Jane’s Funeral

In the last few days, I’ve felt waves of grief during quiet moments. Most times I’ve been alone, but the other night I felt it while at Sea World with a few friends. One was about 8 months pregnant, and I couldn’t help but look at her and wish I could go back to when I was pregnant and Jane was still alive…

I’m choosing to work through my grief by continuing my list of unpleasant decisions.

Decision 7: What to do for Jane’s Funeral? (Like Decision 6, ‘Decision’ 7 was actually a series of decisions.)

a-c) Where? When? And officiated by whom?

The ‘where’ was easy. When I contacted Fr. JP the Tuesday after Jane’s death, he indicated that we should have the funeral at whichever church we felt most connected to. Even though I’ve spent the last two years attending my neighborhood parish, I knew that I felt much more connected to our local Newman Center, which I’ve attended off-and-on since beginning my postdoc in 2006. C and I went through our marriage prep there with Fr. JP (even though I was living in another city at the time), and I had served on the Pastoral Council from 2012-2015.

The timing was a little trickier. Fr. JP would be leaving town in a few days and could do the funeral on Friday, July 29 (It was already Tuesday the 26th), or not until late September (it was July). :/

His colleague, Fr. D (whom I also love; I mentioned him before in my post on infertility and the Catholic church) was currently in Bosnia, but could probably do the funeral the following Saturday, August 6. There were no options in between.

We weighed having the funeral sooner (so Jane would look better if we had a viewing, and could be put to rest without delay) or later (so that family and friends could plan to attend). Several out-of-state friends had already expressed a desire to attend the funeral, and with that in mind, along with the fear of trying to plan a funeral and reception in three days, we decided to go with Fr. D the following Saturday (two weeks after Jane’s death).

d) Details of the ceremony?

This was one of those times when I was grateful to the Catholic church for having rules for every situation. C and I met with the Pastoral Associate at the Newman Center, who handed us a copy of a booklet containing step-by-step instructions for planning a Catholic funeral.

through death to life

(My friend L would be quick to point out the similarities to this gem from Beetlejuice…)

handbook for the recently deceased

We had to make decisions, but they were constrained to manageable bites:

  • Do we want a full funeral mass (including communion) or the shorter funeral service? Since C and his family are not Catholic, we went with the service.
  • Which of 3-10 prescribed options do we want for each prayer, psalm and reading? I read all and narrowed them to 2 or 3 options each, which I presented to C… “This one captures the misery we are feeling right now…; this one mentions being God’s children, which is nice; this one isn’t SO Jesus-y and won’t alienate the non-Christians as much as the others…” We went with Lamentations 3: 17-26 for the Old Testament reading; Psalm 23; 1 John 3: 1-2 for the New Testament reading; and John 12: 23-26 for the Gospel reading.
  • Which songs would we like everyone to sing? Ideally, they are supposed to be happy songs – about resurrection…We went with ‘You are mine’ and ‘I know that my redeemer lives’ (both by David Haas), and ‘Be not afraid’ (by Bob Dufford).
  • Do either of us want to say any ‘words of remembrance’? I couldn’t think of anything to say for this, and the thought of adding public speaking to my list of responsibilities for that day sounded unbearable, so I was advocating that we skip it…but C felt like that was the one part of the service that he could contribute meaningfully to, and he wanted to do that for Jane. I have so much respect for my husband for this. He did a beautiful job.
  • Whom did we want to involve in the service? We wanted to involve as many people as possible – as pallbearers, ‘placing the pall’ on the casket, or as readers. We chose to involve our parents, siblings, and a couple of friends who had gone out of their way to help out, or to be there for us throughout my pregnancy and after Jane’s death.

e) Whom to invite?

My default was just to invite close friends and family. I figured funeral attendance was for the bereaved, and why would anyone want to come to a funeral for a baby they had never met?

Thankfully, my friend S, who was helping us plan, knew better. We had already decided to share our loss on Facebook, and she encouraged us to include the funeral information in that post. She also notified C’s work colleagues, and tagged us in Facebook reminders closer to the day. My colleague shared the funeral information with my university, which resulted in a campus-wide email.

