It is hard to imagine we have lived without you for four years. You were here, then you were gone. You lived, you died, then you were born. It was too fast. You touched our lives in such a special way. We held you and kissed you and we said goodbye to you.
Then we had to keep living.
This was the hard part.
It took a long time to come out of the darkness that appeared the day you were born. You did not create this darkness. In fact, you were the glimmer of light that led us through our days.
For so long, we didn't know how to grieve your loss. We kept you inside our hearts and inside the walls of our house. We did not share you, or your story. We didn't have the words.
For so long it felt like others thought you were the bad thing that happened to us in our lives. Few people would speak your name, or acknowledge you as our child. Mommy is here to tell you that you were not the bad thing that happened to us. You are our son, and we are proud of you!
You were our miracle. You brought us so much joy and happiness. You lived a short life, but we know you felt our love. We know you still do.
I do not get to see you. But I feel you.
I do not get to hear you. But I feel you.
I do not get to hold you. But I feel you.
There are no trucks or superheroes in our house. There is no little boy running around with a soccer ball or hockey stick. There are no tiny muddy tracks through the house. There are no sticky fingers to wipe or scraped knees to fix. There is no little boy to take to preschool. I do not get to parent you in the physical world.
But you are here. You live within us. You are the butterflies that come to visit. You are the dragonflies at the cabin. You are the birds soaring through the air. You are the waves crashing against the shore and the leaves blowing in the wind. You are the buds of flowers in the spring. You are the feeling of warmth hugging me when I need to feel your presence.
365 days in a year times 4 years (plus 1 for leap year) is 1461 sleeps without you. Each night I talk with you and send you my love. Each night I long for you to be sleeping cozy in your room. I know you are not there, and you never will be...yet you are.
You are here, and you always will be. You are my son, and I am your mom.
I love you my dear sweet boy, no longer a baby, but a little boy...one who should be running and jumping and causing mischief. Wherever you are, I am holding you tight, and wishing you a happy birthday 4 year old. We will be singing you happy birthday and eating cake with you today as we celebrate the day you were born. To the moon and back James, we love you, we love you and we love you more.
XOXOXO
Thursday, March 27, 2014
Sunday, February 23, 2014
A Heartfelt Thank You, Two Ways
I am sharing a very intimate experience but one very worthy of sharing. It is not everyday you would want or have the opportunity to say thank you to the doctor who confirmed your baby is dead. Yesterday I got to do just that and I know it helped us both.
Yesterday I had the honour of being part of a team from Still Life Canada who presented at the Perinatal Services BC Healthy Mothers, Healthy Babies Conference. I wrote about it here.
After our presentation, there was time for questions and comments. One of the first comments was from a doctor who in the work she does, has to deliver the news that babies have died and that they will be stillborn. She thanked our team for our presentation and related it to the work she does. She was tearful in her thanks and commented that through her work, she does cry with patients, gives them hugs and is present with them. She said she often feels that she has failed her patients because she shares her emotions with them. She thanked us because we had helped her see that she hadn't failed, but in fact was doing the right thing. She thanked us for helping lift a burden she had felt and carried with her.
I had realized earlier, prior to our presentation that this doctor was in the room. I knew her on a very personal and private level and had already decided that I would try and talk with her after our presentation. Her comments after our presentation gave me that much more strength to go up to her, to thank her.
When we finished, I went straight over to her. Just as I had recognized her, she said she had recognized me, remembering the brief time we we spent together last year.
I had driven myself to the hospital from my OB's office where we couldn't see or hear my son Zachary's heartbeat. I was meeting my husband at the hospital. I got there first. They knew I was coming. They sent me over to ultrasound, letting me know that really they were already closed for the day but a doctor had agreed to do the ultrasound as there were no techs left there that afternoon. Thank you, I said, I think. I got to the ultrasound area and somebody sat me down at a chair to the side of the desk, told me to wait there. In those minutes before Chris arrived I heard a few people mumbling about how they were not going to get out of work on time if these doctors kept sending people over. I must say I felt very unwelcome. I understand wanting to get out of work on time on a sunny Friday afternoon in June. But really, patients don't need to hear that frustration. Especially patients that are being sent there at that time of day for an unscheduled ultrasound.
Finally Chris arrived. Soon after, the doctor who would be doing our ultrasound came to get us. She was kind and caring from the moment we met her. She walked us down the hall. Of all the ultrasound rooms at that hospital, we were taken to the same room where just weeks before another doctor had done a detailed ultrasound and told us everything with Zachary was perfect. I looked at Chris, he at me, and we entered the room. This doctor showed us true compassion. She told us everything she was doing and said that she would tell us right away what she discovered. It was clear from the start that Zachary was no longer alive. She explained that she could stop the ultrasound or could do a few more things on the ultrasound that could possibly help in determining why Zach had died, it was our choice. She was so respectful and checked with us if we wanted our monitor turned off. This doctor gave me a long heartfelt hug. She was there in the room with us, a part of the devastating reality of the end of Zach's life. She cried with us, she told us she was so sorry that our beautiful baby had died and she sat with us. She stayed with us for the right amount of time, and then left us to ourselves, to take the time we needed at that moment. And when we were "ready" to return to the assessment room, she again hugged us and gave us her condolences. That was our brief moment with this doctor. Even at one of the worst moments of our lives, we appreciated her so very much. She is one of only a handful of medical providers that we've encountered who truly provided the kind of bereavement care and support we needed. I did not know if I would ever have the chance to thank her in person.
Yesterday I had the chance. I went to her, and the first thing we did was hug. We recalled the time in the ultrasound room. She thanked me for our presentation and I thanked her for the care she provided when we really needed it. She thanked me again, and said that because of our presentation, and because of sharing with her what it meant to me for her to have shared our time together so genuinely, she will continue to provide that kind of care to her patients.
I have lived through the kind of news she has to deliver regularly, twice. It takes a special kind of person, who has to share these moments regularly, to keep it human, and keep it genuine. I am so thankful for this doctor, and the work she does. I'm also thankful that she learned yesterday, that the kind of care she provides is the kind of care every parent deserves from every provider. She will no longer have to question whether sharing emotion with her patients is something she should do. I feel good that I was a part of helping relieve some of her burden yesterday.
I feel so grateful for having had the opportunity to thank this doctor from the bottom of my heart for the care she provided to us in our time of need.
Yesterday I had the chance. I went to her, and the first thing we did was hug. We recalled the time in the ultrasound room. She thanked me for our presentation and I thanked her for the care she provided when we really needed it. She thanked me again, and said that because of our presentation, and because of sharing with her what it meant to me for her to have shared our time together so genuinely, she will continue to provide that kind of care to her patients.
I have lived through the kind of news she has to deliver regularly, twice. It takes a special kind of person, who has to share these moments regularly, to keep it human, and keep it genuine. I am so thankful for this doctor, and the work she does. I'm also thankful that she learned yesterday, that the kind of care she provides is the kind of care every parent deserves from every provider. She will no longer have to question whether sharing emotion with her patients is something she should do. I feel good that I was a part of helping relieve some of her burden yesterday.
I feel so grateful for having had the opportunity to thank this doctor from the bottom of my heart for the care she provided to us in our time of need.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Today last year
And here we go again. Another year. This particular year starts on January 31st for me.
Today last year was truly an incredible day. Today last year we found out we were expecting.
I didn't quite believe it at first. I was so used to taking pregnancy tests and them being negative that it was just routine for me to take the test and not pay attention to the results because inevitably it would have only one line. That morning I took the test and then jumped in the shower. I went about my morning routine so we could get out of the house on time. Just before heading downstairs I looked at the test, braving myself for another disappointment. However when I looked there was not only one line, there were two. What? I actually grabbed the package to read the instructions I had read too many times but I thought maybe two lines meant something other than pregnant. Nope, that's what it meant. My husband already had left for work and was going to be occupied all day so he couldn't look at it. I called a girlfriend and asked if we could meet. I needed her to read it and make sure I wasn't just seeing things. I also took it with me to an appointment. Yup I was right. I was pregnant.
One may think that it was a completely joyous day. It wasn't. It couldn't be. It will never be for a mom who has already said hello and goodbye to her child in the same day. When you have walked the path of having a stillborn baby, a new pregnancy does not make you simply forget what happened to your much loved and cherished baby that died. Emotions run through you. Fear sets in. Belief that what happened before will happen again.
Today last year I was joyful. I was hopeful. I was scared. I was shocked. I was terrified. I was not excited. My husband was and he had to be for both of us. We were pregnant and we were having another baby, our third child, our rainbow.
That same day, I received other news. I had been through a long two month recruitment process for a new job that I had really wanted. I said to my husband that afternoon, "just watch how this day unfolds, I'm going to get a job offer today." He laughed, we both laughed. Twenty minutes later the phone rang and I was indeed offered the position I had hoped for.
So there it was. One day, two huge life changes.
It didn't take me long to know what I had to do about the job offer. I had been so ready to start a new chapter in my career. But I couldn't say yes. The job was with a new employer, a full time position and required travel, especially in the first six months of employment. I could not take that on. I needed the stability of my current role which I'd been doing for six years, it was part time and I knew I would have flexibility with all the extra doctor's appointments I would be having with this pregnancy. I had to say no for my baby. My fears told me that if I took a new job and if it was stressful and something went wrong with my baby that I would never forgive myself for putting my career over my child. My children come first. So, within the next few days, I declined the job offer.
Today last year. Here comes another year of reliving last year. Reliving Zachary's too short life. I have already done this once before, the today last year after James' stillbirth. I still have days in my mind from back in 2010, I guess that's today four years ago.
I know some people say not to look backwards, not to go there. Move forward they say. I am and I do everyday. I know it is January 31, 2014. I know I cannot dwell. But here's the thing, I don't believe I am dwelling on anything.
I remember days and events from years past in my living daughter's life. I have eight years of theses memories. It is perfectly acceptable for me to bring up these memories and talk about them and share them. No one ever says I am dwelling in the past when I share her history.
My memories of my sons will not disappear because they are dead. They will not disappear because they died before they were born. I have memories and just as with my daughter, when a certain day or date comes up, my memories appear. I welcome these thoughts.
I will enjoy many "today last year" thoughts of Zachary over the next six months. These are the days he lived. These are the days where I first heard his heartbeat, saw him inside of me, felt him flutter and move, had him wave at me during a ultrasound, had the maternal fetal medicine doctor tell me he was perfect, he was healthy and perfect. I will also have the unthinkable today last year memories. The ones where he wasn't moving where we found out he died, our afternoon of June 14 and the labour and birth of my perfect little boy on June 15. I will remember holding him in my arms and having his sister meet him and hold him. I will remember the following six months, and how life changed forever for us again.
It will be a year of today last year moments. These are the moments of my sons' life. My son Zachary lived and these are the memories I have of him. I have loved him from before he was conceived, but today last year I fell in love with him. The day I found out he was living inside me, he was my child and the choices I made that day were because I loved him. I still love him. I will forever love him.
Today last year. It is a day we will remember always.
Today last year was truly an incredible day. Today last year we found out we were expecting.
