If Only

Every year I try really hard not to relive the last week of Cora's life.  And I always fail utterly.  Every year I think about what I was doing on a particular day.  And it starts today, April 26th (a Wednesday), the day of my last regular OB appointment.  I was 37 1/2 weeks, and having fairly regular contractions and a LOT of pain/pressure "down under" on top of still being horribly sick like I had been the entire pregnancy. I was very ready to be done with the whole pregnancy thing.  Not only that, but my brother was graduating in Utah that weekend, and my parents would be only a 3 hour drive from me (as opposed to an 11 or so hour drive), so I asked him if he would induce me.

But I was healthy, the baby was healthy, and their policy stood against elective inductions before 39 weeks, so he refused.  I figured it was a long shot, but was still disappointed.

Cora died Sunday night.

If only he'd agreed.  I can't help but run through it in my head.  What might have happened if he'd agreed?

Of course, there's no answer to that.  It's quite possible with her cord where it was that she might have not made it through labor, even with an emergency csection.  But she might have.

Words cannot describe how desperately I want to hear that cry.  To see her open her eyes and look at me. And it hurts so tremendously that I didn't get to.  I had that ripped from me.

The person I was died with her.  Someone else walks in her place.  I like to think that this new person I am is better, more kind, more compassionate, more patient, a better mother.  More appreciative of every moment I DO have.  But, days like today, I really miss the person I was.  I miss the future she was going to have.

I miss my baby girl.

Columbine

Today was the 13th anniversary of the Columbine High School massacre.  I've reflected a lot on that day since moving to Littleton, and even more today, my first anniversary here.

I was a sophomore in high school, and I was sick that day, so I stayed home.  I don't quite remember how the news got turned on, I was probably flipping through channels and saw something, but I watched the whole thing through.  I spend the day crying, watching in horror as the terrorized students ran towards the news cameras.  I couldn't understand how someone could commit such senseless violence.

I've been taking the kids to Columbine library for almost a year now, many times playing at the park next door.  I'd seen signs for the Columbine memorial, but I'd never been over to see it.  And I honestly had no clue that the high school was just over the hill.

It was really beautiful.  I had no idea it would have that much of an emotional impact on me.  The atmosphere was quite reverent as we walked in.  Even Erin felt it, she was shushing Patrick.  I didn't know any of those who had been killed, but I it still hurt so much to see.  So many lives lost.

Each victim had a plaque with whatever the family felt appropriate to put on it, and one plaque, Rachel Joy Scott's, had something she had written about a month prior.

"I have this theory that if one person can go out of their way to show compassion, then it will start a chain reaction of the same. People will never know how far a little kindness can go."

Wouldn't the world be a better place if we all learned to do just that?

The other Cora

There's another angel Cora that is special to me. Her name is Cora McCormick.

Cora died at 5 days old due to an undetected congenital heart defect.  Sadly, a very simple test could have detected it and saved Cora's life.  It's called a pulse oximetry test (the little white plastic thing put on the tip of the finger...SO simple).  Cora's amazing mother has been campaigning trying to get bills in several states to make pulse ox tests for newborns standard and mandatory.  And she's doing an amazing job.

Go read Cora's story.  Then contact your representatives and tell them you support a pulse ox bill to be written or passed in your state.

Remember

‎"If you know someone who has lost a child, and you're afraid to mention them because you think you might make them sad by reminding them that they died -- you're not reminding them. They didn't forget they died. What you're reminding them of is that you remembered that they lived, and that is a great gift."--Elizabeth Edwards

As time goes by...

...I have learned a lot about this grief journey.  It's a long one.  I keep trying to remind Baby Loss friends, and myself by extension, that you're never really "done."  Unlike most journeys, there's no real destination.  There's no point, at least not while I'm alive, when the grief will go away.  It'll always be there.  Do I live my life? Yes.  Do I find joy? Yes.  Will I ever stop hurting for Cora? No.  Not ever.  Not until I get her back into my arms.

I'm so glad I have other children to experience this life with, but having them won't ever bring her back.  They do not fill that Cora-shaped hole in our family and in my heart.  Those dreams I dreamed while pregnant with her were not for any child, they were for her, that specific child.  I could have 100 children, and do all those things with them that I planned do do with her, but I will never get to do them with her, and that hurts so very much.

I've gotten good at ignoring the pain most of the time.  I go about life, focused on the three sweet babies that need my utmost attention here, enjoying almost every moment (because I'll be brutally honest, I don't enjoy cleaning vomit up off my floor [Patrick was sick a couple days ago]...there are just some motherhood moments are just not enjoyable).  But that doesn't mean that the pain, the grief, the missing-Cora has gone away.  It's an old injury now, one that I have learned to live with.  But I do have those stormy nights where it steals my attention and it hurts like the day she died.  The intensity of the pain has not lessened with time, merely the focus I give it throughout my day.

But apparently it's one of those moments where the weather is changing, and the old wound throbs.  I miss her.  And I miss even the hard mommy moments that I never got with her.  Because, as much as I don't enjoy them, I'm glad I have them, because it means I get the great ones too.

If Heaven Wasn't So Far Away...

We were out eating lunch today, and Erin started talking about sisters.  She told me she had one sister, and I explained to her that she actually had two, because Cora was her sister as well as Allison.  She knows about Cora, but I guess it just hasn't registered that she's her sister too.  Anyway, she asked if we could go visit her (which reminded me of the song at the end of this post).  I had to explain that you can't go visit Heaven, it's just not possible.  That made her sad, and with a little pout she said to me "I miss her, Mommy."

Through the tears I could only answer, "I miss her, too."  *sigh*

The scrapbook

I have been scrapbooking since I was 13 years old.  I love it.  I love having a record of my life.  But you know what I hate?  It illustrates everything that I'm missing out on with Cora.  I'll never get to see her play in the snow, or dress up stuffed animals, or read to her siblings.  I'll never get holiday celebrations, or first days of school, or prom or graduation or wedding.

I was robbed of all of that.  And while I LOVE everything I'm experiencing with my living children, and recording our memories, I hate that I only ever add to Cora's book on her birthday or in October for the Walk to Remember.  And she's never in those pictures.

So while I love to scrapbook...sometimes I hate it too.