Inspired

A part of you dies when you lose someone close.
I lost a part of me of after Isabel died, a part that will always be empty in her absence. What allowed me to move forward in the emptiness - besides Jake and Rory - was/is the strength and love from my friends and family. I am blessed and try to embrace all they give to me and my family. 
My heart was rocked again with Kia. Not only with her death, but with her kindness and pure heart. She was a person not yet tainted by the world and look at life with full fresh eyes, determined to make her dreams come true. During some of my darkest days by sheer "luck" Kia moved into my home and became my backboard for all the mixed emotions I had. Quickly and very unexpected she became a confidant and one of my truest friends.
At one point in a room full of women I tried to explain how much she inspired me to continue going for my goals. That she made me want to fall in love with Jake again - her almost naive vision of love and fairy tales was more than enough to inspire me. She made my family better. We won't ever forget her.
I don't know if she ever truly understood the power and courage she gave me, but she hears me now, but I sure miss her.

I may be a little broken and not completely whole. But with loss we learn. We take something from that person's life.
From Izzie I take the quiet and grace.
From Kia I take her vivacious, charismatic charm, love of life and full heart. 

To infinity and beyond - love you both

Damaged.

I wish I had someone that noticed or said something when I'm having a rough day. Not just said something, but rescued me from it. Sometimes I really need to be rescued from myself.

The hardest thing I do every day is be with Rory while wanting to be with Izzie. Not everyday do I acknowledge that, but every day the thought crosses my mind.

When I talk about her, it's hard not to start blaming myself. And say things like "well I should have known something was wrong..." Truth is, I did feel like something wasn't right at my last appointment. Her heart rate was lower than normal, but I was so ready to just be done and have her home I didn't ask anything and think to much more on it. Obviously until I'm being told - "there's not heartbeat". At that moment I felt like the biggest failure as a mom. And now I question my choices for Rory. I worry about her being taken from like Izzie was. I was robbed.

In labor with Rory I felt good. Don't get me wrong, it was a beast, and not a pleasant experience. But I felt good. I felt like I was doing something awesome. I remember thinking how terrified I was of actually having her home with us and knowing what to do with her. But when I delivered her and was given my perfect gray eyed girl, I knew everything was as it should be. What made it all perfect was when Jake talked to her and she looked around for his voice, at that moment she became a daddy's girl, and Jake became a Dad.

(WARNING: I get graphic and use a lot of explicit verbage that may offend people.)


In labor with Izzie I felt disgusting. All I could think was "I have a dead baby inside my body." She no longer was my daughter, she was this dead thing inside of me and I wanted it out. Maybe it was a coping mechanism, like I was trying to separate her from all of it. Before my contractions got rough, Jake and I watch "the bucket list" and laughed, LOUDLY. We didn't hold back. We wanted to be normal. Not this couple that everyone looked at with those pity eyes. I hate that look. Our baby died, it happened, but don't give us this face like you have any idea of what it feels like to be told you aren't bringing home your baby that you literally were expecting in just a few days. High five to you.

I was stoic and rationale from the moment I found out I lost her up until I was getting ready to push. I was in my room, alone. (Jake needed some fresh air and since I couldn't move, figured he should). I felt every. single. contraction. I felt her finally start moving down since she was "floating" before. I cried alone. Thinking how the hell am I going to deliver my dead kid? How is this even real? After about 10 minutes of sobbing and feeling completely helpless, hopeless and just sick, I thought of Jake and Rory. And then I puked in my bed pan. That sucked. Contractions and vomiting = no fun.

So I pulled myself together. I looked outside. It was sunny-ish with a light breeze. Looked nice out. Started another contraction and the urge to push. Called my nurse and she said I could start practice pushes. I told her to get Jake and drugs, I don't know how many times I asked her, but I know it was clear I did not want to feel this all happen. I was in stirrups by the time the anesthesiologist got there to "approve" of more drugs. Asshole.

My OB came into the room looking distraught and just sad. I wanted to hug him and tell him how I don't blame him. Eventually I did tell him.

I started shaking more and Jake got back..I told him I couldn't do it. I told him I was done. I told him this couldn't be real. I don't remember what he said, but it worked. And then he went and sat behind the bed and held my head and hand. I wonder what he was thinking..If he cried?

