"I don't have good news...I'm sorry..."

Those aren't the words you want or expect to hear at an 8 week ultrasound. 

This past Wednesday we found out that our baby, who we saw on an ultrasound the previous week, no longer had a heartbeat. We will never get to see who baby Sprout was. We will never know if the baby was a boy or a girl. And now the teddy bear I got Noel for Christmas that said "Big Brother" seems really silly, or just really painful.  

How does this happen?  How have we been pregnant 5 times but only have two living children?  Have we won the worst lottery ever? Every time I think "Why me?", I ask myself "Why not me?"  What makes me think I'm immune to loss, because I had already lost two babies? That should be a good enough reason, but because I have a lot of friends who are multiple loss parents, I know there is no immunity, no guarantees.  

So now what?  Where do we go from here? What does the future hold for our family?  I wish I knew. I wish we could just stop grieving already!  My heart, mind, and body are so tired. However, I will not give up hope. Lola and Noel, my rainbows, gave me that hope, so I will continue to hold on to it.  

If Only

I took the kids to Lyndhurst Splash Park today. There was a little boy there, I think his name was Chad, who started playing with Lola, sliding down the water slides.  They were running around with Noel, having fun.  Chad looked like he was about 4 years old and had dark red hair. I spotted his mom; she was a redhead, too. No one would ever believe that I have two redheaded boys.  What are the odds, with parents who don't have red hair?  It was then that I realized Chad could have been you, Dylan.  Same age, same hair color. This is what it would have been like, what it should be like, watching the three of you play together. Thank God for sunglasses because tears were running down my face. Lola was running after him, giggling.  Chasing after her big brother...  

A woman came up to me and asked if they were all siblings. I said no, that Chad wasn't my son.  She remarked that she wondered because they all seemed so close in age. I wanted to say that my kids ARE all that close in age.

Later on, I was sitting at the computer with Lola. She saw the screensaver and said "Aww, it's baby Lola!"  I said no.  Then she said "It's Bubba?"  Nope, try again.  "Oh, it's baby Dylan!"  Yup, your other brother.  Someday she'll understand who you are, Dylan.  You'll always be her big brother, her guardian angel. You will always have a place in our family. Sometimes it feels like a hole, other times it feels like a gift. You have taught us all so much. You have made us realize what's truly important in life.

Today, though, I wanted you here.  I imagined you here.  

Today, I had 3 living children, if only for a brief moment.  If only.

Happy Birthday, Shrimp!

So today would have been our third child's due date.  Such a difficult time for me right now; so many emotions. How do I mourn a child that I never got to celebrate?  How do I not fall into the pit when I'm pregnant again and need to keep my head as sane as possible?  I imagined Dylan talking to me tonight, telling me that he's taking care of Shrimp and not to worry.  I never really worry about them; I know they are safe and loved.  I'm just sad for them, for us, for our family.  When you picture your future family, you never envision that you'll have more children in heaven than on earth.  It just doesn't seem right or fair.  I believe that Dylan would want me to focus my attention on raising Lola and getting Speck here safe and sound.  But...the pit is never far away.  I just posted a link a couple days ago to a woman who wrote that being pregnant with a rainbow baby is like tight-rope walking over hell, hoping not to fall in.  I also know some loss moms who liken it to jumping off a cliff blindfolded.  My sentiments exactly.

So how do we mark Shrimp's due date?  I guess the best thing we can do is be a family: hold the child that we do have here and give her lots of kisses, while we hold the children that we don't have here in our hearts.  And Speck?  Lucky for me, I get to "hold" him all day long.