I didn't quite believe it at first. I was so used to taking pregnancy tests and them being negative that it was just routine for me to take the test and not pay attention to the results because inevitably it would have only one line. That morning I took the test and then jumped in the shower. I went about my morning routine so we could get out of the house on time. Just before heading downstairs I looked at the test, braving myself for another disappointment. However when I looked there was not only one line, there were two. What? I actually grabbed the package to read the instructions I had read too many times but I thought maybe two lines meant something other than pregnant. Nope, that's what it meant. My husband already had left for work and was going to be occupied all day so he couldn't look at it. I called a girlfriend and asked if we could meet. I needed her to read it and make sure I wasn't just seeing things. I also took it with me to an appointment. Yup I was right. I was pregnant.
One may think that it was a completely joyous day. It wasn't. It couldn't be. It will never be for a mom who has already said hello and goodbye to her child in the same day. When you have walked the path of having a stillborn baby, a new pregnancy does not make you simply forget what happened to your much loved and cherished baby that died. Emotions run through you. Fear sets in. Belief that what happened before will happen again.
Today last year I was joyful. I was hopeful. I was scared. I was shocked. I was terrified. I was not excited. My husband was and he had to be for both of us. We were pregnant and we were having another baby, our third child, our rainbow.
That same day, I received other news. I had been through a long two month recruitment process for a new job that I had really wanted. I said to my husband that afternoon, "just watch how this day unfolds, I'm going to get a job offer today." He laughed, we both laughed. Twenty minutes later the phone rang and I was indeed offered the position I had hoped for.
So there it was. One day, two huge life changes.
It didn't take me long to know what I had to do about the job offer. I had been so ready to start a new chapter in my career. But I couldn't say yes. The job was with a new employer, a full time position and required travel, especially in the first six months of employment. I could not take that on. I needed the stability of my current role which I'd been doing for six years, it was part time and I knew I would have flexibility with all the extra doctor's appointments I would be having with this pregnancy. I had to say no for my baby. My fears told me that if I took a new job and if it was stressful and something went wrong with my baby that I would never forgive myself for putting my career over my child. My children come first. So, within the next few days, I declined the job offer.
Today last year. Here comes another year of reliving last year. Reliving Zachary's too short life. I have already done this once before, the today last year after James' stillbirth. I still have days in my mind from back in 2010, I guess that's today four years ago.
I know some people say not to look backwards, not to go there. Move forward they say. I am and I do everyday. I know it is January 31, 2014. I know I cannot dwell. But here's the thing, I don't believe I am dwelling on anything.
I remember days and events from years past in my living daughter's life. I have eight years of theses memories. It is perfectly acceptable for me to bring up these memories and talk about them and share them. No one ever says I am dwelling in the past when I share her history.
My memories of my sons will not disappear because they are dead. They will not disappear because they died before they were born. I have memories and just as with my daughter, when a certain day or date comes up, my memories appear. I welcome these thoughts.
I will enjoy many "today last year" thoughts of Zachary over the next six months. These are the days he lived. These are the days where I first heard his heartbeat, saw him inside of me, felt him flutter and move, had him wave at me during a ultrasound, had the maternal fetal medicine doctor tell me he was perfect, he was healthy and perfect. I will also have the unthinkable today last year memories. The ones where he wasn't moving where we found out he died, our afternoon of June 14 and the labour and birth of my perfect little boy on June 15. I will remember holding him in my arms and having his sister meet him and hold him. I will remember the following six months, and how life changed forever for us again.
It will be a year of today last year moments. These are the moments of my sons' life. My son Zachary lived and these are the memories I have of him. I have loved him from before he was conceived, but today last year I fell in love with him. The day I found out he was living inside me, he was my child and the choices I made that day were because I loved him. I still love him. I will forever love him.
Today last year. It is a day we will remember always.
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Halloween
I've never really been a halloween person, not even as a kid. It was never my favourite "holiday". Then I became a mom. That changes everything. For my daughter's first few years, we had so much fun picking out her costume and dressing her up. We would decorate and take her trick-or-treating. We reminisced at dinner tonight about all her costumes over the years. She's been a ladybug, a pink dragon, elmo, strawberry shortcake, and then there were her princess years, two as Sleeping Beauty and another as Belle. Last year she went a bit scary and was a vampiress and tonight she was a "kind" witch. She loved talking about all her costumes and hearing stories of her first years of trick-or-treating. I was having a fun time, remembering with her. She even asked about what my costumes were as a kid. I started to list a few, and then I started remembering what I was one year, and what my sister and brother wore that same year. All of a sudden I was overwhelmed. I went into the bathroom to try to pull myself together. I was overcome with sadness. Tonight, my daughter should be sharing with her brothers. I envision James would probably have wanted to be Batman or some other superhero at three and a half and Zachary, I would have found a cute little pumpkin costume to put him into. Trick-or-treating shouldn't have been as easy as it was tonight. I should have been pushing a buggy, and chasing after a three year old who was chasing after his big sister. These days meant for children, they are hard for babyloss families. We enjoy the moments, but at times they are difficult and overwhelming. I accept that this is the way it is. I just wish it wasn't so...
Sunday, October 13, 2013
Awareness Walk, Sunday October 13
Today we will walk. We will walk in memory of our two precious sons/brothers/grandsons, James and Zachary and for all babies who have died too soon. Stillbirth and infant death is real, and it affects so many families. It is a silent traumatic grief that families have to live with. Grieving mothers, fathers, siblings, grandparents and extended family and friends should not have to live in silence and should not have to walk through their grief alone. There are others, too many others that are living without their precious children. Grief support and bereavement services for this type of child death are hard to find. Three years ago, when my son James was stillborn, I felt I was on my own. I didn't find the support I was searching for. This year, after the stillbirth of my son Zachary, I have found support. Just over a year ago, a non-profit organization called Still Life Canada formed here in Vancouver. I am so thankful for the community of support it provides. Today, Still Life Canada will hold its Second Annual Awareness Walk. The purpose of the walk is to come together in mutual support to celebrate and remember our babies and connect with other families affected by stillbirth and neonatal death. Please click here to find all the details.
As part of the Awareness Walk, Still Life Canada asks you to consider bringing a new pair of children's shoes to donate in memory of a child who was stillborn or died after birth. On Saturday I went shopping to find shoes to donate in memory of James and Zachary. I wanted to donate shoes that I would have purchased for my sons, if they were here with us today. It was a difficult trip to the shoe store because when buying shoes for Marissa, I always have her with me so she is there to try them on. James and Zachary were there with me, but I kept wandering back and forth between sizes, wondering, moreso for James, what size would he be wearing today. We finally decided on a pair of rainboots for James. He would be three and a half, and most certainly jumping in puddles through the winter. Marissa loved the Spiderman ones for James, and was so excited to have picked them out for her brother. For Zachary, she picked a little pair of runners, with Elmo on them. It was a moment where she got to be a big sister. I loved seeing the thoughtfulness she put into picking the perfect shoes for her brothers.
We are all looking forward to the walk. It is important to connect with other babyloss families, to celebrate and remember their babies and ours, together.
A glimpse of what should be.
As part of the Awareness Walk, Still Life Canada asks you to consider bringing a new pair of children's shoes to donate in memory of a child who was stillborn or died after birth. On Saturday I went shopping to find shoes to donate in memory of James and Zachary. I wanted to donate shoes that I would have purchased for my sons, if they were here with us today. It was a difficult trip to the shoe store because when buying shoes for Marissa, I always have her with me so she is there to try them on. James and Zachary were there with me, but I kept wandering back and forth between sizes, wondering, moreso for James, what size would he be wearing today. We finally decided on a pair of rainboots for James. He would be three and a half, and most certainly jumping in puddles through the winter. Marissa loved the Spiderman ones for James, and was so excited to have picked them out for her brother. For Zachary, she picked a little pair of runners, with Elmo on them. It was a moment where she got to be a big sister. I loved seeing the thoughtfulness she put into picking the perfect shoes for her brothers.
We are all looking forward to the walk. It is important to connect with other babyloss families, to celebrate and remember their babies and ours, together.
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| Rainboots to be donated in memory of James |
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| Baby shoes to be donated in memory of Zachary |
Friday, October 11, 2013
Today
Today...I was supposed to hear you cry for the first time.
I never heard you cry.
Today...I was supposed to hold you in my arms for the first time.
I held you in my arms for the first time and the last time, on the same day.
Today...I was supposed to nurse you.
I never got to nurse you. My milk came but you were already gone.
Today...I was supposed to be in awe of your little fingers and toes and the way you wiggle your nose.
I was in awe. I loved your fingers and toes and your nose and every inch of you.
Today...I was supposed to smile with excitement.
Excitement is not a word for me today. I will smile. I remember you and I smile.
Today...I was supposed to introduce you to your big sister.
She got to meet you, to hold you and to feel her place as a big sister.
Today...I was supposed to be tired after a long nine months, and labour and delivery of you.
I am tired. Grief is tiring.
Today...I was supposed to welcome you.
I already had to say goodbye.
I love you Zachary.
I miss you today, always and forever.
I never heard you cry.
Today...I was supposed to hold you in my arms for the first time.
I held you in my arms for the first time and the last time, on the same day.
Today...I was supposed to nurse you.
I never got to nurse you. My milk came but you were already gone.
Today...I was supposed to be in awe of your little fingers and toes and the way you wiggle your nose.
I was in awe. I loved your fingers and toes and your nose and every inch of you.
Today...I was supposed to smile with excitement.
Excitement is not a word for me today. I will smile. I remember you and I smile.
Today...I was supposed to introduce you to your big sister.
She got to meet you, to hold you and to feel her place as a big sister.
Today...I was supposed to be tired after a long nine months, and labour and delivery of you.
I am tired. Grief is tiring.
Today...I was supposed to welcome you.
I already had to say goodbye.
I love you Zachary.
I miss you today, always and forever.
Monday, September 16, 2013
3 Heartstrings
The UPS man came to the door. I was not expecting anything. No idea what was in the package. I opened the package. And this is what I pulled out...
It is beautiful. My eyes swelled with tears and I let it all out. My daughter was home from school already. She witnessed the grief full on. It was such a powerful moment. I was looking at all three of my children's names together for the first time, and probably one of the only times. I felt such sadness and such joy. To see all three of my children's names engraved on a beautiful pendant holds such deep meaning for me. Acknowledgement. So many babyloss families never have their babies acknowledged. This pendant represents so much to me.
Looking further at the pendant, I saw 3 hearts, each on a string. My emotions overflowed. There was a note inside with the pendant:
Jaime, This is called 3 heartstrings, for those that hold onto our heart & have heard it. Love Jodi
Heartstrings. This has become an important term to our family in the past year. Our daughter had developed a high sense of anxiety. She had a fear of being alone or left alone, an intense fear of something going wrong or an occurance of a natural disaster such as an earthquake or fire and a fear of a lockdown happening at school. The anxiety she was having was becoming more intense for her. We tried numerous strategies of how to help her get through these anxieties, but to no avail, we could not alleviate or help her through these times. We actually had started to enable her fears and anxieties further by giving in to her rituals that she had created to help her cope through them. We knew we had to do something other than what we were doing. So, last fall, about a year ago, we found a Counselor that specializes in working with children with fears and anxiety and is also a Play Therapist. It didn't take long and the strategies that her Counselor used started to help her. Heartstrings was one such strategy.
