He would be 28 days old today...

Today is a hard day for me again...I realized today that Maya, smiled for the first time when she was 28 days old . My little Mateo would be smiling at me today...I wish I knew what that little smile looked like. I wish I could look into his little eyes and tell him how much I love him. How much I wanted him, and prayed for him, and planned for him. How grateful I was to have him. How much we all looked forward to seeing him and raising him. I will always miss him...he will always be in my heart. 

4 weeks ago today...

It is starting to get easier...I can actually see his picture without crying. I can remember him and smile, sometimes. It still hurts, and I am still sad. But, I feel like I am starting to accept what has happened. I spent a lot of time trying to find out how I could change it. Then I spent more time trying to find out why it was all my fault. Now I am accepting it, and learning how to forgive myself. I realized that although there is no reason to hold the blame, I do blame myself...I am his mother, it was my job to protect him. And I did. I did everything that I was supposed to do. I checked and rechecked and rechecked again everything I could have. There is nothing more I could have done, unless I could have seen into the future. Now, I just have to let it go. I have to release the guilt and allow myself to grieve. It is easier said than done. But I am starting this process.

I forgive me, I forgive me
Everything that I've been holding onto, I let go
I surrender, I surrender
I'm ready for my change, yes I am ready for my change ~ Rickie Byars Beckwith

Pondering the future...

Renato and I were talking last night about the future and what it holds for us. I was telling him that the thought of being pregnant makes me very happy, but that I long to still be pregnant with Mateo and for the outcome to be different. I also said that the thought of being pregnant again in the future with a little girl, makes me sad. Not because I don't want another girl, but because I want my little boy, my little Mateo. Renato reminded me that even if I was pregnant in the future with a little boy, it wouldn't be the same little boy.

Then we started talking about how we were so set against having more children after him. That we were done and our family was going to be complete. We realized that if that was the case, the next child we have would never have been born...what a sad thought...that we will have children that we never would have had if this didn't happen.

These are the things I ponder today...

Today I promise...

Today, I promise not to take anything for granted. I promise to appreciate the sun that I have, because I have known the darkness. I promise to stop and listen to the waves and the birds singing, because I have known the frightful and deafening silence. I promise to be aware of the good and abundance all around me, because I have known the cold emptiness. I promise to hold my family closer, because I have known the sadness of empty arms. I promise to be grateful for every moment that I live, because I have seen death. I promise to be a friend and allow my friends to be there for me as well, because I have known loneliness. I promise to be here, present in the now, because the past is but a memory, and the future is not promised to me. Today I promise not to take anything for granted.

Things I miss...

I miss the smell of his hair after a bath, although I have never smelled it. I miss the sound of his cry at night, although I have never heard it. I miss him looking into my eyes while he is breastfeeding, although I have never seen them. I miss the feel of his hand grasping my finger, although I have never felt it.

I miss the laughter and the tears and the happiness and joys of raising a beautiful little boy. I miss his first smile, his first spoonful of food, his first laugh, him rolling over, him crawling. I miss his first steps and his first words. I miss his first day of school, his first illness, his first nightmare. I miss story time with him, singing to him while he falls asleep. I miss watching his big sister play with him. I miss trying to get them to stop fighting. I miss cuddling with them both while we watch tv at night. I miss running after him at home, at the playground. I miss the photos I never got to take. I miss the videos of him I never got to make. I miss doing homework with him and his first school dance. I miss watching him fall in love, and having his heart broken. I miss his wedding, and his spouse. I miss his children. I miss watching him grow.

I miss all the things that I never got to know. I miss my little Mateo so.

I still Believe

Today I was contemplating sadness and grief...I was realizing that this process will continue for a long time. Long after people have all but forgotten that they had a friend who lost a baby. Long after all the talking about it and learning about it is done. Long after we have another child and have moved on with our family. After all that is done, we will still be remembering our little Mateo. He will always be our son, our child we wanted so badly. I know that, and have come to terms with it.

I was also reading about those who lose hope, who lose faith, in the face of such tragedy. I thought how sad, to lose faith when you need it the most. I stopped and thought, do I still believe? Yes, yes I do.

