Yesterday you turned two.

If you were here I would have dressed you in a pink dress with white lace and white anklet socks and pink paten leather shoes. I would have put pigtails in your hair with pink ribbon to hold them in place.
Instead you are still wearing my baptismal dress and bonnet that you were buried in.

If you were here we would have bought you a cake of your choice.
Instead I made an angel food cake for our little angel.

If you were here we would have had a barbecue outside and the whole family would have came over.
Instead we had a picnic at your grave, only the five of us there, no one else came, no one else called.

If you were here we would have sat you on the floor with presents surrounding you and you would have opened all the gifts that everyone brought.
Instead we brought you gifts that weren't wrapped because you are not here to open them.

If you were here you would have gave every last person a hug, kiss, and thank-you before they left.
Instead we gave you a hug, kiss, and thank-you before we left.

If you were here when it got late we would have picked you up and laid your motionless body to rest and would have looked forward to seeing you in the morning.
Instead we think of the day we laid your motionless body to rest knowing that we would never see you again.

Your birthday has arrived again and I struggle with wondering how we should celebrate. It is so easy for other mothers, they rush off to buy balloons, birthday cakes and brightly wrapped presents.

I will bring flowers and spend some time, but there'll be no cake, or presents, or blowing out candles and making a wish.

It seems that so many others have forgotten with time, but my heart still aches with the emptiness you have left.

On your birthday I will give your gift to others. I will share your name, and your story, and through these gifts, you will live on in the hearts of many.

The loss has been difficlut to bear for both of us. We have sought comfort in different ways and have also experienced grief very differently.

Although time has past, the pain is still there. I think of her every day and wish we had had the opportunity to raise her.

I still remember the day that you were born it seems like yesterday but it's been 2 years. Daddy and I are so grateful that we were able to hold you and tell you how much we loved you before we had to tell you goodbye.

We wanted you so badly...your brother Justin was so excited about you. To this day I don't understand why you were taken away from us but at least I take comfort in knowing that you are in heaven and that someday our family will be complete again.

I remember the day I found out I was pregnant.

Timmy, our first son, wasn't even a year old yet. We enjoyed and loved him so much that we wanted to have another. When the nurse came into the room and told me the results I was ecstatic. I couldn't stop smiling and told Timmy, who was with me, with excitement, that he was going to have a brother or a sister. As I read through my medical records from that day, the nurse had written "patient overjoyed".

As I made it past the first 12 weeks, I figured everything would be O.K. I had some spotting around 14 weeks and panicked. An ultrasoound was ordered and everything appeared to be fine, except that they saw an accessory lobe on the placenta. The radiologist said this wasn't unusual and another ultrasound was scheduled for a few weeks later, at which time the lobe was no longer visible.

From then on everything was fine until 28 weeks when I began to have heavy bright red bleeding.

I immediately called the doctor hysterical and the nurse told me to lie down, elevate my legs and feel for movement while she got the doctor. I did and I felt him moving around. I was relieved but still shaking and bleeding. They told me to come right in.

When my husband and I arrived they hooked me up to monitors and did an exam. My midwife thought she heard decels in the babies heart rate which we listened for, like she asked, after she left the room. We didn't hear any and she said she couldn't either when she came back in.

We went over to the hospital for an ultrasound and I had been starting to get very crampy. The ultrasound ruled out any placental abruptions. The bleeding, meanwhile, had stopped. After observation and tests I was sent home on bedrest.

Within a couple of days I lost my mucus plug. This scared me but the doctors didn't seem concerned and everything else appeared to be O.K. I had been on bedrest with Timmy for preterm labor from 32 weeks to 36 weeks. I had given birth to him at 37 weeks and he was perfectly healthy. I knew what being on bedrest was all about and wasn't looking forward to doing it again for an even longer period of time and with an 18 month old too.

Luckily, my sister took care of us while my husband was at work during the day. The doctors gave me books to read up on about premature babies. I remember being so scared and not wanting to go home without my baby and having to visit him at the hospital.

I went for checkups 2 times a week. At 36 weeks, a Monday, they took me off the Brethine, which was stopping my contractions. My midwife and I were so happy I was finally "in the clear". The baby could come any time and his chance for survival was great. Since I was also taken off the brethine with Timmy at 36 weeks, I knew there was a good possibility that I may have this baby soon.

