Safe

I've had a lot of chaos in my life, and as a result - I have forever craved safety and security. This shows up in many aspects in my life. Finances, relationships, making plans for the future, and even the route of education I took.

I have never truly felt safe and secure, but always felt that there were certain things in my control to prevent bad things from happening to me. This can make me an uptight control freak at times.

Since losing Brooklyn, I have begun to learn a very hard reality for someone who likes things to be neat, controlled, and in order - there are very few things in this life that are actually in our control. Bad things happen to good people, whether or not they try their best to do the right thing. This has completely changed how I look at everything in my life.

I recently read the final blog entry of a mom who also lost her baby girl. Her story is different than ours but still very much resonates with me.

In her final entry, she talked about the missing boy in Calgary and how it has impacted her. She went on to say that her daughter is her only child whose safety she will never need to worry about. Her only child who she will not lose sleep over questioning how to best care for her or wondering if she is in pain.

This hit me like a ton of bricks. I will never have to worry about Brooklyn's safety and security. I will never be up late in the night second guessing all of my parenting decisions with her. I will never worry about her making it through those dreaded teen years. She has never been hungry, cold, sad - never had her heart broken. Our Brooke is forever safe and always secure in the arms of Jesus.

Don't get me wrong - this doesn't make her death feel justified in any way. Our first born dying will never feel "right", because it simply isn't.

This world is full of terrible things, but at times, it is also full of wonderful things that give us small glimpses into Heaven. I have come to the realization that I will never feel fully safe and secure here on this earth. If we are blessed to parent living children, I will worry about their safety, their life, and how to best parent them. I will likely always try to hold my money a little tightly, and try to the best of my ability to control situations around me. But we are meant for so much more than this. If we never take risks and live fearfully our whole lives, we will never get to experience those small glimpses of Heaven.

I can rest assured that Brooklyn now has what I have craved my whole entire life - to forever feel safe and secure.

106

It has been 106 days since I last held our daughter in my arms. 108 days since we started grieving her loss.

The journey has felt long. I feel weathered and tarnished. I have learned a lot. More than I would have liked to learn by the time I turned 23.

I went in Brooklyn's nursery for the first time today. I just got an overwhelming feeling that it was finally time to confront all of the baby things that we are not getting to use. The room was jam packed with everything we have of hers - clothes, books, photos, diapers, bathtub, stroller, car seat, swing, bouncy chair, crib, toys, soothers - everything.

The last time I was in there, was during the day I went into labour. That day, I sat in the rocking chair, holding my belly and praying for the safe arrival of our baby. Praying that she would be healthy and that we would be good enough parents for her.

Today, I sat on the floor sobbing for the loss of our daughter - the loss of all of the memories we would never get to make with her. We will never get to bathe her, to rock with her in the rocking chair, to use her change table or go on family walks with her in her carrier. We will never be able to read her story books, to put headbands in her curly hair, or watch her exploring her world on her play mat.

In my heart, I know that what Brooke is experiencing in Heaven is so much more than anything we could offer her on this earth. But this doesn't take away the ache or pain I feel over the loss of everything we had pictured getting to experience with her.

As I unpacked her diaper bag - full of the things we had expected to use at the hospital, I began to mourn in a new way. Until now, I have been mourning without having to be confronted with all of her things. I checked all the dates on the wipes and diaper creams to see what we should donate or what could potentially stay long enough if we are lucky enough to parent another baby. I wondered if we will ever get to use her baby girl clothes and headbands sometime down the road, or if that was our only shot at parenting a daughter. Even if we have a girl one day, will we even want her to wear the things we had specifically bought for our Brooke?

Despite all the hurt and aching my heart has done, it is still so full of love for our baby girl. Being in that nursery, gave me a sense of renewed hope. This hope may be naive, but I know I need to hang onto this because some days it is the only thing that gets me through. I hope that one day, I will be sitting in that nursery with a living, breathing, screaming baby that reminds me there are still good things that happen in this world.

Until then, the door of the nursery will now stay open instead of closed. I'll continue to go in there and read Brooklyn's story books to her. I can still feel her with me, and smell her from time to time. There is this relationship that starts with your child after they die. Unless you've experienced it, it is hard to explain, but it is something I will forever cherish.

