Healing others-Capture your grief

"For whatever it's worth, I see you.  I hear your guttural sobs.  I feel your ache deep inside my bones.  I notice the grit and guts it takes to pry yourself out of bed every single day and force your bloodied feet to stand up and keep walking".

-Angela Miller

I can still remember the day like it was yesterday.  I believe it was 3 weeks to the day Kayla was born and I had to get up early because my husband was running a 5K that morning.  I tried, but I could not sleep the night before.  As the hours ticked by, it became more and more clear I was not getting any sleep that night.  I think I finally did doze off for about 45 minutes on the couch before my alarm went off.  

I was dreading this day.  It was the first 5K we'd be going to since Kayla was born.  The last time I went to a race to support him was about a month and a half ago.  Before.  Before.  I think just about anyone who has gone through a major loss in their life knows the phenomenon of before and after.  Suddenly all time is irrelevant.  There is no "last year", or "next month".  Everything is split into one of two categories.  Before it, or after it.  The last time I went to a race of his, I was happy, I was content.  I was pregnant.  Now I was not, and I hated this.  My grief on this day would have been bad anyway, but my lack, or complete absence of sleep just made it even worse.  I think getting that 45 minutes actually did more harm than good.  I somehow got through the race, and even breakfast afterward.  

My family was going out for dinner that evening to celebrate my brother's birthday, and I was asked if I wanted to go or not.  Everyone said they would love for me to come, but they totally understood if I was not up to it.  As the day went on, I couldn't make a decision.  I wanted to go so badly, I wanted to be surrounded by my family whom I needed so much right then.  I want to go more than anything.....AND I wanted to stay home and going was the last thing on earth I wanted to do.  I can't describe that feeling anymore than I just did, but I remember feeling it.  I wanted two completely opposite things at the very same time.  My dad called to ask if I was going and as soon as I said no, he asked....."rough day"?  

I couldn't hold it in any longer.  My dad's voice was the representation of all that was right in the world, and it was such a comfort at that moment and I just let it out.  We talked for a good 30 minutes and while he did make me feel much better, I decided not to go to dinner with everyone.  I didn't want to risk bursting into tears at the Olive Garden.  But the point of this story is that, that day was when I hit rock bottom.  Nothing majorly significant happened.  You'd think it would have been the day of her funeral, or the day I had to return to the hospital where I had her, and go to my follow up appointment at my OB's office that was filled with pregnant woman and the sound of a healthy baby's heartbeat coming from one of the ultrasound rooms.

But no, it was just a day.  Yes, going to the race was hard...going to do something that was a happy, fun event the last time I did it was hard.  But for the most part it was just a regular day.  But being 3 weeks out, I think the pain was still so raw, but it had been long enough for the shock to have warn off.  I think it was the first day my body and soul was really feeling the pain, and it was hell.  I had been through difficult losses before.  Losing my mom was probably the biggest life-altering loss I had experienced, and losing both of my beloved grandparents 3 weeks apart was no walk in the park.  I was no stranger to grief.  I knew the steps, I knew the unpleasantness that was to come.  But in that moment, my world felt like it was pitch black, and I could not see a thing.  I couldn't see my way out.  I couldn't see how I would ever not be in the enormous amount of pain that I was in that very moment.  It felt like something that was flat out impossible and the pressure of not feeling like I could ever climb my way out of this hole felt like I was being slowly crushed to death, one well placed stone at a time.

Another day I remember having a very hard time was the few days before Ryan went back to worth,  I had 6 weeks off work, and he had 2 or 3.  I have always been an independent person and I like my space and alone time.  My husband and I always enjoyed our time together, but I at least, always enjoyed my time alone as well.  But for the last several weeks since Kayla was born, we had spent nearly every waking hour together.  He went to the gym one day for a couple of hours without me, and one night out to the bar.  That was it.  Roughly 6 hours on my own, out of several weeks.  Those weeks we had off work together, we had a schedule.  We tried to go somewhere every other day.  Some days it was a quick trip to Target...others it was a couple hour shopping trip and out to lunch.  I just knew we had to make a conscious effort to get out of the house, otherwise we might shut ourselves in forever.  As that final weekend together approached, I felt the dread wash over me.  

