Happy Due Date, Georgia

Dear Georgia,

February 20th. A year ago.

I will always wonder what you would have looked like and what great things you would have done.

I have been reflecting on this day and there are so many things I could feel but I am choosing joy. I am choosing gratitude. Georgia, your existence mattered. We loved you. We love you. We are so grateful for the 12 weeks we had with you. Even though the time was so short, you brought us so much joy.

I am so grateful that we have seen the light. The tunnel of sadness from all the pain that we thought would never end – it gradually dissipated. One day we woke up and realized, "hey, we are okay now," because we know you are with our Heavenly Father.

I read an article a while back about how a baby's cells remain in mothers for years. And that ultimately the cells of older siblings can be passed onto the younger siblings via the mother. The idea that I am carrying your tiny cells in me even though you are no longer with us brings me so much comfort. The timing of that article was impeccable – what an amazing thing for a grieving mother to read.

Georgia, you have the most joyful little sister. Her smile radiates her entire face and can stop me in my tracks. I’d like to think it is partially because she carries little pieces of your soul within her. We are so grateful for her.

Sweet baby, I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart).

Love,
Momma

I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart) I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go,my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)
I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
― E.E. Cummings

Infant Loss Remembrance Day

I've had this post saved in draft since the beginning of the month. Matt and I have been searching for video of Georgia's birth announcement. We obviously never showed it because our sweet baby went to heaven. But, since today is Infant Loss Remembrance Day I really wanted to see it again as it is one of the few positive memories I have from that pregnancy. I think in our grief though we deleted the video and I am really sad about that.

However, I am so grateful we are doing so much better this year. This time last year was still such a dark time for us. It's been exactly 14 months today since we lost our sweet baby at almost 13 weeks along. That was the hardest day of my life and sometimes it seems as if it just happened yesterday.

What's crazy is that one in four women (and their spouses/partners) will experience stillborn, infant loss and miscarriage in their lifetime. Did you know that? It happens more than people know. Chances are a lot of people you know have experienced a loss. For whatever reason it is a very taboo topic to discuss which is disheartening because it is a very lonely and sad experience. No one should be alone in that.

I recently stumbled upon this and I just love it so much.

“We plot. We plan. We assume things are going to go a certain way. And when they don’t, we find ourselves in a new place-a place we haven’t been before, a place we never would have imagined on our own.

It is the difficult and the unexpected, and maybe even the tragic, that opens us up and frees us to see things in new ways.


Many of the most significant moments in our lives come not because it all went right but because it all fell apart.


Suffering does that. It hurts, but it also creates.” - Rob Bell in Drops Like Stars

Even though Georgia's time on Earth was so brief, I can feel her and this experience working to create something beautiful. It's opening up dialogue and enable me to connect with so many ladies and reminds me to focus on what truly matters.

I want to celebrate the little life of Georgia Gibson. We all have stories to tell - even if our time on this Earth is so brief. She was more than a statistic, she was a child and I am so grateful for the time I had with her.

Grief, Misconceptions, and Lies

February 20th came and went and I didn't have any words. One of my best and dearest friends who knows my heart more than most and like me expresses her emotions with words on paper knew the date was coming up and had intuitively told me I should write about it. But, I had no words. I was still processing everything, specifically that day in August. We should have a four-month-old baby today.

I was listening to one of my favorite songs the other day. It's a song that usually brings me so much peace, joy and comfort but that day it transported me back to "that season." That's what Matt and I refer to that time as. Grief is a strange animal. You go through a period of time and wonder, "Will I ever be able to come out of this?" And then one day you realize out of no where - while it still hurts - you did. You came out of that funnel of darkness where everyone around you is happily moving past but you are trudging slowly through the mud or not even moving at all. You are very isolated, as if your life has been put on pause. It's a really lonely time even when you are surrounded by love and support. For a brief moment during that song, I was back in that darkness. In the fog. It really made me thankful that time and prayer had help me get through that darkness and I appreciated the light even more.

One of those reasons to be thankful is that we are expecting another baby soon. It by no means replaces our Georgia but it has given us something positive to focus on. We are beyond ecstatic to be adding to our family. We're also approaching the one-year mark of that day in August. While I have somewhat processed my grief over the loss of a child - I mean, as much as one can, I have not fully processed the events of that day. I still find myself questioning, "Did that really happen like that?"

