The book Love You Forever by Robert Munsch has always been one of my favorite children's books. It has always given me goosebumps and rarely do I get through it dry eyed.
It was one that I would read to my birth son when he was little, one that I received as a baby shower gift when I was pregnant with Dayne. And then it was the book that Dayne and I talked about reading to Alexandra when she was born. Only, she was not born living, so Dayne never got the chance to learn all the words of that book and never got the chance to read it to his baby sister.
If I had thought about it, I would have brought that book to the hospital with me and read it to her. I wish I had thought of it. I think I will take it to the cemetery and read it to her there...Or maybe I'll go sit in her room and read it aloud, so that she can hear it. Sometimes I think about turning her swing on and reading the book, like I used to do while Dayne was a baby, swinging in his swing.
Yesterday I went onto Robert Munsch's website so that I could show Dayne all of the other books he has. We have been collecting them and there are so many that we still need! While reading his biography I discovered that he wrote the book Love You Forever in memory of his TWO stillborn babies that he and his wife had in 1979 and 1980.
I could NOT believe what I was reading, I knew that there was something special about that book and now I know what it is. It's really an amazing book that teaches that love transcends everything, even death.
It made me wonder...what other celebrities know this pain that we all know?
"I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always,
as long as I'm living,
my baby you'll be."
Robert Munsch - Love You Forever
Monday, January 24, 2011
Sunday, January 23, 2011
January 23, 2011
I have many random thoughts running through my mind today, so here I am...to talk it all out.
I can't believe that it's 2011, I wonder if this year will be better. Will good things happen? Will more bad things happen? I remain hopeful...and so far so good.
Yesterday Dayne had a birthday party to attend, so Steve and I went for a late lunch at Boston Pizza. They had hearts taped all over the door and windows. It's a fund raiser for the heart and stroke foundation that they do every year for Valentine's day. Steve and I read the hearts while we ate and at the end of the meal, when they asked if we wanted to buy one, of course we said yes. So, on a wall or a window at Boston Pizza there is a heart that says simply "In Memory of Alexandra Elizabeth Monique" and has a little picture that Steve drew with a halo and angel wings. If she had been here with us, we would have taken her for lunch with us. The meal would have been me taking cold bites of food while I played with her, just like when Dayne was little. She couldn't be there, but it made me feel good that we found another way to include her.
This afternoon Dayne and I are hanging out at home. While he has a snack and plays in the living room I sit on one of my loss boards, seeing page after page of women asking questions about what will happen to them next, when they lost their precious babies, reaching out to someone...anyone, for help, for guidance. I remember a woman that reached out to me. I came home from the hospital, broken by the news that my baby had no heart beat. I made an announcement to the same people that I had asked for help to wake my baby up, just a few hours before. I felt stupid and lost and I needed someone to help me, though I didn't know who that person was, or how that help would come to me. My inbox began to fill up with condolences and I read each one. One in particular was the help that I needed. A woman who had been in my shoes, who reached out and told me every little detail of every single thing that would happen. What to watch for, what I could expect...what NOT to be afraid of or alarmed by. She told me about how she felt and what she had gone through, and all of words stayed with me, during our darkest hours, I knew that someone who had been there had helped me prepare for what was going to happen, I knew that she was thinking of us and that we were not as alone as it may feel.
Alone...It's funny how alone a person can feel when they are surrounded by people just like them. I remember feeling more alone than I have ever felt, and yet, if I look, there are pages upon pages of women that are right there with me...Lost and grieving and feeling perfectly alone.
I will forever be grateful for the woman that reached out to me, and I hope that I can one day help someone else in such a monumental way. And in the mean time, here I am, blogging away.
I can't believe that it's 2011, I wonder if this year will be better. Will good things happen? Will more bad things happen? I remain hopeful...and so far so good.
Yesterday Dayne had a birthday party to attend, so Steve and I went for a late lunch at Boston Pizza. They had hearts taped all over the door and windows. It's a fund raiser for the heart and stroke foundation that they do every year for Valentine's day. Steve and I read the hearts while we ate and at the end of the meal, when they asked if we wanted to buy one, of course we said yes. So, on a wall or a window at Boston Pizza there is a heart that says simply "In Memory of Alexandra Elizabeth Monique" and has a little picture that Steve drew with a halo and angel wings. If she had been here with us, we would have taken her for lunch with us. The meal would have been me taking cold bites of food while I played with her, just like when Dayne was little. She couldn't be there, but it made me feel good that we found another way to include her.