Mourning myself

2 years, 6 months, 3 days, almost to the exact hour.  That's how long it's been since Dylan was born.  Subtract 8 days, and that's how long "the old Missy" has been gone.  Over the past couple years I have heard multiple times from friends that they missed me, the old me.  I've been told that I'm still the same person, by others.  Truth is, I miss myself.  I know I'm not that same person.  It would be impossible to be.  The old Missy knew life  in a much more innocent, even naive way.  She knew people died, even babies, but that would never happen to her.  She didn't do anything to deserve something like that.  Didn't most people create their own sadness?  I didn't choose for Dylan to die.  I didn't do anything, that I know of, to cause his death.  I had a normal pregnancy like everyone else.  I was excited, scared, and nervous, like everyone else.  However, I didn't go into labor.  I didn't get to be rushed to the hospital by Tom, dragging along a pillow and hospital bag, wondering how the birth would go.  I was rushed by an ambulance- a ride I barely remember- and rushed even faster into an OR with a mask over my face and nurses furiously prepping me for surgery. I could have died.  So could Dylan, that night.  I am forever grateful that, by some miracle, he didn't, and I was given 8 amazingly emotional days with him.  To say that I was forever changed by his birth, life and death is an understatement.  I often think of the things I used to enjoy. I am physically, emotionally, and mentally a different person.  I am stronger than you can imagine even when the tiniest memory can bring me to my knees.  I live for my family and its future.  I have never been a public speaker but somehow bring up immense courage when asked to talk in front of groups about Dylan and our subsequent loss of Shrimp. My family is proof that life throws you many curve balls.  You have to change and adapt, and I guess that's what I have done.  But I will probably always mourn the old Missy, just like I will always mourn Dylan.  When he died, part of me did, too.  I hope that the new part of me that was added, the one who sees life in a whole other way, can be an even better Missy.

Baby Speck

So, here we go on another pregnancy journey. Dylan is now slated to be a really big brother; his sweet sister Lola here with us, a sibling in heaven with him, and a new baby swimming in my belly.  This pregnancy almost identically mirrors his.  Dylan was due on 12/26/10.  This baby is due on 12/20/13.  So many emotions, so many fears.  But, I learned through Lola's pregnancy and my loss after her, that I'm not in charge.  I cannot determine Speck's fate.  I'm just here for the ride.  

I hope you all will join us on the journey.  I always say to my baby loss mom friends, "Rainbow pregnancies are no joke."  They are extremely difficult to get through on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis.  So, I appreciate any support and forgiveness for my craziness over the next 6 months.  

I'm so happy that Dylan came into our lives.  He has forever changed my family and what I thought it would be.  But I wouldn't change anything.  

When goodbye comes before hello

I usually write exclusively on this blog about losing Dylan, but, with a broken heart, I'm including another loss. Dylan and Lola now have a brother or sister in heaven. We didn't know we were pregnant until I miscarried this week. What a blow this has been. As if losing one child isn't hard enough, we are now dealing with the loss of another. We didn't even have a chance to get excited about this baby. There was no positive pregnancy test- until it was already over. August 18th would have been the estimated due date. I can already imagine Lola running around, curious of a strange baby in her house. But that baby will never be.

Three pregnancies; only one living child. I will now say that the most disappointing aspect of my life has been trying to have a family. I never imagined in my wildest dreams that I would lose a child. And after Dylan's death, I prayed that I would never know another loss. It couldn't happen again, right? For some people, their big dreams come true. Seems that for me, it is my worst fears that are realized.

Dylan has a new playmate, which is sadly comforting to me. I have never really worried about where he is; I guess I know in my heart that he's being taken care of. Now I know that he has a hand to hold and someone to play trucks with. If only I could have held that hand, too.

And so we continue our journey, now a family of five. I will continue to hug Lola tightly- I do every day. I know how precious her life is and how quickly it could be taken away from me. I pray that she never knows the heart ache I have experienced as a mother. Being a parent is a very hard job. Being a loss parent is indescribable.