She was cold. Every push I gave, I felt her and she was cold. When I looked at her, she was so mottled and blue with red red lips. It was horrible. I knew then that she had been gone for awhile. I knew that Monday was the last day she was with me. So I had a dead baby in me for 2 days. That's comforting.

Other loss mom's held their baby, talked to them, kissed them. I held her for like 2 minutes and then held her hand right before we closed her casket and said good bye for the last time.

I feel damaged and destroyed.

A part of me died with her. Some days it feels like I am still dying. Like I am not going to get passed her loss.

I am confused. lost. I want to escape the heaviness.

 One of the hardest parts?

I feel like everyone around me is going to forget her. So I talk about her or say her name. All. The. Time. Its tiring, but I want her to be talked about and thought about.

She is gone, but she's my baby, my daughter. 

Loss.

(Written in September.)

"How are you feelling?"
"How are you doing?"

When people ask me these questions they don't really wants to know how I "feel". They don't know what to say, quite frankly I'm sure I make them uncomfortable when I do speak out about Izzie and how it "feels". I don't know if its that they simply don't know how to respond or they simply can't open themselves to listen. 

What some don't understand is that I need to talk about her, that is how I feel close to her. I can't reach over and hug my almost 6 week old daughter, instead I talk about her and remember her, think about her. People are right that losing a child is unimaginable. That the pain is unspeakable. However, there is a difference in losing a child you held that was breathing, that you watched grow and a stillborn, and even more so in a miscarriage. I am sick and so angry hearing about people that have had one or even 6 miscarriages say that they know what it is like to lose a child. I'm sorry if this offends some people, but you have no idea what it is like. What you feel during a miscarriage is frustration, sadness sure, but it is nothing compared to losing the child you felt kick, that you named, that you prepared to be born. Losing a child at 10 weeks is different than at 32 weeks, or even 20 weeks. Even worse yet, losing the child that actually used to sleep in their crib and was completely healthy until they just didn't wake up, or passed away in a horrific car accident. 

No one knows what it is like to be a "loss mom" or a "loss parent". Imagine how you would feel and multiply it by a million, then take that number and multiply it by the largest number you can think of and you still can't come close. 

Jake was telling me how he felt last weekend. That's when I realized that him and I don't feel the same way, we're on different sides of the fence. I had asked him about hanging a picture of Izzie in our room, just for us, so if others don't want to see her they don't have too. This way though we have her. 

He said pictures are for people that you knew, that you met. 

Well that was a slap in the face. I knew Izzie, I know her still, but I am the ONLY person that does. I may not know her voice, what color her eyes are, if she had my smile or Jake's...But I know the only "life" she had.

Jake tried to explain how guilty he felt, like he didn't take care of me well enough, and he didn't protect Izzie. He told me how guilty he felt for taking my pregnancy for granted, why didn't he need to feel kicks if he was going to be holding her in 9 short months? He feels empty because he feels he took her for granted. 

How do I explain to him that he is feeling "normal"? I can't. 

I never realized all the loss that is out there until now. These women, well US women, aren't "allowed" to talk about our babies, our children. It's too scary. 

Thank you to those that let me, and other loss parents, talk about their children. Even if we tell the same story over and over, even if we cry, or make you cry. You are helping us heal. You help us try to work through our complicated feelings and thoughts. 

Thank you. 

I am.

Every day I look in the mirror and every day I don't really recognize the person looking back at me. I have changed. I am broken and will always have a deep scar, empty, gaping hole that should be where my LIVING Izzie should be. I am a loss mom.
Every day I look at my body and see the aftermath of a pregnancy, 9 months of carry my child I never got to bring home. Now, I am "fixing" my body, trying to lose the weight, tighten back up, heal. All while knowing that every sit up, push up, squat I do isn't going to erase the scars that Izzie left for me.

I struggle. And balance on this rope somewhere between "doing fine" and "falling down.."
I am strong. I am not weak. I do not and will not give in this dark depression that consumes people, even if it is the easier option. I am strong because I gave birth to two beautiful girls. I am not weak because I used pain medications to get through those labors. I am strong because I can smile, laugh and watch my first daughter grow and learn while waiting for the day to finally meet my second. I am not weak because I will have more children and not live in fear. I am strong because Jake is my strength. I am strong because Rory needs me to be. I am strong because Izzie wants me to be. I am strong because I have to be. I am not weak, because it isn't an option to fall apart.