She taught our daughter that even though we may not always be with her physically, we were always with her, in our hearts. The strategy was simple: when she began to feel alone or scared or that something bad was going to happen, she just needed to pull on her heartstrings, and by doing so, mommy and daddy would feel her pulling them, and we would pull on our heartstrings so she would feel us too. It was a strategy that she was to use that would be like giving a virtual hug to mommy and daddy even when we weren't there. It is a magical strategy that has worked amazingly well over the past year. She learned many more coping strategies and we are so proud of the work she has done to help herself. Her fears and anxieties are now under control and manageable. Our concerns have been alleviated. And, our family always has our heartstrings to pull on when we need to. Sometimes Marissa asks if I felt her heartstrings during the day, and other days, I ask her. It is part of our vocabulary.
I had never translated this over to my boys. Never. Not until I received this pendant. This made me cry even more. Of coarse! Why hadn't I thought of it myself?! I can pull my heartstrings when the pain of loss is so intense, so that James and Zachary can feel it and know that their mommy misses them so very much. I can pull my heartstrings when we are having a joyous day, and I am wishing my boys were here to experience it. If I can pull my heartstrings, and I know they will feel it, then they too can pull their heartstrings so I can feel it. Another connection to my boys has just opened up.
Going back to the note I received with the necklace...for those that hold onto our heart & have heard it...I hadn't thought of this before. I hadn't thought specifically that Marissa, James and Zachary have all heard my heart from the inside. They know me from there, they have heard my heart beat and they know my heart beats for them, for each of them. Magical, meaningful words that I will hold in my heart and my head as I move forward.
I cannot write this post without thanking the person who sent me this most treasured piece of jewellry. This is a person whom I love very much. She tracked the delivery of this piece and knew that I had received it. She didn't hear from me for days. She was worried she had offended me or angered me for sending it. She started second guessing herself. I simply couldn't call at first. Each time I took the necklace and note out of the package, I wept. It was tears of grief, tears of love and tears of joy. I couldn't call because I knew I couldn't talk about it without breaking down. She finally called me, as she couldn't wait to hear if I liked it. It was to her great relief to hear of my love for the pendant. This treasure was sent to me by my sister, Jodi. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I have pulled my heartstrings to thank you, and know that your nephews have pulled theirs too. They are happy that you have given them another gateway to their mom.
I am grateful for my 3 heartstrings, today and always.
It is beautiful. My eyes swelled with tears and I let it all out. My daughter was home from school already. She witnessed the grief full on. It was such a powerful moment. I was looking at all three of my children's names together for the first time, and probably one of the only times. I felt such sadness and such joy. To see all three of my children's names engraved on a beautiful pendant holds such deep meaning for me. Acknowledgement. So many babyloss families never have their babies acknowledged. This pendant represents so much to me.
Looking further at the pendant, I saw 3 hearts, each on a string. My emotions overflowed. There was a note inside with the pendant:
Jaime, This is called 3 heartstrings, for those that hold onto our heart & have heard it. Love Jodi
Heartstrings. This has become an important term to our family in the past year. Our daughter had developed a high sense of anxiety. She had a fear of being alone or left alone, an intense fear of something going wrong or an occurance of a natural disaster such as an earthquake or fire and a fear of a lockdown happening at school. The anxiety she was having was becoming more intense for her. We tried numerous strategies of how to help her get through these anxieties, but to no avail, we could not alleviate or help her through these times. We actually had started to enable her fears and anxieties further by giving in to her rituals that she had created to help her cope through them. We knew we had to do something other than what we were doing. So, last fall, about a year ago, we found a Counselor that specializes in working with children with fears and anxiety and is also a Play Therapist. It didn't take long and the strategies that her Counselor used started to help her. Heartstrings was one such strategy.
She taught our daughter that even though we may not always be with her physically, we were always with her, in our hearts. The strategy was simple: when she began to feel alone or scared or that something bad was going to happen, she just needed to pull on her heartstrings, and by doing so, mommy and daddy would feel her pulling them, and we would pull on our heartstrings so she would feel us too. It was a strategy that she was to use that would be like giving a virtual hug to mommy and daddy even when we weren't there. It is a magical strategy that has worked amazingly well over the past year. She learned many more coping strategies and we are so proud of the work she has done to help herself. Her fears and anxieties are now under control and manageable. Our concerns have been alleviated. And, our family always has our heartstrings to pull on when we need to. Sometimes Marissa asks if I felt her heartstrings during the day, and other days, I ask her. It is part of our vocabulary.
I had never translated this over to my boys. Never. Not until I received this pendant. This made me cry even more. Of coarse! Why hadn't I thought of it myself?! I can pull my heartstrings when the pain of loss is so intense, so that James and Zachary can feel it and know that their mommy misses them so very much. I can pull my heartstrings when we are having a joyous day, and I am wishing my boys were here to experience it. If I can pull my heartstrings, and I know they will feel it, then they too can pull their heartstrings so I can feel it. Another connection to my boys has just opened up.
Going back to the note I received with the necklace...for those that hold onto our heart & have heard it...I hadn't thought of this before. I hadn't thought specifically that Marissa, James and Zachary have all heard my heart from the inside. They know me from there, they have heard my heart beat and they know my heart beats for them, for each of them. Magical, meaningful words that I will hold in my heart and my head as I move forward.
I cannot write this post without thanking the person who sent me this most treasured piece of jewellry. This is a person whom I love very much. She tracked the delivery of this piece and knew that I had received it. She didn't hear from me for days. She was worried she had offended me or angered me for sending it. She started second guessing herself. I simply couldn't call at first. Each time I took the necklace and note out of the package, I wept. It was tears of grief, tears of love and tears of joy. I couldn't call because I knew I couldn't talk about it without breaking down. She finally called me, as she couldn't wait to hear if I liked it. It was to her great relief to hear of my love for the pendant. This treasure was sent to me by my sister, Jodi. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I have pulled my heartstrings to thank you, and know that your nephews have pulled theirs too. They are happy that you have given them another gateway to their mom.
I am grateful for my 3 heartstrings, today and always.
Sunday, September 8, 2013
Beautiful family
For a long time I have grappled with feelings that my family is not or does not feel complete. I have believed that adding another child or children will give me that feeling of "complete". Over the past couple of days, I have come to the realization that no matter how many more children I have, or if I don't have any more, that physical feeling of completeness will never come. It cannot. There will always be two missing pieces to our family. Two very important and loved souls, who are not with us here physically. There will always be empty chairs, beds, backpacks, halloween costumes, stockings and easter baskets. There will always be less arms to hug, scrapped knees to fix, sports games to attend. I live each day with my arms 1/3 full. However, in the same breath, they are here. They are here in our hearts, in our words and in our actions. James and Zachary will always be a part of our family, and they do complete it. My arms may be 1/3 full but my heart is full and overflowing.
I was talking to my Doctor of TCM the other day, someone who has become a trusted friend along this path. I was telling him of some doubts and fears that I had about next steps whatever that may look like. One of the things he said to me is "you have a beautiful family." I cannot remember most of the other words we spoke that day, of where I am at and what I am working on and towards. But I do remember these words: you have a beautiful family. I have repeated that over and over in my head, and it has now become: I have a beautiful family. Sometimes we just need simple words and nudges to help us work through and resolve complex thoughts.
Last night was one of those difficult nights. Nights where I remember everything and question everything. I was back in the doctor's office, the ultrasound room, the delivery room. I was back in the place where I realized that my baby had died, two of my babies had died. I was so overcome by my grief. Then I was angry. How could this have happened to us? How could this have happened to us, twice? I want my babies with me. I want them home, here, with us, with our family. Chris was there with me as I walked through these dark moments. He sat with me, he talked with me, some of his words comforted me, others just made me more angry, others so grateful. He made it a safe place to be. He reminded me of a time when it was just the two of us, struggling to build our family. We were a beautiful family then, the two of us. He remembers me saying, why can't we just have one baby, why is this so difficult? That is many years and many difficulties ago. I did eventually have that one baby I so desparately wanted, and she stole our hearts. She made us into our beautiful family of three. To some, that is all they see, and all they will ever know and see of our family. But there is more to the story and more to this beautiful family. More years and struggles later, a tiny little boy made our beautiful family grow into four. He too stole our hearts and took a piece of them with him. This year, our family grew once more. We welcomed another little boy into our beautiful family. There are now five of us, eventhough some only see three. I have a husband who I cherish and love, I have a daughter who I adore and who taught me how to be a mom, and continues to teach me daily what love and compassion are, I have a son who has taught me more about myself than anyone before him and I have another son who has given me courage and strength that I didn't know I have. That does make me feel complete. It doesn't yet answer the question where do we go from here, but that's okay. I have a beautiful family, and for that I am grateful today and always.
I was talking to my Doctor of TCM the other day, someone who has become a trusted friend along this path. I was telling him of some doubts and fears that I had about next steps whatever that may look like. One of the things he said to me is "you have a beautiful family." I cannot remember most of the other words we spoke that day, of where I am at and what I am working on and towards. But I do remember these words: you have a beautiful family. I have repeated that over and over in my head, and it has now become: I have a beautiful family. Sometimes we just need simple words and nudges to help us work through and resolve complex thoughts.
Last night was one of those difficult nights. Nights where I remember everything and question everything. I was back in the doctor's office, the ultrasound room, the delivery room. I was back in the place where I realized that my baby had died, two of my babies had died. I was so overcome by my grief. Then I was angry. How could this have happened to us? How could this have happened to us, twice? I want my babies with me. I want them home, here, with us, with our family. Chris was there with me as I walked through these dark moments. He sat with me, he talked with me, some of his words comforted me, others just made me more angry, others so grateful. He made it a safe place to be. He reminded me of a time when it was just the two of us, struggling to build our family. We were a beautiful family then, the two of us. He remembers me saying, why can't we just have one baby, why is this so difficult? That is many years and many difficulties ago. I did eventually have that one baby I so desparately wanted, and she stole our hearts. She made us into our beautiful family of three. To some, that is all they see, and all they will ever know and see of our family. But there is more to the story and more to this beautiful family. More years and struggles later, a tiny little boy made our beautiful family grow into four. He too stole our hearts and took a piece of them with him. This year, our family grew once more. We welcomed another little boy into our beautiful family. There are now five of us, eventhough some only see three. I have a husband who I cherish and love, I have a daughter who I adore and who taught me how to be a mom, and continues to teach me daily what love and compassion are, I have a son who has taught me more about myself than anyone before him and I have another son who has given me courage and strength that I didn't know I have. That does make me feel complete. It doesn't yet answer the question where do we go from here, but that's okay. I have a beautiful family, and for that I am grateful today and always.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Maternity Leave after stillbirth (in Canada)
Mothers of stillborn babies are entitled to a maternity leave. At their time of need, they should not have to try and decipher the logistics of the application process, nor should they have to defend to others how and why they are entitled to this leave.
The conversation goes something like this:
THEM: Are you off work today?
ME: Yes.
