9. SURRENDER + EMBRACE | Completely surrendering myself to grief on multiple occasions has allowed me to release my emotions. The hurt, the anger, the unfairness. I was always afraid to giving in to how I was feeling. Like I had to hold it together for my family or if I did break down, I would not be able to bring myself back together. But I always did and afterwards I felt lighter. I was able to flow with grief rather than fight with it. I have screamed into pillows, cried myself to sleep and I am amazed at how much tension I was able to release. Surrendering to whatever it is you are feeling is one of the most powerful experiences of being present and in the moment. To sit and allow yourself to feel sadness is very profound. How do you feel about surrendering to grief? Have you done it before or are you more the type that just keeps carrying it all inside? Does the idea of falling apart frighten you? Share your thoughts.
I definitely tend to hold it in. Sometimes it is on purpose, especially around other people. I don't like to come off as weak, or wounded, or even, as ridiculous as it sounds, a drama queen. Rationally I know crying in front of friends and family over my daughter is normal and I would totally be supported, but I often worry that I come across as being over dramatic, or worry people will think it is for attention. I am constantly walking a tight rope, with honoring my daughter and breaking the silence about loss on one side, and not wanting to keep "whining" about it, and being seen as someone who just brings it up for attention and sympathy on the other.
But when it is just me, I generally do not try to hold it in, it just happens, usually till the point that it spills over and I just cannot hold it in anymore. Often my grief consumes me on nights when I really just think about things, and let it all in. I think about how I felt, I think about the unfairness of it all. I think about how angry I am, and how much it all sucks. I often pin quotes about child loss, because many times they can express exactly how I am feeling, when I cannot find the words myself. Reading those, and feeling all those words in my heart often bring on the water works. I do feel good after I've had a good cry, I feel a release, and I feel like I have bonded with Kayla, for lack of a better word.
I spend so much of my time trying to move forward, to be strong for Emily and everyone around me, that I often feel like I neglect Kayla. I feel like because I do not cry every day, or because I am not even sad everyday, that I am being a bad mom. So after a night of crying and letting it all out, I feel like I have connected with her, and really took the time to grieve for her.
Sunday, October 9, 2016
Capture your grief, day 8
8. BEAUTIFUL MYSTERIES | To me, my son is a beautiful mystery. I gave birth to him and yet I never knew him. I sometimes allow myself to imagine that he is alive in another time and space and that we are all together. If it is not too painful, allow yourself to imagine who your child would be now. What would they be like? What would they be passionate about. Tell a wild, beautiful story about them.
Kayla would be 3.5 now, and I picture my girls being together. Playing together, Kayla teaching Emily how to do things, and being a protective big sister. I imagine her to look so similar to Emily as they did at birth, the same petite frame, the same flowing blonde hair, but their personalities so polar opposite that to me, they have their own distinct looks.
It's a little cliche, but I imagine them playing together in a meadow. Actually, I imagine them being like Elsa and Anna from Frozen. Both still so young, but it's obvious that Emily looks up to her big sister, and knows she will always be there, one step ahead of her, to catch her before she falls. I imagine Emily laughing and smiling and shrieking as she runs around, yelling for "Kia" to wait up for her.
I picture them to be the best of friends, to absolutely adore one another. Emily may annoy her big sister, and Kayla may not want to play with her all the time, but she'll give in, because her little sister means the world to her. I imagine Kayla to be wild at heart, but calm and even tempered on the outside. Emily is sweet, but wild. You can see her passion on her face, and in her actions and in her eyes. But Kayla always seems reserved, like you just never know what is going on behind those beautiful gray eyes, that match her sister's and daddy's.
Emily is more transparent about her likes and dislikes....she loves horses, she loves being active. She plays hard and wears her heart on her sleeve, and at the end of the day she passes out from sheer exhaustion, resting up for another crazy day. Where as Kayla is more reserved, less telling about what she is thinking. She prefers to play quietly, or read through a book. She loves to learn, her little mind always absorbing everything she's ever seen or touched. She was my baby that kept me up at night. Reserved in the day, but at night it all came out. Unlike her sister, she never slept much, often cried and demanded my attention when she didn't have to share it with anyone else.. Always kept me guessing, and isn't predictable. She loves being a big sister, loves being looked up to, and cannot stand to see Emily cry.
Kayla would be 3.5 now, and I picture my girls being together. Playing together, Kayla teaching Emily how to do things, and being a protective big sister. I imagine her to look so similar to Emily as they did at birth, the same petite frame, the same flowing blonde hair, but their personalities so polar opposite that to me, they have their own distinct looks.
