Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Walking With You 2013: Steps Back into Life
Week 3's Walking With You topic is "Steps Back into Life."
"Share about your first steps back into life. What helped you survive in the world outside as you took those first tender steps? Are there still tender areas for you today, living in a world that doesn’t embrace or understand the loss of a baby/child? How do you cope with those struggles? What advice would you offer those new to this walk to encourage and bring hope? How has this changed for you from the beginning? If you are in early grief, what do you fear/struggle with as you try to navigate a new normal….life without your baby?"
I've struggled with this post, not sure what to write. I don't know that I had any remarkable "first steps," not that I can recall at least. Although I wanted to crawl into bed and stay there, I felt like I just could not do that. I had to take care of too many details, and I had a toddler at home. Life just kept plowing forward. I was angry about that - angry that the sun dared shine the day of Elena's memorial service. But what could I do to stop it? I didn't know what to do, so I did my best to act brave and kept going. I cried a lot at home. I fell apart when my husband was home to take care of our son. But for the most part, I focused all my energy on keeping it somewhat together for our toddler.
My maternity leave allowed me to miss the end of the school year, so when I returned to work, it was at the beginning of the following school year at the same time as everyone else returning. That made it easy for people to not really have to say anything to me about Elena. Everyone was busy catching up with each other, talking about their exciting events of the summer. It did not really feel appropriate to answer "What did you do this summer?" with "Oh, I spend the summer crying and grieving the loss of my daughter." I just listened to everyone share about their summers and wished someone would acknowledge my baby. A few of my close coworkers, people I consider friends, did. My coworker who had lost her own infant son several years before me made a trip to my school to hug me and check on me. She noticed my locket and asked to see Elena's picture. For the most part, though, it was a quiet return to work...until I started seeing students again and learned that no one had bothered to tell them in May. They asked why I was no longer pregnant, so I had to tell them, months after my loss. I was pleasantly surprised with how most of them reacted, high school students showing so much compassion...not that they always said the most appropriate things, but they TRIED, they said SOMETHING, they were sincere in their efforts, they didn't ignore it. I loved that about them.
There are absolutely still hurts from those early days (and more recent ones) that linger. There were family members who never acknowledged our loss, who did not attend her memorial service or send a card or even call; others who came and stayed with us and turned the day into a swim party. There were the awful comments about how we could always have another baby and the even worse ones about how maybe we should NOT have any more children with our history. There were people who I thought would participate in Elena's first birthday tribute who ignored it and the close family member who actually forgot Elena's name. People have cringed at the mention of her, walked away when we spoke her name, even said that it really wasn't that big of a deal. And as more and more time passes, fewer and fewer people acknowledge her life, even those who were very supportive initially.
It is so difficult to not let a world that chooses not to understand or acknowledge baby loss cause distress to our hearts. Our children are so precious, so valuable, so loved, that insensitive comments and actions cut deep. But I don't want to be imprisoned by hurt and anger. I try to focus on the people who do love Elena and support us, who remember her and show compassion to us. And I try to remember that the majority of people just do not get it; they just don't understand. Even if they are insensitive, I do not believe that they have malicious intent. I try to forgive them for just not knowing what to say to me, what to do in this situation. Some days that is easier than others. I am active in a "real life" infant loss support group which has been so healing for me. The online community is also full of beautiful mommas who understand. I lean on those who have been there for support, and I am so thankful for them. I try to keep my focus on the love and support I receive. I try to write my feelings when I am struggling. And I rejoice in the reassurance of our Lord that I will enjoy eternity with my sweet girl.
My advice for anyone new on this journey is that even if those in your life do not support you or acknowledge your precious child, there are lots of people out here who will. Find them and lean on them and allow them to walk with you. And remember God's promises, that He will never leave us, that Jesus has gone before us to prepare a place for us, and that our babies are already in that magnificent place. Jesus blessed the little children and loved them, and He loves our babies too.
"He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these....And he took the children in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them." Mark 10:14,16
Tuesday, January 15, 2013
Walking With You 2013: Clinging in the Pit
I am joining Kelly at Sufficient Grace Ministries for the Walking With You series. This week the topic is "Clinging in the Pit." "If you are not new to loss, talk a bit about early grief. What was it like, clinging for hope in the pits of despair? What did you cling to for hope? How did you survive the early days? What helped? What do you wish you could share with someone new to this walk, clinging in the pit? If you’re in the pit, currently, share your struggles. What can others do to encourage you?"