This afternoon Dayne and I are hanging out at home. While he has a snack and plays in the living room I sit on one of my loss boards, seeing page after page of women asking questions about what will happen to them next, when they lost their precious babies, reaching out to someone...anyone, for help, for guidance. I remember a woman that reached out to me. I came home from the hospital, broken by the news that my baby had no heart beat. I made an announcement to the same people that I had asked for help to wake my baby up, just a few hours before. I felt stupid and lost and I needed someone to help me, though I didn't know who that person was, or how that help would come to me. My inbox began to fill up with condolences and I read each one. One in particular was the help that I needed. A woman who had been in my shoes, who reached out and told me every little detail of every single thing that would happen. What to watch for, what I could expect...what NOT to be afraid of or alarmed by. She told me about how she felt and what she had gone through, and all of words stayed with me, during our darkest hours, I knew that someone who had been there had helped me prepare for what was going to happen, I knew that she was thinking of us and that we were not as alone as it may feel.
Alone...It's funny how alone a person can feel when they are surrounded by people just like them. I remember feeling more alone than I have ever felt, and yet, if I look, there are pages upon pages of women that are right there with me...Lost and grieving and feeling perfectly alone.
I will forever be grateful for the woman that reached out to me, and I hope that I can one day help someone else in such a monumental way. And in the mean time, here I am, blogging away.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Long Time No See
I've been taking a break from writing, as I'm sure some of you have noticed. I haven't really had a lot to say and beyond that, I have just felt like holding some of my feelings in...for myself. I felt like writing today though, so here I am.
I've been feeling more sensitive lately, missing Alexandra and not really wanting to express my feelings. Seeing babies hurts me, hearing about them, hearing about pregnancies, seeing the baby things in stores and on TV, etc. It all stings. And why does it still sting? I wish I had an answer for that.
As well, I find myself sensitive to the things that people say. I can look beyond the things and I can understand that my feelings should not impact how someone else feels about certain topics, but it's like a bee sting...It's sudden and it hurts and if you're anything like me, you'll have a reaction to it that can sometimes last a week.
I often feel like there are things that people can never really understand unless they have lost a child. When a conversation goes to one of these things I often feel like the answers I hear from those around me would be drastically different if these people were sitting in my shoes. I try to tell myself that I'm wrong, but when you're surrounded by people that have not lost a child and they say the same thing that you did before your life changed, you kind of start to feel like you have the inside information that nobody actually wants...or wants to think about seriously enough to really go "there" in their own mind.
This probably doesn't make sense, and I'm being vague on purpose because if I delved into each conversation that I'm talking about, or each person that said something that I know I said before we lost Alexandra, this post would go on for pages and pages.
People just don't know though. You don't know how much that baby means until you've lost it. You don't know how hard it will be, until you've been there. Everyone has an opinion, and everyone is entitled to one and I hope from the bottom of my heart that they never get first hand knowledge to test those opinions.
Alexandra, my precious little girl, Mama misses you.
I've been feeling more sensitive lately, missing Alexandra and not really wanting to express my feelings. Seeing babies hurts me, hearing about them, hearing about pregnancies, seeing the baby things in stores and on TV, etc. It all stings. And why does it still sting? I wish I had an answer for that.
As well, I find myself sensitive to the things that people say. I can look beyond the things and I can understand that my feelings should not impact how someone else feels about certain topics, but it's like a bee sting...It's sudden and it hurts and if you're anything like me, you'll have a reaction to it that can sometimes last a week.
I often feel like there are things that people can never really understand unless they have lost a child. When a conversation goes to one of these things I often feel like the answers I hear from those around me would be drastically different if these people were sitting in my shoes. I try to tell myself that I'm wrong, but when you're surrounded by people that have not lost a child and they say the same thing that you did before your life changed, you kind of start to feel like you have the inside information that nobody actually wants...or wants to think about seriously enough to really go "there" in their own mind.
This probably doesn't make sense, and I'm being vague on purpose because if I delved into each conversation that I'm talking about, or each person that said something that I know I said before we lost Alexandra, this post would go on for pages and pages.
People just don't know though. You don't know how much that baby means until you've lost it. You don't know how hard it will be, until you've been there. Everyone has an opinion, and everyone is entitled to one and I hope from the bottom of my heart that they never get first hand knowledge to test those opinions.
Alexandra, my precious little girl, Mama misses you.
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