It's a little cliche, but I imagine them playing together in a meadow. Actually, I imagine them being like Elsa and Anna from Frozen. Both still so young, but it's obvious that Emily looks up to her big sister, and knows she will always be there, one step ahead of her, to catch her before she falls. I imagine Emily laughing and smiling and shrieking as she runs around, yelling for "Kia" to wait up for her.
I picture them to be the best of friends, to absolutely adore one another. Emily may annoy her big sister, and Kayla may not want to play with her all the time, but she'll give in, because her little sister means the world to her. I imagine Kayla to be wild at heart, but calm and even tempered on the outside. Emily is sweet, but wild. You can see her passion on her face, and in her actions and in her eyes. But Kayla always seems reserved, like you just never know what is going on behind those beautiful gray eyes, that match her sister's and daddy's.
Emily is more transparent about her likes and dislikes....she loves horses, she loves being active. She plays hard and wears her heart on her sleeve, and at the end of the day she passes out from sheer exhaustion, resting up for another crazy day. Where as Kayla is more reserved, less telling about what she is thinking. She prefers to play quietly, or read through a book. She loves to learn, her little mind always absorbing everything she's ever seen or touched. She was my baby that kept me up at night. Reserved in the day, but at night it all came out. Unlike her sister, she never slept much, often cried and demanded my attention when she didn't have to share it with anyone else.. Always kept me guessing, and isn't predictable. She loves being a big sister, loves being looked up to, and cannot stand to see Emily cry.
Capture your grief, day 7
7. MYTHS | Have you discovered any myths about this grief experience?
Time heals all wounds. This is a crock of shit. Grief is not linear. It doesn't happen in a nice orderly fashion. Sometimes I go through my day perfectly normal, always thinking of my girl, but not in tears or even feeling very sad. But then other days, for seemingly no reason, I am a mess, and the pain feels just as raw as the day we lost her. Time helps with the shock factor, and time helps us to accept it, and get used to our new reality. But no amount of time will ever make me not miss my daughter, or not be sad that she is gone.
Subsequent children make your loss easier. That's a big fat no. Kayla was a person, she had a personality, she was her own self. Having Emily does not make up for having lost Kayla. All of my grief was not just wiped away when Emily was born, and having been through one loss also robs you of the joy and innocence of expecting another baby. For anyone that thinks having your rainbow baby takes away the sadness of your lost child, think of your own living children. Would losing one of them be ok since you still have others?
God only gives you what you can handle. This one never made any sense to me at all. God is supposed to be loving, merciful, and kind. He is supposed to be our Father, and sacrificed His own son for our sins because He loves us so much. A loving God does not punish us, or make us go through hell just because we can take it. So that's my reward for being a strong, independent, empathetic person, is getting more bad shit happen to me than others? Sometimes bad things just happen, but God does not cause them.
An earlier loss is easier. False. In my case, because I experienced both, yes, the earlier loss was easier for me, physically and mentally. But when I was going through my first miscarriage, it's not like I thought to myself, well I am not sad over this, because it would have been harder later on. It was still devastating in its own right. I feel like child loss is one of the few situations where people put that stipulation on someone's grief. If someone's four year old dies, nobody says, well at least it happened now and not when he was ten. Or if someone's spouse dies, they don't say well at least he died instead of divorced you. If someone dies from cancer, nobody says well at least they didn't burn alive in a fire. Because society as a whole doesn't tend to recognize the life, love, and impact that an unborn child has on the world, it does not allow parents to grieve for their loss. My losses were horrible and devastating, because they were and should not be made less than because other people experience something different. By that argument, nothing is substantial, because there can always be something worse to compare it to. A broken arm is no big deal because a severed arm would be worse. Being raped is not a big deal, because she could have been raped by multiple people, and tortured. Just because every event can be trumped by something worse, doesn't make that event any less horrible to the person going through it.
At least she didn't suffer. First of all, no one can know that she didn't. Birth is a very traumatic event, and there is a reason it isn't supposed to happen until the baby is big enough and strong enough and their organs are developed enough to live outside the womb. At only 1 lb 1.6 ounces, she was only a fraction of the size of what a full term baby should weigh. She was also breach, so whose to say she wasn't suffocated by my cervix as it tried to close once her lower half passed through? Whose to say her lungs did not collapse as they were not developed enough to work on their own? I don't know at what point she died, but I know she was still alive up till 30 minutes before she was born, and she showed no signs of life once born. So she died at some point after entering the birth canal but before she came out. I didn't give birth to her because she had died and my body was cleansing itself, I gave birth because my body failed her and couldn't keep her in. So her official cause of death was being born...either from the trauma and force on her tiny body, or because her body wasn't ready to function without the life sustaining effects of the womb. That sure doesn't sound like a peaceful way to go to me. And even if she had just somehow passed away peacefully before she entered the birth canal, that doesn't make my grief any less.