I am a good mother. I am not a bad mother. I am a good mother that I make time for BOTH my girls every day. I am not a bad mother because I let Rory eat goldfish and cereal for dinner. I am a good mother because I know what it means to want to die so your child can live. I am not a bad mother for wanting to somehow be with both kids. I am a good mother. I am the best mother for my girls. I will be a good mother to future kids. 

I am Rita. I am loud, obnoxious, stubborn, smart, and funny. I am manic, angry, hurt, broken and sad. I am compassionate, caring, loving, maternal, creative. I am blunt, upfront, jealous. I am lost and found. I am loved. I am cared about. I am thought of. I am still me. 

I am more than just "Rory's mom", "Izzie's mom", a "loss mom", Jake's girlfriend", "so&so's friend"....I am me. I have a purpose. I have a reason for being here, just as Izzie has a reason for not being here. 

I have decided to love myself. 
I have decided to forgive myself. 



Please love yourself. If you don't - who will?


You are beautiful.
You are smart. 
You are kind. 
You are worthy. 
You are talented. 
You are loved. 
You are cared about. 
You are awesome. 
You are unique.
You have a story people want to hear.

Happy.

I am a positive person generally. I am also opinionated and like to think logically and rationally. I like to see the good in all things, even in worst-case scenarios. I often get asked how I can I smile and laugh everyday, how can I breathe, move on, keep from going crazy...

I'm going to let you in on a secret, well a few secrets. 

First, life is what you make of it. If I shut down and stop breathing, moving, smiling, laughing, I would lose myself. I would lose my family. I didn't lose my daughter completely. I lost my time with her here, but I believe in heaven and know that I will have eternity with her some day. Even though I miss her every second of everyday, I still have SO MUCH to live for! Count your blessings folks. 

Second, I don't move ON. I move forward. Moving on to me sounds like forgetting, brushing it under the rug. I will NEVER forget Izzie. I will never forget any obstacle I've had to overcome to get to this point. Move FORWARD and don't stop. 

Third, Life is GOOD. If you just take a minute and breathe the fresh air in, let life consume you, just for that minute you will know exactly what I'm talking about. Stop being so negative. Stop whining about migraines, lack of sleep, money, petty fights, etc. If you have so much negativity in your life, get it out, even if that means cutting out friends and sometimes family. Life is what you make of it. If you surround yourself by "heavy" people that are human Eeyore's boot them out, you don't need them. You create your own happiness. 
Personally I try to surround myself with people that will push me and challenge me to constantly be better and do more. Strong people. People that can teach me and I can teach them. Friendship, like every other relationship is about give and take. 

My Grandfather, whom I have never met, suffered from PTSD (he was WWII veteran) and he told his children to never let the darkness consume you. To me it means, even if you have to fight everyday to find the light, do it. Or else you're going to drown. Whining, and poor me, and excuses are weak. You are better than that. 

My Father, who was not really ever a "Dad" taught me to never apologize for who you are. Be true to yourself. And he was. He was most honest with himself always, even if he didn't say it out loud, at least in my opinion. 

I struggle. Sometimes, well most of it the time it is easier to cry and CHOOSE not to stop. I have to actively and loudly say to myself that I choose to not be sad, to be happy, to enjoy the life I have. To celebrate the life Izzie had. To be grateful that she has never felt pain, or heartbreak, that she has only felt unconditional love and still feels it. She is always with me. Always will be. 

Stop making excuses people and just be happy. 

Thank you.

I'm horrible at writing thank you notes, in fact I still have quite the stack to finish. There is a handful of people that I want to publicly thank. 

Becky K. 
My God. You literally held me through hearing the hardest sentence any parent dreads hearing. I have never been so happy that you work at that hospital. Thank you for holding my hand, for speaking up when the words didn't come out, for protecting my family's privacy, for protecting my sad veins (she drew my blood folks), for listening to me trying to rationalize over and over again. And simply for being there and not just this time, but always. 