The result was that a shocking number of people came. A bunch of my colleagues – all the chemists, a biologist, a mathematician, a Spanish literature scholar, a sociologist, three academic deans, and my provost. Friends from my postdoc. My good friend’s big time PhD advisor. Friends from high school and college whom I hadn’t seen in years. My college friend, a coworker from my previous university, and my research collaborators all braved the SoCal traffic for over two hours to be there. Several of the other mamas from my infertility support group were there. C had friends who flew all the way from San Francisco and Seattle to be there. Three of his biggest business competitors came too. Our housekeepers came and brought their three kids. Between the guest book, photos from that day, and my memory, I counted 133 people.

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It was surprising, and touching, and exactly what we needed to feel like Jane was loved and wouldn’t be forgotten.

f) To have a viewing or not?

We decided to have a private family viewing on Friday, five days after Jane’s stillbirth, so that my dad could meet her. We figured if she looked okay, we’d go ahead and plan to have a more formal viewing the following Friday, the day before her funeral.

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Damned if her hair didn’t keep looking cuter each time we saw her!

Jane looked pretty good at the private viewing (I showed some more pics in this post), and we found it therapeutic to be with her again, so we went ahead and scheduled the formal viewing for a four-hour window on Friday. A handful of people came – about 20 in all, and we ordered pizza and wrote ‘thank you’ cards and sat with Jane and it was nice. We also had another one-hour viewing shortly before Jane’s funeral for anybody who wanted to see her but couldn’t make it on Friday.

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Jane’s visitation on Friday. While we didn’t hire a monk or chant in a full Buddhist ritual, my in-laws did bring fruit and incense.

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4 hours is a long time, and C. Samuel alternated between watching Octonauts on Dad’s iPhone, chasing his Auntie around the funeral home, and walking with Grandma around the cemetery.

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Third and final viewing just before Jane’s funeral. She looked so sweet and peaceful!

g) Reception?

Our friends S & Q, whom I’ve mentioned several times on this blog, since they are probably the most thoughtful friends I’ve ever had (perhaps the most thoughtful friends that anyone has ever had), insisted that they wanted to take care of the reception for us. Before leaving her job to be a stay-at-home-mom, S was an event planner for the Hyatt. She and her friend (who is still an event planner at the Hyatt) would take care of coordinating the flowers and catering and decorations and alcohol and guest book and memory table and coordinating with the venue… She promised to make it “The Best Shittiest Day Ever!”

We had wine and beer and sandwiches and fruit, and listened to the ‘James Taylor’ Pandora station, and talked, and let the kids run around. It really was the best shitty day.

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Guests contributed their thumbprints to make a memento to Jane. (One of S’s many thoughtful ideas for The Best Shittiest Day Ever)

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The rose drawing at left was a gift from my talented friend (and fellow IF blogger) wheresmywave.

h) Interment

I already wrote a bit about Jane’s interment, with pictures, here. It happened just over two weeks after the funeral. First we had to wait for Jane to be cremated. (In hindsight, we regretted not just burying her body the same day as the funeral…but at the time, we still didn’t know whether we wanted to bury, scatter, or bring home her remains, and cremation let us postpone that decision a bit longer…) By the time we made up our mind to put Jane in the cemetery, Fr. D was leaving town not to return until late September. :/

Fr. D informed me that the interment ceremony didn’t actually require a priest – anybody could do it. As with the funeral, the Church provided a handy guide.  So we decided on a small informal ceremony last Monday, officiated by me. We invited just a few people, five of whom were able to make it at 2:30 on a weekday. I led the group in some prayers, we sang our version of Sweet Baby James together, and then a man from the grounds crew put Jane in the ground, along with a few toys for Jane to play with.

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We visited Jane’s grave on Tuesday, and three more times since.

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Farewell to Lilly

Yesterday, exactly one month after we lost Jane Margaret, we had to say goodbye to our sweet Swiss Mountain Dog, Lilly.

My husband has had Lilly since she was a puppy, over 9 years ago. (He’s loved her longer than he’s loved me!) She has been a loyal member of the family, companion to our pug, Winston, and to C. Samuel, and occasional guest on this blog (for example, here and here).

Yesterday afternoon, Lilly had a seizure. She’d been having seizures and losing muscle control due to a suspected brain tumor. This was the second seizure since we started antiseizure meds in early July, and the first one that she didn’t come out of on her own. C loaded her, panting and non-responsive, into the back of my car, and we drove her to the veterinary specialty hospital, where they gave her phenobarbitol to break the seizure.