Everything happens for a reason. In the literal dissection of this sentence, yes that is true I suppose. But that doesn't necessarily mean that there was a good reason for it, nor does it take away one's grief. Yes, there was a reason why Kayla was born early, and that is because my cervix dilated and my body gave birth. Does that mean I should be ok with it? Does that help my grief at all? If Kayla had lived, I would not have Emily. True, and that pains me to think because I DO have Emily and I cannot imagine giving her up. But if Kayla had lived, I would not have sat there thinking, it's too bad Kayla was born, because I could have a completely different daughter whom I do not know, and would like better. What?? That's ludicrous. Some people think maybe her passing was for the best, to avoid an even greater tragedy down the road. Well that goes back to the idea that a loss now is better than a loss later. Why? Thinking that we could have lost her later in life did not make her loss then any less painful, and it doesn't even make sense. Why make someone endure pain now, to save them pain later? Pain is pain. And if that is true, then why do other people suffer? Why does one child not live past their birth to avoid pain, but another one is allowed to be born, and live for a few years before a horrible illness takes them. Why weren't they taken earlier to avoid that pain later on? Why wasn't JonBenet stillborn so she wouldn't have to endure being murdered at age six? Why wasn't Hitler killed at birth so he could not go on to kill thousands of people?
Time heals all wounds. This is a crock of shit. Grief is not linear. It doesn't happen in a nice orderly fashion. Sometimes I go through my day perfectly normal, always thinking of my girl, but not in tears or even feeling very sad. But then other days, for seemingly no reason, I am a mess, and the pain feels just as raw as the day we lost her. Time helps with the shock factor, and time helps us to accept it, and get used to our new reality. But no amount of time will ever make me not miss my daughter, or not be sad that she is gone.
Subsequent children make your loss easier. That's a big fat no. Kayla was a person, she had a personality, she was her own self. Having Emily does not make up for having lost Kayla. All of my grief was not just wiped away when Emily was born, and having been through one loss also robs you of the joy and innocence of expecting another baby. For anyone that thinks having your rainbow baby takes away the sadness of your lost child, think of your own living children. Would losing one of them be ok since you still have others?
God only gives you what you can handle. This one never made any sense to me at all. God is supposed to be loving, merciful, and kind. He is supposed to be our Father, and sacrificed His own son for our sins because He loves us so much. A loving God does not punish us, or make us go through hell just because we can take it. So that's my reward for being a strong, independent, empathetic person, is getting more bad shit happen to me than others? Sometimes bad things just happen, but God does not cause them.
An earlier loss is easier. False. In my case, because I experienced both, yes, the earlier loss was easier for me, physically and mentally. But when I was going through my first miscarriage, it's not like I thought to myself, well I am not sad over this, because it would have been harder later on. It was still devastating in its own right. I feel like child loss is one of the few situations where people put that stipulation on someone's grief. If someone's four year old dies, nobody says, well at least it happened now and not when he was ten. Or if someone's spouse dies, they don't say well at least he died instead of divorced you. If someone dies from cancer, nobody says well at least they didn't burn alive in a fire. Because society as a whole doesn't tend to recognize the life, love, and impact that an unborn child has on the world, it does not allow parents to grieve for their loss. My losses were horrible and devastating, because they were and should not be made less than because other people experience something different. By that argument, nothing is substantial, because there can always be something worse to compare it to. A broken arm is no big deal because a severed arm would be worse. Being raped is not a big deal, because she could have been raped by multiple people, and tortured. Just because every event can be trumped by something worse, doesn't make that event any less horrible to the person going through it.
At least she didn't suffer. First of all, no one can know that she didn't. Birth is a very traumatic event, and there is a reason it isn't supposed to happen until the baby is big enough and strong enough and their organs are developed enough to live outside the womb. At only 1 lb 1.6 ounces, she was only a fraction of the size of what a full term baby should weigh. She was also breach, so whose to say she wasn't suffocated by my cervix as it tried to close once her lower half passed through? Whose to say her lungs did not collapse as they were not developed enough to work on their own? I don't know at what point she died, but I know she was still alive up till 30 minutes before she was born, and she showed no signs of life once born. So she died at some point after entering the birth canal but before she came out. I didn't give birth to her because she had died and my body was cleansing itself, I gave birth because my body failed her and couldn't keep her in. So her official cause of death was being born...either from the trauma and force on her tiny body, or because her body wasn't ready to function without the life sustaining effects of the womb. That sure doesn't sound like a peaceful way to go to me. And even if she had just somehow passed away peacefully before she entered the birth canal, that doesn't make my grief any less.
