60 days and 60 nights..

Tomorrow will be two months since Ethan passed away. Sixty whole days without my baby. I remember missing him sooo much just being away from him overnight or for the weekend. Sixty days makes the weekend seem like nothing. It makes me wish that it was only the weekend or a couple of nights with Lola and Lolo that Ethan was away from us.

You would think that it gets easier as time goes on. For me, it hasn't. It's been hard, really hard. Sure, I live life like I normally would. I go to work, I go out with friends, etc. But then there are those moments. Those moments where I get a burn in my neck and my eyes start to water. Those moments where I miss Ethan so much that it my body literally aches. Those moments where I would think that if I could have one wish, I would wish to be able to hold him again just for a little while. Those moments are hard.

Ethan's crib is still left untouched. I can't bring myself to put it away. I don't think Erwin can either. His diaper bag still has his change of clothes in there and an extra g-tube. His medicine is still in the cabinet. His clothes are still tucked away in the tallest dresser dedicated to his massive amount of clothes. It's all still there. He's still there. Everywhere we go.

I still get the feeling that I need to go pick him up and that I have to bring an extra jacket for him because it's freezing in San Jose. On Sundays, we use to pick him up before his Lolo went to church. At around 7:00pm on Sundays, I'm still programmed to think that we have to go get Ethan. Is this normal? Am I just going through the stages of grief?

Thanksgiving came and went. I have a huge family so of course it was crazy and hectic. Although Ethan wasn't mobile, he still made his presence. That was definitely missing this Thanksgiving. This holiday season will definitely be a hard one for me. I always had the joy of opening Ethan's gifts for him because he couldn't. How am I going to handle watching all of my nieces and nephews open gifts?

Dear Ethan,

I miss you more than words can describe. Please be good for mommy and daddy and watch over your baby sister. Although you're not here physically, you're in my heart always. Come visit me in my dreams. I want to see you. I want to hear your voice. I want to see for myself that you're okay and that I can move on. It's so hard without you, Ethan. I love you so much that it hurts not having you here. But I know that you're in Heaven, where everything is perfect and it's "for real". You're not in pain anymore. Your daily routine won't involve medications and seizures. You can run around and play. Just make sure you're not too rough with Emily Anne!  I love you two both very much. I can't wait to be able to hold you in my arms again.

Love,

Mommy

Remembering Ethan Jordan from AyyYoRae on Vimeo.

4, 3, 2..

I never thought that I would be in this position. Ever. As you go through life, we all picture this perfect life, graduate high school, go off to college and meet the person you wanna spend the rest of your life with, get married and have children. Well, that's what the movies are like and it's what we all dream about. My life is definitely not like that. I wouldn't say that my life isn't normal because who are we to say that someone else's life isn't normal. Normal for you can be outrageous for another person and vice versa. I would say my life is normal, for my life, that is. However, life throws rocks at you. For me.. really BIG rocks.

I started this blog in 2009 after our precious baby angel, Emily Anne, was born into the arms of God. This was my escape; my place to vent to those that have gone through what I have gone through and can really relate to me. Many people will say, "I have kids too, so I know how you feel." Not to sound like a bitter baby loss mother, but no.. you do not know how I feel. Yes, you may know how it feels to have children, to nurture them and love them and raise them to be better than you are. You may think you know how you would feel if they were taken from your prematurely, but you have no idea.

We were a family of four at one point: me, Erwin, Ethan, and our little girl Emily Anne. When I was pregnant with her, I always thought to myself.. 'How lucky am I to be blessed with a boy and a girl. We're going to be the perfect family of four.' Little did I know that at 36 weeks gestation, our baby girl would die before she was even born. The books don't warn you about this stuff, or if they do, it's tucked away at the very back where most people don't read it. The books don't tell you that stillborns are more common than you think. So there I was, in an induced labor awaiting the arrival of our baby girl. No cries heard, no tiny hands wrapped around our fingers, no eyes staring back at you. So I labored for over 30 hours to deliver a babygirl that didn't have a heartbeat. I was crushed. I had never read about anyone losing their child before they born and I did not know anyone that had experienced what I was going through. How could this happen to me? My family was devastated. It was the first time my family experienced a loss so close to us. In the midst of the sadness and heartache, I had my family there to support me and go through with Erwin and I together.

So now, we were a family of three: me, Erwin, and our firstborn, Ethan Jordan. Since the day he was born, he has been a fighter and has continued to fight throughout his whole life. Through hospital visits, stomach flu, pneumonia, surgery, many many many doctor visits, seizures, infantile spasms.. he fought through it all. He is easily the strongest person that I know. He is my inspiration, my sanity, my everything. He fought for us.