We knew we had pushed Lilly past the point of a good quality of life, but after so much recent sorrow, we had a very hard time letting go. The phenobarbitol made her sedated but responsive, which gave us an opportunity to say goodbye.

She will be deeply missed. 😦

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Best friends. (Lilly was wearing the cone while recovering from an eye ulcer.)

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Our neighborhood 4th of July parade. Lilly couldn’t walk the route, so we pulled her in the wagon.

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The brain tumor made it hard for Lilly to get up to pee, so we did nighttime diapers, held up with ‘suspenders’ made from my NST-monitor elastic bands.

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Out for a walk. This was one of Lilly’s recent ‘good days’.

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Yesterday morning, C. gave Lilly a new haircut to make it easier to clean up after accidents. She was still giving us attitude even then.

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C. saying goodbye.

Decision 6: What to do with Jane?

Following the death of our sweet baby Jane Margaret, many of our most painful, frustrating, and morbidly humorous moments centered around decisions about what to do with Jane’s remains. (For Decisions 1-5, see this post.)

a) Autopsy or no?

While we were still in the hospital, Dr. R informed us that we had the option to do an autopsy on Jane to see if it revealed anything about the cause of her death. Dr. R believed Jane died from an accident in utero (either a cord accident or placental abruption), in which case an autopsy wouldn’t reveal anything, and Jane’s flawless appearance seemed to agree with that assessment. Data junkie that I am, I was somewhat surprised to find that this was one piece of information I didn’t feel like I needed. C felt the same way. We said we preferred not to put Jane’s tiny body through that.

b) Funeral home vs. hospital cremation?

When we met with the hospital social worker, one question she asked us is what we wanted to do with Jane. She said that the hospital could cremate her, in which case we would not get any cremated remains (or ‘cremains’ – yes, that is an actual word). This decision proved an easy one. My mind jumped to an image of Jane being tossed into a pile of medical waste for burning, and I reflexively and emphatically answered “Funeral home!”

c) Which funeral home?

At bedtime on Sunday, I realized that I needed to start taking action about Jane’s disposition and funeral. I emailed my two favorite priests and their pastoral associate, letting them know about Jane, and asking for a funeral home recommendation and guidance about how to plan Jane’s funeral.

Overnight, Fr. JP emailed me back, saying he had worked with EC Memorial before. I was in no mood for price shopping, and called EC Memorial first thing Monday morning to arrange for them to pick up Jane at the hospital.

It took another day for the Kaiser hospital to release Jane (during which I continued to be tormented by an irrational fear that Jane might somehow end up in the hospital furnace by mistake). Eventually, Nick from EC called and let me know that Jane was on her way to EC Memorial. Phew! We set up an appointment for Wednesday with representatives from both the funeral home and the cemetery sides of things.

I was hoping for a mom-and-pop shop of a funeral home, like the one where we took my Grandma. I pictured Dan Aykroyd from My Girl coming in to meet us…

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I so wish this was our funeral home director… (Source)

What we got was decidedly more corporate. Upon arrival, C and I were shown to a small meeting room with a tray of snack chips, cookies, candy and ‘Dignity’-branded bottled water. A man in a dark brown suit introduced himself as Sergio and gestured toward the tray, “If the family would like to help yourselves to some snacks…” He explained that he was the cemetery representative, and that Francisco – the funeral home representative – was running late, and would we like to take a tour of the cemetery? We said, “Sure?,” and followed Sergio to a golf cart.

Sergio drove us to a wall of niches, a man-made waterfall with holes where you can inset cremated remains, two “Catholic” burial areas, and a burial area for infants and children. At the second Catholic area, he informed us that all the visible sites toward the front were already purchased, but that there were some available spots towards the back near a “Madonna feature”. He asked “Would the family like to go see the available spots?” We again replied, “Sure?,” then immediately regretted it, as we saw Sergio crank the wheel a hard right and drive over the sloped curb and onto the grass. Ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk. Over headstone after headstone! Ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk. Live baby or not, I had still given birth three days prior, and was regretting my decision to leave the inflatable donut that my sister bought me in our car. Ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk. Sergio drove diagonally across what seemed to be as many graves as he could hit, occasionally turning the wheel to dodge flowers. Ka-chunk, ka-chunk, ka-chunk. Finally, Sergio stopped, gestured in front with his hand, and told us that this area had availability…but only for double vaults (in case we decided we wanted to plan ahead for our burials). He could check and see whether all three of us (Jane, C and I) could be placed in one double spot.