Guest Post: A Friend's Perspective

Fiona asked me to talk about my perspective on this whole situation and as of right now as I have moved paragraphs around and read over what I've written and it all kind of seems jumbled and not very connected. But that's kind of what blogging is. It's a big long run-on sentence, or lots of paragraphs about different things that don't necessarily make sense. I thought about the things I would talk about and how I would want to remember Brooklyn, and how I've been affected by Brooklyn's death. There are so many things I would like to say that I just may have to write more than one entry. Bear with me as I type out my thoughts and feelings through this journey with my best friend.

Fiona and I have been friends since we were teenagers. Throughout highschool, we were attached at the hip. If you had to find one of us, you would call the other one. She has been my best friend now for 9 years and we have been through a lot together. Brooklyn's death is another notch on our friendship belt, and although it isn't a good road, it is one I will ride with her and stand beside her on. 

When I first found out Fiona was pregnant, I was over the moon excited for her. Selfishly, I was a little upset because Chris and I were not ready to have a baby, I had dreamed of being pregnant with her and having our babies grow up together. That feeling of frustration and anxiety is now a blessing. I know that Chris and I are not ready to have a baby for more reasons than just finances. They say you're never really "ready" to have a baby - but I know that God had a larger plan for us to not be pregnant at the same time as our best friends. We have been able to be there for them in ways not everyone could be. It's hard to explain, and it seems strange to say we weren't "ready" because of this… but I truly believe that we weren't ready because we were being prepared(as much as that makes sense) for this. He was allowing us to grow in our relationship and our friendship with Derek and Fiona so we could be there for them and fully support them. 

I've experienced death before in my life, both my grandfathers passed away when I was very young, my MorMor (Swedish for mother's mother) passed away when I was 10, a classmate when I was 11 and a close friend when I was 18. I had never felt so numb about a death before, I don't ever remember having that terrifying experience of death or really ever feeling so heartbroken when someone passed away. Until Brooklyn. It wasn't supposed to be this way. Babies aren't supposed to die. Only old people, and nothing tragic, just in their sleep. Unfortunately that isn't the way the world works. This was a different experience of death. This was something no one saw coming, and something that no one could prepare you for. Brooklyn was supposed to be the "big sister" of the kids in our group, she was supposed to be my honorary niece. I wanted to be able to pop over whenever I wanted to snuggle her, spoil her and let her mama sleep. Now I'm still popping over whenever I want to, but instead of letting her mama sleep, or stealing snuggles, I'm weeping with my best friend and my heart is broken for her. 

The death of Brooklyn Adelaide has changed me. It's changed my relationship with my husband, my parents, my friends who may not know Fiona well or at all. It has also changed my relationship with Fiona and with Derek. Change is not always a bad thing, but this isn't the change I was anticipating. I won't go into detail about how my other relationships have changed but I will talk about my relationship with Fiona.  My relationship with Fiona has always been an honest one, we are very close and are very honest with each other. If something is bothering one of us, we know it by the way we talk, act, the look on our face or even our body language.  We are now still very honest with each other, but there are more tears, and more questions and more time spent together talking about Brooklyn. The time we spend together now is also more intentional, sometimes it's sitting in a coffee shop or going for a drive but sometimes it's mindless, and sitting in silence and that's something I really treasure about my friendship with her. There is no awkward silence, there is no forced conversation. I feel honoured to be one of her "go-to" friends, I have always enjoyed being able to open up to Fiona, and I love the trust we have between the two of us. These last 2(ish) months have changed our relationship and we are definitely closer because of it. I'm blessed by her friendship. I'm proud to be in her life and to stand beside her. She may be quiet, but she is witty, sarcastic and incredibly loving. 

I look at life a little bit differently now, I used to be drawn to babies, peeking in every stroller, playing peekaboo in a lineup, trying to catch a smile from a little one but now I'm a bit more cautious so I don't approach a stroller and burst into tears. Its happened once or twice already and it makes people uncomfortable. The name Brooklyn seems to be everywhere. Working in a restaurant we sell Brooklyn lager, and I hadn't heard anyone order that beer, not even once, before she passed away. Now I hear it often. I'm a little less anxious about things, I've always been a little on the hyper side, if you know me at all you probably realized that within the first five minutes of meeting me. Now I realize that a lot of the things we worry about - are so tiny and so irrelevant. I sometimes overhear people saying things at work or in public and I want to look at them and say "THATS WHAT YOU'RE COMPLAINING ABOUT!?!" Don't get me wrong, there are things we can complain about, and we are all guilty of it… but at the same time it doesn't REALLY matter if you ordered your steak medium rare and it came out medium, or that shirt you wanted to buy that's on sale that is only left in XL or XXS. It doesn't matter that your beer isn't cold - I mean it would be nice… but there are worse things in the world. I'm not trying to say that unless something tragic happens we shouldn't complain, or that we shouldn't worry about things unless it's a BIG life event - but it could always be worse. That term "first world problems" really has never been more true.