Ashley S. 
You have been one of my best friends since I've moved up north. We've seen each other through plenty of ups and downs, I'm pretty certain this will be the worst, at least I hope so. I'm also pretty certain that there will be plenty more ups and downs. I'm not sure how to thank you, just know I love you.

Becky C. 
This lady. You're just awesome simple. And somehow with your awesomeness you manage to always know what to say to me, you have no idea how amazing that is - it's a skill. Your texts while I was in labor and even the week following meant so much. Similar to your skill with words, you have a skill with timing, each text came at the perfect time. I hope you know I am always here for you too, you're such a beautiful, fantastic person and mother. Don't ever forget it.

Andrea E. 
You my dear totally stepped up and my God I love you for it. Sending Janie to me was great, she's such a strong lady too, I appreciate it so much. You were another that had some good timing with text messages (although, I don't think anyone's timing could truly be "bad" during all this). Still though, I felt your prayers, and your kindness and I love you so much for it. 

Megan A. 
You my dear are just amazing - enough said. You always make me smile and laugh - which is much needed. I don't think I need to say it, but thank you, for the nursing school advice, for the hugs, the laughs, and the tears. Looking forward to more fun, happy times, and of course more Ryan stories - he's my favorite. Love you doll face. 

Crissy L. 
Holy Jeebus, I don't even know where to start. First, thank you for sitting at my lab table. Second, thank you for knowing how to handle the ridiculous things that come out of my mouth. Third, you are one of the few people I can count on, and one of the few that I trust with all my stories and one of the few that are bluntly honest with me - and I love you for it! I'm trying not to get sappy, but let's be serious, you have kept me put together, you've been my glue - especially since Jake has been back to work. You've listened to me try and figure out why this happened, and when I get a little too crazy, bring me back to sanity. I value and appreciate our friendship more than frappes, triple chocolate meltdowns and beer. Truth is, you are stuck with me. Now, lets hug (kidding..kind of).

Kim D. 
Ahh...I love you. You take care of my kids (Izzie included) better than me some days. That in itself is more than enough for the biggest thank you in the world. Then you sent me your Mom, Dave and of course yourself at the hospital and funeral, and days since. You were perfect and knew what Jake and I needed and even what the rest of our family needed through all this. I have never had a friend like you with the love that you give to others. I admire that about you, so much. I keep hearing what you did for others at the funeral, how you, Mom and Dave prayed over others, how you would just go up to others and give them a hug if it looked like they needed it. Kim, you are such a special person, you were made to care for others. You are so much stronger than I think you realize. I am so grateful Alicia told me to have you watch Rory, way back when (feels like a lifetime ago). I love you, thank you for all that you do for me, Rory, Jake and the rest of our family. 

Bobbi D. 
Two things, I'm going to make it quick. First, thank you for prayers and strength, you are so special and have a gift. Second, thank you for raising Kim the way you and Tom did. And being the strong woman you are, you set such a great example for her and it shows. 

Megan W. 
You live a billion miles away. I hate it. With that said, you are still my best friend. I don't need to tell you thank you, but I know you like the attention. (ha!) So, thank you for the long, in to the early hours of the morning talks. Thank you for your honesty (always) no matter how crude it may be. Thank you for looking out for me and wanting and trying to protect me from life and it's challenges. Thank you for your bad luck stories that always make me laugh, I still think you should write a book and make the world laugh. You know how I feel about you, I love you and hate you, you make me crazy with some of the crap in your life, but always always always through all the crap we have been through all these years and miles upon miles apart....you are there. Thank you. 

Adam J. 
You are with Jake everyday. I think you have helped shape him into the Dad he has become. Thank you for keeping an eye on him, for watching out for him and protecting him from getting hit by a semi. Simply, thank you. 

My amazing Aunts.
I can't tell you enough how thankful I am that you three came up here. I needed you, my mom needed her sisters, and the three of you have the added bonus of being entertaining. I appreciate you all so much. Jake and his grandparents are still talking about guys. Grandma and Grandpa are still waiting on a phone call for travel dates. (haaha)

Derek and Takoya. 
You guys are always there for us, just thank you. I know we don't to see each other as often as we all like, but still, thank you. We love you both so much, you are two of our greatest friends. 

