Humble Gratitude

"Rise up; this matter is in your hands. We will support you, so take courage and do it."

Ezra 10:4

Although many of you have credited us with having the courage and optimism that has allowed us to maintain our hope, we cannot imagine having done all this alone. Through the outpouring of your tears, messages, cards, visits, phone calls, emails, condolences and thoughtful gifts and gestures, we are truly blessed. We just didn't expect all of this and are not used to all the attention.

Most times, it seems grossly inadequate to simply tell someone thank you. We want so much for our family and friends to understand that the "thank you" we're desperately trying to convey holds so much more than the nonchalant thank you's we exchange everyday to the waiter for bringing your food or the cashier giving you your receipt.

Here is our homage of thanks in the form of pictures and words taken from the cards and emails we've received. They are in no particular order, sender's names are not mentioned and these are certainly not all-inclusive.

When your heart needs reprieve and your strength is running low, I will share your tears.

In the hardest things we do ... love sees us through.

If you need some distraction, I would be happy to come see you and play the clown.

A wish for hope and for comfort ...

In these days and nights of sorrow, know that you are not alone but are in the prayers, the thoughts, and hearts of those who care.

I hope you will be able to take comfort in whatever vision you each may have of heaven.

... pray that you have the strength to get through this. You and Ken are in my thoughts and prayers.

We are both here for you when you are ready.

If you need anything, you know where to ask.

I send only my greatest thoughts and warmest love to you at this time.

Our hearts ache with yours; we pray for comfort and healing during this difficult time.

If you ever need an escape or a shoulder to cry on, please always feel free to give me a call.

Let me know and I'll be there whenever.

I just want to let you know that I will do ANYTHING that you want ... I will be there for a shoulder to cry on, go out, make you dinner, ANYTHING!!! I love you!

To suffer a loss like yours is to know a loss unlike any other ... it means letting go of a beautiful part of your life.

Ken and I both want everyone to know that we're still optimistic about the future and are taking steps to realize our dreams. Thank you all for the many things - especially the intangible things - that you've given us. We are enveloped by the warmth of your prayers and wishes.

Pearls

We've been through a lot and I can't speak for my husband but I can tell you what I've learned during our fertility struggles and tragic experiences.

I've learned that ...
   ... grief is like a common cold. There is no cure, it lingers and only time will heal it.
   ... it is important to pay attention to yourself.
   ... you must let yourself recover both physically AND emotionally.
   ... I love this quote: "Learn from Yesterday, Live for Today and Hope for Tomorrow".
   ... there is no right way to mourn a loss, there is only your own way.
   ... we must take care of ourselves before others.
   ... it is ok to lean on your spouse, your family and your friends for support and love.
   ... we don't dwell on the past but dream about our future.
   ... asking for privacy or declining a question is not rude, it is a right.
   ... you shouldn't feel guilty about having a happy moment, laughing again or enjoying your life.

Unless you're someone who has been through a similar experience, it's difficult to come close to understanding how the mind races and the heart aches for someone who said hello and goodbye in one breath. We don't pretend to know everything. We certainly didn't want to be experts on grief and loss.

Simply put, the construct of our mourning has not and does not consume our lives, it brings more meaning to it.

Ken and I truly appreciate all of our family and friends who have kept us in their thoughts and prayers these past few weeks.

Reality Bites

Many people want to know ...

How are you doing?

The answer is:

We're doing.

We're collecting bits and pieces of our lives back up from where we left them. Grief is a strange animal that lurks in deep dark shadows that attacks suddenly and sometimes without obvious provocation. That is the nature of the beast. We know that.

Any loss is difficult but repeating history within a span of a year is a shattering reality.

But, we have not given up.

Hope can still spring from this despair.

That's what we're breathing here.

H

O
P

E

No Title

Can lightening strike someone twice?

Yes, it can.

As I lay there with my dying son in one arm and my broken husband in the other, below the white sheet between them laid evidence of the devastation that brought us together.

If you'd like the back story to prevent asking us painful questions like "What happened?", here are the basics. 

I was admitted into the hospital on Tuesday night, October 12th and put on strict bedrest. I was only 22 weeks and 2 days ... only a few weeks shy of possible infant viability. Despite best efforts, contractions and labor on Sunday morning (October 17th) brought our little boy into this world at only 23 weeks old.

If you've never had to bury your child, there are no words to convey the feelings.

If you've had to bury more than one, than you'd know that pure obliteration of human feeling exists.

Matthew Douglas Hamilton was born on October 17, 2010 with his mother's nose and his father's broad shoulders. He will always be lovingly remembered by his mother and father. Matthew joins his sister Nari and they watch over us always.