Everything happens for a reason. In the literal dissection of this sentence, yes that is true I suppose. But that doesn't necessarily mean that there was a good reason for it, nor does it take away one's grief. Yes, there was a reason why Kayla was born early, and that is because my cervix dilated and my body gave birth. Does that mean I should be ok with it? Does that help my grief at all? If Kayla had lived, I would not have Emily. True, and that pains me to think because I DO have Emily and I cannot imagine giving her up. But if Kayla had lived, I would not have sat there thinking, it's too bad Kayla was born, because I could have a completely different daughter whom I do not know, and would like better. What?? That's ludicrous. Some people think maybe her passing was for the best, to avoid an even greater tragedy down the road. Well that goes back to the idea that a loss now is better than a loss later. Why? Thinking that we could have lost her later in life did not make her loss then any less painful, and it doesn't even make sense. Why make someone endure pain now, to save them pain later? Pain is pain. And if that is true, then why do other people suffer? Why does one child not live past their birth to avoid pain, but another one is allowed to be born, and live for a few years before a horrible illness takes them. Why weren't they taken earlier to avoid that pain later on? Why wasn't JonBenet stillborn so she wouldn't have to endure being murdered at age six? Why wasn't Hitler killed at birth so he could not go on to kill thousands of people?
Thursday, October 6, 2016
Capture your grief- day 6
6. EMPATHY | So often when someone experiences the death of a baby or child, family and loved ones fail miserably at empathy because they try to fix what has happened. They usually do this because they either love you so much or just can’t deal with it themselves so they say things like “God needed another angel. It was probably for the best. At least, blah blah blah” They are desperate to show you a silver lining when there really isn’t one. As we know these kinds of words rarely ever help, in fact they more often than not make us feel even worse. So today you are invited to educate people on the art of empathy. We don’t need to turn this into a vent about what not to say, but rather, what to say and what they can do that will actually comfort the grieving. What does empathy look like for you?
I guess the biggest thing I would like people to know about empathy, is you cannot be empathetic, unless you put yourself in that other person's shoes. You have to picture the tragedy happening to yourself, and to your loved ones.
It's often so easy for well-meaning people to tell a friend, "leave him, you deserve better" regarding their husband/boyfriend/friend with benefits, etc. It's so easy to do that, because they're only looking at it from a logical viewpoint. They look at their friends partner, not feeling the love that their friend feels, and they can confidently say "I would leave if I were you". Well of course you could leave this person that you do not really know or love.
People who are jerks and show their true colors in the very beginning, are often broken up with right away, or do not get a second date, because then you CAN use logic and say, this person isn't for me. But once you've built a life together, and deep feelings are involved, you have assets together, your family is their family and vice versa, and especially when you have kids together, it becomes so much harder. For someone to truly empathize with their friend about their doomed relationship, they have to be able to think of their own relationship, and imagine trying to leave this person they love and want to spend forever with, and to realize that all that love doesn't go out the window because of the bad issues.
It's the same thing with pregnancy and infant loss. Except people do not want to put themselves in the other person's shoes, because it is terrifying. The worst possible loss one can experience is the death of a child, and no one wants to imagine that. They look at this person that just had a miscarriage....they were just told of the good news one day out of the blue. They may not know about all of the months or years that couple endured, trying to get pregnant. All of the doctor appointments, all of the time waiting, hoping, and praying. So to them, they figure well, you were pregnant once, you can get pregnant again. They weren't in love with this person's unborn baby, they didn't feel their kicks, and dream of their future.
Even in the case of a tragedy that is widely known, like the little boy who was killed by the alligator at Disney World. It's been about 4 months, even people who were very empathetic at the time, probably think life is getting on for that family now. They've had time to grieve, they've had time to accept it. But they don't see the heartache, the days they cannot get out of bed. They are not picturing how they would feel if it was THEIR child who was killed in such a horrific terrifying way. They are trying to place emotion on a child they did not know, a child they did not love. It's easy to think the family is moving forward and feeling better these days, when the shock and tragic feelings wear off about this little boy we didn't know. But picture that it was your child who was so innocently playing on the beach. Picture that it was your family, who had to get on the plane and leave what was supposed to be a magical vacation, without one of your children. The picture becomes so much more clear.