I still believe that God is good, that life is good. I still believe that I will never be given more than I can handle, and that everything happens for a reason. I still believe that right will always win, and good will always triumph over evil. I still believe that prayers are answered and truth prevails. I still believe in the power of love. I still believe in my health and my body and still trust in it's process.

Why? How can I believe in the face of such sadness? Because I know that without those things the world would fall apart, sadness and despair would be everywhere and darkness would have overcome. Since that is not the case, I still believe. I believe all this because Mateo was proof that all these things are true, and his death can't disprove that, because his life was too strong and too beautiful.

Still counting weeks...

Today is 3 weeks since I started labor...I don't know how many weeks I will get to before they all start running together and I start just remembering the 1st of the month, when I delivered him.

Today is not as hard as a week was, or as hard as two weeks, so I feel like they are getting a little better each week that goes by.

I don't cry as often, and I do laugh and smile. I know that it will get better, so I am just trusting the process.

Thank you for reading...blessings to you all.

We visited the cemetery yesterday...

We went to visit the grave where Renato's grandparents are buried for Father's Day. I tried to focus on why we were there, to pay our respects to them...but seeing the space next to their plot where my little Mateo will be buried, I just lost it and started crying. I think that once we bury him it will make it more real, and that will be a different level of mourning for me. Right now, he is gone, but there is no marker, no stone. This will be so final...

Today I am pouring myself into reading others stories...somehow it helps me to read others sadness, and know that we are connected, bonded maybe, by such tragedies.

I find it hard to connect with people lately, I guess that it normal, and I hope that people understand. I keep thinking that when I get home, I will be able to put all of this behind me and things will go back to normal, but I don't think that is true...I won't forget, It won't ever be as it was. I will heal, and I will move on, but I will also always have my little angel in heaven. I should say my angels, because he is my second angel, although I barely knew my first.

I went to the doctor last week, and saw my statistics on paper, and it was sad for me. One live birth, two losses, advancing maternal age. Mix that with my weight and previous gestational diabetes and I have become a new level of High Risk, even though none of these had anything to do with our loss, it still hurts to see it all laid out.

We planned on this being our last pregnancy, but we also planned on having a live baby at the end of it. We planned on our family being complete, our little girl and boy, our little Maya and Mateo, exactly 3 1/2 years apart...our perfect family.

This is such a sobering event...to realize with so much sadness, and so much force, that we really aren't in control of anything.

So today I contemplate the meaning of surrender...I surrender...?

Today is Father's Day

Well today is Father's Day. Renato is handling everything well, as a new father to an angel baby. We looked at his photo this morning and everyday we remember him lovingly, but today was much more bittersweet. Maya came over and hugged us, her intuition is strong, and she always knows just when we need her. 

There has been much more peace the last couple of days, I am not sure why, and it may not last. Yesterday was the first day that I didn't cry, don't get me wrong, I thought about Mateo all day, but I did not cry about him. I woke up this morning feeling guilty, that I could be so strong, so soon. There are women on my Stillbirth Forums that, months and years later, can't go a day without crying. But, I decided that it is okay to remember him fondly, and not be sad for him. He isn't really gone. I can still feel him around me, so I think that helps. 

I know there will be days when I lose it again, so I am just being as peaceful as I can until I get there. This is not an easy road...but these roads are never easy for anyone. Whether it is the loss of a child or a parent or a friend, or a sibling, grief is a journey. It is a journey with no destination. You will not arrive at a place where everything is as you want it, and you cannot turn back or bypass the road. You can't just decide not to do it, although some try, it doesn't work. It is a road you must take, and everyone takes it differently. So I walk my journey. 

There are those that I am seeing take this journey alone, whether they really are doesn't matter. They choose to walk their road alone. I take mine with 10,000 angels. You are all among those angels. I am stronger because I will not have to walk this journey alone. 

When I was pregnant, and planning my VBAC, I knew that the road would be hard. I used to envision the scene from Avatar where they are all at the Tree of Souls and they are connected to the Earth and then they are also connected to each other. I would see my loved ones all there holding me. That strength helped me in the hard times then, and this vision helps me now. 

How can I feel alone with you all by my side? How can I feel isolated or in despair? 

