I See You in Every Little Thing

13 Mar

Wow! Six whole years have passed. I can’t believe it sometimes. Of course, my Demilade is always on my mind and this past year has been interesting, to say the least.

I found myself pregnant with baby number three at the beginning of fall last year. I promptly scheduled an OB visit to confirm. When I visited the doctor and he put me on the sonogram, the estimated due date read: March 13, 2019. My heart sunk. I quickly composed myself and made no mention of the significance of the date to the doctor. Although, I had just completed a form detailing my history, so that date appeared in those documents.

I thought, Wow! God has a funny sense of humor. What are the chances!? But, when the doctor left the room to print the picture from the sonogram and came back in to hand me my visit summary, he had, all of a sudden, changed the date to March 12th. Even the date on the picture was changed. This act alone did wonders for my nerves. Although I had seen what I saw with my own two eyes and heard with my own two ears, I decided to take this gracious act and run with it.

Now when I announced my pregnancy and interested parties wanted to know the due date, I’d plainly say the baby was due in March. By all accounts, this was a true statement, as I was not sure which day in March I’d give birth. In women with a history of preeclampsia, doctors will typically recommend induction in order to deliver the baby earlier than the date at which she is full term. This is to try and avoid complications with preeclampsia if it develops when the baby is already full term. This was the case with my son, it would be my reality with my daughter too.

As much as I thought I had grown in faith and trust in God, there was so much happening around me over the last four years that I wondered if I’d make it. Each and every year since March 2013 seemed to come with its own challenge. New hurt, new disappointments, less to be happy about. Some of the fears I thought I had conquered came back to haunt me and at unexpected times.  But God made sure to place angels around me to reassure me of His love and protection. Every time I second-guessed myself or over analyzed something, I had people in my corner praying for me and sending me encouraging words. Most times without me having to say how I was feeling.

When my daughter was born seven days ago, I  was thankful, relieved and overjoyed. I still am. Each of my children has taught me invaluable life lessons. Demilade taught me unconditional love, patience and brought me closer to God; Akinlabí has taught me perseverance, given me strength and courage and, showed me how to cherish every moment; and, Àmìolá has, so far, taught me to let go and trust God.

This year, I celebrate these lessons and remember my first son.

Glory, Glory

9 Jul

It has been two+ months of a feeling of completeness that I cannot put into words.

I am reminded every day now of a sentiment that a good friend shared with me about having her son. She said that she and her husband could not remember what they used to do from day to day before their son came about. When she said this to me, it had been a few months since losing Demilade and I too, could not remember what life was like before my heart was torn into pieces.

I recently read a blog post by another grieving mother where a quote seemed to capture how I had been feeling over the last two years. The quote from the book, You are the Mother of all Mothers by Angela Miller, says that it takes invincible strength to mother a child you can no longer hold, see, touch or hear. 

I see you walking this path of life you’ve been given, where every breath and step apart from your child is a physical, emotional, and spiritual battleground. A fight for your own survival. A fight to quiet the insidious lies.

Upon reading this, I felt like someone out there truly understood what it feels like to live without one’s child. Whenever a parent speaks of their living child, I wonder if they look at me and consider that my own, although not present, is always on my mind. I read this quote and offered words of encouragement to the mother, the blogger who had just lost her newborn. I wanted to say more. Not only that it gets better and the pain is not so haunting after some time but, that eventually she would find the courage to be present in the life that keeps on going around her. I wanted to tell her that eventually she will get the courage to try again. I tried again.

At the time I was reading the blog, I was about seven months pregnant with my second child and son. While I could offer words of encouragement to someone else, I couldn’t readily share where I was in the healing process because it was very hard to be sure of what the future held. If there is one thing I have learned from Demilade’s loss, it is that nothing is promised from one day to the next. It is important to live in the present. I just had to hope for the best.

I cannot say its been easy because it is experience that has taught me this lesson. For 10 months I prayed for peace of mind and God granted me just that. It is an overwhelming task to be pregnant and aware of the many outcomes (even for someone who hasn’t walked in my shoes) and, to actively work on keeping a healthy balance between being overjoyed and being grounded in one’s reality. I can not begin to explain how important it was for me to be at peace during this time. I shut out all outside noise and tried not to let all of the knowledge I had gathered about preeclampsia and HELLP syndrome, since suffering from it, bother me. Many people experience loss, some are unfortunate parents like me who lose children. It is not a club anyone wants to be a part of.

I now understand why in many African cultures (and many others) a pregnancy is treated as though it is invisible until the baby arrives. I don’t agree but I understand. When one’s life has been transformed by this kind of loss, there are a few lessons we grasp very quickly. One prominent lesson is that very few truly understand your grief and most would rather not have to talk about/acknowledge your dead child. For most people, my still born child was just that, still born and then the next day everyone’s life moved along. People say their sorry and expect you to carry on with life the way it was before your unfortunate life event. For us, for the grieving parents, it is a pain we have to learn to live with every day of our lives. It never goes away. Except with the less than handful of people who may be in tune enough to check on our wellbeing or oblige us by speaking about our son by his name every so often, it is a lonely journey. For this reason, my husband and I decided that this pregnancy would be a personal journey for us and we embraced the custom of our motherland. The anxiety, fear and doubt we felt and then quieted away with prayer, could only be understood by ourselves.