The Holiday Spirit

Stores are blaring it, stations are playing it and we're humming along to it. Christmas is here when Oldies 103.3 FM  dedicates its entire playlist of everyday to the Sounds of the Season.  I admit, I've been getting in the spirit too and have settled on the Holiday music channel on TV more than a few times.

Ken and I have put it off for some time but we are finally placing our daughter's ashes to rest somewhere we can visit each year on her birth date. It's already and only been two months since that date. We've thought about this since then and realized that we were partly also afraid to face that reality head on.

How does someone bury their own child?

I don't even know the answer to that question. However, I do know how important it is for us to do this because it is more than going through the motions of the burial itself. There is such significant symbolism exhibited by our actions to do so and actively pushes PLAY on all the efforts we've invested thus far.

I won't rattle off the countless clichés about loved ones and the holidays that come to mind because we've heard them all before, right? What I will say is that none of those heartfelt Hallmark clichés spark chords with a person until their life experience allows them access.

Ok, just one saying about family and home ~ one of my favorites ...

Houses are made of sticks and stones, but

Homes are made of love alone.

Wishful Thinking ...

I think everybody has those moments where you take a snapshot of a moment in your life and wish it away. Those moments make you doubt the person you are and test what you're made of. Most have a love/hate relationship with those moments. I know I do.

I'm looking at the tall turntable of festive and LUSCIOUS cupcakes.  The heavenly aroma of freshly brewed specialty coffees hangs in the air. I've been sitting in a quirky coffeeshop plugged into my iTunes and hooked into their Wi-Fi just loving this moment.

In the time of year where the focus is what we are thankful for, it is very difficult for me to BE thankful although I know that there is much I AM thankful for. Focusing on the positive is unfailingly exhausting these days but I'm trying.

I'd like to share with you my list of things that I'm thankful for this year.

I'm thankful for ...

... the unseasonably warm days of November in New England.

... the turning of the seasons (I would surely miss it if I were ever to leave this area).

... my understanding, supportive and positive husband.

... my well-intentioned family (you all know what I'm talking about here).

... knowing pain to appreciate joy that much more.

... understanding loss to treasure the present.

... feeling grief to honor my past.

... experiencing birth, even in it's tragedy, to realize miracles happen.

Life doesn't always happen in the ways that you might expect and often times, we're left with the scars and gaping wounds that can only hope to heal in time. Yet, even through the times where you aren't sure why "bad things can happen to good people" or why "good things can happen to bad people", stay faithful to the first phrase.

What do I mean by that?

Remember that you are a good person. Bad is the balance of good and that the grass always seem greener on the other side.

Thanksgiving is about more than food, it's about family and appreciating the glue that keeps it together ... whatever that may be!

Wishing eveyone a Happy Thanksgiving!!

p.s. Send me updates on your Thanksgiving. I'll be posting pictures and possible personal recipes after the holiday.

My First Time

Perhaps I'm naive or just plain ignorant but in this case, I wished to ascribe the saying "Ignorance is bliss" to myself.

~ flash back ~

I picked up Nari's ashes on Tuesday afternoon from the hospital. It arrived in a white paper gift bag, in a white box accompanied by a white envelope with gold writing. I'm not sure if all the white was intentional but it did invoke images of heaven, haloes, winged spirits and innocence but I immediately rejected them all.

Here is where my naivete kicks in ...

While the social worker was busy asking me about how I was coping, feeling and doing, all I spied with my little eye were the cremains perched on a cluttered entryway table.

What do they look like?

How do they package this?

Was that really my baby in there?

Not pleasant thoughts.

I was surprised to see that white envelope with all the fancy gold writing. What was in there? Oh ... the Death Certificate. I never knew there was such a thing and although it made logical sense (if there is a Birth Certificate, of course there would be such a thing as a Death certificate), my emotional sense was hurt by it.

There were a lot of mixed emotions coursing through my system while I drove home. The white bag sat small in the passenger seat but exuded such a presence. I will say that it isn't quite the way I imagined bringing my baby home.

Formalities

For those unaware (and trust me, I was most certainly unaware), in 2002, the Commonwealth of Massachusetts enacted a state law that gives parents who have experienced a pregnancy loss resulting in stillbirth the option to request that the state Registrar of Vital Records issue a Certificate of Birth Resulting in Stillbirth. 

The above is taken directly from the reverse side of the application that was given to us by the hospital social worker while we were still there. I realized I hadn't read it completely until today.

It also states:

The law gives parents the option of requesting a certificate at any time in the future.

Given the option, Ken and I decided that we did want a birth certificate so we promptly mailed our application and check the day after we came home from the hospital.  It arrived in the mail just yesterday and here it is framed.

I'm sorry that this picture is not very clear. The ball of light you see is the camera flash but you will see that I added the little scrollwork up top and the pink footprint onto the cardboard matting.