I can feel sad, angry, robbed, cheated, and devastated...and I do, but I am so grateful that I do not feel alone. 

Blessings, 

Cerise

Woke up not doing well...but it got better

Today I woke up angry. Angry, that my son is gone and that there are so many people with babies out there who are enjoying their newborns, and I am not. Don't get me wrong, I don't want anything bad to happen to anyone's babies, but most especially to mine. I want to hold him, and sing to him and hear him cry. I want to be up all night feeding him and rocking him. I want to put all of these clothes on his chubby little body and bathe him and smell his hair. But, I can't. All I have is the memory of him kicking me and rolling around and having the hiccups, but I don't know what he sounded like. I don't know what he smelled like or what his eyes looked like. Those things make me horribly angry, and terribly sad. I often think, "What did I do to deserve this?" As if anyone in the world deserves this pain. And I always answer my own question with, "Cerise, God doesn't kill babies. No one took him from me, it was just an accident. It could have happened to anyone, we were just the ones that it happened to." This sometimes helps me, and sometimes hurts me more.

Renato and I decided that since we were feeling this way, we should get out of the house and do something. We decided to go to the National Museum. They had an exhibition of photos documenting a horrible war that happened here from 1980-2000. There were photos of mothers who's children had been killed, and I looked into their eyes and could feel some of their pain. I know that their pain is different, but I know that the pain is similar. I could feel a sad connection to them, and somehow this helped me. To know that I am not isolated in my grief, that there are other women all over the world who know this pain. Women who have lost children, who have had stillbirths, who have grieved over their child. I sometimes cry that I wish he had breathed one breath, or that he had opened his eyes to look at me for one moment, but I know that would have made it that much harder.

My pain is different than others pain, but it is no less real. Renato's pain is different than mine, but it is no less real. I hate that we are going through this, I hate that anyone in the world goes through this. It is so horribly sad that any parent has to bury their child.

I know that there are stages to my grief, and each day I feel stronger than the day before...but I have moments where I just want to feel angry, I just want to cry for him. I just want to wish that there was something I could do to change how this all turned out. But I can't...

Then Maya comes home and I hold her...her brother looked so much like her, that when she closes her eyes we cry. Here baby pictures take our breath away...

I hold her and am grateful that she is there and that I have a beautiful, healthy daughter. I don't know how I would deal with all this without her. My perfect little Mayita. My days get better because of her.

Staying busy

So everyday I want to stay in bed and cry, and I think this is the normal reaction to this situation. I don't though, because I know that if I did I might lose myself completely. I do give myself time to grieve and I cry and think about my little Mateo, but I also go out and find things to do. I remind myself that I am still a mommy to Maya, and she needs me to be there for her too. I can't say how much she means to me. I don't know if I could do this if I didn't have her.

I had a doctors appointment yesterday and it was a good appointment and although the first time I saw this doctor, he kept saying that it could have been prevented, and I just wasn't monitored enough. This time he just kept saying that he wished there was a way to prevent it. Renato explained all of the tests, and the autopsy reports and the doctor just kept saying it was such a sad accident. I could feel his sadness, and his sympathy. I know that everyone who hears this story feels that. I kept telling myself that this was like being hit by a drunk driver, or a guy who accidentally runs a red light...but in those situations there is someone to blame. This is more like the extremely healthy guy who runs marathons and is in perfect shape and one day he goes for a jog and his heart just stops. Who do you blame? What could he have done to change it? Nothing.

I have started telling myself that his body could not have worked, that it was broken in some way that they don't know about. I have to tell myself this, because the pain of thinking that he was perfect in every way, and that just a few hours before he was born his cord kinked and killed him, is too much. No, I don't think I could keep going right now if I follow that road.

Today I have an appointment at the US Embassy to find out what we need to do to register his stillbirth and then I have my Tuesday card game today because Tuesday we couldn't do it. Hopefully, these things will continue to help me cope.

And in those moments, when I allow myself to remember, and to cry. I remember all of the good. His perfect 3D ultrasound photos and videos, my belly pics, my daughter talking to her little brother and telling him she loved him. Us hoping, and waiting for the perfect day when we would get to see him. Now we are just waiting a little longer to see him again.