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Wish I had brought my donut, purchased and lovingly decorated by my sister, for our fateful golf cart ride…

After our bizarre tour, Sergio drove us back to the little office, where Francisco met us.

d) To embalm or not?

Francisco proceeded with a series of uncomfortable questions. Did we want to embalm Jane or not? If so, the sooner we do it, the better the result would be. Wondering whether we wanted to put Jane through it, I made the mistake of asking what embalming entailed. “Well, you see, we make an incision behind the ear, and drain the blood, then replace it with a pink-colored preservative…” Ugh. Not what we needed to hear. He also made several references to “leakage”.

We decided to embalm Jane, if only so that we could have the opportunity to view her again. (We ended up being really glad we did, since it meant we got to have a private family viewing – during which we got imprints of Jane’s hands and feet – and a public viewing prior to the funeral. They also washed her hair, which was so soft and precious!)

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Taking imprints of Jane’s hands and feet during a private family viewing, made possible by embalming

When we resisted making any other decisions at that meeting, Francisco proceeded with some paperwork, asking C a series of questions that I tuned out, and then turning to me:

“What is your maiden name?

Date and city of birth?

What is your nationality?

When was your last menstrual period?

When was your first OB appointment?

How many OB appointments did you have?”

C got visibly irritated and asked, “Is this your form? Because these questions seem really impertinent!” Francisco looked flustered and explained that it was the State of California’s form, required for us to get a death certificate. He showed us the form, which was specific for stillbirths. (I can only imagine the quality of data coming from grieving parents filling out that form… Also, why in the hell didn’t Francisco just hand over the form for me to fill out, instead of asking me about my menstrual cycle?!)

e) Cremation vs. burial?

f) If cremation, what to do with her ashes?

g) If burial (whole or of her ashes), where?

These were harder decisions, and ones that we ended up postponing for another week plus. Considerations included (in no particular order):

  • Our off-putting experience with Sergio and the golf cart (see part c, above)
  • Our (relatively young) age, and uncertainty about whether we will stay in this city forever
  • A desire to have Jane be part of something big (like the ocean), or close to us (like in a pot or in the earth at our home), or incorporated back into nature (like under a tree)
  • A specific place to visit – on Memorial Day, and Jane’s birthday, and whenever
  • A sense of permanence – something that says Jane was here, that will outlast our home, us, even C. Samuel
  • Catholic Church teaching (Since Vatican II, cremation is allowed, but scattering the ashes is not)
  • Our reluctance to make any decisions (this probably influenced what we ended up doing more than any other single thing)

We decided to cremate Jane after her funeral. This decision bought us some more time to decide where we ultimately wanted to put Jane.

 

Today, almost a month after Jane passed and two weeks after her funeral, we interred Jane’s cremated remains under a tree in the infant and child section at EC Memorial, between two other babies.

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What happened next

After we arrived at triage and learned that our baby had no heartbeat, the hours and days that followed felt like a string of unpleasant and unanticipated decisions:

Decision 1: Vaginal versus cesarean delivery?By that point, my contractions were averaging about 2 minutes apart, so we knew our baby had to come out. Our first impulse was for a C-section. I was in a lot of physical pain, and the thought of pushing a lifeless baby out of my vagina sounded unbearable.

Our doctor – Dr. R – expressed her complete sympathy and support if I preferred to go with the C-section…but, she recommended a vaginal delivery. Dr. R explained that she really didn’t want me to have to go through recovery from surgery, and that we would most likely want to try for another child, which would be easier without two C-sections under my belt. She also promised to do everything to make me comfortable for the delivery.

We were fortunate that this was ‘our’ obstetrician, the same one that had seen me through this pregnancy. (With Kaiser you typically get whichever OB is on call, almost always a complete stranger.) Coming from anyone else, I’m not sure we would have listened. We certainly weren’t thinking about another baby at that moment, and I really really wanted the baby out immediately.

We told Dr. R we would go with her recommendation.