But people don't want to do that, they don't even want to imagine it because it is too sad and too terrible. Well if you cannot even imagine it, then think about how horrible it is for the family whose living this reality. They say to really understand what a person is going through, you have to experience it for yourself. That is probably true to a degree, but I don't believe that entirely. I've never lost a living, breathing, walking, talking child. But even the slight imagination of losing Emily right now, and not seeing her beautiful, giggling, sweet face every day is so horrible I have to shake my head and let the image "fall out of my brain". So you can imagine the loss a person has experienced even if you haven't been through it, it's just that most people do not want to.
I found that most of the people that had the type of advice like it's for the best, everything happens for a reason, it was God's will....had children of their own. So it was always so baffling to me that they couldn't stop for one second, think back to when they were pregnant with their children, and try to imagine being told that you would deliver 18 weeks early and your baby won't survive. And I know they didn't do that, because if they did, even for one second, nobody would even think of giving that kind of advice.
Like they say, it's easy to say God needed another angel, when He didn't ask for one of yours.
I guess the biggest thing I would like people to know about empathy, is you cannot be empathetic, unless you put yourself in that other person's shoes. You have to picture the tragedy happening to yourself, and to your loved ones.
It's often so easy for well-meaning people to tell a friend, "leave him, you deserve better" regarding their husband/boyfriend/friend with benefits, etc. It's so easy to do that, because they're only looking at it from a logical viewpoint. They look at their friends partner, not feeling the love that their friend feels, and they can confidently say "I would leave if I were you". Well of course you could leave this person that you do not really know or love.
People who are jerks and show their true colors in the very beginning, are often broken up with right away, or do not get a second date, because then you CAN use logic and say, this person isn't for me. But once you've built a life together, and deep feelings are involved, you have assets together, your family is their family and vice versa, and especially when you have kids together, it becomes so much harder. For someone to truly empathize with their friend about their doomed relationship, they have to be able to think of their own relationship, and imagine trying to leave this person they love and want to spend forever with, and to realize that all that love doesn't go out the window because of the bad issues.
It's the same thing with pregnancy and infant loss. Except people do not want to put themselves in the other person's shoes, because it is terrifying. The worst possible loss one can experience is the death of a child, and no one wants to imagine that. They look at this person that just had a miscarriage....they were just told of the good news one day out of the blue. They may not know about all of the months or years that couple endured, trying to get pregnant. All of the doctor appointments, all of the time waiting, hoping, and praying. So to them, they figure well, you were pregnant once, you can get pregnant again. They weren't in love with this person's unborn baby, they didn't feel their kicks, and dream of their future.
Even in the case of a tragedy that is widely known, like the little boy who was killed by the alligator at Disney World. It's been about 4 months, even people who were very empathetic at the time, probably think life is getting on for that family now. They've had time to grieve, they've had time to accept it. But they don't see the heartache, the days they cannot get out of bed. They are not picturing how they would feel if it was THEIR child who was killed in such a horrific terrifying way. They are trying to place emotion on a child they did not know, a child they did not love. It's easy to think the family is moving forward and feeling better these days, when the shock and tragic feelings wear off about this little boy we didn't know. But picture that it was your child who was so innocently playing on the beach. Picture that it was your family, who had to get on the plane and leave what was supposed to be a magical vacation, without one of your children. The picture becomes so much more clear.
But people don't want to do that, they don't even want to imagine it because it is too sad and too terrible. Well if you cannot even imagine it, then think about how horrible it is for the family whose living this reality. They say to really understand what a person is going through, you have to experience it for yourself. That is probably true to a degree, but I don't believe that entirely. I've never lost a living, breathing, walking, talking child. But even the slight imagination of losing Emily right now, and not seeing her beautiful, giggling, sweet face every day is so horrible I have to shake my head and let the image "fall out of my brain". So you can imagine the loss a person has experienced even if you haven't been through it, it's just that most people do not want to.
I found that most of the people that had the type of advice like it's for the best, everything happens for a reason, it was God's will....had children of their own. So it was always so baffling to me that they couldn't stop for one second, think back to when they were pregnant with their children, and try to imagine being told that you would deliver 18 weeks early and your baby won't survive. And I know they didn't do that, because if they did, even for one second, nobody would even think of giving that kind of advice.
Like they say, it's easy to say God needed another angel, when He didn't ask for one of yours.
Capture your grief, day 5
5. THE UNSPOKEN | Normalizing grief is so important and that I why today I am calling upon those who feel brave enough to speak about the nitty gritty side of grief. Share something about your grief journey that you might feel is strange or not common. It might be something you do to remember your children by or maybe it is something you fear about the future. Often while grieving we have feelings of isolation because we fear judgement that what we are feeling isn’t normal. But it is amazing to see just how many people feel the same way. When others stand up and express how they feel through sharing their experiences, it allows us to say “Hey, I feel that way too!” and the fear of feeling like we are crazy is lifted and in some cases embraced!
