Saturday, October 23, 2010

I need to post Josie's sunrise pictures...

...oh, it was the most beautiful sunrise last Sunday, on the 10th.  So many people got up for Josie's sunrise and I have been inundated with stunning photos that I must make into a beautiful photo montage.  Absolutely stunning. Here I sit, wondering how it is that so many people are willing - even enthusiastic - to get up before dawn to remember my little girl. It's never-endingly touching and you can be sure that as I watch the sun rise myself, I am thinking of every little baby who didn't make it, whether that be before or after birth. Thank you, thank you for remembering.

There are beautiful things in the world to see. Beautiful little eyes that would have loved it if they would have been able to see little grasshoppers on the ends of grasses, birds in the jumping out of the water at sunset. The legacy left after child loss, to the parents of the children, is a ropey one at best. Problem is, not only does grief happen, but the grief can tear through the family unit and lead to some behaviours that often destroy the family as it was before the tragedy struck. Long-buried alcoholism rises to the surface; living children suffer; mothers cry themselves to sleep over the new tragedies that befall her family after the initial loss.

It's very, very hard, being left behind. There are moments of utter desolation even years later. The little people lost were very important, and their importance only grows. Which has led me to come to the following conclusion:

Life is fragile. Life is precious. The fact that we can all get up on any given morning and look outside is a bloody miracle. We're run by basically one muscle - our hearts - and if that should ever spontaneously stop, we are completely done for. So we should seize the day...every day... Don't give yourself the leeway to not try to see beautiful things. That would be a waste, when there's so much beauty to see which would otherwise go undetected, caught on a breeze...fluttering over the horizon unseen...

It's funny. I woke up when Josie died - which effectively means living on the edge of your seat almost all the time. Emotions become acutely felt in both extremes. Actually, I feel everything more - the cold; the heat; the wind... The elements blow through me as though I am made out of material... Really, I think it's only because my outer layers have all been ripped off. The joys of life are all revealed - along with the sadnesses and the dreadful atrocities and the lonelinesses...

It's been like drinking from the cup of ultimate knowledge and then standing alone, realizing that the power people think it bestows is quite different than what they might expect.

So, please forgive me if you find me suddenly bursting into tears at 2am for no apparent reason; sleeping with a light on; not being comfortable in complete silence sometimes; needing to change the scenery simply because I need new visual input to break up the occasional flashbacks... Life is beautiful...and it can all come to an end in a second. This realization is brought to the fore in incidents like last night, when I dreamt that Bella had stopped breathing and then woken in a fright, to find her so fast asleep that I freaked out, picked her up and actually jostled her awake because for far too long a moment, her stillness meant death.

Sometimes I barely sleep at all. I long for the days of peaceful slumber... Maybe they will return at some poiunt. For the moment, it is only important that Bella achieves them. In that vein, let me share with you a recent picture of my little love...

Please, don't be concerned about me - I'm perfectly alright and totally normal given everything that has happened. There are always going to be aspects of losing Josie that will haunt me - as there are aspects of any child's death that will haunt a parent. If I do have PTSD over some aspects of the experience (perfectly possible, considering the way it went down) then that is not a "curable thing" according to the beliefs of modern psychology - just something to manage as best we can.

The main thing though, is that Bella is well - she is standing with help, pulling herself up - and crawling - and has five teeth. Tooth number six is right under the gum... She babbles away beautifully, and her first word has ended up being "hello" - which I think is very fitting indeed!

That is where I'll leave it for now, with the promise of more to come in the following days and weeks. Lots of love to you all - I hold you in my heart.

Saturday, October 9, 2010

The night before...

There are some days that I wish time machines were real. This is one of them.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

It's almost been two years...

How bizarre. Two years ago I was running around madly packing and unpacking baby clothes, washing them, folding them into tiny little pink bundles and wondering with a smile whether this level of organization would be able to continue after I had my little baby girl. Up and down the stairs I went, sorting out the children's rooms as much as I could - though stair walking manic behaviour wasn't really within my ability too much, being so heavily pregnant.