Those early days were horrifying. The memories of that time are odd in that some things are very vivid, while there are details that I cannot even remember that I think I should remember clearly. There are some parts I wish I could forget (like the nightmares that followed), and there are other memories so beautiful that I pray those will be among the last thoughts I have on this earth.
I was hospitalized ten days prior to Elena's birth. It was a Friday (Friday the 13th, though I'm not really superstitious). I remember my MFM saying that it was good that I had come into the hospital. I remember my doctor seeming to think I was over-reacting at first and then the grave concern on his face after he examined me. He told me I would stay in the hospital until I delivered. I was hours shy of 20 weeks gestation, so I was thinking that meant 20 weeks in the hospital. The next morning I learned that he had expected me to give birth during the night and was relieved that I was still pregnant, that was a "good sign." I remember clearly him saying that if I made it to full term, it would only be by the grace of God. Oddly enough, that brought me some peace, I think because I knew that God's grace absolutely could get us to term (and that my doctor believed in God's grace and miracles too). I begged God to do for me what my body was unable to do on its own. I begged Him to keep Elena safe, to hold her inside my body with His own hands, to let her be the miracle that showed His power to do mighty things. I pleaded that prayer multiple times a day, "God thank you for another day, another hour. Please let us get to 40 weeks, and if not 40 then 36, and if not 36 then let us make it as far as we did with our son who is doing awesome, and if not that far, please give us 32 weeks since that is such a good place to be, and if we can't have 32, then please give us 28 or at the very least let us make it to 24 weeks. God, please let us get to 24 weeks, to viability. God, please, please, please just give us long enough."
Long enough. Perhaps it was God preparing me, placing on my heart that we would not get 24 weeks. Or perhaps it was lack of faith. I've wondered since we lost her if I had prayed differently, would things be different? Did I not trust Him enough to be bold enough to simply stop after asking for 40 weeks? Why did I continue that prayer asking for less and less as I prayed? And by "long enough," I had meant long enough for her to live, to be admitted to the NICU and to eventually come home with us. God did answer that prayer, not the way I had hoped, but He did give us "long enough" in a sense. Elena was born alive. We were able to baptize her. We were able to spend over two hours with her before she was called Home. I believe I needed that. I believe that for me, being able to have that brief time with her has helped me so much in my healing process.
When the nurse told me that Elena was coming, my first reactions were a bit out of touch with reality, but I was desperate. I knew if she was born then that we would have to say goodbye. I actually asked the nurse if they could just push her back up instead of letting her come. I asked if the NICU team would be coming. No. No, it does not work that way. No, you are only 21 weeks, there is nothing we can do. I was desperate but out of options. The despair hit before she was even born (and she came very quickly). I regret that. I was grieving so hard that I did not fully take advantage of the time I had with her. I wish I would have made the grief wait. There is plenty of time for the grief now, I wish I would not have let it interfere with my time with her. I try not to blame myself. My daughter was about to die. No one prepares you for how to react to that situation. There's no prenatal class on what you will wish you would have done if your child dies at birth. I wish I had sung to her. I wish I had soaked in every moment. I wish I had encouraged my son and my mother to spend more time with her. I wish I had taken a picture of my son with his sister, with my mother and her granddaughter. I wish I had called my dad immediately so he would have had the opportunity to say hello before saying goodbye. I wish I could remember if I even told Elena how much I love her. The fact that I can't remember brings great distress to me. How can I not remember that? And if I didn't... I don't even know.
Those first days were the worst of my life. I knew that there was hope out there, and I was grateful for my faith, but I could not feel the hope, and I'm not sure if I even wanted to. I didn't care anymore, nothing mattered. I felt so incredibly lost. I did not know what to do, what to say. How do you plan a funeral for your child? How do make decisions when every choice you have feels so wrong, when you can't even think straight? I wanted to go to bed and stay there until I died too. I had trouble sleeping, and when I did fall asleep I had horrific nightmares. They were so vivid and seemed so real. They shook me to my core. I dreamed my husband died, my son died. I could not escape the pain of death, even in my sleep. I wanted to vomit. I had a toddler to take care of - how do you take care of another person, so dependent on you and so incapable of understanding the situation, when you can hardly take care of yourself? Was I going to ruin his childhood with my grief and sorrow? Was I causing permanent psychological damage to that precious baby? I clung to him, a naïve, sweet little boy who loved his mommy even though she was a mess and who asked about Elena daily. It was a reason for me to get out of bed each day. He needed me. He had to eat and was too little to get a bowl of cereal for himself. I clung to my husband, my rock who somehow held us all together when everything was falling apart. I clung to my God and the promise that Elena was in heaven in His full glory, experiencing the joy and awe of our Savior and free from the pain of this world. I was a wreck, but at least I knew Elena was okay. I wish I could have taken her place, but knowing she was with our Lord allowed me to survive.