If one could see into my heart to know what I was feeling, you'd think I was preparing to say goodbye to my husband for several months or a year.  Not just a work day.  But thinking about him going back to work made me short of breathe, it made the weight on my chest heavier, and I felt scared, panicked and sad.  The idea of him not being with me 24/7 anymore brought on a feeling of being homesick.  Me, the once super independent girl that craved my alone time, was now terrified to be home without him, even for 8 hours.  The actual day turned out to be not so bad, and I of course got through it, but that final weekend together felt like we were on the precipice of eternal doom.  

The last day that I wanted to write about was my first day, or I suppose, my first week back to work.  Before I went, I was slightly looking forward to it, to get back into a routine, to get back into something that would make me feel normal.  But despite being nervous about going and even throwing up in anticipation the day before, nothing could have prepared me for how bad it was going to be.  The stares I felt as I walked in to my desk.  The sympathetic smiles and feeling of dread that someone was going to ask me about it, and the anger and hurt when people didn't.  My co-worker and friend, was loudly asking her cube mate how his baby is and what he has been up to.  My hands curled up into a tight bawl, almost insane with anger that they could be so heartless as to talk about this happy, healthy, living baby within inescapable earshot of the girl who just returned to work after losing her baby.

I went home at noon that day.  It was just too hard; way harder than I expected.  The moment I walked out those doors, I could breathe again.  I was beyond giddy to be going home, to be outside in the sunshine, in my car alone, away from the sympathetic yet pitiful people who meant well but just couldn't seem to do or say the right thing.  Going home, and picking up some sort of yummy comforting food, and thinking about putting on my pj's, laying on the couch and snuggling with my cat sounded like the best damn thing in the world.  For a while, I felt amazing.  I was sad and in pain, but I was home, and I was happy....until about 8 that night, when reality set back in, knowing I had to go back to work tomorrow, and that I had to stay all day....and the next day, and the day after that.

By the time I got home that second day, I was in a full on panic.  I've never had a panic attack before, and I don't know if what I was experiencing was one,.  Bit all I can remember is feeling dread, and panic, and desperation.  I was wracking my brain, trying to think of something, anything that could keep me from having to go back to work.  Anything to allow me to stay home all day, in my pjs and not deal with anything or anyone.  In that very moment I could briefly understand, or at least relate to the crazy, and often illegal things people do when they are desperate.  I felt deep down that there just had to be a way that I could quit my job and not become homeless because we could not get by on just my husband's salary at the time.  I think had the devil himself showed up to offer me a work-free existence, at the bargain price of just my soul, I was desperate enough at that moment to have taken the deal.  Every time I arrived back at the only result there was, which was not quit my job, I became angry and desperate and panicked all over again.  Work slowly, very slowly got better.  But it took a long time.  It took months.  I would say a solid 3-4 months of being back to work went by before I felt even a shred of being "ok" with being there.  

The reason I shared these particular 3 difficult days, was because at the time, I couldn't see it.  I couldn't see that I was in a hole.  A temporary hole that I would eventually climb out of.  Despite knowing for a fact that I would climb out, I didn't believe it because it sounded so implausible.  Miscarriage, infant and pregnancy loss can be so horribly isolating.  Often times people do not share these hard times with just anyone, so most people in their lives do not know it ever happened.  That is why raising awareness and reaching out to say "I am one in four"and "I am a loss mom" is so important, to help bring comfort in numbers to all of the silent sufferers out there.

It's important to know you are not alone, and that you are fortunately/unfortunately surrounded by people who know exactly what you're going through.  But coming out of the "loss mom closet" is important in another way too.  It shows people that others foughtt through it, others felt the panic and despair that you are feeling, and they got through it.  It shows people that there is "the other side" and that we are living, breathing proof that you can and you will get through it, no matter how dark your world is today, there is sunshine coming.   It may not be today, or tomorrow, or next week.  But it's out there, and it will be yours.  Someday.  And that knowledge of someday gives hope.  

Today, 4.5 years after I was in one of the darkest places in my life, I now stand in the sunshine.  I once again love my alone time and some days even look forward to my husband going to work.  The decision to go out to dinner or not is not a major conundrum, and talking to my dad on the phone does not make me burst into tears.  I once again go to work (well sort of) every day like everyone else, and I actually enjoy my job and feel happy about doing it.  I no longer have any desire to find some way to quit my job.