Which brings me to another topic. Insert eye roll here but there are just some experiences that you do not truly understand until you have experienced them for yourself. Miscarriage was one of those experiences for me. One may think that miscarriage is simply being pregnant one day and then not the next. I can assure you for most it is not like that at all. That in-between time of being pregnant and then not being pregnant is not a peaceful process. Even if you lose the baby very early on, there are still a lot of painful emotions that you have work through - not to mention physical pain. And if it happens later on, regardless of the option you choose - naturally, D&C, or taking medication to speed things up - none of them are pleasant by any means, you just pick your poison. It can be a long process - taking days or even weeks.

I elected for a D&C because I was just ready to move forward. It had been a long week already. When I had realized there was a problem it was a Tuesday but things tapered off and I held out hope that things would be okay. But things progressed and by late, late Thursday I had gotten confirmation at the ER that our baby had indeed passed on. Friday morning we traveled back to Georgia from North Carolina to see our own doctor but was told we had to wait for a room at the hospital to have the D&C performed and they didn't actually schedule it until the following week. Can you imagine waiting that long? My body apparently couldn't because by lunchtime I had started having severe cramps. It wasn't a peaceful process, it was actually a very hostile experience - my uterus violently contracted for hours and hours that day - progressively increasing the pain until I felt like I couldn't take it anymore. It was relentless. The only calm in that day was when I finally had her and the pain somewhat subsided and I could catch my breath. And then I held something in my hand that was once living, growing and thriving inside of me. It was surreal. And that is the day I am still processing. When it is raining I often find myself thinking of her - something I once had growing inside of me is now buried in the Earth. It's a strange thought, I know.

When someone shares with me that they have been through a miscarriage, I instantly feel a connection with them. I feel you. And any kind of grief for that matter. I have been in that darkness, too.

Another element I struggle with is dealing with the dynamic of our family. With our family growing, I often get asked by strangers upon seeing my belly, "Is this your first or your second?" I say, "second." My heart screams, "LIAR." Technically, it's our third child. Right? See, I don't know how to respond to that. My heart says no, but to the outside world, yes, this baby girl is our second child. Which is why I feel strange referring to our family as a "family of four" so I prefer "party of four." My heart accepts "party of four," in our home though, we are a family of five. We will always include Georgia in our family. She is our family. My girls will grow up knowing that there is a baby up in heaven that they will one day meet.

So, on August 15th, I will be loving on my girls and maybe painfully remembering the elements of that day but will be even more grateful we came out of that because I guess you have to have the dark to appreciate the light.

An Update

A lot of friends and family have asked how we are doing. Better. We are doing better. I couldn’t have said that a couple of weeks ago. I feel like just in the last couple of weeks we have finally started really coming out of hiding. 

October was tough. We decided in late September to go to a friend’s wedding in Colorado. At the time, we weren’t in a good place to want to be around a lot of people yet but we thought we might be in a better place later and regret not going to the wedding. I realized at the wedding we weren’t really there yet – to put on a happy face when you are so sad inside…it’s just hard. To make matters worse I had unexpected bleeding while there. If anyone going through a similar situation has found their way here looking for answers, I will be frank and tell you it is totally possible to go through a “mini miscarriage” (that’s what they referred to it online) two months later. Basically, it’s just leftover stuff from the main event. Not so much fun. It really drained all my energy.

To add to that experience, when I returned from CO, I had a follow-up appointment that introduced me to a totally new feeling regarding the miscarriage: guilt. I had never felt that until the doctor told me I might have an autoimmune disorder and that could have been what ended my pregnancy. After some testing, it turns out I don’t have any autoimmune issues and the minor issue I am having is being treated. But, for that week when I was waiting to find out the test results I felt incredible guilt and hopelessness. Had I unknowing put my child in harm’s way? I felt like I had. 

The real focus of this post is to tell you about the positive things that last post brought. I have had so many messages sent to me thanking me – friends and strangers – for sharing our story. I never expected sharing our story would have an impact/effect on anyone. Because this is a topic that society generally frowns upon on sharing, people have commented how they never fully understood the process a woman goes through during this type of loss but they were grateful because the post kind of opened their eyes more. I should first say that every experience is different for every woman and their partner/spouse. Everyone’s bodies respond differently depending on what stage they were at in their pregnancy. And everyone handles grief in different ways. A lot of people we know have pulled us aside or sent messages sharing they have gone through this similar experience but could never express how they were feeling and by us sharing our story, it help bring them closure. 