Wait. Stop.

Two years ago. Two years ago on Sunday everything would shatter like a fish bowl dropped onto a marble floor. You can run around and try to pick up the fish in a panic, as they flop around, losing their lives... But it doesn't work, does it?

You have to lovingly sit there, rescue as many fish as you can - though some will die, then spread out the skirt of your young maidenhood on the floor in the sunshine. In the glass. In the water. And pick up remnants, remnants in sorrow, placing them on a collage in front of you. If you're lucky, eventually you can look at the collage of your new life and it can be beautiful.

Because the thing is, beauty isn't always happy, is it? It can be terribly sad. Sometimes the most beautiful things are the saddest things. Heart-achingly beautiful things can be so gutting. I think the word "gutting" is a very good way to describe some stages of grief, since they do feel like someone has come and taken your insides out. Inside your chest is a vacuum. A vacuum with a black hole inside it. Even light cannot escape... Amazing though, aren't they - these big feelings? A dual narration by David Attenborough and Stephen Hawking would be fitting: "See, the phenomenon of the broken heart there, spinning in the boundless void of space. She crumples in her agony as the pain threatens to overwhelm her every waking minute - but she knows she has to stumble on..."

Coming up to anniversaries is really...difficult. There's not too much else to say about that. I would have had a two year old running around, and I don't. It kind of takes your breath away at times... I hug Bella and try to assimilate her essence into me so that I can protect her forever. My eye sockets hurt. My throat feels tight and my head is like a balloon under pressure.

This Sunday it'll be it. Then it'll be over again and I won't feel quite as weak. A lot of people are coming out to watch the sun rise in memory of Josie, and I'm so grateful for the support. I have found that it's the people who continue to remember that I feel the most connected with. The people who continue to acknowledge her small life to have been worth something. It feels beautiful to know that she made an impression on the world. She certainly made a difference in my life - I wouldn't change having carried her for anything. She was worth it.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

An ode to my beautiful brother, Finn, on his 24th birthday...

Today is September 22nd. This is the day, 24 years ago, when I excitedly jumped up and down because I knew my mum (who we call Mutti) was going into labour and would shortly be giving birth to a little brother or sister for me. My brother and I were packed off to a family friend's house with our sleeping bags - a sleeping bag I managed to avoid sleeping in by claiming it was a pyjama bag - and we waited in anticipation.

It's funny how, on the eve of something tragic, your memories get etched into your brain. It's like your mind is desperately trying to hang on to the last shreds of a normal life, before something massive came through and tore the fabric of it completely apart. So I write this entry with the memories of a child in my mind, the subsequent information having been added later on. I don't mean to make anybody sad, so I hope that instead it can be an ode to my little brother, who I love still.


I remember the dinner we ate with the family there, and their two children, one of whom had been born with his organs reversed - a condition that had been deemed life threatening for him, but which he survived.

At that time, my little brother lost his fight inside my mother's womb. He died, his last heartbeats recorded on the output in the hospital. Nobody knew why. At that time, they decided they wanted him to be born naturally.

We were given a bath and prepared for bed at our friends' house.

At that time, my mother was giving birth to my brother. He arrived at 8pm. Unfortunately, so did the realization that a huge placental abruption had happened (like with Josie) and therefore out came most of my mother's blood supply. She tumbled over sideways drinking tea...

We were tucked in, excitedly, into a big bunk bed in our night clothes.

My father sat outside the hospital room as they worked on my mother, whose heart had stopped beating. His son lay beside him in a little hospital crib. A priest sat beside him - a priest who had no idea what to say (and therefore stayed silent) to the young man who stared ahead, his entire life shattered and his wife in cardiac arrest just a few feet away. The young man, who looked at his wife, beautiful as she was, and felt unable to comprehend the waste of such beauty. The young man who wasn't really encouraged to hold his son, and whose life had just shattered. 