Carly L. 
My big cousin, you sent me the best letter in the whole world. I read it every few days still, (your letter is turning into a novel). I don't really know what to say...I have always looked up to you and respected you. Reading your "wisdom" has been everything I could ask for and more. Thank you a million times.

Becca and Eric H. 
Thanks again for the food, flowers, hugs, and prayers. It was incredibly thoughtful of you guys and so appreciated! 

Kaleena B. 
Thank you for being there for us, especially Jake. He needed his big sister and we all love having you around. Don't be a stranger, Rory loves her Aunt! 

D. Bear - Danie R. 
My pretty lady, I just want you to know I love you. You are so strong, smart, caring, and countless other things I admire about you. Alina is so lucky to have you for a mom. I miss you. 

My August 2013 Mom Group.
You ladies are the greatest mix of crazy, smart, humor, and love all in one. I am so happy I decided to join way back last December. I have never been in a "mom group", and didn't know what to expect. I surely didn't think I would have the bonds we do. Now, I can't my life without all of you. Through losing Izzie, I said that the group held me up and kept my spirits up, gave me strength, and you ladies did all that and more. I'm so happy for you all of you and your new babies, all of you are wonderful, amazing mothers. I love you all, and appreciate you all. 

Ben and Sammie Q. (catch Q yea?!) 
Oh where to start....I'm not going to. Too much to say, so thank you. I love you both so much, and Jake I think does too. 

My mom, Grandma and Grandpa...there aren't enough words and you have letters in the mail.

To everyone that was there for us at the funeral or that was there in thoughts, thank you for that also. Your prayers and thoughts were felt and so appreciated, thank you. 

Finding Grace and Acceptance

Continuing...

We spent our first night home alone, just Jake, Rory and I, no baby to hold or wake up to crying. The things you dread most about having a newborn (the sleepless nights, constant feedings, and changing a million diapers) you find yourself begging for if it means holding your lost child. I spent the first night numb, not sure how to look at Rory or be her mom. Thankfully she was tired and didn't require a ton of attention and mostly laid next to me. 

Jake and I spent the next few hours talking about everything that just happened. I had never seen him so confused. Something you have to understand about him is that he is not emotionally expressive, he is a logical, realistic man. Looking at him in his recliner I saw a broken father that didn't know how to miss his daughter. I asked him to tell me what he was thinking, all Jake could say was "I was really looking forward to having her, I was excited.." 

We didn't say anything else the rest of the night. 

The next morning we woke up and once again our new reality hit. We laid in bed and let the silence consume us. In two hours we were going to have to meet with the funeral home and plan Izzie's ceremony and make decisions most don't have to make for another 20some years. 

We put our strong faces on and faced the day smiling, laughing, pretending to be normal. 

On our way to the funeral home I got a call from the hospital notifying me that Izzie would be on her way to a hospital in Milwaukee for her autopsy. Little did I know the drama that would come with her being sent there. (More on that later)

At the funeral home we made the arrangements, picked out her casket, songs, flowers, but we didn't have anywhere to bury her. I don't think most people know where they are going to be buried in their twenties, well Jake and I now do. We made an appointment at a local cemetery to pick out our graves. 

FUNNY STORY: Jake and I use humor to cope. This might seem totally wrong to some people. Anyhow, when we were discussing where to bury Izzie, we decided that we wanted to be at a cemetery where all our family could eventually be together, which meant a public cemetery. Well, Jake casually mentions that we need to find a couple plots in the furthest back corner away from everyone. I laugh and ask why, and he says "choosing our plot is like choosing a seat in a classroom and I like to sit in the furthest back corner away from everyone." Not a hilarious story, but it lightened the mood. 

At the cemetery we did get a couple plots in a back corner that won't be expanded on. 

The next day was a shopping day. I had to get outfits for everyone including myself and Izzie. My mom, friend Ashley, and I left my house and headed to the store. Another friend works there and I told her to just pick clothes for me. The first outfit was the only one I put on, thankfully it fit. 

