Treasured

From my journal....


Saturday, January 27, 2011: I would feel so lucky and my prayers would be answered, if I could have even just a few moments with you breathing.

Saturday, March 12, 2011: At 3:30 a.m. last night I woke up to you hiccuping. I laid awake feeling every movement.

Sunday, April 3, 2011: We're another week closer to your birth--and my hope grows that you'll be born alive. Maybe we'll even get to take you home.

Friday, May 20, 2011: The happy day that was Allegra's only birthday.

Sunday, December 25, 2011: I remember last Christmas. You were growing inside me, but not so big I'd felt you move yet. Your diagnosis was confirmed only two days earlier. I sat on the piano bench watching your siblings excitedly open their gifts, telling myself to smile even though I was sad and scared. Mitch sensed this and continually asked if I was okay. Mitch's gifts to me were things I'd wanted for a long time, but their significance was unfulfilling--I only wanted a healthy baby.

After six months of wondering which day would be your last, you gave me, Mitch and your siblings the gift of 29 days together. No period in my life is sweeter than that time. The kids behaved, slept through the night and cooperated. My marriage was strengthened as Mitch encouraged me to spend all my time loving you. We saw the very best in people as they served us because they loved you.

I feel lucky to have had you. I gained experience and wisdom. Thank you for waiting, for surviving, for patiently living in your uncomfortable body, then quietly leaving it as I held you. I love you and I miss you. I need a new year.

Happy Birthday Baby Allegra! I think about you every single day.

Love, Mom

The Settling of Stillness

I studied you everyday.
Your body, your smell, your cry, your feel.
All those days spent consuming you
Yet I've already forgotten.

I search
To feel you quietly near.

Celebrated!

Dear Baby Allegra:

Happy Birthday.

We released pink balloons for you at the cemetery today. Were you somehow there? Levi wrote "How's your life in heaven?" on his balloon. I've spent the past 11 months wondering the same thing.

How is your life in heaven?

We miss you.

Love,
Your Mom

Devoted

Dear Baby Allegra:

I loved you before I knew you.

I loved you here.

I love you still.

Love,
Your Mom

Remembered

Dear Baby Allegra:

You were born 6 months ago today.

I held a friend's baby girl recently. She was wiggly, heavy and healthy. Unlike you. Thank you for staying in your uncomfortable body for those long, quiet weeks together.

Luckily, I held you for your first breath and your last.

Love,
Your Mom

Discussed

While riding in the car Klein asked, "I'm gonna die. Later. And I'm gonna see Baby Wegwa in heaven?"

"Yes," I said.

Klein thoughtfully replied, "Oh. That's cool."

Mourned

   


Dear Baby Allegra:

Hearing is supposed to be the last sense to fade when a person dies.

I wonder what your one perfect ear heard last. Was it the birds chirping as we sat outside? My voice waking Mitch to tell him you're gone? The sobs of your parents as we bent over you? Maybe it was the sound of water splashing as I bathed your limp body? Or did you hear Cairo crying and Levi offering you his blanket?

I hope it was the "I love you" whispered as I laid your body inside that massive hearse.

I miss you.

Love,
Your Mom

Considered

We chose hospice care for Allegra because any medical procedure performed could only delay her death instead of preserve her life.  Noxie, our gentle hospice nurse, helped us keep Allegra comfortable as we loved her at home.

At some point you may need to know about hospice care for you or a loved one. Although I haven't watched it yet, I've read this show is a great way to initiate dialogue on end-of-life care...

"Consider the Conversation: A documentary on a taboo subject" 

You can check http://www.considertheconversation.org/ to determine if this documentary is scheduled for your local PBS station.

Our friend Loretta, a hospice advocate, is interviewed in it.

Remembered

May 20, 2011: A first photo

June 17, 2011: The last photo

Cultivated

I love walking past our dining room table to see the family photos and stack of cards offering congratulations, support and sympathy.  Despite my current need for visual reminders of our time with Baby Allegra, one day soon I'll put these things out of sight.