I will leave you with something beautiful that happened the day after Mateo was born. I kept telling Maya that once he was born, she was going to be my big helper. She used to say that she would sing to him when he was going to sleep. The day after I gave birth to my angel, Maya asked me where he was. I told her that he was sleeping. She laid her head on my now empty belly and sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star".

This is the most beautiful quote, I read it on another mothers blog about her baby's stillbirth.

"Some people dream of angels, we held one in our arms"

Blessings,

Cerise

Two weeks ago today...

Today my sweet baby Mateo would have been two weeks old. I would have been showing off his pictures and getting emails and notes of congratulations on my little boy. I used to joke that every time we saw him on Ultrasound he was sucking his hand, so he was going to be a very hungry little boy. I just knew he would keeop me busy day and night with eating.

Instead, I am kept up at night with thoughts of why he is not here, and what I could have done to change that. I have asked myself, "If only I had a c-section at 39 weeks, would he be here in my arms?", "If I had asked to be induced, or if they had actually found a problem, would it have made a difference?"

But, here is what I know: Everything always happens for a reason, there is always a higher plan and my job is not to know the why, or the how, but to have faith and know that my highest and best good, and the highest and best good for all concerned, is always done.

As a very close friend of mine told me today, "If you had been able to change it, it will just make you feel guilty. If it was a horrible accident, that couldn't have been prevented, you will always be afraid that it will happen again. There isn't anything that will make it better...it just hurts and you can't change it, no matter what."

I am realizing how true this is, and am grateful for those words.

I really am holding up alright, I still don't want this and wish it would not have turned out this way...but I also know that there is nothing that could be done to change it. I have to know that he is still with me in the end, it's just a different way than what I had planned.

In love and light,

Cerise

Today I choose to be grateful

Today, I decided I can’t just be sad…I am so much more than that. I am also grateful. I am grateful that Mateo lived, that he lived in me for 41 glorious weeks. That I felt him move, kick, punch, turn and twist, and felt him grow. That I got to give birth to him and felt him being born. I got to fulfill my promise to him to have a VBAC and allow him to come in his own time. I got to hold him and kiss him and hold his hand. For all of these things I am so very grateful.

I am grateful that I have an amazing husband, who stood by my side. Who encouraged me, who cried with me, loved with me. I am grateful that he and I are stronger than we ever knew we were. That we are taking this day by day, and moment by moment, but always together.

I am grateful for my beautiful daughter, who doesn’t consciously understand what is happening, but who is grieving with us, and comforting us intuitively. Her smile, her love, her kisses and hugs…they save me, every moment of the day. They remind me that I am a mother, that I am a good mother.

I am grateful for my first midwife Stephanie Soderblom, who gave me hope and helped me trust in my body and my baby. Who inspired me and befriended me during my pregnancy and then helped me so much to give birth to him knowing that he had already left.

I am grateful for my midwife Angela and my doula Ariela, who stood next to me as we gave birth and gave me strength and hope to keep going. They never left our sides, they talked me through every tear and every push and helped me in a time when I felt helpless, and for that I am so thankful.

I am grateful that I am not hopeless, there has never been a moment where I thought I wouldn’t make it through this. Never a moment where I have felt like had been forsaken or forgotten. I am grateful that I feel strong, and loved.

I am grateful for our family and friends, who have been amazingly supportive and overwhelmingly present, even the ones who are so far physically from us. For letting me call you anytime and cry to you, and with you. And, the emails, the notes, the phone calls, the messages on Facebook, telling us that we are never alone, mean so much to us. I am grateful for the inspiring messages and people who have gone through this as well, sharing their stories with us and showing us that everything will be okay, that we will never forget, but that we will heal.

I am so grateful to my church family, I can feel you all loving us, and supporting us in all ways. It is amazing that I have always felt so loved by all of you, and yet now, I realize there is a level I never knew existed. Thank you for being my spiritual home.

I am grateful for those who will talk about this with me, because I have to talk to heal. I want to share every moment of this, because it is as beautiful as it is sad. Thank you for laughing with me, and grieving with me, and letting me share Mateo’s life with you.

I am so grateful, that I know that with all of you, I will make it through this.

Today, I choose to be grateful.