I do ok, even now, in public. I don't want people thinking I am weak and I don't want strangers asking me a million questions, I don't need pity. This day, I did not do well. I literally put the shirt on and felt my breast start leaking. My milk chose that moment to make its appearance - fantastic. Then, I looked at myself in the mirror and said "this is what I will be wearing when I bury my daughter. My daughter died. My child, Isabel." I sobbed. I keep writing that it's an impossible feeling, it's impossible to describe and it is. There is no word, in any language (I looked) to describe the heavy loss of your own child. If you find some word, please pass it on to me. 

If I thought picking out my own outfit was difficult, picking out Izzie's outfit was like the ninth circle of hell in Dante's world. This led to another breakdown in Kohl's, looking like a crazy person leaning on a shelf crying holding baby clothes. I'm allowed a couple more jars of crazy juice, I think. 

The morning of the funeral I woke up and prayed for strength. I have always had faith, losing her ironically, only made that faith stronger. I think it had to because I have to believe something. I choose to believe that God took her from me because she was meant for something more, something she could do here with us. I have to trust that she is being held and loved by our loved ones in heaven. If I don't believe that, than where is my little girl? Surely more than "6 feet under", surely her pure spirit was meant for more, right? 

My house on this day had this heaviness about it, as I watched everyone, no one knew how to approach me, no one knew how to talk to each other even. We are a close family and somehow this morning we all seemed wrapped up in our own thoughts. 

When we arrived at the funeral home some people were already there - my close friend Kim and her mom, and Jake's Grandparents. I cannot even begin to explain what these people mean to me, I wouldn't have made it through the doors of that place if they weren't there. The funeral coordinators greeted us and brought us to our little girl who was waiting for us, dressed to impressed with her big teal bow. She was even more beautiful than I remember, she was perfect. A few people had gifts for Izzie, her great grandma (Jake's grandma) knitted her a blanket (that matched the teal - wasn't even planned) and we swaddled her in that. I have a necklace for her and I, it's Mizpah a verse from the bible that says: "May the LORD keep watch between you and me when we are away from each other." She has half and I have the other, we both wear them everyday. Rory gave her a locket that Izzie now holds forever that says "sisters forever". My mom, her and I got her a 3 generation bracelet, says "grandmother, mother, daughter". Jake left her a daddy's princess onesie and something special from him wrapped inside. 

Over 50 people came to say "hello" and "goodbye" to Izzie, some went up and talked to her, others hung back and said silent prayers. It was one of the longest almost hour of my life. I wanted to just pick her up and hold her close like a newborn should be held and loved. I wanted a miracle. Desperate for that miracle I stayed away from her and just watched others be near her. At ten to 1pm we had to close her casket. The funeral coordinators walked us into the garage and let us pay our respects. This was the last time we would ever see Izzie in this life, she's our angel now. Accepting that and trying to say good bye at the same time is impossible. 


The funeral service opened with "Amazing Grace" and our priest begun his blessings and prayers. Standard Catholic funeral. We went to the cemetery afterwards and drove to the "back of the classroom" to Izzie's final resting place. Jake and I of course stood up close to her, everyone else surrounded us. We debated if it was like a circle of strength or just weird feeling. We aren't used to being the centers of attention like this, so we never expected to have so many people there to help keep us together. 

We chose to stay with Izzie as she was buried, but first we had to walk back to the car while the funeral directors dismissed everyone. I think my legs basically stopped working walking back to the car. I remember just leaning completely on Jake. People walked over to us to say good bye, it was mostly quick good byes until these 4 girls came up: Kim, Andrea, Becky and Megan. They were all crying. 3 of these ladies I have only known a short time and met through Kim, but they have the biggest hearts of almost anyone I know. They picked me right up and knew how to make me smile while we all cried. Pretty sure I fell in love with all of them right then. You never know who's going to be there for you until a life changing event (good or bad) happens. 

Everyone was gone. We walked back over to Izzie. We heard the bobcat driving over with a bucket scoop and started laughing hysterically. The driver of the bobcat or "grave digger" (original nickname, I know) as we called him thought we were nuts. It didn't take long for her casket to be covered and grave to fill. Once again, the laughter stopped and that heaviness took over.

 This is how we physically said good bye to Miss Izzie. Everyday now we tell her "good morning" and "good night", I talk to her while I'm driving in the car, or holding Rory while she sleeps, and countless other moments. I'm fairly certain Jake does too.