I don’t know that I would consider this experience our testimony but God definitely wrote it on my heart to share my story and now I see why. I will always treasure Georgia's ultrasound photos and the photo of my little baby bump. I wish now that I had taken video of the ultrasound. It is getting easier to see friends' and their bumps that are due around the same time I was. Still hard though. 

Just wanted to thank everyone for their heartfelt prayers and support – you have no idea how much they have help! 

A Little Soul's Entrance

::EDIT on August 15, 2019::

I have been meaning to add this edit for some time now - and edit the entire blog to reflect this information we found out. It is only fitting to do it on her 5th birthday, right? Did you catch that I said her? Our sweet baby was a girl. Is a girl. Months after we lost our baby we went back and investigated some tests I had done during our pregnancy and sure enough - girl. Our second baby girl. So now we would have had four girls. After we found out that pivotal piece of information the name Gabriel no longer seem fitting.

So, meet our daughter, Georgia Truitt.

Georgia Print by Rifle Paper

Georgia is one of Matt's favorite names. Our Audrey, our fourth daughter, was almost a Georgia. It never felt quite right though throughout my pregnancy with her. Because Gabriel was always meant to be a Georgia. Truitt is a family name I adore - my grandmother's brother who passed away as a baby.

Here is the heartbreaking, yet beautiful story of how Georgia came upon the Earth.

______________________________________________________________________

Our son, Gabriel, was delivered on Friday, August 15, 2014. He was small, too small. I will always remember his tiny hands. As soon as I had him, my husband, Matt, quickly took him away. I had seen him just long enough to appreciate his tiny hands but not long enough to dwell on how devastating underdeveloped he was. We had no way of accurately knowing at 13 weeks if Gabriel was really a boy but we felt in our hearts he was.

The story of Gabriel's journey to Earth had begun just earlier that week. I had traveled to Charlotte, North Carolina for work on Monday and that evening I noticed a brief change in my pregnancy. Thinking it was probably nothing, the next day I went on to the class I was there to attend and never mentioned it to my husband. I figured, it's more than likely nothing but I'll monitor it. By that afternoon I noticed the change had progressed into light pink blood. Upon discovery, I remember yelling out a disappointed, "nooo!" I went to bed early that night in my hotel room not really knowing what I would wake up to but prayed for the best. That Wednesday morning I was relieved to find the bleeding had stopped. Whew. But, by lunchtime, my husband had left work, picked up our daughter, and was starting to embark on the four-hour drive to NC after the bleeding started up again. We had debated on whether or not he should make the drive up. I had spoken to my doctor and she had told me I needed to rest and make an appointment when I returned to Georgia. Matt came up thinking it was nothing but wanted to calm my nerves and drive me back so I could rest. When he arrived that evening with our daughter, the bleeding had nearly gone away and we had planned to go to dinner. And then as we were leaving for dinner, I felt it. "I think we need to go to the ER." But, who really wants to go to the ER in an unfamiliar city with a toddler? Not us, but I knew I would not be able to handle a four hour drive wondering if my baby was alive, dead, or dying.

We arrived to the ER around 7 PM. We left around 1 or 2 AM. I'm not sure what time it was, it was a blur at that point. Around midnight we were told the baby had no heartbeat. I wasn't too surprised at that point as I had just seen my lifeless baby on the ultrasound. But, when you hear the words actually come out of the doctor's mouth, it is still shocking. I remember shaking so much during the ultrasound. Matt wasn't allowed to come back with me so when I was wheeled back in he asked about the status of the baby, I shook my head and said it didn't look good. I was going off what I had seen since the ultrasound tech is not allowed to say anything but when she moved the monitor away from me after a certain point, I knew that wasn't a good sign. Soon after the doctor came in with his too-perky and happy assistance and gave me a prescription for Vicodin. I remember thinking, "Why is he prescribing this? Should I be afraid?" Somehow, we were able to make the four-hour drive home with our toddler in tow. We drove straight to my doctor's office. After reviewing my charts and the ultrasound images from the ER, she provided me with three options: natural, medication, or D&C (basically surgery to remove the fetus and clear out the uterus). Sure, yeah, let's go with option three so I can get this done and over with as soon as possible. The problem was an operating room wouldn't be available until next week (several days out). Great. But there was nothing I could do about it so I would just have to wait. However, I didn't make it. I had no cramps or pain up until Friday morning. Then, I woke up to some mild cramps. A few hours later the cramps had gotten a little more intense and that's when I noticed there was a pattern to them. These weren't menstrual cramps...these were contractions. A couple of hours later, I was in full on labor. The pain was worse than the pain I had with the birth of my full term baby. And scary. We were at home. Matt asked several times if I needed to go to the hospital and by that point, the pain was so unbearable the thought of getting into a vehicle or being transported by paramedics and an ambulance was ridiculous. I just wanted to lay there in my ball and get through the contractions. But I didn't see an end to them. How long could this go on?