Now here we are. Two months after the birth of my handsome warrior. We did not know what to hope for while I was pregnant. We just hoped for the baby to be healthy. I went through this pregnancy with nearly no alarms and delivered him (after over 48 hours of labor) without any incident. He is healthy and much more than I could have ever hoped for. Akinlabi is a joy to behold and a daily reminder of God’s miraculous work in our lives.

Everyday I look at him, grateful for his life and with a heart full of joy. Everyday I wonder what I was doing before he came along. His face makes my heart smile and, for the second time, I get to experience unconditional love. Whatever I was doing before heartbreak and all, I don’t miss it!

 

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A Moment with us, Forever in our Hearts

13 Mar

It’s been a long time since I’ve written. It is on purpose. Life goes on and we have to live in the present  and hope in the future in order to really grow positively.

My sister was pregnant with her first and I thought long and hard about whether or not I’d write anything during that time. After a few months of pondering, I decided I would stay away from blogging for a while.

My sister and I are twins. She’s my best friend. The kind that knows and feels my pain and vice versa. It comes naturally. I couldn’t take the chance of causing her anguish or sadness at this important time in her life because of what I was still going through, so I decided to live in the moment. With her. And the new joy we were all anticipating.

I cannot lie. I was nervous. We are identical twins after all but, thank the good Lord all went well.

Over the passed nine months, I’m thankful for hope restored. My sister and my adorably handsome nephew give me hope.

There is still not one day that goes by that I don’t think of my Demilade. It is amazing that I carried the boy for eight months and only got to glance at his face for a few hours and yet, I can never go a day without thinking of him. If he was born breathing, he would be turning two years old today. It’s hard to imagine but I had already pictured him at different stages while he was still in my tummy. Those images don’t go away from your mind, but the sadness that usually accompanied them does wane.

Now my husband and I tease about how my genes were overruled. I guess my sister and I have weak genes. It’s not fair! :). I sometimes find myself chuckling about his flat feet and wide finger nail beds. I don’t know how he’d have ended up looking but I am so grateful for a visual.

As I remember my boy on the day I laid eyes on him, I am grateful for strength, new life and healing.

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May is Preeclampsia Awareness Month!

1 May

May if Preeclampsia Awareness Month

Know the Symptoms

If you experience any of the following symptoms during your pregnancy or after delivery, call your doctor or midwife right away. Having symptoms doesn’t necessarily mean you have preeclampsia, but they are cause for concern and require immediate medical evaluation.

-Swelling of the hands and face, especially around the eyes (swelling of the feet is more common in late pregnancy and probably not a sign of preeclampsia)

-Weight gain of more than five pounds in a week

-Headache that won’t go away, even after taking medication such as acetaminophen

-Changes in vision like seeing spots or flashing lights; partial or total loss of eyesight

-Nausea or throwing up, especially suddenly, after mid pregnancy (not the morning sickness that many women experience in early pregnancy)

-Upper right belly pain, sometimes mistaken for indigestion or the flu

-Difficulty breathing, gasping, or panting

It’s also important to know that some women with preeclampsia have NO symptoms or they “just don’t feel right.” If you have a sense that something’s wrong, even without symptoms, trust yourself and contact your healthcare provider immediately.

http://www.preeclampsia.org/en/PreAM

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Loss, one year later

13 Mar

I’ve heard people say that a parent never wants to experience a child’s death.

I didn’t understand how a natural part of life could be so devastating as to cause one not to want to live anymore.

I didn’t understand it when my mother died when I was 11 years old.

I didn’t really understand when my maternal grandmother refused to eat and was overcome with depression when the 7th (as far as I know) of her 8 children died before she did.

I didn’t understand the sense of hopelessness and doubt that takes over when one has lost a child. I didn’t understand it all until I lost Demilade.

I’ve never been the type to talk about all of the things that I have been through. I am certain most people look at me and immediately think that I have been lucky in life. We all do this. We look at someone who seems like a great package and has it all figured out and we stand in awe and admiration; and sometimes we envy, not considering all the hardships they may have had to endure and the scars that are too deep for all to see.

I relatively do count myself lucky. But as lucky as I am, its been a tough life.

I know loss. My older brother died in 2004. Even though I had lost my mother at a young age, when my brother died, I experienced the finality of death. When the body of your loved one is lowered into the ground and covered with earth, there is nothing more final. That is the end. There is nothing left but memories.

Last year when we buried my boy, I can not tell you all of the thoughts that ran through my mind. Some are too disturbing for me to tap into again, but the one thought that stayed with me was that this was the end of my journey with him. I had only gotten one day to look at him. I’d never see him again. Although lifeless, I felt a sense of comfort having gazed upon his face, holding him and confirming who he looked like. Knowing that he was the spitting image of his dad. I was comforted by the fact that although the worst happened, my 33 weeks with him were not just a figment of my imagination.

All the day dreams I was having of him growing, laughing, crawling, even running were just dreams now. I’d never experience these things with him but he was indeed real. All of these things were  marked final by the earth that would cover him.

So now I would say I understand a bit what it is to lose a child. I can literally walk through the sequence of events in my mind from the moment I was told there was no heart beat in the wee hours of March 13th, 2013, to the moment he was buried on March 18th. Everything flashes before your eyes over and over again.

I still see the flashes, the only difference is that I am not as defeated, hopeless and doubtful as I was one year ago and over this last year.

Losing a child is the worst thing I’ve ever experienced and I now know why people say that a parent never wants to experience a child’s death. The emptiness and longing that results is something I have felt every single day of this past year.

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