 Not a day passes that I don't think about Brooklyn. Fiona and I have always been in contact throughout the week - even before she was pregnant. Now there are days where our text messages are just a heart emoticon back and forth. Or sometimes it's an I love you and I'm here for you. There are other days we have full conversations and we both are having good days. But there are a lot of days that I would give anything to see my best friend glowing again. To see her talk about those kicks and her moving around, to plan dates to spend time together. My heart is broken for my best friend. Yes, this story IS about Brooklyn, and it IS about honouring her and remembering her. But my sadness is so much more than just Brookie. My best friend will never be the same, a piece of her is missing and there is nothing I can do or say to fix that for her. I can try my best, and my hardest, and I have. I will continue to try to make her smile and make her feel appreciated and let her know that I am there for her. But I will never fill the void - and I'm okay with that because no one can ever replace Brooklyn. There are days where I want to distract Fiona from any of her thoughts of sadness and I want to protect her and let her just have a day of fun without being sad… but that's not why I'm her friend. I'm her friend so that she can cry around me, or tell me she doesn't feel like hanging out today, or tell me that she really needs someone today. 

On the way home from meeting Brooklyn on Saturday afternoon, I listened to a song by Serena Ryder called Mary Go Round. I've always loved the song, but it hits me a little bit harder now. 

"Have you ever looked up, and laughed at the big blue sky? Have you ever wondered, have you ever wondered why? Why you always hide. Sing along, sun down, Mary go round, too young to leave this town. Someone's singing your song, feels good, what could go wrong?" 

There are so many things that remind me of her, and I seem to always to play this song on my way to her grave when I go to visit her. I also have a habit of taking Gerbera daisies. These things now seem "normal." How does a sad song and a couple of pink Gerbera daisies on a tiny little grave become normal? There will be so many other things that will become normal in remembering her life, and I won't stop sharing those with the people around me.

I'll always remember you, Brooklyn. 

Auntie Sammy loves you. 

Flashbacks

I've been getting a lot of flashbacks lately.

Flashbacks of us pulling into the saying "the next time we leave the hospital, we'll have our girl in the back seat." The sound of my cry as I found out our baby had died. Going through the pain of labour and delivery knowing our baby would not be coming home with us like we had planned. Having to leave our daughter in a cold dark room all by herself before they performed tests on her, trying to understand what happened. Laying the smallest coffin I have ever seen in the ground, knowing that I would never get to see my baby girl on this earth again.

Flashbacks. Flashbacks. Flashbacks.

These days grief is feeling very raw. And my longing for Brooklyn has never been so strong.

I have been thinking more and more about what I could have done to prevent our daughter's unexplained death. I know in my head it isn't my fault. I was told by all the doctor's and midwives that there was nothing I could have done. But part of me will always wonder if I could have done something to stop it.

Should I have insisted that they induced me the Friday before when I started to feel like something was wrong? Should I have insisted they kept me in the hospital and ran more tests the Wednesday before when they told us our baby was "textbook perfect" physiologically?

I feel like I have accomplished a few things in life this far. I have graduated with two degrees from post-secondary, landed a job in my field before even finishing school, and while I struggle sometimes, I try to be the best wife I can be.

But my whole life, I have dreamed of being a mom. That is all I've ever wanted. To be the best wife to my husband, and best mother to my children.

Sometimes I feel like I failed as a mother. While I know in my head this isn't true, my heart feels as if I couldn't do the things I needed to do most - keep her safe and alive.


I met with a friend for coffee this week. She is actually someone I used to babysit for, and she too lost one of her babies. She reminded me to remember how much I love Brooklyn, and how much I showed her this love while she was inside of me. Remembering the good memories we have together helps. I have a couple of videos on my phone of her moving around inside of me. I can watch these videos and smile, remembering the countless hours I would spend just staring at my belly in amazement of the miracle inside of me. I am so thankful for these memories, I just wish these were the ones that came to me during flashbacks.

Three

Three months today, I gave birth to the most perfect baby I have ever seen. A baby who looked like she was sleeping and going to wake up at any moment. A baby who had the most beautiful hair. A baby who had cheeks that I could kiss forever.