When I woke up in the bathroom, I had no idea where I was or what was going on. I didn't recognize who my husband was right away. I remember waking up from what had seem like a peaceful dream. I had seen silhouettes of people and colors and for a few moments, I felt no pain. When the blood in
my head resettled, the pain hit me like a brick and nearly took my breath away. Matt's face was really close to mine, later to find out he was trying to determine if I was breathing. My face hurt. I had popped it on the sink when I passed out. I didn't even realize then that the worst of the pain hadn't even arrived yet. But it didn't take long. Maybe thirty agonizing minutes later, I finally delivered our sweet baby. And just as I did, the pain nearly dissipated.

Laying on the bed, drenched in sweat, I was relieved. My stomach muscles hurt from the hours of contractions and I was exhausted. But, I was alive. I had gotten through that. In those two hours before delivery, I saw no end in sight to excruciating physical pain. I honestly think if Matt had not been there, I would have downed the entire bottle of Vicodin I had been prescribed. It wasn't like I was trying to harm myself, I just wanted the intense pain to subside.

Within minutes of getting me settled, Matt was on his way to the funeral home with a tiny box. The phone call prior with the funeral home was filled with lots of confusion, "What hospital are you at?" "Well, should you call 911 then?" That was the start of the realization that maybe this doesn't exactly happen like this too often. Oddly enough, the only reason why an ambulance was not called was because some friends of ours had gone through a very similar experience and warned us of what could come if we did not have the D&C. That was more information than we received from any of the doctors and we were grateful for our open and honest friends. It seems after you have reached a certain point in your pregnancy, if the pregnancy goes south, your body does not simply break things down and funnel them out as a heavy cycle. I am not exactly sure what the cut off point is but the day I delivered I was exactly 13 weeks. We are not sure at what point the baby actually died. His growth ended around 9 weeks, which surprised us as we had an ultrasound at 9 weeks and the heart beat was a healthy 165 beats per minute. We learned though that after the baby passes away, his/her growth can go backwards - shrinking down to a smaller size. So, much like there is really no way of knowing why Baby Gabriel could not continue his time here on Earth, there is really no way of knowing the exact day of his demise. It is kind of both unnerving and comforting to know I unknowingly carried around Gabriel for weeks after he passed.

We hadn't shared too publicly yet that we were expecting our second child but even when we lost the baby we decided to share - mainly in hopes that we hadn't forgotten to inform someone that already knew we were expecting that we were no longer pregnant. We thought getting the, "When in that baby due?" would be awkward and sad for all parties involved. But, I am really glad that we have shared because the support and prayers surrounding us have been very helpful and we are forever grateful. We were shocked at just how many people we knew had come to us in private and shared that they had lost a baby as well. We're coming to find out that not many have had to go through the same traumatic delivery that we have. While writing is therapeutic for me, I have hope that one day this post will help someone else - that when they find themselves googling for answers...comfort...anything - to know they are not alone. Miscarriage is a subject that is not typically talked about because it is such a private thing. Matt and I had no idea how common it was until we had one ourselves. However, talking about it helps us and we hope if anyone else find themselves on this horrible journey as well they can find comfort and support in us - we are pretty open about the subject.

We chose to name our baby because we felt like even though his time here on Earth was brief, he was still a life and he deserved to be acknowledged and honored. It has helped us to identify with him as well and feel closer to him - he is a part of our family. Gabriel means "God is my strength" and just like in the Bible, he is our messenger sent from God.