That Saturday my husband and I went to the store to pick something up. I remember feeling a little crampy and tired. We went home and I sat on the couch feeling extremely exhausted. A couple of days earlier I was cleaning and getting things ready. I wasn't sure if it was "nesting" or the result of being on bedrest for so long but everything was finally ready.

That night I woke up around 1 A.M. to go to the bathroom and went back to bed. I fell back to sleep but was awoken around 10 minutes later to a trickle of fluid. I smiled, thinking my water broke, and began to get excited whispering to the baby that I'd see him soon.

I grabbed the flashlight next to my bed and lifted the sheet off me. To my shock and horror I was bleeding. I stood up next to the bed and remember saying outloud to myself "I'm bleeding" I said it louder to wake my husband. The blood was gushing and I rushed to the bathroom as my husband called the doctor. She told me to meet her at the hospital.

After this I noticed the blood was coming out in pulses. My husbands parents were on their way to watch Timmy. They lived 10 minutes away and I got dressed and ready.

I went downstairs and laid on the couch to feel for movement and I felt nothing. This is when I really panicked. I yelled to my husband to grab Timmy, that we had to go because I didn't feel anything. We were on the way out the door when his parents pulled in. It seemed like everything was in slow motion.

When we arrived at the hospital they couldn't get a fetal heartrate. They did an immediate ultrasound and the doctor could see some slight heart movements so they rushed me in for an emergency c-section.

It was such an emotional rollor-coaster. I held on to that slight movement with so much hope.

When I woke up from the anestesia my sister was on one side and my husband on the other. My midwife was next to my head. I asked what I had and they said it was a boy.

My midwife told me he was very sick and I remember feeling so relieved because I thought that as long as he was alive, we could get him well. The neonatologist came in and asked what his name was. My husband, John, and I hadn't decided between two names yet but I said "Kyle Patrick". It was the perfect Irish name. My husband agreed.

Then the doctor preceeded to tell me how sick Kyle was. I felt like someone had just hit me with a brick.

They wheeled me in to see him in NICU. As we passed a baby crying I remember looking around wondering which baby was mine. They brought me to the back of the NICU where Kyle lay so still and limp. His coloring was grayish-pink and he had so many tubes and IV's coming from everywhere. Reality started to settle in.

A priest came to baptize him

...and I waited anxiously for the Neonatal Neurologist to come and let us know what his chances were. I still had so much hope until she told us that he was 99% brain-dead and that he might live till the next day. Also, he hadn't urineated yet and his organs would begin to fail one after the other.

We cried so hard. Everything had happened so fast and now we had to make the hardest decision anyone could ever possibly face. We decided to remove the life support and hold Kyle for however long he could hold on.

His tiny body had already been through so much and we couldn't let him go through any more. The nurses removed the IV's and tubes and handed him to me right away. He took 3-4 labored breaths on his own as they wheeled me back to my room. He took his last breath just as we got to my bedside.

My husband and I held him close, kissed him, and told him we loved him. I hope he was able to feel our warmth and our love. We didn't want him to go alone on those cold machines. Our entire family was there and they each held Kyle and said there hello's and their goodbye's.

The nurses took several pictures and gave us a keepsake box for his things. We bathed him and dressed him and I combed his hair for the first and last time. We clipped a little bit of his hair and they took his footprints for us. He was so perfect and beautiful.

The doctors had told me I had an abruption but I was not in any pain at all so I wasn't convinced, especially with all the bleeding I had. I went to the bookstore just weeks after Kyle's death and came across a book with a small section on something called Vasa Previa. I knew it was what had happened to Kyle.

A few months later we met with a renowned high-risk obstetrician at Massachusettes General Hospital who confirmed my beliefs. He called it a classic case of Vasa Previa and said it is so rare that an obstetrician may see it once in his whole career. The mortality rate is around 50%-70% with membranes intact and about 90%-100% when the membranes rupture. We had determined from the amount of fluid I lost, that my membranes did rupture. I have not been able to find anyone who has had this happen to them which makes me feel that much more alone.

It's been two years now, on November 3rd, since Kyle died. Although time has helped to dull our pain I still have very difficult times. It's hard to see two-year-olds and realize how much we've missed out on already and to know we have a whole lifetime of lost memories ahead of us.

We had a daughter last year, our "Rainbow Baby",

who has brought us so much happiness. We also recently found out we're expecting another baby in April. We love our children so deeply and Kyle will forever be in our hearts.

No one could ever take his place or make us forget our precious angel. We have his picture displayed with Timmy and McKayla's. His Certificate of Life, which contains his footprints and lock of hair, hangs in our livingroom for everyone to see and remember that our son did exist and will always be alive in our hearts.