If you're reading this, and you recently lost one of the most precious things to you in the world, please know that it can and will get better.  The grief will never go away.  Nor would I want it to because grief is just what is in place of the love I have for my daughter and the love will never go away.  If you feel hopeless, panicked, desperate and cannot for the life of you see how there is any way things will ever be good again, know that the above 3 days were 3 of the worst days of my life, where the emotional pain was so intense I think I would have chosen physical pain in its place.  But I got through it, and I am still standing, and so are you.  I see you, I hear you and I feel your pain.  

   

Capture your grief-Reflection

The silver lining is never a reason to want something bad to happen...but it makes that bad thing just a little bit more tolerable, and focuses on the good.  There is nothing, nothing that can make me say, yeah, I suppose it was for the best that Kayla died, or figure that "it all worked out in the end". 

Losing a child in utero is very different from losing a living child...or at least I can only imagine.  The pain I went through losing Kayla was raw, and real, and horrible.  I think back to when I was in the the very worst of it...laying there in OB triage, being told my baby would not survive....feeling my water break and knowing this was it, there was no longer any hope of keeping her in for a few more weeks or even days....sitting at home, marveling over everything that had just happened, but still not being able to wrap my head around the fact that I was no longer pregnant, my daughter was no longer safe and kicking inside me (despite the phantom kicks that really mess with your head), and we were never going to get to bring Kayla home, not then, and not in July.  It was absolute hell.  I cried every.single.day on my drive to and from work for months and months.  I was desperate, I wracked my brain, trying to figure out some way, somehow I could quit my job so I could just stay home, curled up in a bawl and cry all day.

But, things are so much better today, and I credit most of it to Emily.  The joy of finally getting your take home baby, the feeling of being whole, because you now have a baby to hold in your arms, not just in your heart....Emily saved me.  She saved me from a lifetime of hurt and sadness.  Emily was my shining light, in my very dark world.  But in many ways, Kayla saved me just as much.  I cannot speak for other parents because never having been a parent before I lost my baby, I don't know how the day to day life is without the horrible knowledge of how dark the other side is.  But if I had to guess, I would say that most parents do not get to enjoy their kids as much as they would like to, as much as they should.  Between working, and house work, and taking care of the kids, and worrying about money, and signing them up for soccer practice, and getting them to the dentist and doctor, and buying their fall/winter clothes, it's very hard to just sit and take it all in.

Whenever I read of something tragic happening, I read lots of parents commenting, wow, this makes me really appreciate my child and enjoy the little moments with them....and it definitely sounds as though they are so busy living life and taking care of their child, that they do not always get to do that.  But knowing what I know, having gone through having to give a child back and say hello and goodbye in the same day, I feel like I have been given the gift of appreciation and gratitude.  I am human and busy just like everyone else, and some days my daughter frustrates me beyond belief.  So no, I don't sit and marvel at her all day every day, but I do just that, every day.  I think I would be hard pressed to come up with more than a couple days in her entire 3.5 years so far on this earth that I haven't stopped at least once, if not more like 3 or 4 times to just watch her, and study her face, and smile as she is lost in play, completely oblivious of me watching her, and think to myself, man am I lucky.  What did I do in my life to be so deserving of this amazing little girl?  I don't know, but I am so thankful for her, and I cherish her...not all day everyday, but every day and I don't think that is something someone can do when they haven't been shown how fragile life is, and how quickly in a blink of an eye things you love more than anything can be taken from you.

The time flies by...she's already 3.5.  Before I know it she will be 10, and then graduating high school, getting a real job, getting married and then marveling at babies of her own.  I cannot slow down time, but I can appreciate that time and I don't think I could do that without having lost Kayla.  It doesn't justify her loss, or make it ok, but it's a beautiful gift to receive, to see that there is still good in this life.

Capture Your Grief-Healing

So per usual, October has snuck up on me, and I am three days into it and I had forgotten all about the Capture Your Grief project.  As much as I love Carly Marie and her words and her ideas for this project, this year, I am just not feeling it.  So rather than not do it because I cannot think of what to do for each day's topic, I decided to do something on my own this year.