Things moved quickly after that. Shortly after telling us that our baby had no heartbeat, Dr. R checked my cervix and said I was about 1 cm dilated. Two hours later, I was fully dilated and feeling the urge to push…but still waiting for my epidural.  Dr. R’s best guess as to what had happened to Jane was either a cord accident or placental abruption (my wildly progressing labor supported the placental abruption hypothesis). With placental abruption, there is a serious risk of the mother bleeding to death, so we had to wait for my blood tests to come back before they could place the epidural. Eventually we got the results from both blood tests, and the nurse anesthetist showed up to place the epidural. Once it took effect, I became completely numb from the waist down, which was fine by me. (I’m pretty sure Dr. R told him to use the ‘adult elephant’ dose.) We did a few pushes, and then Dr. R got called away to an emergency C-section.

Decision 2: Whom to tell, and when?

C was the first to make this decision; he texted my mom, so she could try to get on an earlier flight. Then he texted his parents, his brother and my sister at our house, and they immediately drove to the hospital (leaving C. Samuel and the dogs at home with my sister-in-law). At some point he also told our friends S and Q, his business partner, and several other friends. Late Sunday morning, I shared with my local group of infertile mamas first, then texted the rest of my close friends over the course of the next few days.

This decision prompted another: When to let our family come in from the waiting room to see us? I didn’t want them in the room while I was in excruciating pain. But after the epidural was working, Dr. R’s emergency C-section opened up an opportunity to visit, and we welcomed our family back into the delivery room. We all hugged and cried together. My contractions had slowed way down, and the epidural was also making me sleepy, so I closed my eyes and rested for a bit while they were in the room.

Eventually, Dr. R came back from surgery, our family returned to the waiting room, and I continued to push Jane out – two pushes per contraction, one contraction every 5 or 10 minutes.

At 2:00 am precisely, I delivered our sweet Jane into the world. Seeing her beautiful face prompted a new wave of intense grief. C and I took turns holding her and gazing at her. I rocked back and forth with Jane, cradling her and singing James Taylor.

You can barely hear the ‘S’ at the end of James. Doesn’t it sound like he’s singing “Sweet Baby Jane” instead?

Our families came back in, and they each held her, and C and I held her some more. We examined her fingers and toes and arms and legs and back and bottom. Every part of her was so beautiful and perfect.

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We let the nurses weigh and measure her. She was so tiny! Only 5 pounds 8 ounces, and 17 1/2 inches long.

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We all took turns holding her until about 5 am, when we started dozing off and were afraid of dropping her. And so we sent our family home, and asked the nurses to come in and take Jane away.

Decisions 3 and 4: Photographer or no? Visit from a priest?

Some time early that morning a social worker came. She asked a series of questions, including whether I wanted a volunteer photographer from a charity called Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep to photograph Jane, free of charge. C and I said yes.

She also asked if we had a religious preference. I told her I was Catholic and she asked if I would like a priest to come and bless Jane. I said yes.

C’s family showed up with C. Samuel, followed by my sister with my mom, who came straight from the airport to the hospital.

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It was such a comfort to hold our precious little boy

The photographer arrived next and the nurses brought Jane back into our room for photos.

They had dressed Jane in the outfit I had brought to the hospital to take her home in: a sweet little onesie with gold letters that spelled “little sunshine”, the same striped leg warmers that we brought C. Samuel home in, and a pair of tiny socks. Everything was huge on her.

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The nurses had cleaned Jane up a bit, and rubbed some citrus-scented lotion or something on her, which I didn’t mind. She still looked perfect everywhere except for her lips, which had turned a crimson color. And she was so cold. When she was born, Jane had been warm – the temperature of my body – and she had slowly cooled off in the three hours that we held her right after. But now she was much colder – the temperature of the refrigerated room where they kept her tiny body. The cold had also turned her cheeks and arms a sweet shade of pink.

The photographer came in and photographed Jane in the hospital bassinet, and in my arms, and with C, and his parents, and his brother, and my mom and sister, and with her big brother, C. Samuel.

Then our dear friends S and Q (you may remember them and their generosity from this post or this one) arrived and cried with us some more and held our little Jane. Eventually we sent Jane back with the nurses.

C’s business partner came next. He had come straight from church in his suit and tie, and the nurse supervisor mistook him for the priest.

The priest came then, and the nurses brought Jane back into our room for the blessing. Fr. Danny said a prayer and sprinkled holy water on Jane’s forehead, and we cried some more and everyone held Jane again.

