Home

I returned home to Dave on Tuesday and it felt so good to be back in his arms. My time in Montreal was great on so many levels, but it was so hard to be away from Dave, especially during this trying time in our life. Like I told my BFF, I don't just love my husband, but I really like him as well. I have such a strong affection for him and I just love being around him. Everything is just so easy with him and he always makes me laugh. It's so important to have someone who can really make you laugh. This gift is one of the things that attracted me to him. After nearly 5 years together, he still has it.

I spent most of yesterday getting myself sorted. I washed and put away all my clothes, I cleaned up the spare room and stowed away all the beauty products I bought in Montreal (stuff I can't get here). I cooked for the first time in weeks and started on my Blurb blog book (I'm publishing my previous blog and will post a review once I receive it). I also started my pilates programme (DVD at home) to slowly get back into exercising. I took my measurements and hope to see a noticeable difference by Christmas.

I also talked to my boss today about returning to work. I'm thinking of going back on a sort of graduated system, like start with 3 days a week and progress from there. He's totally fine with it (truly, he's a good guy), but the thought of going back scares me and brings me to tears. In fact, after I hung up with him, I noisely sobbed my face off. Just the thought of sitting at my desk, where I rubbed my belly so many times, and seeing so many people who knew about my pregnancy upsets me so much. But I know I need to go back to work soon. Just so I have something to do, you know? Any tips on how I can make this easier?

I know I haven't blogged too much about my trip home, but to all those I saw who actually read this thing, thank you so much for letting me lean on you. Having moments of normalcy in between the grief helped so much. I am so fortunate to know so many amazing, funny, intelligent, down-to-earth women and I truly love you. I want to especially shout out Dahlia (and her family) for suggesting I come home in the first place. I'm not sure if I mentioned this, but Dahlia is 8 months pregnant and we were writing back and forth about our respective pregnancies. We were both worried about seeing each other after what happened, but she really took care of me. I enjoyed spending time with her funny husband Steven and her delightful daughter, Berlynn. One of the highlights of my trip was when Berlynn climbed into my lap and started sucking her thumb while watching TV. Dal said she did that because she was truly comfotable with me. That alone was a major factor in healing my heart. Thank you so much, Rampersinghs. I love you all.

The picture I posted at the beginning of this blog is of a painting I received from my best pal here in Scotland. Signe, from Denmark, is a fellow expat and we work in the same office. In fact, we got hired the same day. We bitch and moan our way through the day and we became more than work colleagues - we're friends. I thank the heavens for her and I know I'm lucky to have a kindred spirit here in Edinburgh. Anyway, while I was in the hospital, she came by and gave me my birthday present which was a painting she did of Dave and I. Let me tell you - it was the day after we lost Isla and receiving her painting lifted our spirits immensely. We put it up in our hospital for the rest of our stay, then brought it to Dave's parents' house and put it in our bedroom. It's now in a good spot in our living room and we love it. I think anyone who knows us will attest that it is a true likeness of us. I've said it before and I'll say it again - I'm blessed with some truly wonderful friends.

Empty belly

I've never had a belly before.

Don't hate me.

I went through a brief chunky period in high school, then I shot up a few inches and the weight got distributed a bit better. Still, I don't remember having an actual belly. All throughout my adult years, my stomach has been flat. Then when I started working out, I had definition in my abdominal area. I really, really liked it.

When I got pregnant, it took some time for my belly to pop and I loved it's fullness. In fact, I really adored my pregnant shape.

Now that I'm not pregnant anymore, I have a really sad, soft, empty belly. When I wear jeans, I actually have a muffin top. On top of everything else I've had to go through, this is a total punch in the gut (pun). I miss my baby and I miss my bump, but this has gots to go. I hope one day it will be full and hard again, it's occupancy filled with a delightful, healthy, take home baby. But until that day, my physical self cannot reflect my mental state. I can't hurry up through this mourning period, but I can take care of myself. That means yes to copious amounts of water, B-complex vitamins and folic acid, long walks and light jogging that will turn into serious jogging, smaller portions and loads of fruits and vegetables. Several months ago, my body was in peak condition and a welcome place for a baby. I don't know when we'll start trying for a baby again, but the least I can do for myself and that future baby is get my body right. Hopefully, my head and heart won't be too far behind.