To be honest, I didn't even realize it was the fifth until around 11am today. I was at work, and noticed I was extra sensitive to people bringing babies in. I hit my breaking point when a parent came through the drive thru with a baby who looked around 2-3 months old. They were complaining about how tired they are and the lack of sleep they are having. It took everything in me not to look them in the eye and say "I'd give absolutely anything in the world to be in your shoes right now." I'm tired and losing sleep too, but it's because my heart aches to be up in the night with my baby. Then I looked at the date and realized this is likely the reason I am even more sensitive than usual.

Sometimes it feels like the three months has flown by, but most of the time it feels like it's been forever since I last held our precious baby. This week has been one of the hardest yet. There's a lot going on, and I haven't been sleeping well lately which makes it even more difficult to try and function "normally." The other night was the first time I've cried myself to sleep in a long time. The feeling of emotion completely taking over your body is terrifying. I was sobbing uncontrollably, just longing for my baby. All I wanted was for one last kiss, one more cuddle. Although I feel like even with "one more", my heart would never be satisfied.

I recently got promoted to Shift Supervisor at work. It has been a really good new challenge for me. I really love the position and the different responsibilities it comes with. But I've now been working 40 hour weeks. The extra money has been really nice, but I come home and have to sleep after every shift.

I realized this week that it has been a full year since we got pregnant with Brooklyn. So much has changed in just a year. I started a new job at St. Martin's Manor as a Young Parent Worker, I started a placement at CAAP in the hospital, I finished my BA/BSW degrees, Derek was rehired at Grindstone as the youth pastor, we made a lot of changes in our house, prepared for a baby, had Brooklyn, lost Brooklyn, started back at Starbucks, and went on the vacation of a lifetime. If you had asked me a year ago today if I could picture myself where I'm at now, I would obviously have said no. It just goes to show you, no matter how much you plan for things to happen a certain way in life, we really have very little control. For someone like me, this is a terrifying reality.

It may seem to other people like a lot of time has passed. I notice this when people make comments in passing, or act like we should be "better" by now. This is frustrating to me. I don't think people realize that we will never be "better". We will be different, and things will feel differently, but we are always going to miss our girl.

I received an email from Enfamil the other day; something I signed up for towards the end of my pregnancy. It was an update on where your baby should be at by three months of age. It talked about how by now, your baby begins to recognize you as their parents, they start to smile, they start cooing, and they start developing their sense of touch by reaching for their toes. These are all things that I know I'm missing out on with Brooklyn. I often think about who she would be today. When I was pregnant, I was so curious to see what colour her eyes would be. Would they be blue like her Mamas or hazel like her Daddys? Around now is when a baby's eyes change from blue to the colour they will be forever. I get so sad when I realize we won't know for a very long time what colour her eyes were.

I decided this week that I need a bit of a break from Facebook. I've thought about this a couple of times since losing Brooklyn, and decided to make it official. I'm just finding mentally it's been too difficult. It's just temporary, I'll eventually be back when I think I can handle it again. But for now, if you want to keep following my blog, you'll have to check back using the actually website.

Please continue to pray for us and keeps us in your thoughts.  I am sure that life will yet again look very differently next year. Please pray for the challenges that lie ahead, and please continue to remember our little Brooke.

Knocked Down

Today has been a very hard day.

To be honest, I'm tired of feeling like I have a grip on this "grief thing", only to be knocked down flat on my face again.

I have many days in a row where I do not burst into tears at the drop of a dime, and am actually able to laugh and find joy in this crazy life.

Then I have days like today, where nothing helps soothe this aching heart of mine.

I walked into the doctor's office - already having a bad day, and there were pregnant women and babies everywhere. I honestly felt like yelling out "what is this?! Take your baby to the doctor day?!"


I really do try so hard not to let my heart be full of envy, but it inevitably is.

I just miss my daughter. I just want to hold her, rock her to sleep, and comfort her as she cries.

I really will never understand why she had to be taken this way. Why do lots of other people go through the pain of labour and delivery, and get to hold a living baby in the end? I would never wish this on anyone - ever. But it will never make sense to me why our first born daughter had a heart beat at  9am on April 4th, and then it suddenly stopped the same day. This will never make sense to me, nor should it.

Death hurts. But even more so, the death of a child - my child. The one I held her entire life. The one I got stretch marks for. The one I threw up with, for 6 long months. The one who looked just like she was sleeping when she was born. She was perfect and there is still no explanation for her death.

My arms ache and long for her today.