4 simple words

On this date last year, I was 19 weeks pregnant with our second baby. We had just gotten through Dylan's first birthday, which was hard but not as bad as the anticipation that had built up for months before it. I had survived about 14 weeks of morning sickness and a trip to the ER for excruciatingly painful kidney stones- which is even more frightening for someone who has already lost a child and didn't need to be hanging out in the hospital that he died in. We had scheduled our "big" ultrasound for January 18th. For most people, it's where they get all excited about finding out the gender of their baby. For Tom and I, there was a lot of fear and anxiety. We had seen our baby on the big screen already. I know what other moms don't, though. There are no guarantees that there was still a heartbeat. I was terrified the entire time, but started to relax as my doctor started the scan, telling us everything we were looking at the whole time. He knew Dylan's history from our chart- he had scanned him, too- and we knew that we'd be seeing a lot more of Dr. Muise over the next 19 weeks or so. When he was done doing all his measurements, he asked if we wanted to know the baby's gender. We said yes, and I waited for him to confirm my hunch that Baby Mathews #2 was a boy. Then he said 4 amazing words that I will never forget: "Your daughter is perfect". I had waited what seemed like forever to hear that. She was perfect. She is perfect. Dylan was going to have a little sister.

Happy New Year

This year was truly bittersweet. 2012 felt like such a relief for me. We had survived 2011, our first year without Dylan. There were many days that I didn't want to go on and many days that I felt no reason to. But 2012 brought hope. We were pregnant again and had made it through the first 4 months. After losing a child, there is no longer a "safe" time in pregnancy. After all, Dylan had made it to 39 weeks. 39!!! And he still died...

The first five months of 2012 were extremely difficult. I'm not going to lie. Every day I was convinced that Lola was dead. She didn't move enough, she moved too much. I just wanted that baby out of my body where she could be safe. Weird logic, right? This is how loss moms think. Your body becomes more dangerous than the outside world. But, thankfully, Lola made it and arrived safely on May 31st!

And now the sweet part of the year comes in. Lola has brought such happiness to my life that I thought I could never find again. She doesn't even come close to replacing Dylan. That's impossible. She doesn't erase the pain. She doesn't fill the permanent hold in my heart. She does give me a reason to wake up again. She brings a smile to my face and tears to my eyes. The love I have for her will always be different than my love for Dylan. She will always be my source of hope in the darkest of times.

So, Dylan, I think of you tonight as another year comes to an end. My heart hurts that I can't go upstairs and check on you, see you sleeping peacefully in dinosaur pjs. You will live on through Lola, and I am a better mother because of that.

Happy New Year in heaven, sweet boy!

38 weeks

On this date in 2010, I went to my last doctor's appointment with Dylan. I was 38 weeks and 1 day. It was the last time I heard his heartbeat from inside me. I wasn't dilated, he hadn't "dropped". I remember the doctor saying that it was possible he was a big baby. That freaked me out a little, but I was still looking forward to his birth. I figured we wouldn't be meeting him until after Christmas. As I left the appointment, it had snowed and frozen my windshield. My best friend Melissa was pregnant also, was at her anatomy ultrasound at the same time, and I talked to her while I defrosted my car. She was having a boy, too! I couldn't believe we were both having little boys who would grow up as friends. If only that were true...

I think of this week in history, December 13-18th, 2010, as the last week of my old self. The former Missy, who was a lot more carefree and felt that bad things really did only happen to other people- until they happened to me. The former Missy who never imagined how life-changing having my first baby would be, and how since then I've lived a "new normal". I had no idea how much love I had in me until Dylan arrived or how heart wrenching it is to let your child go.

38 weeks and 1 day. What I would give to go back in time and feel that sweet baby kick me again, rub my belly one last time, dream about what life was going to be like with him here.

And so begins the countdown to his birthday. We will be celebrating, but not like normal families do. We will get together, eat and have cake. But no one will blow out the candles. There won't be presents, noisemakers or party hats. There won't be a birthday boy sitting in a special chair having his picture taken. Instead, he'll be with us in our hearts. I will be wearing my waterproof mascara that day.