On the morning of September 30, 2011, we woke up to the worst morning of our lives, by far. We always had a morning routine. I would wake up first and Erwin right after I did. I would hop in the shower and Erwin would get Ethan ready to go to his grandparents' house. That morning, I was running late.. I woke up and ran straight to the shower.

Before I stepped into the shower, I heard loud knocks on the bathroom door.
"WHAT?!" I said to Erwin with annoyance. (I was upset with him the night before).
"Ethan isn't breathing!"
"WHATT?!" I grabbed my robe and ran over to his crib. Ethan was in his crib, skin blue. I grabbed his hand and it was cold. I ran over to my sister's room and screamed that Ethan isn't breathing. I run back over, grabbed my phone and called 911. At that point, I was crying so hard, the operator probably couldn't hear what I was saying. I took a deep breath and told them where we lived. A woman got on the phone and had Erwin move Ethan to a flat surface, so we moved him to the floor. She gave Erwin directions to perform CPR while we waited for the ambulance to arrive. All I can remember is screaming and praying that Ethan would start breathing. I grabbed my phone charger, threw it in my purse, put my sweat pants and sweater on and I was ready to go the hospital. We were going to the hospital and he was going to be okay. He was going to fight through this like he always has.

The firetruck arrives first, and the ambulance arrives shortly after. We're shooed out to give the the paramedics room. We wait downstairs with an officer that had arrived about the same time the ambulance did. All I remember thinking is, it's too quiet. I heard defibrillators for a moment. And then here they come, one by one.. down the stairs without any good news. In my head, I was screaming, "No! No! This can't be happening!!" Our little Ethan, our fighter, our baby... he was gone. Four and half years old. Just four and a half years old.

A few other police officers had arrived. One of them explained to us that there was nothing that they can do. I can't even remember exactly what they said because I was just in utter shock and I couldn't absorb anything that was being told to me. We were told that we couldn't go up to see Ethan and we couldn't even get our phones that were in the room. I wanted to hold him so bad, to touch his soft skin and rub my cheek against his like I always did. I wanted to feel that I still had him. But I couldn't. We just had to wait. For what? We didn't even know.

My family started arriving one by one, all with tears in their eyes. Instead of being able to sit in the comfort of our home, everyone that wasn't inside the house at the time the event occurred had to wait in our garage instead. Our son's death was being treated like a homicide. I kept thinking, "Seriously? This is protocol?" It's not like the movies where we were able to hold him in our arms and sob. We were all stuck while our lifeless son was laying on the floor of our room and was being investigated like he was murdered. I felt hurt and offended because I felt like they had to investigate and gather evidence because we were the ones that did this to our son. The officers had to get statements from everyone that was in the house. It was like a crime scene. There were at least 6 cop cars outside of our home. The District Attorney and the homicide unit even showed up.

After a few hours passed, we were finally told that the coroner was on their way. As soon as the coroner did their investigation and gathered whatever they needed, we would be able to see Ethan, however, we couldn't touch him. Even my family that was waiting in the garage this whole time couldn't pass by and see him.

So there he was, my firstborn son, on a stretcher about to be transported to the coroner's office. I felt like I was stuck in a bad nightmare that was lasting forever. How could this happen? What happened? Was it our fault? Did he cry and we didn't hear him? These questions still run through my head everyday. We were told that the investigation and autopsy report can take up to 12 weeks for any results. Over a month later and still no results. So here I am, without any answers as to why my son is gone, why I can't hold him and kiss him and hug him and never let go.

And then there were two. Family of 4, then 3, then 2..

It's been a little over a month and I'm still at a point where sometimes I still don't believe it. I still sometimes feel like I have to go pick Ethan up from his grandparents. I still check the weather and think to myself, "It's cold. I have to make sure I dress Ethan warmly." I still check the rear-view mirror, even though Erwin took his car seat out. I still hear his feeding pump beeping. I still look at boy clothing when I go to Target. I still look over at his crib thinking he'll be there.

I miss him terribly. My life revolved around that little boy. All of my decisions were made based on that little boy. Now that he's gone, I feel lost. He was my sanity. But how can I be selfish and wish for him back? "Be strong, because Ethan was for a long time." I can only go on the fact that he's happy, he's pain free, and he's able to run, walk, and play like the little boy that he should have been.

To my dear Ethan, I love you and miss you every single day and that will never change. Watch over us and take care of your little sister. <3 Mommy

RIP Ethan Jordan DeCastro

April 25, 2007 - September 30, 2011

Almost two years..

