Today marks 9 months since we lost Ellison. Instead of posting cute pictures of her in her first Halloween costume, I'm sitting here typing this blog. I'm not even sure what we would have dressed her up as but I guess there's no point in trying to figure it out now. She would have made a cute monkey or maybe even a lil' bean, which was my pet name for her when I was pregnant.
It's been awhile since I've posted on this blog. Some days I feel like writing something, but then I just can't make myself sit down long enough to do it. It's been a long nine months. I realize pregnant women often say that when they're going through the stages of pregnancy. I even had those thoughts as I was sitting in a hospital bed on the morning of February 1st. Thinking to myself, "I can't wait until February 18th when she's finally here." Only, she never made it and here I am, 9 long months later, still wondering why.
Some moments it feels like I am still laying on that bed hearing those words "I'm sorry, there is no heartbeat." The immense loss still weighs on me every moment. I guess each day has gotten a little less intense, but it doesn't take much to bring all the pain right back. I didn't think Halloween would have been that bad. It's never been one of my favorite holidays, and I never really got into the whole dressing up thing or coming up with some crazy outfit to wear out. But sure enough, all I could think about was how fun it would have been to get Ellie all dressed up and have everyone say how cute she was. Her and her cousin would have been adorable together and thousands of pictures would have been taken. But that didn't, and won't ever, happen, and it's piercingly painful.
Some days I wonder if I'll ever have the opportunity to dress up a little one for Halloween. I guess it's hard to feel optimistic when nature seems destined to prevent that. I keep trying to believe it will happen, and Ellie will get her rainbow sibling. I see other couples achieve it after loss, but it just doesn't seem to be working out for us. I keep wondering why God, or Nature, or whatever, hates us. Why a couple with so much love to give has no one to share it with? When you want something so bad and you just can't get it, it magnifies what you've lost so much more.
I made it through Halloween but it was more painful than I imagined. These first holidays without her are just going to be terrible. I know this. I'm just wondering if all holiday joy will be lost for us forever. I used to love Christmas. I'm just not so sure I'll ever love it as much again. And Thanksgiving, what's there to be thankful about? Without her here, it doesn't seem like there is anything to give thanks for. Yes, I've got my amazing husband and family, but I don't have my child - the one we longed for for so long and finally had in our sights just to lose her without explanation. My hopes and dreams died with her, and who knows if they are ever coming back. These firsts - holidays, birthdays, etc. - just amplify the sadness and we'll just have to figure out how to survive them.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Sunday, June 15, 2014
Father's Day
A little girl's first idol is her father. She learns many lessons from her father and begins to understand what type of man should she marry. I know growing up my father was my mentor, my coach, my motivator, my butt-kicker occassionally, and now he's my friend and so much more. And so today is Father's Day and it's a day to reflect on the importance of one's father, or father-figure, on one's life. I, however, know this is a sad day for my husband. I was in his shoes about a month ago and know how difficult it was to just get out of bed and face the day.
I thought about this impending day a lot yesterday as the entire family went to my niece's first dance recital. I had no idea what to expect from 3, 4, and 5 year olds dancing on stage. I have to say it was the most adorable, and at times, humorous, events I have ever witnessed. Natalie, who is almost 5, looked so cute in her little ballet outfit. She got up there on that stage and did a great job. I was very proud of her. As I watched the rest of the little groups go I thought to myself if Ellie would have been in something similar when she was three or four. I began to picture her in a little tutu costume and Doug and I being the ones who were beaming with joy at her first experience in the spotlight. I would have made him film the entire event just as many of the fathers were doing in the audience. As we walked back to the car after the recital was over, I just commented to Doug that I was happy and sad at the same time. He knows all to well what I'm talking about. How easy it can be to be both happy yet unthinkably sad all in the same breath.
At one of my recent support groups, we talked about how we were feeling that day on a "Temperature Scale" with 1 representing feeling extremely sad, and 10 being the happiest. I think by the end of the exercise we all agreed that maybe 10 just does not exist on our temperature scales anymore. Even on the days we find ourselves surprisingly feeling pretty good, it just never feels perfect anymore. With Ellie not being here, I don't think I'll ever feel like a 10. When you lose a child, your 10 goes with him or her.