Heart. Beat.

Yesterday morning I woke up with some peace. I’m grateful for this because Friday did not start out well at all.

I took my mother to a hospital appointment at the hospital I was born in. They have a new annex and my mom was to meet her doctor in the Women’s Clinic. Ok, that really doesn’t mean anything, but I was still relieved to find just a few children in the office with their moms. I’ve been hanging out with kids since Tuesday, so I was solid about kids. Unfortunately, I was totally blindsided, not by a sight, but by a sound.

A heartbeat. A baby’s heartbeat.

Background: While I was pregnant, I absolutely loved hearing Isla’s hearbeat. I initially saw it during ultrasounds, then heard it during latter appointments. When I was admitted to the hospital, I would hear it about every four hours when my blood pressure and temperature were checked. It kept me strong and hopeful. It kills me that I’ll never hear hers again.

So yeah, hearing the sound of a heartbeat filling this small office sucked the air out of my lungs. At first, I was livid at my mother. “Why didn’t you tell me there’d be pregnant women here?” And I got up to leave and dissolved into sobs. I did not care who was looking at me or who was in my path, but I knew I couldn’t listen to that distinctive “whoosh-whoosh-whoosh” anymore. I stood crying in the stairwell while my poor mother kept telling met that she didn’t know, she didn’t know. I was crying so hard that she started crying too. I left to get some air and gain some perspective. Every breakdown that I have is one tiny step to a better place. Embrace it, feel it, and let it go. And that’s what I needed to get in front of the hospital while people went about their business.

I returned to the clinic after some time to keep my mom company and then I left to meet up with one of my BFFs. She took me out for a delicious lunch, we picked up one of her sons from daycare and ran errands. I also picked up my developed and retouched photos of Isla. And we talked about insignificant things and big things.

When my mother got home from work, we stayed up until 1:30a.m. talking about my feelings and how much I hate it when she tells me not to cry and that I’ll have another baby. We then talked about the future and out of that conversation, I felt a new idea forming. I slept on it and woke up feeling good about it.

Things have gradually started to become clearer over the last few days. Coming home has been good for me. I've had a lot of help over the last week, particulary from my mom, sister and my oldest friend. I'm definitely in a more positive place right now (for now). I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who reads this blog and comments and talks to me about what I’ve written. It comforts me more than I can say.

Loser

I feel like such a loser.

I'm 32. I don't have a permanent address anymore. My stuff sits in boxes in three separate homes in two countries. My driver's license expired 4 years ago (!) and I had no idea. I don't have a plan for the future. My baby died and I have no freaking idea which way is up. Seriously, I don't.

My sweetheart Steph called me a survivor the other night. I told her I don't want to just survive anymore. FUCK surviving. I want to live.

But I feel like I can't right now.

The other night a family friend asked if I'm pregnant. Scratch that. He told me I was pregnant. He was sure because of how my belly looked. I couldn't tell him what had happened. So instead I left and I cried for over an hour. I woke up the next morning with the puffiest eyes I've ever had in my life and a resolution not to meet anyone else who is not on my list.

I've come to realize that even if I wanted to, I probably couldn't move back to Montreal. I've been away too long. At once, things are too familiar and totally strange to me. I don't remember how to get to certain places and I don't know how to use the public transport system anymore. After everything I've seen and everywhere I've lived, and going through everything I have over the past 5 years, I'm a foreigner in my own home town. Like the border agent and passport officer told me, I don't live here anymore. Ouch.

It hasn't been all bad, coming back. I'm connecting with my mom on a level I've never had before. I'm really talking to my little sis. I'm laughing with my friends and hugging some pain away. I'm crying when I want to. I have a crazy uneven tan. I have more friends that I'll be seeing, the ones who have known me since before I got my period and know all my secrets. I have two more weeks left.