Thank you, Dylan

Today I am thankful for all the wonderful things I have: great friends and supportive family, my job and co-workers that I consider friends, a warm home where the bills are paid and there is food in our fridge, 4 furry friends who bring a smile to my face, my crazy husband who loves me despite my faults, and a beautiful baby girl who melts my heart with her big blue eyes. I am thankful for the life that I have, even though it's not what I had ever imagined or planned for. I am thankful for my two beautiful children: one that I held as she fell asleep in my arms tonight; the other who lives on every day in my heart, helping me to be the strong, compassionate, loving and attentive mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend that I am today. Dylan has shown me a side of myself that I never knew existed, and for that, I am truly thankful.

Waterproof mascara

I'm laying in bed, wide awake. Remembering, daydreaming, grieving my sweet boy who should be 22 months old, running around the house, pulling kitty tails, smashing Tonka trucks, kissing his little sister on the cheek. I should be preparing to take both of them Trick-or-Treating on Wednesday- Lola as a goldfish, Dylan as a superhero? Monster? Dinosaur? What would he be? How would I convince him that he can't eat all the candy in one night?

I can see the picture in my head, it's REAL. We should be that family of four- a little boy AND a little girl- perfect, as so many people have told me when I tell them about my two children. Nothing about our life is perfect, though. Lola has brought me joy, happiness and healing, but she also brings great sorrow when I look into her eyes and long for her big brother. She would not be here if it hadn't been for him.

I had no previous plans of getting pregnant 9 months after he was born. We probably would have just started discussing it after his first birthday- instead, I was already 15 weeks pregnant then, grief-stricken and terrified. I am so grateful that we were able to get pregnant again, however, and never took that pregnancy for granted- not for a SINGLE moment!

I still can't comprehend how I am a functioning member of society. A lot of people in my situation would have just crumbled. I often wish that I had, maybe taken a little Valium vacation in my bed. Just checked out for awhile. Perhaps that's why I am always so exhausted and tense. Did I give myself permission to really grieve, or did I hold it all in, causing such deep depression that I thought I would never surface from? It's amazing how the possibility and hope of new life can shake you awake again.

So, as I look down as my sheets, streaked with black, I am reminded that my switch last month to regular mascara was a bit premature. Looks like I'll be heading to Target soon to pick up more waterproof mascara. For some, it's the start of the "most wonderful time of the year". For the Mathewses, it will forever be a season of joy mixed with sorrow. This year we'll be celebrating Lola's first Christmas and Dylan's 2nd birthday.

Someday soon we all will be together,
If the fates allow.
Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow.
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

December 18th, 2010

On the night you were born,
The moon smiled with such wonder
That the stars peeked in to see you
And the night wind whispered,
“Life will never be the same.”
Because there had never been anyone like you…ever in the world.
So enchanted with you were the wind and the rain
That they whispered the sound of your wonderful name.
It sailed through the farmland
High on the breeze…
Over the ocean…
And through the trees…
Until everyone heard it
And everyone knew
Of the one and only ever you.
Not once had there been such eyes,
Such a nose,
Such silly, wiggly, wonderful toes.
When the polar bears heard,
They danced until dawn.
From faraway places,
The geese flew home.
The moon stayed up until
Morning next day.
And none of the ladybugs flew away.
So whenever you doubt just how special you are
And you wonder who loves you, how much and how far,
Listen for geese honking high in the sky.
(They’re singing a song to remember you by.)
Or notice the bears asleep at the zoo.
(It’s because they’ve been dancing all night for you!)
Or drift off to sleep to the sound of the wind.
(Listen closely…it’s whispering your name again!)
If the moon stays up until morning one day,
Or a ladybug lands and decides to stay,
Or a little bird sits at your window awhile,
It’s because they’re all hoping to see you smile…
For never before in story or rhyme
(not even once upon a time)
Has the world ever known a you, my friend,
And it never will, not ever again…
Heaven blew every trumpet
And played every horn
On the wonderful, marvelous
Night you were born.


~ Nancy Tillman


Sigh. I will never forget that night- what I was doing, the snow on the ground, the fear, the sound of the ambulance, the EMT telling me I was going to become a mommy, the overhead lights in the hospital, the mask going over my face, and then waking up to find out that Dylan had survived.