Entry #2:

Two years have just gone by, although hard to believe, they honestly seemed endless for me, I wondered everyday how long the heartache and sadness would take to overcome.

The past couple of months have been easier on me, not many tears where shed, I just kept busy although it was heard with several sister-in-laws expecting. Tom and I haven't been so lucky yet in that field, but fingers crossed 1999 will bring us happiness and good luck. I believe when the time is right, that all will go well.

Nora's grave seems a "no go" area for me recently - too hard to handle now, I used to find comfort there, but not so much now, as I see the ever increasing amount of graves from other parents babies that it actually upsets me even more knowing that so many children are still been lost through miscarriage, stillbirth and other fetal deaths.

No doubt tonight, I will go home and re-arrange her drawer - it is a drawer in my dressing table which belongs to Nora - I just keep her bits there, wrist band, photo, blessing certificate and a few baby girl things like teddies and dolls. When the pain gets too hard, she gets a kiss and the drawer is closed.

Marcia's thoughts: Folks in my group often go through times, especially if they want to have another child and aren't succeeding, that they can't handle much about the loss again. I think there is just too much "loss" going on with trying and all. It is a difficult time, to say the least.

I have seen folks in our group work through these times by doing all sorts of things...writing, new hobbies, learing more about grief and healing, and trying to find the most helpful medical and emotional answers for them. It does take time! I wish there was a magic pill we could take at these times.

I just know, that it is energy consuming! Please be gentle with yourself as you continue to walk your walk. We do get through it...it does take work and patience. Are you still going to the group some? Or connected to some of the folks? It might help to call one and say "hi".

I still get emotional sometimes only because of my fear that I will never have my own children. Like my last hope of becoming a mom was washed away.

My husband, gratefully, is so supportive. Invitro is the only way for us to have our own children. But it is so expensive.

I think I've dealt with my losses and have come to accept what happened. My greatest fear, not having children, is the only obstacle I can't overcome. I'm 30 and my husband is 33. I'm afraid that by the time we save up the money to try invitro, I will be too old. Money doesn't grow on trees as we all know and it's hard to save up thousands of dollars.

I'm still hopeful that it will happen for us and right now, refuse to accept the idea that I'll never have my own children.

Maybe someone else here, knows how it feels. I haven't given up hope and pray that God will bless us with a child someday.

Hi, my name is Becka, and the anniversary of my son's death is coming to term. It's been the longest 2 years ever. I never thought I would be writing my story but here goes...

It was in the late hours of March 14, 1997, that I started seeing double. I was dignosed as having toxemia. Next day my son weighing in at 1 pound 5 ounces was born to me.

Just the littlest thing I have ever seen. his tiny eyes weren't even open. My son lived one month and in the final hours into Easter of 97, my son slowly went down hill. The doctors gave me a choice to either keep him on the machines or to let him go to heaven.

My son went to heaven on the Monday following Easter Sunday. Holidays are the hardest especially this Easter. My son came. God's little angel and how do I miss him.

It gets harder ever day but I always think what if I would never have known him.

I just know his memory will be with me always and forever.

The 2nd year anniversary of my son, Ian's, stillbirth is fast approaching. Although the black cloud I've been living under all that time has lifted, there are still signs of it's existence every so often. I call those signs "triggers," a similar term I've heard used amongst many bereaved parents.

Triggers surprise you, make you cry, frighten you, cause your skin to "crawl," as well as many other feelings. The triggers certainly don't control me, but they absolutely catch me off guard.

It has been quite the challenge reacting to them but for the most part I've been able to handle them, as well as learn from them. From what I understand triggers are normal and to some extent will occur for the rest of my life, but hopefully the intensity will continue to decrease over time. I still cry when I feel the need, it helps release the pain and tension.

For example, just the other day I was standing in line at a convenience store and an elderly woman turns to me and says, "don't get old, dear, it's pure hell." The line was moving slowly, so she went on to explain that she's now 83 years old and has had numerous health issues. I briefly said, "I'm sorry to hear all that, it must be very hard for you" paid for my milk, and left the store. While I'm driving home I'm thinking to myself, "you think you have problems granny, my son died and he should be 2 years old on September 11th!" That's an example of a thought I may have had shortly after Ian died; why is it coming back to haunt me?

Alot of reasons I guess; the anniversary is soon approaching, we have yet to be successful with a subsequent pregnancy and have been going through alot of tests & procedures to be successful (including a pending surgery next month), as well as many other ordinary stresses.

