Month: May 2014

Why are you so sad?

1 Comment

I was recently asked this question and I believe with my whole heart that this person honestly meant well. They simply did not understand what the loss of a daughter can do to a mother’s heart. They didn’t understand loss. The question, however, brought up a very important topic, death.

Most people, I have discovered, are very uncomfortable dealing with death. Most react a couple ways: They try to avoid you all together, keeping conversations to a quick hi and bye, avoiding eye contact throughout the entire interaction. Then there are those that will talk to you and say nothing about your loss. Others will ask you every question they can think of and then give you their advice as to how you can get “better”. My favorite are the ones that simply inundate me with love, even if we were just acquaintances prior to Emme’s passing. Obviously there are plenty of other reactions but in my experience most people fall into these four.

Everyone just wants to make you feel better so they say anything they think will. But I find that honesty is the best way to approach a grieving parent. There are no words and simply saying so is more than most of us expect. A smile, a hug, a shoulder to cry on…all are better than words.

When tomorrow starts without me,
and I’m not here to see,
if the sun should rise and find your
eyes, filled with tears for me. 
I wish so much you wouldn’t cry, 
the way you did today,
while thinking of the many things
we didn’t get to say.
I know how much you love me,
as much as I love you, 
and each time you think of me,
I know you’ll miss me too.
When tomorrow starts without me,
don’t think we’re far apart,
for every time you think of me,
I’m right there in your heart.
-YouAreMyOxy

Second Nature

Leave a comment
We were away for a week spending time together. Nathan had so much fun spending time with both of us for seven days. It was nice to visit different cities and explore with our little prince but the emptiness remained.

I’ve been changed forever and now I’m coping with the idea of this. I will never be the same person I was. Everything has changed. A door was opened inside me that I never knew existed. The loss of a child can’t be described in words. There are no words. Anyone who tries to justify her death to me, I automatically zone out. I have become numb to all their words and reason. My mind goes to a different place because nothing can piece together my broken heart. To my heart, there is no explanation good enough to relief the burning pain it feels. So I wake every morning imagining myself being held by God, in our intimate place of love, where he mourns with me, lifting my spirits and giving me hope. He dries my tears, as he cries with me, telling me how much he understands what I feel. I lay my head on his chest and pour my heart out, crying what feels like hours. And then I open my eyes and begin my morning, going back to my place of love all day, as many times as I need to, to keep moving forward.



On Monday we were in Santa Barbara, enjoying the perfect weather. Your daddy and Nathan fed the giraffes at the zoo.


I missed you.


Tuesday we were in San Simeon. The hotel was perfect, and the pool was one of the bests. Nathan jumped into the pool, loving his father with every smile and giggle.


I missed you.


Wednesday we were in Carmel. The sweet smell of the beach coming through our room, matching the calming vibe of the town. Everyone was so sweet and couldn’t get enough of your big brother.


I missed you.


Thursday we were in beautiful Monterey, loving every living thing. Nathan had a blast, especially watching all the fish, small and big, get fed.


I missed you.


Friday we were in Berkeley. My alma mater. We walked the lake and enjoyed the rare but perfect weather. 


I missed you.


The weekend was full of trains, picnics, beach time, ice cream, fairy land, good food and great friends, but I missed you.


And here we are, beginning a new week and the yearning for you is just as great. My heart is heavy; broken in half. I want you back. I hold on to your doll a little tighter, smell your blanket a little longer and hope that when I open my eyes, it stings a little less.



The Little Blue Box

Leave a comment
                                                

“Wush, Wush, Wush” the little blue box goes. Nathan loves the sway of the pressure piece, as it moves back and forth, all while filling the bottles with silky milk. He now thinks that everyone with breasts can squirt out milk for a baby. 
Nathan’s favorite toy is leaving today and I can’t help but feel so sad. I don’t think it’s the actual pump I feel bad about, I’m simply replacing it with another. But I had this blue one with Emme. Suddenly all this fear and sadness rushes over me, not wanting to part with yet another thing. 
I pumped as soon as I was able to after delivery, not wanting Emme to starve if she was hungry. I was able to retrieve all the colostrum my breasts had, and pumped every two hours desperately wanting my milk to come in so Emme could have it. A day in a half after birth, I was engorged and nothing could have made me happier. 
Eric and I went to the NICU at all hours of the day and night, running over milk for our little warrior. The nurses kept telling us to page them so they could walk over the milk. They wanted me and Eric to get some rest. But we couldn’t sleep. We couldn’t eat. We couldn’t do anything other than express and package milk, cry and spend time with Emme. 
Every time I would nod off I would wake up looking for Emme in our room, believing with all my heart this was just all a bad nightmare. I’d panic and then realize, Emme wasn’t there. This was real. And the stream would start down my cheeks again. 
I wanted to have control. And the only thing I had control over was my milk supply. So I pumped all day and night. Pumping without Emme now still makes me feel in control. I think of all the babies my milk will help, and I thank Emme for making it possible. 
it’s not the blue Madela pump I cry for, it’s for all the loss. But in the midst of all the sadness and loss, I smother myself in all the happiness we experienced in those bitter sweet eight days. 
I miss you my Chiquita Banana. 