I know the feeling, daddy. I know that feeling very well.

We were sleeping, awaiting the good news, in warm beds and loving company.

My Mutti was being read the last rites. She would, in total, be shocked back to life three times.

The night passed away as my little brother had. We awoke in the morning, and the last thing I remember was running up to my daddy, who had knelt near the doorway, asking if it had been a boy or a girl. I don't remember his answer... Mutti survived, thank goodness. We have her in our lives today and are so thankful for that, because she is a deeply special person: warm and generous and loving.

That was the last I remember until his funeral, with a tiny little white coffin that we lowered into the ground on a crisp day at the end of September. I watched it from the path as we left. Afterwards I asked my mum why she hadn't taken proper care of him... Ah, the confused minds of sad children - thankfully she had been prepared by the hospital for the very literal ways in which children grieve.

Now of course, time has moved forward twenty four years. Some of us talk about Finn more than others. Some don't talk about him much at all because it is still extremely painful - all of these views must be respected and embraced. Here we are, spread out as a family across the UK - things have changed and sometimes it hasn't been easy, but I tell you one thing - we love one another, all of us, honestly and purely. As I've grown older, I have come to realize the true value of family - that unbreakable bond that is so undeniably precious. Our family is a good family. There is respect, admiration, support, friendship and adoration in our family.

Every member of my family is wonderful to me - they all glow in their respective lights. All members, those alive and those that have passed beyond the veil that really is such a thin separation between the worlds. Every one is precious. Every one is equally important. Every one is held gently in the soft embrace of the other members.

So, happy birthday, my brother, who is important. He may not have been here for long, but his soul's spark was conjured from the universe and it glowed brightly for a little while, before going back to that great pool of life again. Somewhere in the universe, as with starlight, it's only just being seen. If the universe is infinite, then by definition, his life, and the lives of others, will continue making a difference - and mattering - forever.

Friday, July 30, 2010


Well, it's been a while - and for that I apologize. We've been running around madly from place to place here and have come over to my homeland, England, for two months (well strictly speaking, "Europe" - since we're going to Germany by car and staying with my father in Scotland as well...). So I bring you this posting from England, which seems to have become populated with a whole host of very sweet little babies.

Mind you, it's been five years since I've spent any kind of meaningful time here in the old UK. Things have certainly changed a lot... For the better, in many ways - lots of recyclable plastic bags floating about; "green" cars; very wonderful buggies; bigger Cadbury's chocolate buttons... In other ways, they are the same: decent pies; excellent shopping; not-overbearingly-hot weather; scenic railway rides and beautiful coastlines. Since I am a foodie, I can always appreciate a nice pub lunch as well. I do love my homeland.

There are advantages and disadvantages to both sides of the pond, I suppose.

Mind you, the whole trip-thing had me thinking. I know now for certain that I have definitively drifted into "ex-pat-land" - I'm no longer so finely enmeshed in British society (I seem to have lost my way, fashionably speaking, for sure); no longer so familiar with prices and places and people. On the other hand, I am still "the British girl" in America - accepted and even loved by many (for which I am so grateful and thankful) but a bit out of place there as well. But I have been bound to one side of the ocean by a single thing - a little girl actually - my Josie.

She is buried in Minnesota, so that is where my heart, literally speaking, lies.

It's hard to know what I am, nowadays. At least in terms of belonging to any place or another. I suppose it's just easier to sit on the ground, with hands in the soil or the sand or the grass and feel the planet Earth, because she is universal and we are all connected to her, no matter where we walk. I am in limbo now; a bit of a social refugee. It's interesting and leaves me thinking hard, sometimes.