I am going to copy her model by starting out the month (or the 3rd day of the month) with a sunrise, and end it with a sunset, because well, who doesn't love them and it's a beautiful way to book-end the month.  But I've decided each day (and it might not even be each day, I'll just write when I feel like it) I'll write about a different experience with Kayla, be it a happy memory, a bad day, a way in which I helped heal myself, etc.  I guess just wherever the day takes me.

So this morning's sunrise was taken somewhere between Ann Arbor Mi and Canton, Mi.  My husband actually took it, because as the father of our lost daughter, I think it is a nice way to include him in a project that he is likely to not be a part of otherwise.  Ok...so maaaaaybe I partly have him take the pic because he works midnights and is just getting off work at that time, and I am still snoozing.  BUT, it still makes for a nice way to include him.

So today I want to write about something that helped heal me...or at least maybe was a small start to healing, even though everyone knows the path to healing is a squiggly mess that turns and dips and backtracks a million times.  But, every little bit helps I guess.  It was about a week after our loss, and my husband and his friend were going to go work out at the gym.  I decided to come too...before we had gotten married I had gotten into really good shape and was eating well and working out a lot.  After our wedding, I gained a few pounds back, but the weight really starting coming back once we starting trying to conceive and had problems right from the start.

As the months went by with no baby, I got more and more determined to get the weight I had gained off, certain that it would bring my periods and ovulation back, but all that did was put on so much pressure to lose, that I experienced the opposite affect.  After about a year of TTC, and already having had one loss, I had officially gained back all of the weight I had lost, and those pounds even brought a few friends with them.  So needless to say, I was not at all at my ideal weight when I got pregnant with Kayla.  But I had GD, so I had to stick to a strict diet, and I managed to not gain a single pound in the 22 weeks with her.

So the only silver lining I could find, was now that I was no longer pregnant, and no longer diabetic, I could get back into working hard to lose the weight, so I jumped at the chance to go to the gym and start my healthy journey.  I was only about a week postpartum, so I decided I was going to take it easy for my first time back, and just walk on the treadmill.  My body was still healing, and despite not gaining anyway, I was totally out of shape, and exhausted.  As I walked, I felt like people could read it on my face, like I had a big sign above my head, telling the world of my recent heartbreak.  To my surprise, I kept upping the speed on the treadmill, and with each speed bump, the lump in my throat grew, my eyes filled with tears and a good song came on with a good beat, so I upped it some more to the point where I had to run to keep up.

Normally when I run on the treadmill (which isn't often, I am NOT a runner, even in my best shape, I just do not enjoy it and cannot go long before I am totally out of breathe) I do a very slow jog, perhaps even the speed that some very tall people may walk quickly at (have I mentioned I am short...like 5'2, these legs don't move very fast).  Basically I am not doing much more than just walking fast in a jogging position.  But that night, I wiped away the tears and I ran.  I ran as fast as I could, and it felt amazing! It felt like with each step, I was kicking my grief's ass.  I was so angry, I could feel it build and build, and the running just felt so good and counteracted it.  I'm not sure if I was running away from something, or to something, but for that few minutes I felt strong and empowered.

When my high ran out, I slowed to a walk, and then decided I was done for the night.  I was exhausted, mentally and physically.  My husband and his friend were over in the weight section.  We had rode with his friend, but we lived just a couple blocks away so I decided to leave then, and just walk home.  So I went to find my husband to tell him I was leaving.  He knew I had planned on taking it easy, and he had seen me running and asked why I decided to run.  I opened my mouth to answer but I got shakey and the tears sprang back into my eyes.  With a quivering voice I told him I was so angry and it felt good to run it off.  Without missing a beat, he told me "there's no crying!  There's no crying at the gym"!  And I laughed, and wiped my tears and I am pretty sure I blew snot out of my nose when I laughed.

So then I walked home alone in the dark, and I felt good.  I felt "wrung out" but good.  Who would have thought I quick run on the treadmill and a quiet walk home in the dark would be so healing, but it was one of the first times I felt like I had made some real progress confronting my grief since we had lost her.  I felt like I had control, and that is a very important emotion when everything around you is so very obviously out of control.