anyway, I ended up drawing HER a bath and letting her have some pop as a treat. We listened to music and she fell asleep in bed with me. I’m just so frustrated, how can he not want her?”

This is when I decide that the snow storm outside is a more welcoming environment then the warm coffee shop. I stand up abruptly, knocking my chair over. Both ladies stare at me. I leave my cup on the table and rush out the door. When I get outside I crumble to the ground taking shallow fast breaths. “Be calm” I whisper to myself “It’s okay”. But the truth is, it is not okay. What I wouldn’t do to have my baby be alive; For me to be feeding her dinner, taking her to Karate class, listening to her stories or changing her diaper. As the tears stream down my cheeks I imagine I am holding her. She wraps her little arms around my neck saying “mama”. I breath in her perfect smell and feel her soft curls on my face. I’m yanked from my happy place by a man’s hand on my shoulder. “Miss, are you alright?”. Embarrassed, I quickly wipe the tears from my cheeks and take his hand to lift myself off the ground. “Fine” I say with the slightest smile and begin walking away.

When I get home I breath a sigh of relief. My dogs welcome me. I press my back against the wall in our entranceway and slide down to their level. I am immediately covered in puppy kisses and snuggles, both dogs competing for the privilege to be in my lap and feel my touch. After some time, I stand and head up the stairs. I can hear my husband in the kitchen. He’s listening to CBC radio and cooking himself breakfast. His eggs are sizzling in the pan and I hear the stream of his coffee being made. He looks up as I enter and smiles at me, “did you have a good run?” He asks. Without a word, I walk up to him and wrap my arms around his waist. He embraces me back. We stand there frozen in time, holding one another. Both of us are painfully aware that we are all the other has left.

I think about the woman’s words at the coffee shop. Her frustration with her ex-husband and his lack of interest in their daughter. What my husband wouldn’t do to spend just one more night with his baby. What it would mean to him to have breakfast with her in the morning, to listen to her stories and watch her smile while she eats her pancakes. He’s the kind of man who would show nothing but kindness and concern if his daughter felt upset or uncomfortable. I know this because I’ve seen him hide his fear, hold his daughter’s hand and whisper everything is going to be alright as she cried terrified to have another procedure. That man, he doesn’t know how lucky he is to have his daughter.

The tears start to roll down my face again. He cries too. “I miss her” I say. He chokes on his words and manages to say “me too”. As he holds me, I focus on the painting hanging on our kitchen wall. It depicts the silhouette of a mother holding her baby on a beach at sunset. It was gifted to me, after she died, by my oldest friend. Somehow she knew it would bring me calm. I’ve spent many hours looking at the woman in the painting, wondering who she is and wishing I could be her, frozen in that moment. “Do you want some eggs?” He asks me as he pulls away.

I smile and say “yes, let’s have breakfast and watch the news together”. He agrees and goes back to making our food. I grab a fresh cup of coffee and begin tidying around the house. I fill the dog’s bowls with food and fresh water. I make our bed and put a load of laundry in the washing machine. I hit the button on our Roomba and feel a sense of satisfaction as I watch it pick up all the crumbs on the floor from my husband’s late night snacking. I walk into the empty nursery and pick up the sheepskin rug so the vacuum wont get caught on it. I look around at the bright colours of the room. Everything was carefully selected to make her nursery a happy place. Sometimes I think that maybe we should begin the process to foster children. There must be a child out there that needs a space like this. But, the idea of taking in a child only to lose them too is too much for me to bare.

“It’s ready!” I hear from the kitchen. “Meet you in the living room” I respond, “I just need a second”. I take a deep breath and go to the bathroom. I open the cupboard and pull out a box with a little pink test inside. I quickly pull off the cap and sit down on the toilet, placing the tip in the stream. When I’m done I place the cap back on and set a two minute timer on my watch. I sit there alone for a moment. I’m never sure how I feel in these two minutes. Sometimes I’m numb, tired of disappointment and heartache. Other times I’m excited, sure today I’ll get to feel the hope of being a mother again. Other days I think it doesn’t matter because another child won’t replace the loss of her. I feel the buzz on my wrist signalling the end of the two minute wait. I exhale and lift up the test. My heart skips a beat, two lines. I see two little pink lines. I read the instructions on the box to be sure of the meaning. I start to cry again, this time they are happy tears. Tears of feeling overwhelmed, overjoyed.

I run to the living room, he is holding my breakfast plate, gesturing for me to take it. I knock it out of his hands and hear it fall to the floor. The dogs quickly come running to scavenge the fallen food. I leap into his arms and start kissing him everywhere. All over his big head. He laughs and kisses me back. “What’s going on?” He asks. I show him the cherished test that I am grasping tightly in my hand and grin. I watch as the realization of what it means passes over his face. We’re both smiling. Finally we get to move on.

As the moment drags on, I start to feel scared. What if I have another miscarriage? What if this baby is sick too? Fears start taking over my mind, ruining the special moment. Looking at my husband’s face I can see he has the same thoughts. I also see something else, worry for me. It’s like his eyes are saying “can she take anymore loss?”. I stop then and move away from him. I push away my fears and I begin to tell him about the women at the coffee shop. I tell him about their complaints and frustration. He listens quietly, waiting for me to explain why this is important at this moment. Finally, I say, “don’t you get it? Life is hard no matter what you have or who you are. We all have worries, frustrations and fears. But there is always someone who wishes they have what you have. I’m scared but I’m thankful for the life we have made together. I’m thankful for the time we had with our beautiful daughter and I’m thankful for the hope that this new baby brings. You can’t have hope without fear, so I’ll take it. We’re going to have a baby again.” I say the last part with a smile.