At least I know who I am. I think in the end, that is the most important thing. To know one's own reaction to events; one's morals; whether one can be bought and so on. In many ways I do believe Josie's death brought me to a place in which I could really know myself - everything was shattered, and I chose to put the pieces back properly this time, instead of throwing them about like I had in other major (though of course not tragic in even the slightest similarity) life 'events.' That choice, I owe to two lots of previous counselling and a determination not to die - either mentally or physically. Both would have been plausible ends, of course.

But, the world it too beautiful, and now I have Isobella to make it even more so.

Every day she continues to bring the most gorgeous pleasure to my life! I cannot tell you how blessed I am. Really, the alternative would have been much less pleasant than this life - this loving of my little daughter in whose eyes I see the future of the world. She makes me believe it might not be as dreadful as the predictions I keep hearing on the news or in the movies...

So off I wander in my quest to figure everything out, just like all the other people in the world. Well, within reason of course: there are those who prefer not to spend time on such things. And more power to them. I however, am destined to spend late nights in thought.

Anyway, here she is in her gorgeousness - growing more independent and energetic every day; increasing in length and weight and determination all the while! At the last check up she weighed 16lb 5oz and was 20...something inches long (she wiggled).

My little darling:

Thursday, June 17, 2010


Without my Child,
I wander and weave, meander and ponder
The ways of life, and what lies yonder
Over the hilltop, the horizon, the edge
Of the sea, will you be together, with me?

Without my Love,
I discover and read, fall and recover
The woman I was, the girl-shell cast off
Sailing my boat, with the fruit of my womb
In my affection: one who grows, the other apart.

Without my Baby,
I will and I wait, walk on, but stand still
By myself, I forge a different path
And nurture my new embodiment of soul
Her glow in the dark is the light in my woe.

My heart has sprung open, casting petals about
The illumination of motherhood surrounding it's throne.
My love flows as water to bathe the children
They're running together; we're never alone.

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Memories and Memorial Day...

I remember this time last year, being very bummed out about Memorial Day and other's wishes for me to decorate Josie's grave "because" it was Memorial Day. I felt I remembered Josie EVERY day, not just Memorial Day. And I do still feel that way. I really do.

This year however I did walk up to the dusk. I put Bella in the buggy and walked up the streets, up the sidewalks, to the place where the sidewalk ends...out of town and up to where the graves are. There weren't many people there - just headstones and flowers in the dimming daylight. The sunset settling on the horizon, and all the buried people standing, looking at it, invisibly and peacefully at the end of the day.

I walked on to "BabyLand" - the slightly twisted (in my view...I just can't shake the weird connotation) name for where the babies are all buried together. There they were, all the babies. Mine, Josie, still the newest one. Still no headstone. Which is depressing, but then again none of us has had the hundreds of dollars needed to throw at a headstone lately, so there she sits, with her grave marker and her iron pot for flowers. Just a little way back, the patch of earth, still cut out beneath the grass in a little oblong shape where they lowered her coffin into the ground. The headstone will come: we never did have insurance in case our baby died, you know? People don't. Whens it does come, when it gets put in, I want it to be meaningful.

So there we stand, and sit, respectively - Bella and I. I got the flowers out that I would be putting on Josie's grave, and gave them to Bella to look at - I thought it'd be nice to get a picture of her with the flowers. Of course, she immediately tried to eat them:

...and I was reminded of the continuity of life, once again. My first biological daughter lies in the ground beneath my feet. My second biological daughter is eating the flowers of my first daughter.

Sisters, together. A baby doing what she ought to be doing. I'd like to think Josie might have liked those flowers as well. She might have wanted to eat them too. Isobella certainly jabbered when we picked them out - jabbered and cooed and talked up a storm in the store, like a baby ought to. And you know, it was nice, sitting there on the ground, chuckling at my baby daughter drolling all over her sister's flowers. It was normal.

(I love my Bella. She makes my life so much better, every day. She makes everything twenty shades brighter: when I'm having a rough day, all I have to do is look in her direction and she lifts up my heart and allows me to live in the moment. Thank you, Bella - you are so beautiful.)