I miss Dave. I can't wait to be in his arms again. But, this is important. I know I need help. This is one remedy. The hope is I'll get some of me back, get some of the light back, and return to Dave a bit stronger so we can get stronger together. And maybe, we can feel a little less scared of the future.

Are you there, faith? It's me, Kaki. I really, really, really need you back right now. Please, help a sister out.

Coming home/Going home

I am returning to Montreal today. I'm scared about going home. I'm scared about seeing my friends and family for the first time in a year, and for some, the first time in 2-3 years. A lot has happened, most notably I had a baby who died. I'm afraid that I'll have difficulty seeing some people and I'm afraid of being judged. I'm sad to leave Dave. But I know for sure that those who love me and understand me will be there for me. I look forward to their hugs and kisses.

Dave and I returned to our flat on Tuesday evening. It was the first time of sleeping there since I went into the hospital nearly 3 weeks ago. We had returned to pick up some clothes since then, and we also took the opportunity to hide away all the baby books I had bought and received. But some reminders were still lurking around. The bathtub had been stained purple by the heather that had been in the bath when I tried to find relief from what I now believe were contractions. On the couch, there was a wedge pillow I had borrowed to use to put under my bump while I slept. And there were my maternity clothes.

All these things have now been cleaned and put away. I also cleaned up my Amazon wish list, purging it of the millions of titles and things I had hoped to buy one day in order to escape those damned recommendations on my homepage. I have cleared my browser history of all the blogs and information sites I had looked at every day of my pregnancy. The reusable diapers we had bought at a discount and the new hand-me-down baby items I had received from my co-worker are safely enconssed in the back of my closet while we figure out what to do with them. The only reminder I can bear looking at right now is the remembrance box we received from the hospital after Isla died. I look in it every day. I look at her picture and I smell her hat.

Her hat. So small and it still smells like her. We just got it on Monday after we secured a new one for her so we could have the one she wore. I'm so happy I realized I wanted this. One more thing to remember her by.

Well, that's all to say that I am home and now I'm going home. Home is such an interesting concept to me. Montreal is my home, but now, Kirkcaldy is also my home. The former is home because my mom, sister, and sister-friends are still there, but the latter is home because my heart is here. A long time ago, Dave told me people can be home. Such a wise sentiment.

I'll be away for a couple of weeks and might write late at night when sleep is elusive. However, I hope my days are so full of talking, laughing, crying and food that dreams come quite easily. À bientôt.

Saying Goodbye

On Monday, David, his family and I said goodbye to Isla. It had been two weeks since she died and Dave and I were waiting for this day. Our daughter's spirit had left us shortly after she entered the world and we knew we'd have to say goodbye to her physical body before we could begin to properly heal. We went back and forth between a burial and a cremation and it was excruciating trying to decide which would be better. In the end, two things swayed us. Firstly, the gardens of the crematorium are breathtaking. Everything is manicured professionally, there are beautiful trees and flowers everywhere, including cherry blossom trees, and there are even bunnies hopping around. When Dave and I walked around the grounds, we felt at peace. It would be a fitting place to go and sit and think about the beauty of our daughter's life.

Secondly, we know we'll settle in Canada someday soon. We knew that we couldn't leave Isla behind in a place that would be so far away from us. When we leave, we don't want to leave anything behind, especially Isla's body. So we decided on cremating her. We also plan on having her name engraved on a memorial that is especially for babies. When we finally settle down somewhere permanently, we plan on planting a cherry blossom tree in her honour. However, all these things are incidental to the feeling I had in my heart after Isla was finally gone.

Her service was short, like we wanted it to be, but as lovely as Isla herself. Ian, the chaplain who blessed her in the hospital gave the service and he comforted me with his warm words and tranquil demeanour. It was not easy - seeing her tiny coffin and walking her down the aisle of the crematorium, but I felt steady, especially since Dave and I had a few moments alone to tell our baby how much we love her and how we'll see her again one day. I felt like we were letting go and I know that's one step closer in accepting what happened. But even though we were letting her go, I felt close to her and I believe I'll always feel that way. For me, the parting blessing confirms this:

"When you are weary and in need of strength,
when you are lost and sick of heart,
remember her, Isla.