If you are new on this walk, I am so sorry you are here. You do not deserve this. This is a terrible club in which to be a member, but you are not alone, and the families you will meet on your journey are some of the most amazing, compassionate people you may ever know. I would encourage you to reach out to and surround yourself with those in your life who prove to be supportive. Share your story to whomever you feel able in whatever manner is most comfortable to you. My support group M.E.N.D. has been wonderful for our family, and the online community is wonderful as well. I find that talking and writing about Elena brings healing, knowing others know about her and remember her brings comfort, and feeling that maybe, just maybe, I've helped someone else because of Elena gives her life meaning and purpose. Creating a legacy for her has made all the difference for me. And most of all, in those times when you feel unable to even take a step, give yourself permission to not worry about trying to walk and just allow God to carry you. I pray that God brings all of us comfort, strength, and peace until we embrace our precious children again and never have to let them go.
Those early days were horrifying. The memories of that time are odd in that some things are very vivid, while there are details that I cannot even remember that I think I should remember clearly. There are some parts I wish I could forget (like the nightmares that followed), and there are other memories so beautiful that I pray those will be among the last thoughts I have on this earth.
I was hospitalized ten days prior to Elena's birth. It was a Friday (Friday the 13th, though I'm not really superstitious). I remember my MFM saying that it was good that I had come into the hospital. I remember my doctor seeming to think I was over-reacting at first and then the grave concern on his face after he examined me. He told me I would stay in the hospital until I delivered. I was hours shy of 20 weeks gestation, so I was thinking that meant 20 weeks in the hospital. The next morning I learned that he had expected me to give birth during the night and was relieved that I was still pregnant, that was a "good sign." I remember clearly him saying that if I made it to full term, it would only be by the grace of God. Oddly enough, that brought me some peace, I think because I knew that God's grace absolutely could get us to term (and that my doctor believed in God's grace and miracles too). I begged God to do for me what my body was unable to do on its own. I begged Him to keep Elena safe, to hold her inside my body with His own hands, to let her be the miracle that showed His power to do mighty things. I pleaded that prayer multiple times a day, "God thank you for another day, another hour. Please let us get to 40 weeks, and if not 40 then 36, and if not 36 then let us make it as far as we did with our son who is doing awesome, and if not that far, please give us 32 weeks since that is such a good place to be, and if we can't have 32, then please give us 28 or at the very least let us make it to 24 weeks. God, please let us get to 24 weeks, to viability. God, please, please, please just give us long enough."
Long enough. Perhaps it was God preparing me, placing on my heart that we would not get 24 weeks. Or perhaps it was lack of faith. I've wondered since we lost her if I had prayed differently, would things be different? Did I not trust Him enough to be bold enough to simply stop after asking for 40 weeks? Why did I continue that prayer asking for less and less as I prayed? And by "long enough," I had meant long enough for her to live, to be admitted to the NICU and to eventually come home with us. God did answer that prayer, not the way I had hoped, but He did give us "long enough" in a sense. Elena was born alive. We were able to baptize her. We were able to spend over two hours with her before she was called Home. I believe I needed that. I believe that for me, being able to have that brief time with her has helped me so much in my healing process.