I certainly have not become bitter over time, frankly I just still miss my son tremendously and often wonder what he'd be like today.

Somehow I've managed to hold onto a glimmer of hope for the future and when I feel as if I'm losing hope, I just try to hold on tighter. It's difficult, but I owe that to Ian.

I plan to print a memorial tribute in the obit section of our local newspaper on Ian's anniversary, as I did last year.

Also, I've been actively writing freelance on the side, so hopefully our local community paper will allow me to write an article for the October "Awareness Month" as well as publish photos of our local "Walk to Remember." Lastly, a good friend & I plan to have lunch together the day before Ian's anniversary, "Happy Meals" from McDonald's, drive to Ian's gravesite and picnic with Ian. Of course, Ian receives the toys!

I'm taking the day before Ian's anniversary as vacation from work; several people, including my parents, have asked me, "so what's the big occasion? You'll have a 3-day weekend the weekend before, Labor Day, why do you need another 3-day weekend?" It hurts that they don't remember Ian's anniversary right away, but I'm not bitter about it ... depending on the situation, I tell them that my son's anniversary is very significant to me and I just need "a day to myself." I realize they can't fully understand my feelings. Mostly, I want them to know that Ian matters.

Indeed our children matter, they count, we'll love & miss them forever. As Marcia so appropriately says, "your loss experience eventually becomes a bittersweet memory." Honestly, I'm not sure I'm totally to that point yet, there is still some "grief work" to be done, but I'm starting to understand better what that really means.

Well where do I begin? My pregnancy was anything but normal. From the minute I found out that I was pregnant I had severe morning sickness(more like all day & night). I was severely dehydrated and in & out of the hospital about eighteen times in three months. There was a time where I thought I would have to make a choice either me or my baby.

I remember going to the drs. office to hear the heart beat for the first time. I thought it was the best thing I've ever heard. The doctor told me I had nothing to worry about. The baby and I were out of the woods.

About three weeks later I went to here the heart beat for the second time but there wasn't one. The baby died, and my heart broke.

Then the doctor told to wait and I would miscarry. I didn't so I was sent to an abortion clinic to have a DNE. It's almost been two years and that's the worst thing I've ever had to go though.

Then the depression hit, guilt and other feelings. Telling my parents was really hard especially my dad he took it really hard.

I'm thankful for my parents and my new boyfriend. Their the ones who really helped me through the rough time that I went through.

Marcia's thoughts: It is good to have you share that your family and new boyfriend have been so supportive. That is a very special.

This past Friday was the two year anniversary of my son's birth into heaven. Looking back I still feel as though it all happened yesterday. I sit and think about how happy and excited I was for him to be born, the music I liked at the time, the foods he craved. Pregnancy was such a wonderful thing for me. I also long to go back to the day he was born. I would give anything to hold him again but I am consoled by knowing that his spirit is with me in everything that I do.

When people used to tell me that it gets easier over time I never believed them. Well, maybe I did believe them but a part of me wanted to deny that idea. There was a time when I thought that if it got easier I would be betraying him. Over time though I came to the realization that he doesn't want me to be unhappy. I have to take the positive things, all my love for him and the inspiration he has given me and go on from there.

I am proud to say that my son made me a better person in such a short amount of time. He made me a more compassionate person and filled my heart with so much joy. He is a gift from God to me and his father and I am very thankful that I was chosen to be his mother.

Before I ever became pregnant with him my life had no direction. I didnot know what I wanted to do with my life. Now I have a passion. I want to help people that were in the same situation I was in. I want to help women so that they will not have to go through what I have gone through.

I am in college now and I am planning on becoming a Maternal-Fetal Medicine Specialist. I thank Angel for giving me this path to follow.

There are still days when I want to just let all the pain swallow me up but every single time something will happen that lets me know he is with me. He'll send me a sign and I know that everything is ok.

This year we celebrated his birthday by having a little birthday party for him. I went out and bought Pokemon decorations and my mom made dinner and made a cake for him. I bought him some hot wheels and a race car set. (We collect hot wheels cars for him). It was such a wonderful day. His daddy and I wrote messages to him on a dozen white ballons and released them to him at the time he was born.

It has taken a lot of work to get where I am. Also I appreciate all the support I have received from family and friends and from my husband. I will always have pain in my heart because he isnt physicallu here but I will always have Love and inspiration from my son. My "Angel".