I haven't been on here forever. I've been so caught up with school and work that I don't even have time to sit down and write down my feelings. But I know I should and I need to. For myself.

As Emily Anne's 2nd birthday gets closer and closer, I find myself going back to the last few weeks that I had with her, the day that we found out she died before she was even born, my labor, and her funeral. I can't believe it's been two years. All the usual stuff triggers tears: sad movies, people dying, someone else crying, etc. But as her 2nd birthday approaches, the 2nd birthday that we have to celebrate without actually celebrating it, the tears come more frequently. I can only imagine how much of a character she would have been by now. She would have most likely going through the early stages of the terrible twos, running instead of walking, saying more words.. I wish we were able to witness her grow up. My heart aches for those moments. For her.

The happiness I use to feel for pregnant women has disappeared. All I feel is jealousy. Sadness. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for them and I silently sit there praying for them that they won't go through the same thing I did. I'm just jealous that I can't be back in that state of bliss, but at the same not being aware that these things do happen. Baby loss is such a taboo subject and I hate that it is because if it weren't, more women would be more aware of the bad things that could happen and maybe my type of situation could be prevented.

My older sister is pregnant again and I haven't touched her belly. I use to be the girl that always wanted to rub pregnant bellies and feel babies kick. That girl is no longer there. And I hate that. I want to be the girl that I use to be. I want to be the girl with both angels on earth and not one in heaven. I want to be able to hold my baby girl and and never let her go. But we all want a lot of things. I try to keep telling myself that it will be okay. I will be truly happy again one day. Until that day..

Time...

It goes by so fast. Especially when you're counting the days since you last saw your baby. On 8/8/10, it was exactly 1 year and 6 months since I said "hello" to Emily and just an hour later, I had to say "goodbye". I miss her so much. I always wonder what she would have been like at this age. I imagine that she would have been all over the place by now; walking, getting into EVERYTHING. It kills me that I can't see her reach her milestones. My heart aches. It aches for my babygirl.

Ethan has been sick for a while now. He is constantly congested and his cough keeps coming back. I'm just glad that we haven't had a visit to the ER lately. Although we might have to schedule a visit to urgent care tomorrow since he's had a fever the past 2 days. *Sigh* It's neverending.


This is totally off tangent, but I needed to say it (or type it) somewhere. Ever since we lost our little Emily, I am soooo very sensitive to death. Everytime I watch a movie that involves death, I get this burn in my throat and my eyes gets watery. It burns even more when I try to hold it back and not have a meltdown next to the person I'm watching the movie with. I hope this gets easier. Right now, I feel like it never will. I cried enough tears in the last year and half that would last a lifetime. I just want to hold her and smell her again. Everytime I look back on the day that we said our final goodbyes and we had to bury our daughter, the smell of the funeral home haunts me. I can't get rid of that smell. Big BLAH!

Thanks for reading my vent. ♥

Rainbows

Someone I know recently sent me this message on Facebook:

"There's this song that comes on the country stations called "If I Die Young" and I always think of you and your little girl every time I hear it. I wish you many rainbows. Hope you and Erwin are well and I pray Ethan's days are bright and fruitful."

I'm not an avid listener of country music, but I know a good song when I hear one.

This song really touched me and it brought tears to my eyes. And what made it that much better was that this person that I don't talk to took the time to message me to let me know she was thinking of me and our little angel. Thanks, B.

So I wanted to share this song with all of you in the babylost world. I hope this song touches you and makes you smile. I'm wishing for rainbows for all of us. ♥

Here's the song & video so you don't have to search it yourself.

"If I Die Young" by The Band Perry

"Lord, make me a rainbow, I’ll shine down on my mother
She'll know I’m safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh and
Life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no
ain't even grey, but she buries her baby"

Her story, part 2

After being induced, we just had to wait. I had to lay there with my baby inside of me. My baby who no longer had a heartbeat.. who we would not hear cry after I gave that one final push. My baby who I just felt kicking that morning. It was very surreal to me. I would still put my hand on my stomach hoping maybe she was just giving us the biggest scare of our lives. Just hoping. My mom was urging me to have a c-section because she was so scared that something would happen to me if I kept a non-living baby inside of me. My dad felt the same way. But in order to give birth vaginally for future pregnancies, I had to deliver Emily the natural way.