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Decision 5: When do I want to check out of the hospital?

As soon as possible.

As much as I hated to leave Jane, I had no desire to stay in that room any longer than absolutely necessary. The nurses mercifully had not transferred me to the postpartum unit to hear the cries of other peoples’ living babies, but since I wasn’t interested in staying another night, they also didn’t transfer me anywhere else. So we were still in the small delivery room where I had delivered Jane. C and I. And C’s parents, and his brother and sister in law. And my mom and sister. And S and Q. And C’s business partner. And the nurse. And our rowdy 2-year-old who had no idea what was going on. It was getting crowded.

I just wanted to go home and grieve in (semi) privacy.

For uncomplicated vaginal births, hospital policy was to let me check out as early as 12 hours after delivery…if I could pee on my own. This proved to be more difficult than I anticipated. While I was able to walk to the bathroom and sit on the toilet three hours after delivery (a stark contrast from when I had my C-section), I was unable to squeeze out more than a few drops during that bathroom visit, or during the one around 8 am. The nurse ended up having to reinsert a catheter just so I could empty my bladder (a process that was markedly more unpleasant sans epidural). Fortunately, my bladder eventually ‘woke up’ from the elephant dose of epidural meds, and I was able to pee on my own twice before 2 pm Sunday, at which point the nursing staff approved me to go home.

I changed into my clothes. Our entourage, including our friends M & M, who showed up just as we were packing up, gathered up all of our things and started down the hall. And C and I held Jane, and said our tearful goodbyes before making our way to the car.

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Saying goodbye to Jane before checking out of the hospital

Decision 6: What to do with Jane?

This decision – actually, this series of decisions, spread out over the next several weeks – proved the hardest for us. C and I were totally unprepared, the funeral home and cemetery staff seemed ill-suited to dealing with infant death, and each decision felt simultaneously rushed and high-stakes…I’ll save it for its own post.


See also:

Decision 6: What to do with Jane?

Decision 7: What to do for Jane’s funeral?

Decision 8: When to return to work?

Decision 9: How to memorialize Jane?

My sister left today

My sister left today. 😦

She has been staying with us since the first week of June.

She came to campus with me each day for the last 7 weeks of my pregnancy, doing data analysis for one of my projects.

She saw our Swiss Mountain Dog, Lilly, gradually deteriorate from a probable brain tumor, and took over more and more of Lilly’s care, as I became too pregnant to lift her and help her walk.

She stayed home with me when contractions led me to skip dinner with the in-laws, rode with those same in-laws to the hospital after C told them that we had lost the baby, and waited for hours in the waiting room while I was in labor.

She held our precious Jane in her arms, surreptitiously rubbed her tears on Jane’s forehead in a makeshift emergency baptism, and took cherished photos of our baby girl in the hospital.

She took over all dog care (including daily poop and pee clean up), most baby care, and shopping in the weeks following Jane’s death, when getting out of bed was hard and leaving the house unthinkable.

She notified neighbors and caregivers of what had happened to the baby, and handled returns of baby gear, saving us the same uncomfortable conversation over and over.

She wrote and mailed dozens of thank you cards – and addressed over 100 more – for flowers, food, and donations to Jane’s memorial fund.

She cried with us, laughed with us, drank with us, ate with us.

 

How am I going to do this without her here?

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My sister at the beach with my husband and little C. Samuel, 4 days after Jane passed

Sad news

I am so sad to share that Jane Margaret was stillborn on July 24 at 2 am. At 41 weeks pregnant, I was excited to go into labor naturally Saturday afternoon, but when we arrived at triage that evening, the doctor could not find a heartbeat.

We are at a loss, since everything looked great at the OB appointment and NST on Friday. Our doctor believes that I had a placental abruption, which combined with blood clots in the placenta deprived Jane of oxygen.

We held her for about three hours after delivery, and several more times before I checked out Sunday afternoon. Jane was beautiful. A full head of dark brown hair. My nose and fingers. A skinny little thing, under 5 1/2 pounds and 17 1/2 inches long.

We have been surrounded by family and friends, and have been holding our little C extra tight these past three weeks. (Have three weeks really passed?)

Here are some pictures of our sweet Baby Jane. I’m sorry if they are hard to look at.

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