Mateo's Birth Story - June 1, 2011

This is our birth story. It is so important to me to write it out and to say what happened. I don't ever want anyone to fear a VBAC, or to fear going over their due date, or to fear having their baby in a birthing center because of our situation. Those things had nothing to do with what happened to our little angel, and there isn't anything that could have been done to prevent it either.

It is sometimes hard to not have anything, or anyone to blame when something so tragic happens, but for us it is also a relief to know that there isn't anyone to blame, including ourselves. I don't know how I would cope if I thought for a moment, a decision that I made had caused this.

Please read our story if you want to, please feel free to share it if you feel it can help someone else. Our story is still beautiful, for his life was beautiful even though it was too short. Thank you for reading this and for loving us. I know that this story is sad, but Renato and I discussed sharing it, and we know that we are not the only ones hurting. Mateo was everyone's baby. You all shared our journey with us, every step of the way. You looked forward to holding him, and kissing him and watching him grow, just as we did. This story is to help us all heal, and I hope it does that.

Mateo German Patron was due on May 24th, we had an ultrasound at 38 weeks to make sure that everything was perfect for our planned VBAC. (Vaginal Birth after Cesarean) There wasn't a single problem that could be found. He was perfect in every way possible. So we continued waiting patiently (And sometimes not so patiently) for him to come. The day after his due date (May 25th) we had another ultrasound to make sure that everything was still looking good, and that he wasn't growing too big...since Renato and I grow the most beautiful chubby babies. His estimated weight was 8lbs 6 oz, and the placenta, umbilical cord and amniotic fluid were perfect, as was every other test they did. They gave us the go ahead to wait another week for him to come on his own.

Exactly a week later, I went into labor. Tuesday May 31st started normally enough, and I had been invited to a lunch and card game at Renato's aunts house. My doula had told me that basil and oregano were really good to get labor going, but I couldn't bring myself to drink tea made with basil, so I hadn't tried it. When lunch was served it was a dish here called Tallarines Verdes. Which is noodles with a creamy basil sauce. I ate it up and we started playing cards...I started noticing about an hour later that my lower back was getting very sore. I kept having to get up and walk around. Then I noticed menstrual like dull cramps, but nothing really timeable. By the evening we were still playing cards and I started noticing that the pain was coming and going, but still very dull aching and about every 20 minutes or so, I noted it but just kept playing thinking it may go away again...since that had been happening a lot in the last couple of weeks.

We had a doctors appointmemt daily at this point to make sure that the baby was doing well and that my blood pressure was staying stable. So Renato picked me up and we headed to see our midwife. On the way, I noticed the pain was getting stronger and closer together and told Renato we may be staying at the birthing center if this kept up. Once we got there we heard the baby's heartbeat and timed a few contractions, they were now 6-7 minutes apart. We decided to hang out in the birthing center and see how things played out. Our doula met us there and the contractions started getting closer and stronger, so we knew we were in labor. Renato called some family, and sent a few emails to say, "Yay! Finally we are in labor!"

We shut off all phones and didn't have internet or clocks to distract us, and our doula and midwwife told us that we should all try to sleep, since by this point it was almost midnight.

we listened to babies heartbeat again. Perfect before, during and after a contraction. So we all tried to sleep. I was able to sleep in between contactions for a few minutes, but they were coming every 3-4 minutes, so it was just resting a much as I could.

At about 7 am, the midwife came and we listened to his heartbeat again, and again it was perfect, before, during and after a contraction. I was only 4 cm dilated, so I decided to start moving and swaying to some music, using the birthing ball and walking a little to help dilation along. I did this for about an hour. While I was sitting on the birthing ball I felt Mateo kick a couple of times, the song "Oyaheya" by The Agape choir was playing and I asked Renato to take a picture. It was the only picture we took during labor. I didn't know then that it was the last time I would feel him move.

An hour later my midwife checked my dilation again and I was 5-6 cm, we listened for the heartbeat on the doppler and we couldn't find it. We tried to stay calm and went straight to the hospital, hoping that they would confirm with ultrasound that he was fine and was just so low in the pelvis that we couldn't get his heartbeat on the doppler at that point, but sadly, they confirmed what we quietly feared. He didn't have a heartbeat. Sometime in that hour, he had passed away.