I can definitely relate to this. So many of my thoughts make me feel like such a bad person, but when I find out that not only someone else feels the same way, but it's a pretty common feeling, it makes me feel like I am not alone.
Some of the not so bad, but weird ones I had were, when I stopped bleeding after Kayla was born. I was mad, and sad. That made no sense to me. Nobody likes having their period and nobody likes post partum bleeding, but nobody especially likes it when it is a reminder that you just gave birth, but you didn't bring your baby home. So when the bleeding stopped, I thought I would feel better, but instead it made me mad. I guess because my body was physically moving on, and healing itself, but my mind and heart was no where near being ready to do that.
Another feeling I had was seeing the beauty in some of the moments with Kayla. You wouldn't think you could find anything beautiful about holding your dead baby....but she was still MY baby, and that moment was amazing. It felt weird to say that her birth was one of the worst, yet best moments in my life. But it was. It just was.
So now onto the grittier ones. I hate seeing pregnancy announcements. Even now that we have Emily and we are so happy, they still hurt. I don't want others to be struck by tragedy, I don't want others to go through what I went through. But I wanted it to be easy for us, like it seems to be for them. I wonder why tragedy struck us, and why we had to not only deal with IF, but also an early loss, and also a later loss. It terrifies me that I am just cursed somehow, and that I have to forever worry about Emily, over and above the normal parent worries. I have a hard time seeing announcements for a second baby (or more). It's silly, because in many ways, I am very happy with just Emily, and most days I think whew, I can't imagine being pregnant while trying to keep up with Em. Or, I can't imagine trying to deal with two temper tantrums at once.
In some ways I do wonder if I was always meant to have just one living child. I loved my independence before we had kids, I loved quiet, I loved my life being simple. Having just one child allows me to keep some of that independence. When we're out in public, I only have to tend to her. When she's quietly playing or watching Tv, I can do whatever I want to do. I only have to shop for one new wardrobe each season, worry about one kids' toys for Christmas, save for just one kid's college savings. But, I can't deny the fact that if we had not dealt with infertility and had been able to have kids sooner, not dealt with loss and high risk pregnancies, and not dealt with advanced maternal age, I am almost certain I would have wanted to have another child. So I am jealous of others who weren't robbed of that desire.
I am also jealous of women whose babies were born earlier, and lived....even if they only lived for five minutes. What I wouldn't give to have felt the weight of my live baby in my arms, to feel her squirming around, to hear her cry. I know it may not have made a difference in my grief, at the time I was thankful Kayla was stillborn so she didn't have to suffer. So perhaps it would have been harder to have hope if she was born alive, and then still have to say goodbye, or to know or even worry that she was in any pain. But still, when I hear of a baby born earlier than 22 weeks 2 days, that was born alive, I think to myself, how come that baby was, but Kayla wasn't?
I often feel guilty over being thankful sometimes that Kayla didn't survive. My step-sister was born right around the same gestation, and she has cerebral palsy. She is relatively high functioning in that she can walk, and talk and she does enjoy things like listening to country music.....but she is legally blind, really cannot be left on her own for more than a couple of hours and cannot really be part of conversations as she often doesn't understand what we are talking about, or she gets just parts of the conversation and ad libs and of course we listen to her and let her be a part of it, but she is not high enough functioning to be able to sit and really converse with her.
I see her having difficulty getting around because she cannot see well enough, I see her being so dependent on her mom, I think about the fact that she'll never get married or have kids, or be independent. I see my step-mom getting so frustrated sometimes, because she basically has a 7 year old for life. When we have kids, they're supposed to gain independence from you and one day be able to fly on their own. Even at 2.5, Emily can mostly feed herself, dress herself, she entertains herself, she can even get up on the big potty all by herself. One day she'll go to school, and start hanging out with friends, and then one day hopefully move out on her own, find someone she loves, hopefully give us a few grand kids and live her own life. But my step-sister will never get to do that, and my step-mom will never get her own life back. I see her stressed all the time, as her daughter requires a lot of attention, and is very dependent on her, despite the fact that she can and does do many things on her own, she just doesn't like to do them. My step-mom has to plan her day around when her daughter will get home from work (a day program she goes to) and cannot go out of town without her unless she has care arranged for her.
If Kayla had lived, I would have done anything in my power to save her as any loving mother would do. I would have loved her regardless of whatever limitations she had, and whatever help she would forever need from me. But sometimes I am grateful that she didn't have to possibly face that future. I am grateful that I didn't have to make that decision, to continue her life because I loved her, when maybe that wasn't the best thing for her.
