Documenting Grief and Loss

I, along with the whole scrapbooking community, have been deeply saddened and affected with the sudden loss of Heidi Swapp's son.  Though we've never met, I feel a connection to her as do many others.  I remember being excited when her first line of products hit the market; I remember being in Boston as they expanded into the AC Moore and Michaels stores; I remember meeting and making mutual friends in the expatriate community when they lived in Beijing; and I have admired her example as a member of the Church.

I happened to be reading the details of her son's funeral as I sat in the waiting room waiting for my 12-week ultrasound appointment.  I was crying for her loss, reading also about how she plans to move forward documenting life which she is so passionate about.

Little did I know I was minutes away from experiencing my own loss and overwhelming grief.  The doctor pulled up the ultrasound and said, "Hello, baby!"  It looked as I expected it to - round head, visible feet, body, and tiny arms.  But soon she grew concerned, asking me if I had experienced any bleeding or pain.  "Can you see the heartbeat?" I asked her, but I knew from the look on her face that she couldn't. I had experienced a silent miscarriage, (no indication except for lack of heartbeat), most likely the day or two prior, judging by the size of the baby.  Looking back, I wish I would have asked her to print that final image. It's body so clearly outlined as it lay still.

I went in to the appointment with much excitement because I knew that I was going to get the genetic testing done to determine gender.  The kids were away at YMCA day camp eagerly awaiting my arrival with news.  The hardest part of it all was telling them in the car on the way home.  We all cried together, their minds not quite comprehending. Their simple faith knew that something must be wrong with the machine and determined not to believe the baby had died until I could be tested again.  I told them that I would go to the doctor again in a couple of days to have the baby removed.

Explaining that process to delicate, inquiring minds is difficult.

A week has passed and I was faced with what to do with the few ultrasound pictures that I did possess.  So, I decided to document it as a memory I don't want to forget, and one I can look back on and cherish, even though it isn't necessarily a happy time in my life.

Here is my final page (based upon a design from Nancy Damiano).