So today as we all reflect on Father's Day and how important our fathers were to us, we also are left having to think about how Ellie is not here to share in this with Doug. I know she is sending her love to him from her little playroom up in Heaven along with all the other children who were taken all too soon. Just make sure you take the time today to think about all those fathers who don't have the opportunity to hear an "I love you" from their children, and conversely, those children whose fathers are no longer here to hear those words from them because unfortunately there are way too many of us who know longer know what 10 feels like...
I thought about this impending day a lot yesterday as the entire family went to my niece's first dance recital. I had no idea what to expect from 3, 4, and 5 year olds dancing on stage. I have to say it was the most adorable, and at times, humorous, events I have ever witnessed. Natalie, who is almost 5, looked so cute in her little ballet outfit. She got up there on that stage and did a great job. I was very proud of her. As I watched the rest of the little groups go I thought to myself if Ellie would have been in something similar when she was three or four. I began to picture her in a little tutu costume and Doug and I being the ones who were beaming with joy at her first experience in the spotlight. I would have made him film the entire event just as many of the fathers were doing in the audience. As we walked back to the car after the recital was over, I just commented to Doug that I was happy and sad at the same time. He knows all to well what I'm talking about. How easy it can be to be both happy yet unthinkably sad all in the same breath.
At one of my recent support groups, we talked about how we were feeling that day on a "Temperature Scale" with 1 representing feeling extremely sad, and 10 being the happiest. I think by the end of the exercise we all agreed that maybe 10 just does not exist on our temperature scales anymore. Even on the days we find ourselves surprisingly feeling pretty good, it just never feels perfect anymore. With Ellie not being here, I don't think I'll ever feel like a 10. When you lose a child, your 10 goes with him or her.
So today as we all reflect on Father's Day and how important our fathers were to us, we also are left having to think about how Ellie is not here to share in this with Doug. I know she is sending her love to him from her little playroom up in Heaven along with all the other children who were taken all too soon. Just make sure you take the time today to think about all those fathers who don't have the opportunity to hear an "I love you" from their children, and conversely, those children whose fathers are no longer here to hear those words from them because unfortunately there are way too many of us who know longer know what 10 feels like...
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Life Is Like A Box of Chocolates...
You never know what you're going to get. You never know what lot you are going to get in life. You never know what battles you're going to face along the way, or what crosses you are going to have to bear. You never know if nature is going to be kind, or unkind, to you. These are all lessons I have learned, and that have shaped my worldview. From Forrest Gump to real life, there really is no way to know which chocolate you will have to taste along the way.
These past few days have been eye opening. Last night (Friday), I attended the beautiful wedding of a beautiful couple. As I watched them walk down the aisle, exchange their vows, and light their unity candle, it brought back memories of Doug and I's magical day. It reminded me of how amazing that life event was, and how lucky I was to have shared it with my best friend over three years ago. Hearing others take those vows helps remind you of all that marriage means and how momentous that step is in your life. I watched the happy couple experience all of those wedding day emotions - nervousness, happiness, hopefulness, and even a little fear perhaps. There is always that fear of the unknown, of having to begin a new phase and say goodbye to the familiar, and to have to start a new journey with a trail that has been unblazed until now. I remembered how Doug and I felt on our wedding day - full of hope and joy for the future, and remembering, and being able to smile about those feelings in particular was nice. It has been awhile since I have been able to smile when thinking about the joy for the future.
Later at the reception, a wave of unexpected emotion hit me as I watched the gorgeous bride, looking like a princess, dancing with her dad. I remember my wedding dance with my father and how special of a moment that was. And then I thought to myself that Doug will never get that magical dance with his daughter, our Ellie. I will never get to watch that special moment shared between father and daughter on her wedding day. She will never have a wedding day and Doug and I have been robbed of this future happy memory. I fought back tears as these thoughts entered my mind during those few minutes at the reception. Doug put his arm around me - he knew exactly what I was thinking. The joy for the future I had caught a glimpse of during the wedding ceremony had almost dissipated just as soon as it had appeared.