Little by little, these are the ways we are healing and honoring our baby. Time is a conscionable thief. Taking the mediocrity out of each day but leaving the illusion of feeling that day only yesterday.

In Remembrance

I saw this poem posted from another mother who lost their baby too soon and felt immediate affinity for the words and poem ...

There are women that become mothers without effort,
without thought, without patience or loss and though
they are good mothers and love their children, I know
that I will be better.

I will not be better because of genetics, or money or that
I have read more books but because I have struggled and
toiled for this child. I have longed and waited. I
have cried and prayed. I have endured and planned over
and over again.

Like most things in life, the people who truly have
appreciation are those who have struggled to attain
their dreams. I will notice EVERYTHING about my child.
I will take time to watch my child sleep, explore and
discover. I will marvel at this miracle every day for the
rest of my life.

I will be happy when I wake in the middle of the night
to the sound of my child, knowing that I can comfort,
hold and feed him and that I am not waking to take
another temperature, pop another pill, take another
shot or cry tears of a broken dream. My dream will be
crying for me.

I count myself blessed in this sense; that God has
given me this insight, this special vision with which
I will look upon my child that my friends will not
see.

Whether I parent a child I actually give birth to or a
child that God leads me to, I will not be careless
with my love.

I will be a better mother for all that I have endured.

I am a better wife, a better aunt, a better daughter,
neighbor, friend and sister because I have known pain.

I know disillusionment as I have been betrayed by my
own body. I have been tried by fire and hell many
never face, yet given time, I stood tall.

I have prevailed. I have succeeded. I have won.

So now, when others hurt around me, I do not run from
their pain in order to save myself discomfort. I see
it, mourn it, and join them in theirs.

I listen.

And even though I cannot make it better, I can make it
less lonely. I have learned the immense power of
another hand holding tight to mine, of other eyes that
moisten as they learn to accept the harsh truth and
when life is beyond hard. I have learned a compassion
that only comes with walking in those shoes.

I have learned to appreciate life.

Yes I will be a wonderful mother.

~Author Unknown

Final Post from Both of Us

HERS

I know that it has been a few days but the days blend together as one neverending surreal moment. I wonder what day today is and if it should even matter.

Regardless, the sun rises and sets as expected. Only my time has stood still.

I've had my share of medical challenges these past few years and have never pretended bravery but none so paramount as the one I've lost.

Here are some amazing things that have happened since:
  I can still feel hot and cold on my skin.
  I understand phantom pain and now know it exists.
  My body is confused and wakes me up every two hours... if I was sleeping at all.
  I am experiencing postpartum with only the "post" but no "partum".
  It pains me to know that I'm not the first or last to know this pain.

Life does go on. With time, there will be healing and even this jagged memory's edges will soften to turn a comforting shade of gray.

HIS

I am starting off this post with the statement that I have never been good with words or expressing myself, but as I write this I am looking at the last ultra sound of my unborn daughter and a whole tidal wave of emotion is flowing over me.

Like I said I have never been good with expressing myself or showing much in the way of emotions in front of others. Maybe it is due to my thinking that showing emotions shows weakness or the fact I believe I need to be the strong one for others.

Whatever the case may be the one thing I know for sure is this, I have never felt anything so painful or such deep hurt as the night I lost my daughter. The pain inside me is greater knowing that I was not able to be there to comfort my new wife while she had to give birth. I feel such deep regret knowing she had to go through this alone without me there and or her family.

When I arrived at the hospital everything was already over…..our child was going to have to be born and there was nothing medically the doctor could do to save her. I knew something was terribly wrong when I told the nurse I was looking for my wife Naria and without ever saying a word he briskly showed me to her room.

My wife laid there with a look of strength in her eyes as she told me the news about what happened. The news hit me like a sledge hammer and I was in a state of disbelief and shock.

I am not going to go into detail of what happened nor am I going state how tragic this has all been, but what I am going to share with each of you is how much joy and love I felt for Naria when our baby was placed in her arms. At that moment all my walls were broken down, every emotion I had bottled up inside me flowed out of me and I knew, I knew right then and there, I would not give up hope and do everything in my power to make sure we would have a child!

To my daughter Nari, words cannot describe how sorry I am that daddy was not there to bear witness to your arrival in this world, but you did something that no other person on this earth has been able to do…….you’ve broke down those walls and barriers I have had up for so many years and allowed me to love unconditionally again. Your mother and I will cherish this moment in time and we will honor you every year.

Love Daddy!

OURS

Nari G. Hamilton was born on October 6, 2009 at 11:30pm at Melrose-Wakefield Hospital 20 weeks premature. Ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes surrounding doll-like perfection haloed by her peaceful sleeping face.

We cradled our baby ... whispered "We love you" and felt blessed to have met her.