THEM: Lucky. How long are you on vacation for?
ME: I'm not on vacation.
THEM: Oh. Just a day here, a day there?
ME: No, I'm off until mid-October sometime.
THEM: Why?
ME: I'm on maternity leave.
THEM: Why do you get maternity leave?
Why do I get maternity leave you ask? I am on maternity leave because I had a baby. I gave birth. My body needs time to heal, just as any mother's does, whether she gets to take her baby home or not. My body physically endured that which any mother does after she gives birth. My hormones are out of whack. My body aches. My milk comes and is painful for the length it stays, as a cruel reminder of what I have that I cannot give my child. On top of that I am emotionally broken. I am grieving. My baby died. I said hello and goodbye to my baby at the same time.
In Canada, women who give birth after 20 weeks gestation are entitled to Maternity Leave, whether or not their child is born alive. The first 15 weeks of Maternity Leave are meant for healing the mother. The Government of Canada recognizes this and women can collect Employment Insurance (EI) for this leave. (The second part of the EI entitlement is called Parental Leave, and is 35 weeks, and this is granted for parents of living children only, as this time is for nurturing and caring for your living child, and can be used by either mother or father, or a combination of both).
As I work in the human resources field, I was compelled to write this post, as I am always surprised as to the number of people who are unaware of this. This is information that all new mothers/fathers and all employers need to be aware of. With all the forms in the hospital that we are given and have to fill in, this should be included as an important fyi/how to document. When you are faced with delivering your dead baby, the last thing you need to worry about is your financial situation. You just need to know what you need to do and how to do it. An additional point I should mention is on top of the EI, women should also be aware of their entitlements under their employment contracts. You should look into it, and if top-up is a part of your maternity leave entitlement at work, you may be eligible for that top-up as well.
Regardless if I am entitled to maternity leave benefits or not, I would not be back at work yet. I am approaching the 3 month mark of the death and stillbirth of my son. I need time. The first month I was in shock as to what had happened. I was physically feeling the aftermath of giving birth. I was trying to wrap my head around the fact that my son was no longer here with us. By the second month, most of my physcial aches had disappeared, although I was still not sleeping. This is where the emotional and mental aches really came to the surface for me. The inital shock had dissipated. I knew I had to face my grief head on and really take things as they came. This is what I am doing. This will be a life long journey. As I am walking this path through my third month, reality is now starting to set in. This is my life, I have scars on my heart that will never heal. Grief as I've learned affects each of us differently and affects us differently each time we are faced with an additional grief. We need to take the time we need to take to help us on our way.
I wrote this poem while on leave after the stillbirth of my first son, James in 2010. I haven't shared it until now:
I may look like I am ready to be at work.
You cannot see the inside of my brain.
I cannot concentrate.
I cannot focus.
I cannot comphrehend.
It does not make me feel better to be busy.
Pressuring me will not help.
I will not forget.
I will not move on.
I will not just have another baby.
I want him, no other.
I may look like I am ready to be at work.
You cannot see the inside of my brain.
My mind wanders.
I do not sleep.
I get out of bed because I have to, not because I want to.
I can't take care of me.
How can I take care of others?
How can I go sit in an office and pretend that is where I am supposed to be?
I am supposed to be rocking my baby to sleep.
I am supposed to be changing diapers.
I am supposed to be breastfeeding.
I am not supposed to be at work.
I can't.
I may look like I am ready to be at work.
You cannot see the inside of my brain.
Do not tell me what I am ready for.
I may look like I am ready to be at work.
But I am not.
In my mind right now, I will be returning to work in mid-October, after my maternity leave is finished. Today this is the truth. I will see where I am at in another month and see if that is the reality. I am okay not knowing right now. In 2010, I needed more time. I had my 15 weeks maternity leave and I wasn't there, I wasn't able to return to work at that time. I ended up being away for about 9 months back then. My point here is that there is no time limit and no right or wrong. You may feel ready to return right away, or you may need to take 4 months, or 9 months, a year, or never return to that employment, but rather make a career change. You need to do what is right for you.
If you are reading this and know someone who may not know they are entitled to a maternity leave, please share this information. They are welcome to contact me and I can try to assist them with navigating through the process.
The conversation goes something like this:
THEM: Are you off work today?
ME: Yes.
THEM: Lucky. How long are you on vacation for?
ME: I'm not on vacation.
THEM: Oh. Just a day here, a day there?
ME: No, I'm off until mid-October sometime.
THEM: Why?
ME: I'm on maternity leave.
THEM: Why do you get maternity leave?
Why do I get maternity leave you ask? I am on maternity leave because I had a baby. I gave birth. My body needs time to heal, just as any mother's does, whether she gets to take her baby home or not. My body physically endured that which any mother does after she gives birth. My hormones are out of whack. My body aches. My milk comes and is painful for the length it stays, as a cruel reminder of what I have that I cannot give my child. On top of that I am emotionally broken. I am grieving. My baby died. I said hello and goodbye to my baby at the same time.
In Canada, women who give birth after 20 weeks gestation are entitled to Maternity Leave, whether or not their child is born alive. The first 15 weeks of Maternity Leave are meant for healing the mother. The Government of Canada recognizes this and women can collect Employment Insurance (EI) for this leave. (The second part of the EI entitlement is called Parental Leave, and is 35 weeks, and this is granted for parents of living children only, as this time is for nurturing and caring for your living child, and can be used by either mother or father, or a combination of both).
As I work in the human resources field, I was compelled to write this post, as I am always surprised as to the number of people who are unaware of this. This is information that all new mothers/fathers and all employers need to be aware of. With all the forms in the hospital that we are given and have to fill in, this should be included as an important fyi/how to document. When you are faced with delivering your dead baby, the last thing you need to worry about is your financial situation. You just need to know what you need to do and how to do it. An additional point I should mention is on top of the EI, women should also be aware of their entitlements under their employment contracts. You should look into it, and if top-up is a part of your maternity leave entitlement at work, you may be eligible for that top-up as well.
Regardless if I am entitled to maternity leave benefits or not, I would not be back at work yet. I am approaching the 3 month mark of the death and stillbirth of my son. I need time. The first month I was in shock as to what had happened. I was physically feeling the aftermath of giving birth. I was trying to wrap my head around the fact that my son was no longer here with us. By the second month, most of my physcial aches had disappeared, although I was still not sleeping. This is where the emotional and mental aches really came to the surface for me. The inital shock had dissipated. I knew I had to face my grief head on and really take things as they came. This is what I am doing. This will be a life long journey. As I am walking this path through my third month, reality is now starting to set in. This is my life, I have scars on my heart that will never heal. Grief as I've learned affects each of us differently and affects us differently each time we are faced with an additional grief. We need to take the time we need to take to help us on our way.
I wrote this poem while on leave after the stillbirth of my first son, James in 2010. I haven't shared it until now:
I may look like I am ready to be at work.
You cannot see the inside of my brain.
I cannot concentrate.
I cannot focus.
I cannot comphrehend.
It does not make me feel better to be busy.
Pressuring me will not help.
I will not forget.
I will not move on.
I will not just have another baby.
I want him, no other.
I may look like I am ready to be at work.
You cannot see the inside of my brain.
My mind wanders.
I do not sleep.
I get out of bed because I have to, not because I want to.
I can't take care of me.
How can I take care of others?
How can I go sit in an office and pretend that is where I am supposed to be?
I am supposed to be rocking my baby to sleep.
I am supposed to be changing diapers.
I am supposed to be breastfeeding.
I am not supposed to be at work.
I can't.
I may look like I am ready to be at work.
You cannot see the inside of my brain.
Do not tell me what I am ready for.
I may look like I am ready to be at work.
But I am not.
In my mind right now, I will be returning to work in mid-October, after my maternity leave is finished. Today this is the truth. I will see where I am at in another month and see if that is the reality. I am okay not knowing right now. In 2010, I needed more time. I had my 15 weeks maternity leave and I wasn't there, I wasn't able to return to work at that time. I ended up being away for about 9 months back then. My point here is that there is no time limit and no right or wrong. You may feel ready to return right away, or you may need to take 4 months, or 9 months, a year, or never return to that employment, but rather make a career change. You need to do what is right for you.
If you are reading this and know someone who may not know they are entitled to a maternity leave, please share this information. They are welcome to contact me and I can try to assist them with navigating through the process.
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Looking ahead to September
I've been here before. I've thought ahead, and planned for September. I did it in 2010 and I did it again this year. I tried not to, I really did, but it happened.
For many people, September is the real start to a new year. The September to June year...school. Not only is my daughter headed into grade 3 this year, but September brings my husband returning to work in the classroom each fall. Most years I actually look forward to this. I like to get back to our regular schedule, with routines and set schedules in place. I find it helps me stay grounded.
As a babyloss mom, I've learned not to plan for many things. I learned that planning ahead doesn't always help. I learned that the hard way.
When pregnant with James, I planned a lot about the first year in my head. We had moved when we were pregnant with him, so our daughter would be starting kindergarten in our new neighbourhood. We would meet new people, as we walked to school. I remember thinking how I would enjoy walking her to school, pushing the stroller with her baby brother inside. I was glad I was going to be on maternity leave for her kindergarten year. It would be a good transition year, for both of us. Sadly, that did not happen. She started kindergarten that year, but there was no baby stroller walking with her to school. Instead, there was a mom who drove her daughter to school as close to the bell as possible so that I could race back home to bed as soon as I dropped her off. That mom tried to avoid eye contact with other moms because she knew how painful those first conversations were going to be. The conversations when you meet other parents: "how many kids do you have?", "what grades are your kids in?", "is she an only child?" ...those questions. I couldn't avoid all contact, no matter how hard I tried. So, over time I met a few other moms, mostly due to their persistance of saying hello, and I'm not one to not say hello if someone says hello to me. At first, I took what I thought was the easy road and just agreed that Marissa was my only child. It tore me apart though, not acknowledging my precious son, who I'd held in my arms just months prior. I felt a lot of guilt, for a long time. Slowly as I got to know a few moms, I shared a little bit more of my story with them, and that I had a son as well who had been stillborn. I am so thankful for those handful of moms who made me feel safe enough to share. These are the same moms I stand with now, a few years later at drop-off and pick-up. I must admit, I still try to avoid too many conversations with moms I don't know, as those new conversations are still tough for me.
That was September 2010. Here we are, three years later, September 2013. My planning in my head earlier this year was that I would begin my maternity leave at the beginning of this month. Marissa and I would have some time transitioning into grade 3, and we anticipated her brother joining us mid-late September (he was due October 11, but 36 weeks had been our goal). I would most likely not be walking her to school this month, but was looking ahead to October. Once baby had arrived, we would do that walk together, that one I dreamed of doing back in 2010, pushing her brother in the stroller, walking her to school. That won't be happening again this September.
September has to be planned differently again this year. I need to re-think the plan, re-word the plan. I myself am not just beginning my maternity leave this month, rather, I soon will be finishing my maternity leave, returning to work mid-October. I look today at the month ahead of me, and I ask myself, what do I do? I have this whole month that is mine and mine alone.
Alone.
That is what scares me. That is what is giving me some anxiety right now.