Tuesday, October 4, 2016
Capture your grief, Day 4
4. SUPPORT CIRCLES | Have you felt supported in this journey of grief and healing? Maybe it is a friend, family member or organization that has been there for you. Share how they have helped you and let them know how grateful you are. Please feel welcome to post links if you would like to share about a charity or support group
I, like most people who have gone through a loss, have been the victim of the "well-meaning" person, who says something that just cuts you to the core. They supposedly say it with good intentions, not knowing what else to say. But it turns out to be so back handed, so cruel that it's hard to believe they actually thought it could make you feel better.
Luckily, for every person who said something awful to me, I have several friends and family who have been so supportive. Like my dad and stepmom who make sure to take fresh flowers to my baby's grave, my inlaws who include her in their count of their grandchildren, my best friend who listens to me when I need to rant, or ramble, or cry. My husband, my partner in all of this, the only other person on this earth that knows exactly what I went through. The stranger doing my toes, who notices the tiny footprint tattooed on my ankle, and listens to me talk about my first born. I am convinced they are all angels, masquerading on earth as people.
The Tears Foundation, who not only supports bereaved parents each year with a walk to remember their little ones, and a chance to say their name, and stand proudly and say that is my daughter or son, but who also helps raise money to help newly bereaved parents, to be able to afford the funeral costs to lay their angels to rest.
I think perhaps the thing that has helped me most, is the message boards where I can connect with other loss moms. Where I can get support, from people who have been there. Where I can hear that other people feel the exact same way I am feeling, and to know it is normal and I am not alone. People who are there to offer support on my bad days, and people who are needing support on my good days. I don't know where I would be without any of them. People don't like to talk about pregnancy and infant loss. They hear the words and you can tell they just want to run away. It can be one of the most isolating things in the world. You're suddenly this lepper, who might give your baby loss germs to someone else and cause them to lose their baby. I hate that other people have to go through this awful thing, but to be supported by others who have been there is truly a life saver.
Capture your grief, day 3
3. WHAT IT FELT LIKE | In honour of this month of awareness today we give the outside world some insight into what it is like to be a bereaved parent by sharing what a certain experience that you had during your grief journey. This can be a positive or negative (or both) experience. Some experiences that you could share about are what it felt like to hear the words “There is no heartbeat” or maybe you had an experience where some did something very special in memory of your children. Pick a moment and share how it made you feel.
I remember the moment so clearly. I was laying in a bed in OB Triage. We had been there for about 20 minutes, and a very nice nurse had just finished using the doppler, where we heard the beautiful, strong heartbeat of our little girl. We had come to the hospital because I was having cramps. They felt like period cramps, and had been around for about 3 days, but this day they were stronger and more intense. I knew something wasn't right, so I called my doctor and she told me to come in.
The nurse assured me that the cramps were probably just all the stretching and growing that was going on. She was very warm and nurturing. I was scared on the way in, but not that scared. I was certain that if I was in labor, they could give me something to stop it, keep me for observation, and I would have a story to tell at work on Monday.
Since I was just two weeks shy of viability, they wouldn't hook me up to the fetal monitor, so she did the doppler to make sure there was a heartbeat. When we heard it, and how strong it was, a huge sense of relief came over me. Everything was going to be ok, we'd be going home soon, and my girl was ok.
The nurse walked out, and then popped back in to say that my urine sample had some blood in it, so I probably had a bladder infection or something. I had had a symptom less one back when I first got pregnant, so I assumed it was the same issue. A few minutes later that doctor came in, and she was everything the other nurse wasn't. She was very business like, and to the point. Before she even finished the (very painful) exam, she said I was dilated four centimeters and she could feel the bag right at my cervix. Testing also confirmed that the discharge I thought I was having, was actually amniotic fluid, so my water had not broken, but it was leaking.
I can still remember the exact way I felt in those moments. It was like anything outside of that curtained bay was standing still, I had tunnel vision. My heart began pounding through my chest as I was trying to understand what she had just told me. As matter of factly and as monotone as if she were telling me the drive thru was out of fries, she said I would likely deliver soon, and that my baby would not survive. She said they would keep me at least overnight, and if I was still pregnant by Monday (this was Saturday night) then they would do some further testing.