When the nurse told me that Elena was coming, my first reactions were a bit out of touch with reality, but I was desperate. I knew if she was born then that we would have to say goodbye. I actually asked the nurse if they could just push her back up instead of letting her come. I asked if the NICU team would be coming. No. No, it does not work that way. No, you are only 21 weeks, there is nothing we can do. I was desperate but out of options. The despair hit before she was even born (and she came very quickly). I regret that. I was grieving so hard that I did not fully take advantage of the time I had with her. I wish I would have made the grief wait. There is plenty of time for the grief now, I wish I would not have let it interfere with my time with her. I try not to blame myself. My daughter was about to die. No one prepares you for how to react to that situation. There's no prenatal class on what you will wish you would have done if your child dies at birth. I wish I had sung to her. I wish I had soaked in every moment. I wish I had encouraged my son and my mother to spend more time with her. I wish I had taken a picture of my son with his sister, with my mother and her granddaughter. I wish I had called my dad immediately so he would have had the opportunity to say hello before saying goodbye. I wish I could remember if I even told Elena how much I love her. The fact that I can't remember brings great distress to me. How can I not remember that? And if I didn't... I don't even know.
Those first days were the worst of my life. I knew that there was hope out there, and I was grateful for my faith, but I could not feel the hope, and I'm not sure if I even wanted to. I didn't care anymore, nothing mattered. I felt so incredibly lost. I did not know what to do, what to say. How do you plan a funeral for your child? How do make decisions when every choice you have feels so wrong, when you can't even think straight? I wanted to go to bed and stay there until I died too. I had trouble sleeping, and when I did fall asleep I had horrific nightmares. They were so vivid and seemed so real. They shook me to my core. I dreamed my husband died, my son died. I could not escape the pain of death, even in my sleep. I wanted to vomit. I had a toddler to take care of - how do you take care of another person, so dependent on you and so incapable of understanding the situation, when you can hardly take care of yourself? Was I going to ruin his childhood with my grief and sorrow? Was I causing permanent psychological damage to that precious baby? I clung to him, a naïve, sweet little boy who loved his mommy even though she was a mess and who asked about Elena daily. It was a reason for me to get out of bed each day. He needed me. He had to eat and was too little to get a bowl of cereal for himself. I clung to my husband, my rock who somehow held us all together when everything was falling apart. I clung to my God and the promise that Elena was in heaven in His full glory, experiencing the joy and awe of our Savior and free from the pain of this world. I was a wreck, but at least I knew Elena was okay. I wish I could have taken her place, but knowing she was with our Lord allowed me to survive.
If you are new on this walk, I am so sorry you are here. You do not deserve this. This is a terrible club in which to be a member, but you are not alone, and the families you will meet on your journey are some of the most amazing, compassionate people you may ever know. I would encourage you to reach out to and surround yourself with those in your life who prove to be supportive. Share your story to whomever you feel able in whatever manner is most comfortable to you. My support group M.E.N.D. has been wonderful for our family, and the online community is wonderful as well. I find that talking and writing about Elena brings healing, knowing others know about her and remember her brings comfort, and feeling that maybe, just maybe, I've helped someone else because of Elena gives her life meaning and purpose. Creating a legacy for her has made all the difference for me. And most of all, in those times when you feel unable to even take a step, give yourself permission to not worry about trying to walk and just allow God to carry you. I pray that God brings all of us comfort, strength, and peace until we embrace our precious children again and never have to let them go.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Walking With You 2013: Introduction and Where are You Now?
I am joining Kelly at Sufficient Grace Ministries for a six week "Walking with You" blog series. This first week's topic is "Introduction and Where are You Now?"
I am the wife of a wonderful man and the mother of three beautiful children: a son who is three years, a son who is seven weeks, and a daughter who is in heaven.
Our sweet Elena was born in May 2011, only 21 weeks into my pregnancy, absolutely beautiful and perfect in every way, just too tiny for earth (more of her story can be found on the Elena's Story page). She lived 2 hours, 17 minutes. I treasure every moment we had with her, both before and after her birth, and miss her terribly.
It has been a little over a year and a half since Elena died. The pain is not constantly as raw as it was, but it is still ever present. I know it always will be. Some moments I feel a sense of peace. I know I will see my sweet princess again when I reach Home too. I am so thankful for her life and that I got to be her mom and so grateful to see how her life, brief as it was, impacted and continues to impact the world (for more on that, see the Elena's Echoes page). Yet it is still hard. There are still times of deep grief, still days when the tears fall freely. I do trust that God can and does bring healing, but that does not stop me from having so many questions about why and from sometimes still feeling very angry. Thankfully I know that He loves me through my pain, my doubts, my questioning, even my anger.