Zachary was born still on June 15. Chris only worked a few days at the end of June, and has been off all summer. Marissa finished school at the end of June, so has been home all summer. My parents were here for the first few weeks after Zach was born and we have been blessed to spend quite a bit of time with them this summer. Add all this up, and I have not been alone, not one day, since Zach died.
This year, September doesn't bring anticipation as it was planned. It brings "alone".
So, in looking ahead to the month of September, I have made a new plan...yes another plan!
My plan is ME. I am calling it a month for me! I've decided that I will not repeat September 2010. I will not race home to go back to bed after taking my daughter to school. My plan is simple and not at all complete. My plan is to let September flow, take each day, each moment as it comes. I plan on walking to school some days. I plan on getting back to the gym. I plan on getting ready for the gym each morning and going there or to a park for a walk right after school drop-off. This way I am not going home to be alone there quite so early in the day. I plan on having tea or lunch dates with friends when it works in our schedules. I plan on working outside in the yard. And I plan on getting creative, working on some scrapbooking and mixed media art projects that I have been wanting to delve into. I plan on cooking fresh, healthy dinners for my family. I plan on having one goal each morning that I have for the day. I will not plan these ahead of time, but rather decide that day what it looks like. Some days may be bigger or smaller goals than other days. After accomplishing my exercise and my goal for the day, if I feel like having a nap, I will. It won't be an every day thing, or an all day thing, it will be a sometimes I just feel like a nap kind of thing. This is a month that I want to look back on and say, yeah, I had a month all to myself, all for myself, and feel like I used the time on my own to help me move through my grief.
So there it is, my new September 2013 plan. Not how I had imagined or planned for...but a plan nonetheless.
For many people, September is the real start to a new year. The September to June year...school. Not only is my daughter headed into grade 3 this year, but September brings my husband returning to work in the classroom each fall. Most years I actually look forward to this. I like to get back to our regular schedule, with routines and set schedules in place. I find it helps me stay grounded.
As a babyloss mom, I've learned not to plan for many things. I learned that planning ahead doesn't always help. I learned that the hard way.
When pregnant with James, I planned a lot about the first year in my head. We had moved when we were pregnant with him, so our daughter would be starting kindergarten in our new neighbourhood. We would meet new people, as we walked to school. I remember thinking how I would enjoy walking her to school, pushing the stroller with her baby brother inside. I was glad I was going to be on maternity leave for her kindergarten year. It would be a good transition year, for both of us. Sadly, that did not happen. She started kindergarten that year, but there was no baby stroller walking with her to school. Instead, there was a mom who drove her daughter to school as close to the bell as possible so that I could race back home to bed as soon as I dropped her off. That mom tried to avoid eye contact with other moms because she knew how painful those first conversations were going to be. The conversations when you meet other parents: "how many kids do you have?", "what grades are your kids in?", "is she an only child?" ...those questions. I couldn't avoid all contact, no matter how hard I tried. So, over time I met a few other moms, mostly due to their persistance of saying hello, and I'm not one to not say hello if someone says hello to me. At first, I took what I thought was the easy road and just agreed that Marissa was my only child. It tore me apart though, not acknowledging my precious son, who I'd held in my arms just months prior. I felt a lot of guilt, for a long time. Slowly as I got to know a few moms, I shared a little bit more of my story with them, and that I had a son as well who had been stillborn. I am so thankful for those handful of moms who made me feel safe enough to share. These are the same moms I stand with now, a few years later at drop-off and pick-up. I must admit, I still try to avoid too many conversations with moms I don't know, as those new conversations are still tough for me.
That was September 2010. Here we are, three years later, September 2013. My planning in my head earlier this year was that I would begin my maternity leave at the beginning of this month. Marissa and I would have some time transitioning into grade 3, and we anticipated her brother joining us mid-late September (he was due October 11, but 36 weeks had been our goal). I would most likely not be walking her to school this month, but was looking ahead to October. Once baby had arrived, we would do that walk together, that one I dreamed of doing back in 2010, pushing her brother in the stroller, walking her to school. That won't be happening again this September.
September has to be planned differently again this year. I need to re-think the plan, re-word the plan. I myself am not just beginning my maternity leave this month, rather, I soon will be finishing my maternity leave, returning to work mid-October. I look today at the month ahead of me, and I ask myself, what do I do? I have this whole month that is mine and mine alone.
Alone.
That is what scares me. That is what is giving me some anxiety right now.
Zachary was born still on June 15. Chris only worked a few days at the end of June, and has been off all summer. Marissa finished school at the end of June, so has been home all summer. My parents were here for the first few weeks after Zach was born and we have been blessed to spend quite a bit of time with them this summer. Add all this up, and I have not been alone, not one day, since Zach died.
This year, September doesn't bring anticipation as it was planned. It brings "alone".
So, in looking ahead to the month of September, I have made a new plan...yes another plan!
My plan is ME. I am calling it a month for me! I've decided that I will not repeat September 2010. I will not race home to go back to bed after taking my daughter to school. My plan is simple and not at all complete. My plan is to let September flow, take each day, each moment as it comes. I plan on walking to school some days. I plan on getting back to the gym. I plan on getting ready for the gym each morning and going there or to a park for a walk right after school drop-off. This way I am not going home to be alone there quite so early in the day. I plan on having tea or lunch dates with friends when it works in our schedules. I plan on working outside in the yard. And I plan on getting creative, working on some scrapbooking and mixed media art projects that I have been wanting to delve into. I plan on cooking fresh, healthy dinners for my family. I plan on having one goal each morning that I have for the day. I will not plan these ahead of time, but rather decide that day what it looks like. Some days may be bigger or smaller goals than other days. After accomplishing my exercise and my goal for the day, if I feel like having a nap, I will. It won't be an every day thing, or an all day thing, it will be a sometimes I just feel like a nap kind of thing. This is a month that I want to look back on and say, yeah, I had a month all to myself, all for myself, and feel like I used the time on my own to help me move through my grief.
So there it is, my new September 2013 plan. Not how I had imagined or planned for...but a plan nonetheless.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Finding peace at the lake
Nature has always been peaceful for me. It makes sense to me that in grief, nature has become even more important to me. My dad's family has had property on the lake since he was a little boy. We are so blessed to have this little piece of heaven to go and get away from it all. One of my grandma's favourite places to be was her cabin. Since her death ten years ago, I have appreciated the cabin and the peacefulness of the lake more than ever. I always feel closer to her up there. I always feel peace being there. Being there also makes me feel closer to my boys. Seeing the beauty as I imagine them in every piece of nature. From the dragonflies and water spiders being so active and playful, to the eagles soaring high and the loons calling for each other. I see them in the ripples of the lake water and the swaying of the trees. This month we were able to spend almost a week up at the cabin. No wifi, no tv, no running water or electricity. It was wonderful! I captured some pictures of what brought me peace up at the lake....
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Community
At different times in our lives, we belong to different communities. Our family unit is our first community. School. Post-Secondary. Sports. Work. Social groups. Church. Parent groups. I've belonged to many communities of people. Most very supportive and I've been honoured to be a part of them. For three years now though, I have struggled to belong to a community, one in which I feel normal and safe and understood.
When James was stillborn in March 2010, my daughter was in preschool. I had belonged to that very involved parent participation preschool community for almost two years. It had been a wonderful experience, belonging. We shared many values and experiences and the ups and downs of raising preschoolers and their older or younger siblings. When James was born still, I had a difficult time continuing to feel like I belonged. The parents were very supportive, setting up a "meal angels" delivery, so that for the first few weeks, we had a hot meal delivered each night for dinner. However, after the first few weeks, I didn't feel like I belonged anymore. I felt like I made people feel uncomfortable every time I dropped off or picked up my daughter. Whether this was real or imagined on my part, this is how I felt. There was only three months left of preschool, and I knew that my belonging to this community would be over soon. I no longer had a commonality with these other moms. My other child was not alive. We no longer spoke the same language. We had moved cities in January and eventhough my daughter stayed in her preschool, she would be starting kindergarten in our new city. Today, three and a half years later, one of my best friends, confidant and biggest supporter is another mom from preschool. Other than this amazing woman, I no longer have any connection to that community.
It is just recently that I have found a community that I finally feel like I belong again. It happened by circumstance, not by choice.
While pregnant with Zachary this year, I was having a hard time reconciling his pregnancy and fully connecting with him, while feeling so sad about the fact that James was not here. One night in May, while feeling these extreme feelings of delight of being pregnant again and overwhelming feelings of guilt that I was feeling excitement, I went searching online for support. I could never have known how important it was that I went searching at that time. I discovered a conference that would be held in July in Vancouver. It was a conference about bringing stillbirth out of the shadows, and the tag line really spoke to me: You Are Not Alone. The more I read about the conference, I knew it was right for me. When I shared it with my husband, he knew this was something I had to do for me. There were others I shared it with that wondered why I wanted to attend such an event when I was pregnant and welcoming another baby into our family. I even heard the dreaded words, "just move on" and "you are expecting a new baby, and can't spend time worrying about your past." They clearly did not understand. For me, I needed to go, to do this for James, and remember him and celebrate him and all that he meant to me. I needed him to know that his mommy hasn't forgotten him, and that she never will. I registered for the conference in early June. Little did I know at that time that I would be attending the conference to honour both my beautiful boys. After Zachary was born still, I questioned whether I could attend. Not because I didn't want to, but I didn't know if I could emotionally and mentally handle it. My husband encouraged me to keep my plans and to attend. My mom worried about me, and thought maybe I shouldn't, but encouraged me to do what I thought best for me. I emailed one of the organizers, and briefly shared my story. I asked if there would be a quiet space should it be needed for parents who needed to step away to catch their breath. It was clear to me from the response I received that the conference was exactly where I needed to be. One line in the response said: "Please let her know that we will find a space and we will be there for her 100%." From that warm email response, I could feel that community.
Less than a month after the stillbirth of my second son Zachary, I attended Still Life Canada's conference. In one word: AMAZING! It was two full days of sharing by bereaved parents and a truly inspiring keynote and sessions leader, Dr. Joanne Cacciatore. In those two days, I felt normal. I felt accepted. I felt safe. I felt my sons mattered, and people wanted to know about them, and hear their stories. I made new friendships. I joined a new community, a community in which I will always belong.
In the 6 weeks since the conference, I have had some coffee dates, a park playdate with my daughter and another bereaved mom and her daughter and just this past weekend, Still Life Canada put on their 1st Anniversary BBQ that our family attended. I was able to introduce my husband and daughter to many of the people I have met, as well as talk to new people that I hadn't had the opportunity to meet at the conference. What a supportive, understanding community that exists. None of us chose to belong to this community, but we do belong. As we left the BBQ the other day, and I asked my husband how he felt, he responded something like this: "It's not a group anyone wants to, or should have to join, but it's great to know that there are others who understand and know. I can see why you have felt such support, its definitely a special community of people."
For over three years, I have felt alone much of that time. I haven't felt I belonged. I could not describe it, but I knew there was something missing. Now I know. I hadn't really felt I belonged in a community. I finally do again. Thank you Still Life Canada, Andrea, Lynn, Alena and your husbands, and babies and families for creating this community. Thank you James and Zachary, mommy knows you are helping guide me on this crazy path called life.
