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