I've worked through a lot of the trauma, but how do I come to terms with never getting to see my baby grow up? How am I supposed to accept that he'll never actually be here to celebrate his birthday? I don't know. I guess I don't have a choice.

Baby Squirt

We found out that on October 5th that Dylan is going to be a big brother.  Talk about bittersweet.  We have wanted this since February and it seemed to take forever.  I know our hearts needed some time to heal before we could open them up to another baby.  Sometimes it still feels too soon.  Dylan's birthday is in 17 days; Christmas in 24; the baby is now 12 weeks and I am moving into the second trimester.  I have so many emotions running through me and so many thoughts clouding my head; I'm not even sure how to separate them anymore.  I feel so torn between trying to find positivity and be excited about this new life and grieving my sweet baby whose life was cut way too short.  I am beyond terrified of something happening to this baby, too, but for the most part, it is all out of my control.  The past year has felt totally out of my control, and I hate it.  I have to believe that we will have a happy outcome this time, but I have to convince myself of that daily.  Dylan is the Squid.  This baby is the Squirt.  We hope to meet the Squirt in 6 months or less, and we hope to bring this baby home to Dylan's nursery, happy and healthy.  Safe and sound.

It's a Boy!

This day last year I was a nervous wreck.  We were scheduled for our 20 week anatomy scan, and I was so afraid of something being wrong with the baby.  I didn't care what the gender was, but I had a feeling it was a boy.  I remember tearing up in the waiting room because I was so scared.  Then when we saw our baby on the big screen, swimming around, holding his legs with his hands and sticking his butt out at us, I couldn't help but smile and laugh.  I was so relieved.  Baby Mathews was perfect and a little boy!  We left the office with 3 pictures and huge grins.  I went home and texted about 90 people to let them know.  I went to Babies R Us and bought him a few things to celebrate.  What a happy day.

Now, one year later, I am so sad thinking back.  I thought once we got past that hurdle and everything was okay, that Dylan was a sure thing.  I never imagined that I would lose him.  I read horror stories about it, but never thought it would end up being me.  Dylan was absolutely perfect, but my body failed him.  It's a hard pill to swallow.  I know, well hope, that I didn't do anything to cause his death, but it doesn't make my guilt as his mother any easier.  However, I am grateful for this memory today.  I hope that I will always remember how happy I was then.

7 Months...

This time 7 months ago I was completely unaware of the crap that was about to become my life.  Dylan was born on 12/18/10 at 9:28 p.m. after I abrupted approximately 50 minutes before.  I thought my water had broken and I was so excited.  How can life change so violently in only seconds?  I knew he was going to die.  I had read the baby books.  I have a sister who is a labor and delivery nurse.  I knew that hemorrhaging meant he wasn't getting oxygen.  I wanted the EMTs to move faster.  Why did they keep asking me stupid questions life my birthdate and social security number?  Just get this baby out of me or he will die!  He didn't have a chance.  He wasn't meant to be.

I hate that I couldn't come home from work tonight and hug and kiss him.  I hate that this house is always so quiet when I know it should be filled with crying and babbling.  I hate that I don't even recognize myself anymore.  I know I used to smile and enjoy life.  Where did that Missy go?  She's with Dylan and I don't know if she's ever coming back.

 I love you baby boy.  Hope you're enjoying marking 7 months in heaven.  xoxo

How do I make him proud?

I've been struggling a lot over the past almost 7 months on how to make Dylan proud of me.  I feel like all I do with my time is work, play on my phone and cry.  Not exactly what I thought I would be doing in 2011.  I had expected this year to be full of Dylan's first year of life.  I am constantly imagining what he'd be doing right now, what I would be doing with him, instead of whatever it is that I am doing at that moment.  It's as if 2010 never existed, and Tom and I are newlyweds again.  It's bizarre.  We had spent so much time planning for him and just expecting him to be here.  He was a sure thing.  Now what?  How do I use what has happened for some type of good?  How do I make sure that his life has some meaning and purpose?  I want to know that he's watching me and smiling.