My Daughters Eulogy: Emme Sophia Zurbrugg

1 Comment
Today has definitely been a rough day. It seems as though my arms ache a little extra for my little girl. A month ago today I was giving birth to the most beautiful baby. Little did I know that I would only have eight days to take her all in. Emme was perfect in every way. She was everything I had prayed for, and then some. 
Some days are easier than others. Others brake me down so much I feel the ache of emptiness inside my chest so bad it physically hurts. I like to think she wanted to meet us so bad that she kept her little heart pumping until she had met all her loving family. 
As I sit here smiling at all the amazing moments we shared and running through every detail of every second, trying to hold on to it as much as I can, I have decided to share Emme’s eulogy with you. My hope is that it gives you a glimpse of how beautiful my daughter was, both inside and out.
EMME SOPHIA ZURBRUGG

The focus of my talk will be to help you better get to know baby Emme.
I plan to share things about Emme’s life that only Eric and I know. 
I plan to share things about Emme’s death that we think are important.
And I will conclude with a special request from our family. 
A Eulogy is a piece of writing that typically highlights the great long life of an individual after their passing, but the reality is Emme was only with us for 8 days. Although it was a very very short stay, she made her presence known. 
I am now going to share with you some things about Emme’s life that only Eric and I know
Emme was conceived in Florence, Italy, while Eric and I were traveling alone. We made a conscious decision to conceive her, and from the very start, before we even started trying, we prayed for a little girl. And God granted our wish on April 5th, 2014. 
Her life while I carried her in my womb was full of songs, every so often a kick from her brother to which she would respond to, and gentle movements in reaction to her big brothers cries. 
She was an extremely alert baby who loved to socialize, winning over all the hearts of the NICU nurses within days. They all loved Emme, holding her at all hours of the day and night, reading, playing music, and simply cuddling with her. Even Cindy, the head nurse, ensured that all her NICU “aunties” were meeting Emme’s demands. And yes, they were demands. She quickly gained the nickname Ms. Emme ( pronounced EM) because she demanded love all day, food at the very moment she wished without any wait time, and sleep when she was tired. 
She loved to be cuddled and sleeping on my chest was one of her all time favorite activities. Even when home, she yelled softly for someones arms any instant she was placed in her bassinet, even during diaper changes, which she extremely disliked. 
The day she spent with us she spent with our entire family, as they all took turns showering her with love, unlimited amount of kisses and anything else this little bundle of joy demanded. She even stayed up late playing Cranium with the entire family, watching her Uncle imitate Kim Kardashian, her father spell words backwards, all while getting kisses from her aunts, grosi, and momma. 
Her one and only night with us made everything seem surreal. For a night, she made us forget that the possibility of her passing existed. She nursed from my breasts, played and talked to us all night as she slept between me and her father. We laid with her, waking every minute to ensure she was still there, and she would look up with her big eyes and cry out for play time. We could not have imagined a better night. 
I am now going to share with you some things about Emme’s death that Eric and I think are important. 
Emme passed 8 days after birth, in my arms, as I held her close, sang to her and prayed over her life with  Eric, and both our mothers by our sides. She was loved with every ounce of our being until her last breath. 
Emme was a fighter. The fact that she made it to term, we later found out, was a miracle in itself, as most babies with Emme’s condition die in the womb. Emme was diagnosed with a fatal chromosomal disorder,  which only gave her an extremely short life span. Once the doctors knew what it was, we decided to bring her home, whether that would be for one day or 3 months. 
Emme beat many odds. She survived in my womb, came to the world and fought for her first breath as she did to stay with us a little longer. She nursed even though they said she would not be able to. She wanted to see the world. She wanted to meet her family, if only for a brief time. 
Although her passing is a profound loss to us, her life changed that of many. She left all the NICU nurses in awe of her energy and love of the world. She taught our family a new appreciation for life, each other, and definitely taught us how to love deeper.
After her passing, we received many messages from many people Eric and I had not heard from in some time. They all shared how Emme had changed their lives, even though only family got to actually meet her. She started a movement of love and faith in only 8 days. She had a purpose and it was fulfilled. 
Emme’s 250 ounces of breast milk will be donated weekly to help infants in the NICU. Babies that need the extra nourishment to make it home to their parents.  Only Emme’s life could have made this possible.
Eric and I want you to know that Emme strengthen our faith and brought us closer to the Lord. Prayer, a gift God left for us, is what continues to get us through this. Although such an event can definitely make you question your belief system, together Eric and I have been able to stay planted thanks to God’s overflowing love for us. In his graciousness, he has began to answer our questions and with an open heart we pour our souls to Him. 
It is because of everyones prayers over our family that we stand strong with peace in our hearts. We thank you for your outpouring of love.
Before we conclude with a special request from our family, Eric and I would also like you to know that we do not wish to “move on” or have another baby as an answer to “moving on” from Emme’s passing. We would, instead, like to move forward with God’s help and always remembering Emme in everything we do, for because of her we will be better parents, siblings, partners and friends to you. 
We would like to conclude by asking you for a small favor. 
Many are the times when Eric and I have needed a jolt to make us change. We have learned many lessons through trial and error. This, of course, is different. There is nothing Eric and I could have done to avoid this situation. It was simply a chance in seven thousand; a lottery in reverse. There is no reason for this disorder, no genetic links- pure chance. But through it, we learned to reevaluate our lives for the better. To love our son deeper, to appreciate our mothers, to let our siblings know how special they are to our lives. We ask that in Emme’s honor, you do the same. We do not know what tomorrow brings, but we can change how we live today and how our actions affect our friends and family.