{Moving Forward- Empty Uterus, Empty Arms}

The last 24 hours or so, I've been thinking about what's next.

It took me a long time to get to this place after my first loss, because moving forward felt like forgetting or leaving my baby behind. I spent a great deal of time figuring out that moving forward wasn't diminishing the fact I loved and missed my baby every day. Moving forward was in a way honoring her existence by simply acknowledging she changed my life for the better despite not being here with me.

There is no denying that my life does not in any way, shape or form look like the life that I want. In fact, I'm so far from the life I want, it's depressing. Now, after losing my precious baby, I'm even more depressed. Professionally, reproductively, even a tad on the personal level, my life depresses me.

Now that my uterus and arms are painfully empty, I have to do something. I have to move forward and toward the life I want. I feel like my life is slipping away. The main problem is that I've made so many hurtles and obstacles for myself, I don't even know where to begin. I've made so many decisions in the last year or so thinking it would help me get to where I wanted to be, but it's done the opposite. My last career move is the prime example. I was teaching an age group I loved, in a center I loved, with a co-teacher I loved. The insurance was sub-par as far as covering infertility, so when the subject of moving came up, I thought it was my chance to find a better job with better insurance. Instead, I settled for an assistant job, making $2 less per hour, in an age group I don't particularly like. But the insurance. The insurance covers infertility treatments and tests... but I'm so unhappy at work that I have to make myself go to work every day. And each time they deposit my paycheck into my account, a part of me dies because I know I won't have enough money to pay my bills.

The obvious answer would be get a better job. But since we live in such a weird place, there are very few career opportunities for me here. Moving back home, I'd have tons, but there again comes the insurance problem. Moving also means long distance for DH and I again until he can find a job, which after almost a year and a half of looking, I have little faith a job will fall into this lap.

I want to move forward. I need to move forward. And I understand that moving forward does not mean that I do not love Daya or Kaya any less. They will always be my babies and I will always love them and honor them whenever I can. But moving forward isn't a simple next step for me right now and that's scary.

{Good-bye Sweet Baby}

I've been avoiding this blog for awhile. We left for a short trip to NC on Wednesday night and I felt funny. By Friday night, I was bleeding. Scared and 10 hours from home, I called the doctor who assured me there was nothing I did or nothing I could do. We set up a scan for Monday morning. I knew Saturday that something was not right. I no longer "felt pregnant".

Still, we cried and hoped that our sweet baby was okay. I hoped that we would see a strong, healthy 8 week old fetus on the screen and my fears would go away.

Yesterday morning I said good-bye. We were on the highway on our way to the doctor and I knew. I knew, just like with my daughter in 2009, that my baby has gotten its wings. I told my baby that I loved her and it was okay.

They got me in right away, and the ultrasound confirmed what I already knew. My baby was a perfectly formed 8 week fetus, with no heartbeat. Our sweet baby was gone.

The doctor immediately went into "best outcome possible" mode and scheduled the D&C right away giving us the best possible outcome for pathology. I feel weird that my baby was taken out of me and sent to a lab for tests. I almost feel guilty that I just sent her away like that. But I know deep down I didn't send my baby, because my baby is in heaven with her sister.

I decided on a name today. We've named her "Baby Kaya", which means "child of wisdom". My hope is that Baby Kaya's brief life gives us the gift of knowledge so that this never happens again. My hope is that the "good" to come from this precious gift I've been given is the answers to questions that haven't been answered so far on this journey.

I keep thinking about the book, "Heaven is for Real". I read it over the summer in about 3 hours. The entire time I had goosebumps. I hope and pray that Daya (my daughter I lost in 2009) has found Kaya and they are together. That they are happy and they take care of each other. I hope they both know how much I love and miss them and wish they could both be here with me. I hope they know how thankful I am for their lives and the gifts they've given me.

Physically, I'm fine. I've had little pain. Emotionally, I'm completely empty. I apologized to DH for not being a good wife or friend lately. I found this while looking at help with grief tonight and posted it on my facebook for my close friends to see:

"Dear Friend,
Please be patient with me; I need to grieve in my own way and in my own time. Please don't take away my grief or try to fix my pain. The best thing you can do is listen to me and let me cry on your shoulder. Don't be afraid to cry with me. Your tears will tell me how much you care. Please forgive me if I seem insensitive to your problems. I feel depleted and drained, like an empty vessel, with nothing left to give. Please let me express my feelings and talk about my memories. Please understand why I must turn a deaf ear to criticism or tired cliche'."

I've been down this road so many times, but honestly, I don't know what to expect. I feel like a professional griever. But this seems to different. For the first time in a long time I don't know where my journey is going next.