So, once I'd managed to uncurl her little fingers from the tissue paper, we put the flowers on Josie's grave. Here they are, in their place of honor...

Here is Bella, by her sister's grave. Significantly, this is the first time both of my children have been at the same place, at the same time. Poignant truths sometimes make up the fabric of my life... But I do remember though, walking back from the cemetery being quite angry with the decorating "rules." Grief doesn't have any damn rules - it does what it pleases. People ought to be allowed to decorate the graves of their loved ones just the way they like, stuff those rules. They can mow around the flowers I want to plant. One day, I am going to utterly flood every square inch of the cemetery that they can't get to, to mow, with wildflower seeds. Wildflower seeds for my baby.

My heart overflows with the love I have for them both. I'm so grateful to be a mother.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

My Girls...

My Girls.

Oh, Josie, with your dark, dark hair
So soft to touch - so barely there
Now twirl in mind's forgotten halls
You play with light; you bounce the balls
Of make-believe and moonbeam warmth
And every memory lays me bare...

Your eyes are reincarnate now
They sparkle as you take a bow
In curiosity I lay
And watching Isobella play
A smile comes creeping on my lips
Which suddenly remember how...

Impossible to speak my love
For two girls, flighted as the dove
One resting deep in mother's earth
The other living after birth
But my heart runs with both of them
My daughters, made from stars above...

Sunday, April 11, 2010 heart incarnate...

Oh yes, I know, waaaaay overdue for an update on Bella here too, aren't we? I've been a very naughty blogging lady! Before I do anything else I need to say that last Saturday the 3rd of April was the first time Bella properly laughed at me - you know, the "hahaha" sound, not the squeals she's been making for laughs until then. The laughs continue every now and again - but I tell you, she's been getting VERY very vocal in terms of squeaks, opinionated noises, all sorts! Loud too! It's wonderful and cute to listen to her babble away.

She is my heart - oh, my goodness. I get panic sensations thinking of anything happening to her. I can't stand it. That is the one thing. It gets worse over time, too - I mean, I'm not paranoid or crazy or anything like that but, boy I tell you I am a protective mama bear. More than that I am a mama bear with a great big stick - and I'm not afraid to use it!

Last week or so, she discovered her thumb, which was nice for her - she had found it a few times before, but not with regularity. So, sleep time has been different since then because instead of comfort-sucking me, she's been comfort sucking her thumb. Since it's easy to find the thumb, it's easy for her to basically stay in a much more restful state, which has been good for both of us and has enabled us to sleep deeply for longer periods. It really never bothered me much to have her attached all night, but as freelancing has become more busy these last few weeks, the extra sleep has certainly helped. It was strange though, the first night, because I woke up after a few hours wondering what was wrong, panicking, feeling her chest to see if she was still breathing.

But, that's the thing about being a mama to a lost one as well as living ones. Some part of you does wonder if, at any given moment, everything will be taken away and you will once again find yourself alone, without your baby. It's an eerie state to be in, but talking with other mamas, I do get the impression that we babylost mamas tend to feel that worry quite acutely. So, I do check on her about fifteen times while she naps, putting my finger under her nose to check for breath if she's very quiet; leaning over her chest to hear her. Sometimes there's still that shred of complete panic though - in the middle of the night - somewhere between asleep-ness and awake-ness, where I am transported back to the feeling I had when we couldn't detect Josie's heartbeat. Like waking up from a nightmare, it soon passes, however. Just makes me cuddle Bella a little tighter until the proverbial dark shadows have illuminated themselves in the light of consciousness.