My friends and family were there the whole time. My room was filled with at least 10 people. I was very lucky to be in such an understanding hospital and have kind, warm-hearted nurses that never said anything insensitive to me or my family. Normally, nurses and doctors will only allow 2 - 3 other people in the delivery room just in case something happens to the baby and they have to do an emergency procedure or something. But that wasn't the case. So there we were. Just waiting. Normally, you would be making phone calls, sending the text out that says,"It's the day! Baby Emily is on her way!" How do we add on "But she no longer has a heartbeat" So the only phone calls that were made were to my family and a few of my closest friends. Then the word just spread.

Throughout that night, I was able to sleep pretty well. I woke up really early that morning because I finally started feeling contractions. After about 11 hours after being induced, I was only 1cm dilated. The contractions weren't unbearable, but with the situation that I was in.. I didn't want to add any physical pain to the emotional pain that I was already in. So I decided to get the epidural.

When anesthesia came up, the nurses were switching shifts. From 7am - 3pm, my nurse was Katie. I will never forget her. She created a rainbow in the midst of a storm. She somehow made our situation so much easier to get through. I wanted her to be my nurse during my whole stay. All I kept thinking was "I wish all my nurses were like Katie."

Because I had a cesarean with my son, my doctor didn't want to force my uterus to do anything that would cause it to rupture and put me at risk. So, things were progressing very slowly.

Twenty-hours after being induced, I was only about 3 - 4 cms dilated. The doctor's prescribed another medication that would speed up a the process just a little bit. At 10pm (26 hours into labor), I was still 3 - 4 cms dilated. My doctor talked about going into having another c-section since I wasn't progressing very well. She later decided that since I was still young and I would still be able to have more babies in the future, she decided that we would wait.

At about 12AM, I started feeling a lot of pressure. "So this is what labor feels like huh?" I thought. The nurse checked to see if I had made any more progress. 8cms dilated. No wonder why it hurt so bad. By then, the epidural had worn off. My doctor ordered some more medication to help with the pain. Just a short hour labor, I was pushing.

Here it goes. This is what we've been waiting for right? I didn't know what to feel or what to think. I just did as I was told and I pushed. Normally, I'm a tough cookie. But as I was pushing... I wanted to give up. I think all that waiting and anxiety just got the best of me. At that point, the epidural was completely absent. I felt everything.

Forty minutes later; at 1:40AM on February 8th, 2009, baby Emily was born sleeping. When I gave that one final push, all I could see from the position I was laying in was my doctor uncoiling the umbilical cord. 1....2....3....4.... The cord was wrapped around her neck 4 times. Everyone in the room was crying. Even my nurse was crying. My brother, who I have never seen cry in my whole life, was crying. My nurse wrapped little Emily up and then put her into my arms. Her tiny, little lifeless body. No physical pain amounts to the pain that I felt in that moment when I was holding my babygirl. My babygirl that I lost before I even had her. I stared at her tiny little face, her pale skin and ruby red lips. I stroked her baby soft skin. She had that newborn smell. Her tiny little feet and long limbs (that she gets from her dad).. She was so perfect.

My doctor stepped out for a few moments to let us have our moment with our angel baby. Everyone in the room got to hold her for the first and last time. There were so many emotions and so many tears being shed at once. We were all waiting for her arrival, but we never imagined that it would be like this. I cannot begin to describe how low I felt at that moment.

To be continued...

Void

I'm not sure what has been going on with me or why I've been feeling what I'm feeling. I've stayed away from blogging for a while now just because I had no idea how to explain the state-of-mind that I was in.

The family and I went to go visit our little princess today. Now I know why I've stayed away for so long. My heart sinks every time we go visit her. It aches. I thought it would get easier, that I would get use to the feeling. I thought wrong. It has been getting harder and harder. The more days we have without her, the more it hurts. There's a void in my heart and I don't know when it will ever get filled.


I've been working a few days out of the week lately and I'll be going back to school in the fall. If things go as planned, I'll have my LVN certificate in 3 years. As I'm looking ahead to the future, finishing school, finally starting my career, I still feel like something is missing. Long story short, I would like to have another baby. Call me crazy.. I just gave birth to our daughter almost a year and a half ago. It's been emotionally tough without her. But I feel so empty. My arms are empty. Although having another baby won't bring back our Emily, it's what I've been wanting more than anything. Going to see Emily Anne today only made that longing for another baby stronger.

This can totally backfire on me. What if I have another baby and the feeling is just as strong, if not stronger? But it's what I've been really thinking about and it's what I really want. My other half doesn't totally agree with me. He wants me to finish school first and then we'll think about having another baby. He doesn't understand. No one understands.

I wish everyone would understand or be able to explain to me why you get these feelings after losing your baby before you even had them. I wish all babies would be born healthy so that we wouldn't even have to have these feelings. It's not fair.