I suppose I have come a long way on this journey. I remember reading the Walking with You posts last year, before I began blogging. A part of me longed to join in at that time, but I was not ready yet. I desperately want Elena to be remembered, but I also am very protective of her and did not feel comfortable sharing her so openly with total strangers. Plus I had no idea how to start a blog, and the idea of trying to learn while in the throes of grief was completely overwhelming. Now that I have spent more time in this "baby loss world," I feel more comfortable with the community. I still wish I didn't have a reason to be here, but there are so many amazing families walking this same path. I am in good company. I guess one could say I am also more comfortable (not exactly the right word but I'm not sure how else to describe it) with my role as bereaved mother - not that I am any happier about it, but I suppose I have found a way to live it, to incorporate bereaved mother as part of what makes me who I am today. It is now my "new normal," as many of us call it. In a way, it sometimes seems so long ago. It's hard to remember who I was before Elena. I have mixed feelings about that. I know it is indicative of healing, but it also makes me sad. I don't like that it is my "normal" that Elena is not here. I learn to live with that reality because I don't have a choice, but it's still not okay. It is heartbreaking that so many of us know what it is like to outlive our children. It is not the natural order of things. It shouldn't be this way. Yet it is our life now, every day.
I realize that I am just rambling. I'm not sure where I am going or what point I am trying to make. I guess I am saying that I'm not entirely sure how to answer "where are you now?" because I don't exactly know. I know that the grief journey is not a straight path but is full of twists and turns, mountains and valleys, storms and even rainbows. I don't know what lies ahead, but I do have many wonderful people walking with me. And I know that my God is with me as well "because God has said, 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.'" (Hebrews 13:5)
I am the wife of a wonderful man and the mother of three beautiful children: a son who is three years, a son who is seven weeks, and a daughter who is in heaven.
Our sweet Elena was born in May 2011, only 21 weeks into my pregnancy, absolutely beautiful and perfect in every way, just too tiny for earth (more of her story can be found on the Elena's Story page). She lived 2 hours, 17 minutes. I treasure every moment we had with her, both before and after her birth, and miss her terribly.
It has been a little over a year and a half since Elena died. The pain is not constantly as raw as it was, but it is still ever present. I know it always will be. Some moments I feel a sense of peace. I know I will see my sweet princess again when I reach Home too. I am so thankful for her life and that I got to be her mom and so grateful to see how her life, brief as it was, impacted and continues to impact the world (for more on that, see the Elena's Echoes page). Yet it is still hard. There are still times of deep grief, still days when the tears fall freely. I do trust that God can and does bring healing, but that does not stop me from having so many questions about why and from sometimes still feeling very angry. Thankfully I know that He loves me through my pain, my doubts, my questioning, even my anger.
I suppose I have come a long way on this journey. I remember reading the Walking with You posts last year, before I began blogging. A part of me longed to join in at that time, but I was not ready yet. I desperately want Elena to be remembered, but I also am very protective of her and did not feel comfortable sharing her so openly with total strangers. Plus I had no idea how to start a blog, and the idea of trying to learn while in the throes of grief was completely overwhelming. Now that I have spent more time in this "baby loss world," I feel more comfortable with the community. I still wish I didn't have a reason to be here, but there are so many amazing families walking this same path. I am in good company. I guess one could say I am also more comfortable (not exactly the right word but I'm not sure how else to describe it) with my role as bereaved mother - not that I am any happier about it, but I suppose I have found a way to live it, to incorporate bereaved mother as part of what makes me who I am today. It is now my "new normal," as many of us call it. In a way, it sometimes seems so long ago. It's hard to remember who I was before Elena. I have mixed feelings about that. I know it is indicative of healing, but it also makes me sad. I don't like that it is my "normal" that Elena is not here. I learn to live with that reality because I don't have a choice, but it's still not okay. It is heartbreaking that so many of us know what it is like to outlive our children. It is not the natural order of things. It shouldn't be this way. Yet it is our life now, every day.
I realize that I am just rambling. I'm not sure where I am going or what point I am trying to make. I guess I am saying that I'm not entirely sure how to answer "where are you now?" because I don't exactly know. I know that the grief journey is not a straight path but is full of twists and turns, mountains and valleys, storms and even rainbows. I don't know what lies ahead, but I do have many wonderful people walking with me. And I know that my God is with me as well "because God has said, 'Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.'" (Hebrews 13:5)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)