When James was stillborn in March 2010, my daughter was in preschool. I had belonged to that very involved parent participation preschool community for almost two years. It had been a wonderful experience, belonging. We shared many values and experiences and the ups and downs of raising preschoolers and their older or younger siblings. When James was born still, I had a difficult time continuing to feel like I belonged. The parents were very supportive, setting up a "meal angels" delivery, so that for the first few weeks, we had a hot meal delivered each night for dinner. However, after the first few weeks, I didn't feel like I belonged anymore. I felt like I made people feel uncomfortable every time I dropped off or picked up my daughter. Whether this was real or imagined on my part, this is how I felt. There was only three months left of preschool, and I knew that my belonging to this community would be over soon. I no longer had a commonality with these other moms. My other child was not alive. We no longer spoke the same language. We had moved cities in January and eventhough my daughter stayed in her preschool, she would be starting kindergarten in our new city. Today, three and a half years later, one of my best friends, confidant and biggest supporter is another mom from preschool. Other than this amazing woman, I no longer have any connection to that community.
It is just recently that I have found a community that I finally feel like I belong again. It happened by circumstance, not by choice.
While pregnant with Zachary this year, I was having a hard time reconciling his pregnancy and fully connecting with him, while feeling so sad about the fact that James was not here. One night in May, while feeling these extreme feelings of delight of being pregnant again and overwhelming feelings of guilt that I was feeling excitement, I went searching online for support. I could never have known how important it was that I went searching at that time. I discovered a conference that would be held in July in Vancouver. It was a conference about bringing stillbirth out of the shadows, and the tag line really spoke to me: You Are Not Alone. The more I read about the conference, I knew it was right for me. When I shared it with my husband, he knew this was something I had to do for me. There were others I shared it with that wondered why I wanted to attend such an event when I was pregnant and welcoming another baby into our family. I even heard the dreaded words, "just move on" and "you are expecting a new baby, and can't spend time worrying about your past." They clearly did not understand. For me, I needed to go, to do this for James, and remember him and celebrate him and all that he meant to me. I needed him to know that his mommy hasn't forgotten him, and that she never will. I registered for the conference in early June. Little did I know at that time that I would be attending the conference to honour both my beautiful boys. After Zachary was born still, I questioned whether I could attend. Not because I didn't want to, but I didn't know if I could emotionally and mentally handle it. My husband encouraged me to keep my plans and to attend. My mom worried about me, and thought maybe I shouldn't, but encouraged me to do what I thought best for me. I emailed one of the organizers, and briefly shared my story. I asked if there would be a quiet space should it be needed for parents who needed to step away to catch their breath. It was clear to me from the response I received that the conference was exactly where I needed to be. One line in the response said: "Please let her know that we will find a space and we will be there for her 100%." From that warm email response, I could feel that community.
Less than a month after the stillbirth of my second son Zachary, I attended Still Life Canada's conference. In one word: AMAZING! It was two full days of sharing by bereaved parents and a truly inspiring keynote and sessions leader, Dr. Joanne Cacciatore. In those two days, I felt normal. I felt accepted. I felt safe. I felt my sons mattered, and people wanted to know about them, and hear their stories. I made new friendships. I joined a new community, a community in which I will always belong.
In the 6 weeks since the conference, I have had some coffee dates, a park playdate with my daughter and another bereaved mom and her daughter and just this past weekend, Still Life Canada put on their 1st Anniversary BBQ that our family attended. I was able to introduce my husband and daughter to many of the people I have met, as well as talk to new people that I hadn't had the opportunity to meet at the conference. What a supportive, understanding community that exists. None of us chose to belong to this community, but we do belong. As we left the BBQ the other day, and I asked my husband how he felt, he responded something like this: "It's not a group anyone wants to, or should have to join, but it's great to know that there are others who understand and know. I can see why you have felt such support, its definitely a special community of people."
For over three years, I have felt alone much of that time. I haven't felt I belonged. I could not describe it, but I knew there was something missing. Now I know. I hadn't really felt I belonged in a community. I finally do again. Thank you Still Life Canada, Andrea, Lynn, Alena and your husbands, and babies and families for creating this community. Thank you James and Zachary, mommy knows you are helping guide me on this crazy path called life.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
Our family's trips to the Zoo...
The Zoo is not somewhere we visit often. I am not really a fan to be honest. I much prefer animals live where they are supposed to, in the wild, in the country and region where they are native to. Before becoming a mother, I struggled with the decision of whether I would ever take my children to the zoo because I feel so strongly about natural habitats and the humane treatment of animals. However eventually I did decide that we would make a few trips to the zoo over the years. My reasoning for this is that I wanted my children to discover and love nature and natural things just as I do. I want them to respect the environment and all that lives and breathes in it. I want them to discover the vast world we live in and the diversity of it and all that this world offers. I decided that in my lifetime I would not be able to take them to all the places I wanted them to see and discover the truly incredible biodiversity that exists: Africa, Asia, the Rainforests of South America, the Galapagos, Australia, Antarctica and so many more. The Zoo was going to help take them there and give them a glimpse to what exists out there. I believe if we don't get to see and experience these creatures that roam our earth and oceans, we won't learn about them as we should. A book can only take us so far. We need to see and smell the animals of the wild to truly appreciate their awesomeness.
We are in Seattle for a few days. Yesterday we decided to go to the Woodland Park Zoo. We had never been there before.
As a family we have been to the Portland Zoo back in 2009, when Marissa was our only child. I can remember it being a fantastic day, full of fun and laughter and discovery.
In 2010 we went to the San Diego Zoo on our first vacation after James' stillbirth. It was a difficult day as I remember thinking that I should be one of those moms pushing a stroller with my son in it. I know I put on a brave face that day for my daughter, my husband, my family. But I can't remember thinking at any point that it was a fun day.
That brings us to yesterday. Yesterday the zoo was a bittersweet day for me. We did have a good day together, discovering and learning. There was even some laughter. But it was hard too. I had tears on numerous occasions. It seemed as though it was pregnancy day at the zoo. It didn't matter where we were, there was one, two or more mom's who were expecting. There were even more mom's pushing strollers. Then there were the families...the ones I really noticed were the ones with an older daughter and two younger sons, or an older daughter, a younger son and a pregnant mom. I wasn't bitter or angry at seeing these people or families. I was saddened. I was saddened because of the other family that should have been there, our family. At one point I sat on a bench and as Marissa was running around discovering things, Chris came and sat beside me. He said I looked sad. I was sad. I was watching Marissa, and thinking that she should be holding her brother's hand, or chasing after him, or telling him that the animals can't hurt us at the zoo, so not to be afraid. I was really missing James. I would look for little boys that I thought were around 3, and watch in awe of their discovery of things. Then, I would touch my belly, longing for the kicks that should be there with Zachary. I missed him too, very much. I should be that mom, with her daughter and son in tow, and another on the way. Sadly, I'm not.
I am the mother watching her daughter, in awe of her energy, her desire to learn, and her uncanny ability to give me a hug exactly when I need it. I am the mother who grieves that her two boys are not there. I carry them with me in my heart, and let them know how much they would have liked the family trip to the zoo. I am the mother who sits on the bench, taking a break, reading a grief book when walking to each exhibit was too much for me because it meant either seeing the new cubs who had recently been born or hearing about the giraffe who is due any day now. I am the mother who smiles and laughs at the same time as my heart aches and tears fall.
Our family trips to the Zoo...3 trips...one kid, two kids, three kids. Its interesting to me, this whole parenting after loss world, and parenting our children who are no longer here. Yesterday I did take my three kids to the zoo. They each got a piece of me, just as they should. The trips to the zoo have definitely been full of discovery, and certainly most of which has nothing to do with the animals.
We are in Seattle for a few days. Yesterday we decided to go to the Woodland Park Zoo. We had never been there before.
As a family we have been to the Portland Zoo back in 2009, when Marissa was our only child. I can remember it being a fantastic day, full of fun and laughter and discovery.
In 2010 we went to the San Diego Zoo on our first vacation after James' stillbirth. It was a difficult day as I remember thinking that I should be one of those moms pushing a stroller with my son in it. I know I put on a brave face that day for my daughter, my husband, my family. But I can't remember thinking at any point that it was a fun day.
That brings us to yesterday. Yesterday the zoo was a bittersweet day for me. We did have a good day together, discovering and learning. There was even some laughter. But it was hard too. I had tears on numerous occasions. It seemed as though it was pregnancy day at the zoo. It didn't matter where we were, there was one, two or more mom's who were expecting. There were even more mom's pushing strollers. Then there were the families...the ones I really noticed were the ones with an older daughter and two younger sons, or an older daughter, a younger son and a pregnant mom. I wasn't bitter or angry at seeing these people or families. I was saddened. I was saddened because of the other family that should have been there, our family. At one point I sat on a bench and as Marissa was running around discovering things, Chris came and sat beside me. He said I looked sad. I was sad. I was watching Marissa, and thinking that she should be holding her brother's hand, or chasing after him, or telling him that the animals can't hurt us at the zoo, so not to be afraid. I was really missing James. I would look for little boys that I thought were around 3, and watch in awe of their discovery of things. Then, I would touch my belly, longing for the kicks that should be there with Zachary. I missed him too, very much. I should be that mom, with her daughter and son in tow, and another on the way. Sadly, I'm not.
I am the mother watching her daughter, in awe of her energy, her desire to learn, and her uncanny ability to give me a hug exactly when I need it. I am the mother who grieves that her two boys are not there. I carry them with me in my heart, and let them know how much they would have liked the family trip to the zoo. I am the mother who sits on the bench, taking a break, reading a grief book when walking to each exhibit was too much for me because it meant either seeing the new cubs who had recently been born or hearing about the giraffe who is due any day now. I am the mother who smiles and laughs at the same time as my heart aches and tears fall.
Our family trips to the Zoo...3 trips...one kid, two kids, three kids. Its interesting to me, this whole parenting after loss world, and parenting our children who are no longer here. Yesterday I did take my three kids to the zoo. They each got a piece of me, just as they should. The trips to the zoo have definitely been full of discovery, and certainly most of which has nothing to do with the animals.
Friday, August 2, 2013
Anger
Powerful anger. Anger that comes from deep within. I hadn't experienced this type of anger, until yesterday. It was so intense and so real. It appeared and I let it stay. I let it move through me. I let it run its course. I am trying to live in the moment these days, allowing my feelings to guide me through my days.
This was a tough one to allow to stick around. I wanted to shove Mrs. Anger away and tell her there was no place for her here. But that's not true. She has a place, and she is real and intense. Mrs. Anger is as much a part of grief as any other participant.
I allowed Mrs. Anger to appear. I allowed her to enter my thoughts and curse all that I needed her to. I embraced her for the moments she was here. We went on not one, but two walks together, we went for tea with a friend and we wrote a poem together. We even let my husband in on our day and embraced Mrs. Anger for who she was. We youtubed "Anger Rooms" to see others destruction in controlled environments. It was my wish to take all our dishes and smash them on the ground, or throw them against the wall. I wanted to, but I didn't. I just wanted to see them shatter to pieces, like my heart has been shattered.