As devastated as we were, knowing there was nothing that could be done, we had to make the horrible choice to have a repeat C-section, or for me to follow through with labor and give birth to him normally. I started this journey promising to give him he best birth possible, and decided to fulfill that promise.

Because of the stress of knowing that he was already gone, my contractions slowed down. They checked me and I was at 7 cm dilated, so they gave me an epidural (I didn't want to feel so much pain while also feeling so much sadness) and pitocin to speed things up.

At one point, I lost track of time, they transferred me to the birthing room. I had hoped to give birth in a position more favorable than on my back...maybe something where gravity was helping...but in this hospital that was not an option. The epidural only numbed my right side, so being able to feel my left side was killing me at this point...especially since I was flat on my back. I didn't know at the time that he was so big, and that as he was decending into the birthing canal, I was also tearing very badly.

It was just like a movie scene, where there is a woman crying that she can't do it (Me) and my midwife and doula were helping me by holding my legs and telling me to push...at this point it was our only option. (This is when I started begging for the c-section, and they kept telling me it was too late and that I could do it. I am still so grateful for their support) Renato was holding my hand and holding my head up through each push and finally his head was born. I will say that it was amazingly painful. I know that had I been looking forward to hearing him cry, the pain would not have been quite so bad.

The doctor had to manually turn him, and then I gave one final push and at 7pm his body was born. They cut the cord and put him on my stomach, skin to skin.

I was able to hold him while I was birthing the placenta and held his hand and kissed him. He was so beautiful, he looked just like Maya did at birth. They took him to weigh him and clean him up a little, and they told me that he weighed 4700 grams and was 52 cm long. So he was 10lbs 6 oz, and 20.4 inches long. Our big beautiful baby boy.

I got to hold him one more time and Renato took some photos. I am willing to share his photo if you would like to see it. Please just send me a private message and I will send it to you.

The doctor told me at this point that I would need a number of stitches because I had torn very badly. They decided it was best to take me to the OR and put me under general anethesia to do this, so they wheeled me out. I ended up tearing in three different places and need 10 stitches altogether. Much of this was due to the position I gave birth in, as giving birth on your back is like pushing uphill and there is no movement or gravity to help with that. I have known many women who gave birth to babies 10 or 11 lbs without tearing at all (Note that although I had a previous c-section, Mateo was over 10lbs, and I had pitocin to keep contractions going, I did not have a uterine rupture, so I did get to give him, and myself our VBAC)

Because I had only gotten to hold him for a couple of minutes, the next morning they let us go down to the morgue and visit him one last time to say goodbye. This was very healing for both Renato and myself and we were able to spend some time alone with him before they took him for pathology tests.

The pathology reports came back the same day and we found out that he had what is called an Umbilical Cord Torsion. It is very rare, and is when the umbilical cord twists in on itself and forms a kink. It essencially cut off all blood supply and oxygen to him immediately and there was nothing that could have been done to prevent it. It also has no warning signs, so there is no way we could have ever known that it would happen.

I hate to say that I was a bit relieved at the report. We kept going over in our head all the possibilities and were so afraid that we had done something that had caused this horrible tragedy. We were so careful throughout the whole process and made sure that he was okay every step of the way, so we were glad to know that it wasn't something that we could have prevented.

As terribly sad as we are, we also know that we are not alone. Our faith in knowing that death does not exist and that life is eternal gives us great hope. That along with the amazing amount of support from our family and friends, has made this journey less unbearable for us.

The Rascal Flatts song that I posted about a couple of weeks ago keeps playing over in my head. These words help me, knowing that my God, my husband, my family, my extended family, my friends and aquaintences are all feeling this for me, for us.

"It hurts my heart/to see you cry/I know it's dark/this part of life/it finds us all/but we're to small to stop the rain/oh, but when it rains...

I will stand by you/I will help you through/when you've done all you can do/and you can't cope/I will dry your eyes/I will fight your fight/I will hold you tight/and I won't let go"

We cannot begin to say how grateful we are for the support, the tears, the love and the compassion that is being given to us right now. We know that we are stronger because of it and that we will make it through this storm because of that strength.

Blessings of love and light to you all,

The Patron Family