If? If I was still pregnant on Monday? I couldn't make sense of what she was saying. How could I not still be pregnant on Monday? I thought I was going home, I thought I would be at work on Monday. I had just heard my beautiful baby's heartbeat, she was still alive, she was still perfectly healthy, but this woman just told me she would be born soon, and she wouldn't survive. It was like I was screaming no no no no no inside my head, but no one could hear me. I was desperate, I felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. I was desperately trying to wake myself up, to realize that this was not happening, and that my baby would be fine. I was trying to think of some way, trying to plead with someone, anyone, who could change the outcome. Trying to think of some way to get anyone to help me, and make my baby be ok.
That moment could only be compared to the exact minute the machines beeped above my mom's hospital bed, when the nurse came in and said she was shutting things down, because she had just passed. My chest felt tight, and I desperately needed this to not be true. As I laid in my hospital bed that night, in the dark, alone except for my sleeping husband on the "dad bed" across the room, I felt my little girl kicking me. Telling me she was still there, and that broke my heart even more. There was nothing wrong with her. She wasn't sick, or suffering, she wasn't missing any limbs or vital organs. She was perfect and just needed a safe place to grow for 4 more months. It made me sick with sadness that I couldn't give that to her. That I was laying there, feeling my sweet baby move around inside me, knowing that in a few more hours, she would be dead, because I couldn't protect her.
Losing my mom was so hard, but not being able to protect my baby, not being able to do the one thing a mother is supposed to do for their child, was the single most awful moment in my entire life.
I remember the moment so clearly. I was laying in a bed in OB Triage. We had been there for about 20 minutes, and a very nice nurse had just finished using the doppler, where we heard the beautiful, strong heartbeat of our little girl. We had come to the hospital because I was having cramps. They felt like period cramps, and had been around for about 3 days, but this day they were stronger and more intense. I knew something wasn't right, so I called my doctor and she told me to come in.
The nurse assured me that the cramps were probably just all the stretching and growing that was going on. She was very warm and nurturing. I was scared on the way in, but not that scared. I was certain that if I was in labor, they could give me something to stop it, keep me for observation, and I would have a story to tell at work on Monday.
Since I was just two weeks shy of viability, they wouldn't hook me up to the fetal monitor, so she did the doppler to make sure there was a heartbeat. When we heard it, and how strong it was, a huge sense of relief came over me. Everything was going to be ok, we'd be going home soon, and my girl was ok.
The nurse walked out, and then popped back in to say that my urine sample had some blood in it, so I probably had a bladder infection or something. I had had a symptom less one back when I first got pregnant, so I assumed it was the same issue. A few minutes later that doctor came in, and she was everything the other nurse wasn't. She was very business like, and to the point. Before she even finished the (very painful) exam, she said I was dilated four centimeters and she could feel the bag right at my cervix. Testing also confirmed that the discharge I thought I was having, was actually amniotic fluid, so my water had not broken, but it was leaking.
I can still remember the exact way I felt in those moments. It was like anything outside of that curtained bay was standing still, I had tunnel vision. My heart began pounding through my chest as I was trying to understand what she had just told me. As matter of factly and as monotone as if she were telling me the drive thru was out of fries, she said I would likely deliver soon, and that my baby would not survive. She said they would keep me at least overnight, and if I was still pregnant by Monday (this was Saturday night) then they would do some further testing.
If? If I was still pregnant on Monday? I couldn't make sense of what she was saying. How could I not still be pregnant on Monday? I thought I was going home, I thought I would be at work on Monday. I had just heard my beautiful baby's heartbeat, she was still alive, she was still perfectly healthy, but this woman just told me she would be born soon, and she wouldn't survive. It was like I was screaming no no no no no inside my head, but no one could hear me. I was desperate, I felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest. I was desperately trying to wake myself up, to realize that this was not happening, and that my baby would be fine. I was trying to think of some way, trying to plead with someone, anyone, who could change the outcome. Trying to think of some way to get anyone to help me, and make my baby be ok.
That moment could only be compared to the exact minute the machines beeped above my mom's hospital bed, when the nurse came in and said she was shutting things down, because she had just passed. My chest felt tight, and I desperately needed this to not be true. As I laid in my hospital bed that night, in the dark, alone except for my sleeping husband on the "dad bed" across the room, I felt my little girl kicking me. Telling me she was still there, and that broke my heart even more. There was nothing wrong with her. She wasn't sick, or suffering, she wasn't missing any limbs or vital organs. She was perfect and just needed a safe place to grow for 4 more months. It made me sick with sadness that I couldn't give that to her. That I was laying there, feeling my sweet baby move around inside me, knowing that in a few more hours, she would be dead, because I couldn't protect her.
Losing my mom was so hard, but not being able to protect my baby, not being able to do the one thing a mother is supposed to do for their child, was the single most awful moment in my entire life.
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