In the past, I've tried to supress Mrs. Anger. I've tried to push her away. This has only resulted in turning her anger on others, specifically my family. In the past, I would have found some reason to lash out at my husband or daughter. It only made it worse, as then Mr. Guilt would join in and we'd have quite the angry, guilty pity party together. She wanted to stay for days back then.
It is strange to say that I am proud of myself for letting Mrs. Anger visit, but I am. I am proud that she stayed for the day, wreaked havoc with my sleep last night, but then moved on. When I awoke this morning, she wasn't here. She only wanted to visit for the day yesterday, and I let her, so she moved on.
I know this wasn't Mrs. Anger's only visit. She'll be back. At least now I know I don't have to hide from her, because I know she'll leave.
This was a tough one to allow to stick around. I wanted to shove Mrs. Anger away and tell her there was no place for her here. But that's not true. She has a place, and she is real and intense. Mrs. Anger is as much a part of grief as any other participant.
I allowed Mrs. Anger to appear. I allowed her to enter my thoughts and curse all that I needed her to. I embraced her for the moments she was here. We went on not one, but two walks together, we went for tea with a friend and we wrote a poem together. We even let my husband in on our day and embraced Mrs. Anger for who she was. We youtubed "Anger Rooms" to see others destruction in controlled environments. It was my wish to take all our dishes and smash them on the ground, or throw them against the wall. I wanted to, but I didn't. I just wanted to see them shatter to pieces, like my heart has been shattered.
In the past, I've tried to supress Mrs. Anger. I've tried to push her away. This has only resulted in turning her anger on others, specifically my family. In the past, I would have found some reason to lash out at my husband or daughter. It only made it worse, as then Mr. Guilt would join in and we'd have quite the angry, guilty pity party together. She wanted to stay for days back then.
It is strange to say that I am proud of myself for letting Mrs. Anger visit, but I am. I am proud that she stayed for the day, wreaked havoc with my sleep last night, but then moved on. When I awoke this morning, she wasn't here. She only wanted to visit for the day yesterday, and I let her, so she moved on.
I know this wasn't Mrs. Anger's only visit. She'll be back. At least now I know I don't have to hide from her, because I know she'll leave.
Thursday, August 1, 2013
My Side of the Rainbow - a poem
At the end of a rainbow there is a pot of gold, an unknown magical something.
My baby boy died in my womb. He was a bright lively light in my life.
He left too soon. My world went silent.
Three years later, my rainbow baby was conceived.
They said:
He will bring you joy.
He will help you heal.
He is what you need.
I said:
Do not put all these pressures on my rainbow.
That is far too much to place on my little boy.
He will be himself.
He will just be.
I will be.
He was a gentle soul. Kind to his mama.
Calm.
Determined.
My beautiful baby boy, full of hope and promise and a little something on the other side of the rainbow.
One month, two, three, four and five, then came six.
Healthy, strong, perfect.
In an instant, dead.
My rainbow baby didn't come home with me.
He went to be with his brother.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
My side of the rainbow looks a little different.
I bring home grief.
I bring home memory boxes.
I bring home footprints, handprints, hats and blankets.
I bring home ashes.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
I bring home a lifetime in a moment.
I bring home anger.
I bring home emptiness.
I bring home sadness.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
I bring home silence.
I bring home a broken heart.
I bring home shattered dreams.
I bring home empty arms.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
My rainbow went to heaven too.
My side of the rainbow?
Darkness.
My baby boy died in my womb. He was a bright lively light in my life.
He left too soon. My world went silent.
Three years later, my rainbow baby was conceived.
They said:
He will bring you joy.
He will help you heal.
He is what you need.
I said:
Do not put all these pressures on my rainbow.
That is far too much to place on my little boy.
He will be himself.
He will just be.
I will be.
He was a gentle soul. Kind to his mama.
Calm.
Determined.
My beautiful baby boy, full of hope and promise and a little something on the other side of the rainbow.
One month, two, three, four and five, then came six.
Healthy, strong, perfect.
In an instant, dead.
My rainbow baby didn't come home with me.
He went to be with his brother.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
My side of the rainbow looks a little different.
I bring home grief.
I bring home memory boxes.
I bring home footprints, handprints, hats and blankets.
I bring home ashes.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
I bring home a lifetime in a moment.
I bring home anger.
I bring home emptiness.
I bring home sadness.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
I bring home silence.
I bring home a broken heart.
I bring home shattered dreams.
I bring home empty arms.
I do not know what it is like to bring home a rainbow.
My rainbow went to heaven too.
My side of the rainbow?
Darkness.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
The ONE who RUNS
...and swims and bikes and so much more! This past weekend, my eight year old participated in and completed her first triathlon. It was amazing! Obviously it was age appropriate distances but nonetheless, she did it and we are so proud of her! Below are a few pictures from the day:
My daughter's name is Marissa. She is my firstborn. She too has a complicated story of birth that over time I will share. She too has a story of loss, the loss of her two brothers, the loss of the promise that she would be a big sister in the conventional sense, and the loss of her "old mommy", twice. Marissa reminds me all the time that she is a big sister, and her brothers live in our hearts. She reminds me that I am not alone. She reminds me that I am wrapped in love. She does all this, most times not knowing how much she is helping her mommy get through the days. I am so grateful for this very special, brave, confident little girl, and am so proud to be her mommy.
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| One hour before triathlon..."the nerves" were just setting in... |
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| In the pool... |
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| Transition between swim and bike |
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| Heading out to ride |
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| Just about finished on the bike |
On the home stretch...
The finish line!
My girl and me
My daughter's name is Marissa. She is my firstborn. She too has a complicated story of birth that over time I will share. She too has a story of loss, the loss of her two brothers, the loss of the promise that she would be a big sister in the conventional sense, and the loss of her "old mommy", twice. Marissa reminds me all the time that she is a big sister, and her brothers live in our hearts. She reminds me that I am not alone. She reminds me that I am wrapped in love. She does all this, most times not knowing how much she is helping her mommy get through the days. I am so grateful for this very special, brave, confident little girl, and am so proud to be her mommy.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Nurturing our marriage, 20 minutes a day
Early on, just a week or two after Zach's stillbirth, I remember sitting in my Dr. of TCM's office and looking at him, shaking, crying. He asked me how my husband and I were doing? I said to him, I'm not sure my marriage can survive another round of grief like this. Not only was I mourning the loss of my precious child and all that comes with that, I was seeing a bleak future because of where I'd been in the past. I knew the world of darkness and loneliness, and I was certain I was on a one-way trip back.
After James' stillbirth in 2010, we had a very rocky road. Sure, we loved each other and promised to be by each other's side. We had our daughter to think of too. Our vows back in 2002 had in them "for the good and the bad, the happy and the sad." We were very innocent and naive as to the extent of what those words could mean to us. You cannot predict the future. We didn't know at the time that we would face such an uphill battle towards building our family. We didn't know the struggles we would have with infertility, or having a "preemie" at 33 weeks or having our next baby die and be stillborn. Before James, we had ups and downs, after James, we had a whole lot more downs. Grief took over. I was in darkness for a very long time. I shut down emotionally with everyone in my life, including my husband. We existed together, but didn't connect for so long. We grieved differently, each on our own. I'm not saying it was always difficult, but more often than not, we were "fighting" to be together.
In May 2012, we had an all out "say what you feel" kind of argument one night. It was there that we made a decision together. We didn't want it to be this way for the rest of our lives, we needed to find a way to make it work, to truly be in this together or we needed to go our separate ways. We love each other, at that point we'd loved each other for nearly 13 years. We so badly wanted to make our marriage work. We agreed that we would give it our all for one more year. We would be supportive of each other, and really work on us. At the end of that year, we would re-evaluate.
It really was a life-changing year in so many ways. I took myself on a health journey I've never been on before, and really saw changes that I will keep working towards for my lifetime. We cautiously supported each other, as best we could. We had bumps in the road, but we had so many successes together too. By the time we discovered we were expecting Zach, we were at a good place. My fears throughout my pregnancy were always eased by his words, actions and faith that all would be well. I believed him. When Zach died I didn't know what to do, I was so lost and so broken and I didn't want to believe anyone that I would be okay, that we would be okay. We had lost Zach, and now, our year was up, were we going to lose each other too?
New parents are always subject to unsolicited advice. Do this, don't do that, how could you think of doing that? Newly bereaved parents are also recipients of this type of advice. I remember when James died, and now again when Zach died, how people would say, "make sure to take the time for the two of you", "you two need to be there for each other", "you are going through this together", etc. So many ways to say it, but none were tangible statements of "how to."
This brings me back to my Dr. of TCM's office...he had a "how to." A very simple piece of advice: Take 20 minutes a day with each other. A real 20 minutes, with no tv, no computer, no phones, no distractions, etc. Just the two of us, alone, together. Spend that time talking. When there is nothing left to talk about, hold each other.
That piece of advice has changed our lives. In our most sorrowful time, we are together. We still do not grieve in the same way, but we talk about it. We both talk. We both cry. We both laugh. We can just be silent, together. Each day is different. It is our "20 minute" time. We carve it out each and every day. Believe me, we still have our moments. But we talk about it later. We work through whatever it was, and even if we disagree, we seem to be able to get through it a lot easier.
The amazing part of this 20 minute time? It carries over throughout our days. We are more present for each other. We connect more. We smile at each other, we hold hands more, we hug more. We are respecting each other, giving each other the time and space we need. We are more connected now than we have been in years, if not ever. We crave our "20 minutes" daily.
This time has become a way for us to work through our grief together, but also, it has become a habit. It is one we have vowed will become a lifelong habit. It is a way to honour each other and nurture each other. I can honestly say that my fear of losing our marriage because of grief is gone. In a way, grief has given us our marriage back.
Whether you have been thrown into grief like we have been or not, this is the best piece of marriage communication advice I've ever been given. I had to share our story, in the hopes that it could be helpful for others in their own marriages. If you are finding yourself "out of sync" with your spouse, give "20 minute time" a try. In our busy, "connected" world that we live in, sometimes we forget our most important "connection", the one we love.
Today is my husband's birthday. I love you with all my heart Chris, Happy Birthday my love! Yesterday, today, tomorrow and forever, I am so grateful for you and all that you bring to my life. Thank you for walking this path with me, and believing in us enough to get us to today. I am proud to be your wife and the mother of your children. Thank you for taking care of us, and picking up the broken pieces of my heart, and helping glue them back together.
After James' stillbirth in 2010, we had a very rocky road. Sure, we loved each other and promised to be by each other's side. We had our daughter to think of too. Our vows back in 2002 had in them "for the good and the bad, the happy and the sad." We were very innocent and naive as to the extent of what those words could mean to us. You cannot predict the future. We didn't know at the time that we would face such an uphill battle towards building our family. We didn't know the struggles we would have with infertility, or having a "preemie" at 33 weeks or having our next baby die and be stillborn. Before James, we had ups and downs, after James, we had a whole lot more downs. Grief took over. I was in darkness for a very long time. I shut down emotionally with everyone in my life, including my husband. We existed together, but didn't connect for so long. We grieved differently, each on our own. I'm not saying it was always difficult, but more often than not, we were "fighting" to be together.