Lucky us though because a few families on our kids' swimteam thoughtfully registered a newly cultivated pink rose with the name "Baby Allegra" thereby "allowing everyone to honor and remember the beautiful spirit of a precious girl."  Come spring we'll have this rose plus other special plants blooming in time to remind us of her.

If you would like to grow Baby Allegra roses in your yard, you can order from here in Spring 2012.

Moved

May 20, 2011 around 5 a.m.

Remembered

Dear Baby Allegra:

You've been gone 5 weeks.

Your adoring siblings always begged and argued to be the next person to hold you. For most of your life, I was that lucky person. Do you remember the feel of my arms like I remember the feel of yours?

Love,
Your Mom

Understood

A phantom limb is the sensation of feeling, sometimes painfully, the presence of a missing limb.

The last month was spent mentally readjusting to life without Baby Allegra. There is no longer a pressure to quickly return when I leave the house. No little bundle is waiting when I walk out of the bathroom. She's not sharing my pillow when I wake in the morning. And there is no weight on my lap as I write. Despite this month-old reality, I still find myself expecting her to be just out of sight.  Not gone.

Although phantom limbs cannot be removed, the associated pain is usually intermittent and is supposed to decrease over time.

Mourned

Dear Baby Allegra:

You've been gone 29 days.

Thankfully, you also lived 29 days.  In that time, you were in the hospital only 6 hours.  You spent 92 hours on oxygen. You ate less than an ounce at every feeding.  You were held by countless people and kissed infinite times. You had 6 blankets, 5 feeding syringes, 4 onesies, 3 car rides, 2 preemie pacifiers, yet only 1 known outcome.

I miss you.  So do the 5 other people in your family.

Love,

Your Mom

Soothed

A few nights ago, the boys and I visited Baby Allegra's grave.  As we left Cameron called out, "Good night Baby Allegra.  Don't let the bed bugs bite!  Have sweet dreams!"  

The same thing he says to Mitch and I every night as we tuck him into bed.

Mourned

Dear Baby Allegra:

You died 3 weeks ago today.

I prayed you away.  I loved you and wanted you, but watching you suffer was unbearable.

Now I miss you.

Love,
Your Mom

Mourned

When we met

Dear Baby Allegra:

You died 2 weeks ago today.

You were so little and our time together so short.  So why is this hole inside me so big?

Love,
Your Mom

Dressed

This dress hung in our closet for months.  Haunting us.  It is Baby Allegra's burial gown.  The gown was handsewn by my mother who later confessed sewing it was the hardest thing she's ever done.  It is made from fabric left over from my similarly-styled wedding dress.  The pink flower over the heart is actually six smaller flowers I made to represent each member of our family.  Cairo and I wore larger versions of this flower to her funeral.

Last week we went to the funeral home to see Baby Allegra for the last time.  She neither looked nor smelled as I remembered her, but I needed to hold and dress her once more.  When I laid the gown next to Baby Allegra, Mitch quietly commented, "Damn that gown.  It sat in our closet for so long, reminding us of the inevitable."

Mitch and I removed her pink tee and gently rubbed Baby Allegra with the pink lotion that makes my babies smell like mine.  We dressed her in the gown and snugly wrapped her in a soft, fuzzy blanket.  But no matter how tightly I held Baby Allegra, her little round nose remained cold as it pressed against my chest.

After holding her almost non-stop for the 29 days previous, the hardest part of our last visit was putting her down on a large table in a lonely room before walking out.

Sung

Klein's tribute to Baby Allegra: "I miss you Baby Wegwa!"

Mourned

Dear Baby Allegra:

You died one week ago today.  We had a lovely funeral for you this week.  Lots of loving family and friends came to celebrate your short, sweet life.  But the only person I wanted to see was you.

Love,
Your Mom