When you have a joy to share
or difficult decisions to make,
remember her, Isla."

I plan on doing just that, for the rest of my days.

After the service, we all walked around the grounds. It was a stunning day, with the sun shining so brightly. It lifted my heart. We even went for a drive later. After the tears in the morning, I felt peace.

I know it's early days and Dave and I have a long way to go before we feel like ourselves again, but I feel like my faith is returning. I know I have a choice. I can let Isla's death weigh me down and I could give in to the despair of losing her. I could stop smiling and I could stay in bed for a year while my heart grieves. It would be so easy. I've had these thoughts and others that are too dark to share.

On the other hand, I could remember the joy Isla brought to our lives. Those 23 weeks were beautiful. Every single one. The week I got the positive test. The week we told our parents that they were going to be grandparents. The week we saw her on the ultrasound for the first time. The week when I felt really sad and lonely and felt her kick for the first time and understood the enormity of what I was doing. I was so in love with my daughter. We both were. We both are. I want to grieve for her properly, but I also want to heal so that I can fully love my husband and we can grow our family again.

I know there are going to be ups and downs and I will never be the same person again, but I'm so thankful and so grateful that I am Isla's mother.

Tears, and could it be, some hope?

Yesterday was hard.

Dave and I went to Edinburgh to find a new suit for him because he didn't feel that the suits he had would be suitable for Isla's funeral. I wanted to get a couple of things to wear in Montreal because it is actually summer there now. I also wanted to get something for my BFF's unborn baby and 3 year old daughter.

This is where things went wrong.

After a nice lunch in a character hotel, we went to a baby clothes shop. I was focused on getting something I saw months ago for this baby. Dave freaked out. We left. Then I freaked out. Then we saw a pregnant woman. We made it to the top of the street before I started crying. I cried because I would not buy cute little things for Isla and because my bump was gone. Ugh. It hurt. My heart hurt.

We finished what we needed to do and got the fuck out of Edinburgh. When we got back to the town we live in, which as provided us with a space to actually mourn in, I was exhausted. Since my body is more or less back to normal (which pisses me off. My stomach is soft and flat. My engorged breasts have settled down and are soft again. Looking at me, you would never have known I was pregnant last week), it makes it hard to remember I gave birth last week. I was tired. After receiving an offer to talk from my MIL's co-worker who went through a similar thing last year and who has just given birth, then my MIL telling me everything will be alright and we'll be happy again, I lost my shit. Like, boo hoo on the steps. Dave took me to bed and I cried and cried and cried. I miss my daughter. I'm tired. Life will never be the same.

So we slept. Sleeping helps a lot.

When we woke up, I knew we'd have to make a decision. That night there was to be a meeting for bereaved parents organized by a group named SANDS. They support parents who have lost children through stillbirth and neonatal deaths. On the one hand, we just lost Isla and maybe it was too soon to go to this. But on the other hand, talking to others who have gone through what we have might helps us to learn how to cope with the trauma and learn how we can live and be happy again even with broken hearts.

After thinking about it, I knew we wanted to go. So we went. And it was brilliant. Everyone was so helpful and kind. They could not believe that we were there after we had just lost Isla last week. They called us brave and strong. I don't know if I believe that yet. I just know talking about it helps me cope and cry and relieve stress.

We talked and listened for over 2 hours. I would definitely go again. I borrowed a book I had coveted in their library and I'll read it after I read this one. I need to read and listen to stories, particularly positive ones. They help me. I want to be positive again. I want to be happy again. I want to mourn Isla properly and cry and grieve and despair for her, but one day, think about the beautiful baby I had the pleasure and honour of carrying her for nearly six months. Yes, I want to get there.

Dave's beautiful sisters are in town and they'll be coming to the funeral with us. I'm so happy they're here. They bring levity to this house of mourning. The only thing is that right now, I'm not great with the effortless banter they all have. My thoughts are always so far away. But it's nice talking to them. I'm so looking forward to seeing my family and friends next week. I need them now more than ever.

It's my darling's birthday today. I told him next year's will be better. I sincerely hope it will be.