In May 2012, we had an all out "say what you feel" kind of argument one night. It was there that we made a decision together. We didn't want it to be this way for the rest of our lives, we needed to find a way to make it work, to truly be in this together or we needed to go our separate ways. We love each other, at that point we'd loved each other for nearly 13 years. We so badly wanted to make our marriage work. We agreed that we would give it our all for one more year. We would be supportive of each other, and really work on us. At the end of that year, we would re-evaluate.
It really was a life-changing year in so many ways. I took myself on a health journey I've never been on before, and really saw changes that I will keep working towards for my lifetime. We cautiously supported each other, as best we could. We had bumps in the road, but we had so many successes together too. By the time we discovered we were expecting Zach, we were at a good place. My fears throughout my pregnancy were always eased by his words, actions and faith that all would be well. I believed him. When Zach died I didn't know what to do, I was so lost and so broken and I didn't want to believe anyone that I would be okay, that we would be okay. We had lost Zach, and now, our year was up, were we going to lose each other too?
New parents are always subject to unsolicited advice. Do this, don't do that, how could you think of doing that? Newly bereaved parents are also recipients of this type of advice. I remember when James died, and now again when Zach died, how people would say, "make sure to take the time for the two of you", "you two need to be there for each other", "you are going through this together", etc. So many ways to say it, but none were tangible statements of "how to."
This brings me back to my Dr. of TCM's office...he had a "how to." A very simple piece of advice: Take 20 minutes a day with each other. A real 20 minutes, with no tv, no computer, no phones, no distractions, etc. Just the two of us, alone, together. Spend that time talking. When there is nothing left to talk about, hold each other.
That piece of advice has changed our lives. In our most sorrowful time, we are together. We still do not grieve in the same way, but we talk about it. We both talk. We both cry. We both laugh. We can just be silent, together. Each day is different. It is our "20 minute" time. We carve it out each and every day. Believe me, we still have our moments. But we talk about it later. We work through whatever it was, and even if we disagree, we seem to be able to get through it a lot easier.
The amazing part of this 20 minute time? It carries over throughout our days. We are more present for each other. We connect more. We smile at each other, we hold hands more, we hug more. We are respecting each other, giving each other the time and space we need. We are more connected now than we have been in years, if not ever. We crave our "20 minutes" daily.
This time has become a way for us to work through our grief together, but also, it has become a habit. It is one we have vowed will become a lifelong habit. It is a way to honour each other and nurture each other. I can honestly say that my fear of losing our marriage because of grief is gone. In a way, grief has given us our marriage back.
Whether you have been thrown into grief like we have been or not, this is the best piece of marriage communication advice I've ever been given. I had to share our story, in the hopes that it could be helpful for others in their own marriages. If you are finding yourself "out of sync" with your spouse, give "20 minute time" a try. In our busy, "connected" world that we live in, sometimes we forget our most important "connection", the one we love.
Today is my husband's birthday. I love you with all my heart Chris, Happy Birthday my love! Yesterday, today, tomorrow and forever, I am so grateful for you and all that you bring to my life. Thank you for walking this path with me, and believing in us enough to get us to today. I am proud to be your wife and the mother of your children. Thank you for taking care of us, and picking up the broken pieces of my heart, and helping glue them back together.
Saturday, July 27, 2013
Stillbirth is still giving birth...
I write this post in the hopes that there is greater understanding of what a mother endures, whether her baby is born breathing or still. I have been writing this in my head for over three years, since after my first son James' stillbirth. Three years later, just over a month since my second son Zachary was born still, I feel compelled to share some realities of delivering a baby who is born still.
The biggest reality, a baby born still is still born.
In very real terms, a mom must give birth to her baby, whether they are alive or dead.
What does this mean?
This means that just like any labour and delivery, a woman who has a "stillborn" has laboured and delivered. She has endured a marathon just as a mother of a baby who breathes air in this world. Whether she went into labour on her own, or was induced, she faced the same daunting task as those whose babies live. She endured the contractions, the pain, hard labour, pushing and of giving birth. The difference between a live birth and a still birth? These moms did all the same work, but had the additional emotional and mental trauma of knowing that when their baby was born, their baby would not be breathing, their baby would not cry, there would be silence and they would have to say hello and goodbye at the same time. Many moms deliver their silent babies in maternity wards, whereby the silence in their own rooms is filled with noise from adjacent delivery suites. They are hearing other moms labour, hearing babies being born crying and hearing celebrations after births.
When a woman "sign's up" for pregnancy, she is aware that there will be many ups and downs in the weeks and months leading up to delivering her baby. She is aware that it will require a lot of hard work before and during labour. She signs up for this job because she is also aware that the reward is the best there is in life. She will become a mother, either for the first time or all over again, no matter what pregnancy this is for her. She understands that she will soon have a baby in her arms that is hers. She has hopes and dreams for her baby from the moment she and her partner decide to conceive. When discovering she is pregnant she starts to plan for the future, she is a mother and her world is about to change. I don't mean to exclude partners here either, as both parents experience all of this together. They are a team and share in the joys and challenges of their pregnancy.
When a baby is born alive, there is no shortage of congratulations. There are big celebrations and showers of love and acknowledgment that mom did an amazing job of bringing baby into the world. There are comments such as "well done", "she's beautiful", "he's perfect", "love the name", "so proud of you", you get the point, I could go on and on. You just have to turn on any source of media this week to see the world in a frenzy of well wishes and comments about a newborn baby in England. All of these congratulations and celebratory messages are indeed well-deserved and a right of passage into parenthood. It is a joyful time and it is what we should be doing to welcome a new baby. I do it too. And I too received a barage of well wishes when my daughter was born.
Here's the thing:
Parents of stillborn babies still need to hear from you too. They too did an amazing job, they too had beautiful babies, they too took the time to give their precious child the perfect name, and they too delivered a perfect baby. They need to be told how proud you are of them. So many moms and dads of babies born still don't hear these things. They aren't regarded as "having given birth". Instead of hearing what every parent needs to hear, bereaved parents of stillborn babies often hear nothing from many family and friends, or often, hear unintentionally hurtful words and statements.
I write this for the many bereaved parents of stillborn babies, those we know about, and those we don't. I write this to celebrate all that they did to bring their precious baby into this world, just to say goodbye. I am fortunate to have met many bereaved parents in the last month, whose baby's I have met through them. The strength and courage each has, is truly remarkable.
On a personal note, I cannot write all the above without acknowledging the support that we have received. For this support, we are very thankful. We are grateful for the family and friends that have reached out in their own ways. Some use words, phone calls, cards, emails, texts, others hugs, time and an ear. Some have cooked us dinner, cared for our daughter and others have cracked a joke and tried to make us laugh. We are grateful for the love and encouragement we do receive, and we thank you from the bottom of our hearts in helping us walk this path.
It is my wish that no one else endures a stillbirth, that no other parents have to walk this path. That is not reality though, because with birth, comes death. I hope if you are reading this and you are fortunate enough not to belong to this club, that you remember this, so that if in the future, someone you know devastatingly becomes a bereaved parent of a stillborn baby, that you reach out to them. Let them know how sorry you are, but also how proud of them you are. Acknowledge them as you do any mother who gives birth. Do not shy away from talking to bereaved parents about their baby. Just as any parent who has just given birth, they too have a baby to share and a story to tell.
The biggest reality, a baby born still is still born.
In very real terms, a mom must give birth to her baby, whether they are alive or dead.
What does this mean?
This means that just like any labour and delivery, a woman who has a "stillborn" has laboured and delivered. She has endured a marathon just as a mother of a baby who breathes air in this world. Whether she went into labour on her own, or was induced, she faced the same daunting task as those whose babies live. She endured the contractions, the pain, hard labour, pushing and of giving birth. The difference between a live birth and a still birth? These moms did all the same work, but had the additional emotional and mental trauma of knowing that when their baby was born, their baby would not be breathing, their baby would not cry, there would be silence and they would have to say hello and goodbye at the same time. Many moms deliver their silent babies in maternity wards, whereby the silence in their own rooms is filled with noise from adjacent delivery suites. They are hearing other moms labour, hearing babies being born crying and hearing celebrations after births.
When a woman "sign's up" for pregnancy, she is aware that there will be many ups and downs in the weeks and months leading up to delivering her baby. She is aware that it will require a lot of hard work before and during labour. She signs up for this job because she is also aware that the reward is the best there is in life. She will become a mother, either for the first time or all over again, no matter what pregnancy this is for her. She understands that she will soon have a baby in her arms that is hers. She has hopes and dreams for her baby from the moment she and her partner decide to conceive. When discovering she is pregnant she starts to plan for the future, she is a mother and her world is about to change. I don't mean to exclude partners here either, as both parents experience all of this together. They are a team and share in the joys and challenges of their pregnancy.
When a baby is born alive, there is no shortage of congratulations. There are big celebrations and showers of love and acknowledgment that mom did an amazing job of bringing baby into the world. There are comments such as "well done", "she's beautiful", "he's perfect", "love the name", "so proud of you", you get the point, I could go on and on. You just have to turn on any source of media this week to see the world in a frenzy of well wishes and comments about a newborn baby in England. All of these congratulations and celebratory messages are indeed well-deserved and a right of passage into parenthood. It is a joyful time and it is what we should be doing to welcome a new baby. I do it too. And I too received a barage of well wishes when my daughter was born.
Here's the thing:
Parents of stillborn babies still need to hear from you too. They too did an amazing job, they too had beautiful babies, they too took the time to give their precious child the perfect name, and they too delivered a perfect baby. They need to be told how proud you are of them. So many moms and dads of babies born still don't hear these things. They aren't regarded as "having given birth". Instead of hearing what every parent needs to hear, bereaved parents of stillborn babies often hear nothing from many family and friends, or often, hear unintentionally hurtful words and statements.
I write this for the many bereaved parents of stillborn babies, those we know about, and those we don't. I write this to celebrate all that they did to bring their precious baby into this world, just to say goodbye. I am fortunate to have met many bereaved parents in the last month, whose baby's I have met through them. The strength and courage each has, is truly remarkable.
On a personal note, I cannot write all the above without acknowledging the support that we have received. For this support, we are very thankful. We are grateful for the family and friends that have reached out in their own ways. Some use words, phone calls, cards, emails, texts, others hugs, time and an ear. Some have cooked us dinner, cared for our daughter and others have cracked a joke and tried to make us laugh. We are grateful for the love and encouragement we do receive, and we thank you from the bottom of our hearts in helping us walk this path.
It is my wish that no one else endures a stillbirth, that no other parents have to walk this path. That is not reality though, because with birth, comes death. I hope if you are reading this and you are fortunate enough not to belong to this club, that you remember this, so that if in the future, someone you know devastatingly becomes a bereaved parent of a stillborn baby, that you reach out to them. Let them know how sorry you are, but also how proud of them you are. Acknowledge them as you do any mother who gives birth. Do not shy away from talking to bereaved parents about their baby. Just as any parent who has just given birth, they too have a baby to share and a story to tell.
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