She's such a joy though - she's really strong and healthy. Very expressive indeed! I must make a video and upload it one of these days. She's truly amazing and brings me so much love every single day. It's so nice, to work with her right next to me: she sleeps in her swing or in her bassinet when it's nap time, and then plays on blankets on the floor, or in the bouncy chair when it's play time. We talk to one another; she uses my hands as interesting playthings; she reaches out and grabs things in the last day or two as well, grinning and laughing broadly when she achieves control over whatever it is she wants to explore. Her teething links have become a fascination - especially the light green ones. I've attached them to the activity center on her bouncy chair, and she'll spend a very long time grabbing them, drawing them toward her and putting them in her mouth. She has a rattle she likes to shake about and has figured out her jungle gym, to her complete delight. She talks to lights (I'd love to see how she'd react to "Close Encounters of the Third Kind"), babbling and cooing and squeaking and screaming about.

She's amazing. I love - love - being her mother. It's such an honor to be the one who gave birth to her and gets to raise her. I love waking up next to her in the morning and seeing her happy little face, and her bright, intelligent little eyes looking into mine. Her big smile as she realizes I am awake too. Her joyful kicking. Her beautiful little heart, beating away healthily in her chest. She's lovely. I thank the universe. Life is amazing, even when it's really hard, it's still amazing.

So here are some new pictures of her. I think she's looked like herself really since the swelling went down after she was born - she's just changed shape a tiny bit and grown a bit! Mind you, perhaps this is just my perception because at this point she's about 13.5lb of cute chubbiness already! Anyway, here we are - and I promise to update more frequently!

In her Winnie the Pooh outfit...


Summer dress, looking lost in imagination:
Catching my eye:
First trip to the park in the buggy...slept all the way through!
Chilling happily on the sofa:
Must have said something funny...
On Mama's lap:
Kisses from Mama, late at night:
Hiding again:
Rocking the dress for Ishtar/Easter:
Eating the dress...
Looking at Mama:
Dancing about:
Tummy time, getting so strong!
Oof - tumbled over!
Never mind, we'll just suck the thumb then:
There's that thumb!
Kicking about!
And last but not least, my happy little bunny...

Monday, April 5, 2010

The way we were...

I've been working hell for leather the last two weeks and have wanted to come here and write too, but it's just been much too busy. Now however, I do feel I have to take just maybe an hour out of my day and put some things down because they have been affecting me very deeply.

Thing is, I've been feeling her. Josie I mean. She's older than she ought to be at the moment - I ca't put my finger on what she's trying to tell me, but it's something. Did I do something right, or is she here to help me through something completely unexpected. I don't know.

I've been working really hard - I've been wearing myself out to the point where my eyes both got smacked with conjunctivitis this past weekend - if that's not a symptom of a crumbling immune system, I don't know what is. Also I've been feeling very drained. My work consists of designing graphics and writing, both of which I love. Then of course, I clean the whole house whenever I can, cook, take care of the children and do all that stay-at-home-mum stuff as well. Not much time off at all really - and because of some difficult circumstances, it's all been a lot to bear lately - not that I am complaining or asking that anyone feel sorry for's just...been a lot to handle, is all.

So in amongst all this extreme fatigue, where I'll be sitting there with aching muscles trying to get something right, I have this feeling of a presence. Josie's back and at the moment I'm not 100% sure what she needs. Not that she is unwelcome - not at all - but I feel I should be "getting" something, and I'm not.

Am I so far gone that I'm almost dead and she is there to help guide me through to the next world? Death is never really very far away, no matter how invincible one feels - and not to be morbid, but believe me, death can come unexpectedly. I have almost died three times in my life: once, by a near drowning; once at the hands of an ex and once at Josie's birth. We're very fragile. Have I overdone it too much? Am I very close to her world?

Am I supposed to do something? Am I not doing something I'm meant to be doing? Is she here to remind me? Is she here to remind me of her - because that would be strange, as I think of her every day. I haven't forgotten. She knows this, I hope. Should I talk to her more than I do?

Is she here to comfort me? I just don't know. I am confused by her presence as well as curious about her. But, this new feeling of her being there is accompanied by very strong memories coming into my mind of her when she was alive back in 2008...

Thing is, when I lost Josie...when she died inside me in labor like the flame of an oil lamp being extinguished...I went into complete shock and totally lost part of my memory from that summer. I think looking back, I lost probably 45 days or so of memory apart from the five or so very fuzzy days leading up to her birth. *Boom* - it was gone, I'd assumed mostly for good. But lately it's been coming back...with some force.

Memories have been hitting me like massive waves. I'm standing in the surf, on the sand with my arms out and they're coming and smacking me in the chest, winding me. The sand is slapping me like a big hand - saying "wake up and listen to me" - it's so shocking. Bam, bam, bam. Knocking me over, and I'm sitting there afterward like a puzzled child, startled into silence.

I'll be cooking dinner and then suddenly I'm back in the driver's seat of the black Dodge Magnum I used to run, listening to Frank Sinatra on the sound system, looking at the dark, heavy interior, feeling Josie in my belly. Driving down highway 169 late at night, 11pm, late again...late again. Feeling a rush of relief because finally I was allowed home after the insane day that might have started at 4am. Running the crazy store alone...I shouldn't have done it. I should have quit...I should have quit. She might have been alive today if I'd just quit and not let them tell me I was capable of doing it when I knew I wasn't...

I'll be watching a movie with Bella asleep in the bassinet and suddenly, I'm sitting on the floor of the Shakopee  *company* store rearranging batteries in my pretty maternity top. Or talking to a colleague and bending double from a sudden almost violent baby movement...

I'll be driving in my current car, going somewhere and the light will be just right, and suddenly it's a cool summer morning at 4am and I'm driving to northern Minnesota with Josie quiet inside me, turning left, then right again in the mist. Nobody else on the should have been a should have been a clue...

Boom, boom, the memories come at me. Punches in the face with big hands. Talking to the inventory crew in Wisconsin after working endlessly to prepare a store that was handed to me to begin with in terrible shape. Knowingly working in that store even though it was riddled with toxic mold. Knowing that wasn't good for any of us. Coughing because it the air quality made our throats feel like they were raw. Failing at everything and being admonished by my boss... I should have quit before that. They shouldn't have made me go there. It's not fair... Josie was worth more than the value they put on her. She was worth more and they gambled with her without even flinching - they gambled with me. They knew what they were doing. We all lost. They all knew...they all still know. They all know what happened...

It hurts, and here she sits. She's behind me on the bed. She's been there for days in a white spring dress and a white headband, her hair curly. She's watching me work, watching her sister. She's haunting me. Her spirit is that of a child. She's little. I can feel her running her fingers through my shoulders, trying to touch me and it's...devastating. Mostly because I can't gather her up and cuddle her. She's made of light and air. We can't feel one another.

I've always been pretty undecided on ghosts in my adult life - at least when they apply to me. But now, there's something like one living in my house and I don't know what to do. Maybe I'm finally losing it... The "flashbacks" as I suppose one would call them, are just unbelievable. I can taste the air and feel the temperature when they happen.

I do love you Josie. You're here for a reason. Why are you here, sweetie? You don't seem upset. You're waiting. What are we waiting for, honey bunny? What is going to happen? What is happening now?

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

3D Ultrasound comparison...

Here we are - the moment we've all been waiting for (or something - I thought of doing this this morning...)! I am about to compare a few of the 3D ultrasound photos of Bella to...Bella! The pictures here are of her early days, and I've put a photo filter on them so that we can really objectively look at the features, and not be put off by the coloring. Naturally the 3D ultrasound pictures were from 30 weeks - but just look at the similarities to her...

It's really quite amazing - I'm glad, crunchy as I am, that we had this done!

Comparison 1:

Comparison 2:

Comparison 3:

Comparison 4:

There now - wasn't that fun? The next post will be a comparison of Isobella and I as babies... I just got pictures from my mother and you can certainly tell she's my daughter! This comparison stuff is so interesting...