In fact I began thinking about how my Mom was supposed to have been babysitting Ellie that night. As soon as I had received the "Save the Date" wedding card in the mail back when I was just about 5 months pregnant, I asked my Mom if she would babysit. And of course she had gladly accepted and was happily looking forward to it. If things had turned out differently, she would indeed have been looking after our three month old daughter. Unfortunately, our box of chocolates did not allow us to choose this outcome. I have to face this reality just as I have had to every day since February 1st.
Today, my Mom and I traveled up to my alma mater to watch my idol, Peyton Manning, deliver the Valedictory speech to the graduating Class of 2014. I was member of the graduating Class of 2004. Exactly 10 years ago from May 16, 2014 I was walking down the Lawn at UVA getting ready to embark on a new chapter in my life. Now ten years later, I'm still having to turn the pages over in my book of life. Each page has been different, and lately the chapters have been darker than previous ones, but as the pages continue to turn, hopefully the lighter, happier chapters will again reappear. I thought about all of this as I waited for the ceremony to start.
Peyton's speech lived up to the expections I had developed in my head. His words of wisdom were poignant and his delivery was impeccable. He talked about having to face the unknown - equating it to crossing the San Andreas fault. Having to jump from one side of that fault to the other is scary, but once you do, the path ahead is limitless and as vast as you imagine it to be. He talked about exuding kindness - he advised that many think that the real world is cruel, and that it can be if you choose to be unkind but it does not have to be if you make the decision for yourself to be kind and spread that vision with those around you. Well, he is right - the real world has been unkind to me, but I can still choose to be kind to others around me and through that kindness, I can help to enact change. I do believe that - I do believe I can make the most of my situation and use it to help educate others or support others.
He advised that the graduates should choose a passion, and use their time, money, or talents to further that passion. Well, my passion is to support others in their grief journeys as best as I can - and this blog is one of those ways I can do that. I see it is a reciprocal cycle - this helps me through my struggles and in turn, may help others. I may be no expert in grief psychology, or be any wiser than the next person, but as Peyton reminded everyone, "amateurs built the arc; experts built the Titanic." We all have something to offer and contribute, and that is what is most important. We should all strive to be leaders in some way, shape, or form, even if it is on a small scale.
So to Peyton Manning, I say thank you. Thank you for sharing your life wisdom with the graduating Class of 2014, and with me, a UVA alumni who is facing a much different unknown. Seeing other perspectives helps to sometimes clarify your own as I have talked about before, and today's lessons have been positive. My only regret is that Ellie was not here to have gone with us. Even if she would have been much too young, and completely disinterested in watching a sports legend speak, I would have been able to tell her all about it when she got older. I would have been able to share with her Peyton's speech, and relished the fact that she got to see my idol even if she didn't remember it. I know a piece of her was with me and I know she knows how happy I was to have been able to experience this.
These past few days have been eye opening. Last night (Friday), I attended the beautiful wedding of a beautiful couple. As I watched them walk down the aisle, exchange their vows, and light their unity candle, it brought back memories of Doug and I's magical day. It reminded me of how amazing that life event was, and how lucky I was to have shared it with my best friend over three years ago. Hearing others take those vows helps remind you of all that marriage means and how momentous that step is in your life. I watched the happy couple experience all of those wedding day emotions - nervousness, happiness, hopefulness, and even a little fear perhaps. There is always that fear of the unknown, of having to begin a new phase and say goodbye to the familiar, and to have to start a new journey with a trail that has been unblazed until now. I remembered how Doug and I felt on our wedding day - full of hope and joy for the future, and remembering, and being able to smile about those feelings in particular was nice. It has been awhile since I have been able to smile when thinking about the joy for the future.
Later at the reception, a wave of unexpected emotion hit me as I watched the gorgeous bride, looking like a princess, dancing with her dad. I remember my wedding dance with my father and how special of a moment that was. And then I thought to myself that Doug will never get that magical dance with his daughter, our Ellie. I will never get to watch that special moment shared between father and daughter on her wedding day. She will never have a wedding day and Doug and I have been robbed of this future happy memory. I fought back tears as these thoughts entered my mind during those few minutes at the reception. Doug put his arm around me - he knew exactly what I was thinking. The joy for the future I had caught a glimpse of during the wedding ceremony had almost dissipated just as soon as it had appeared.
In fact I began thinking about how my Mom was supposed to have been babysitting Ellie that night. As soon as I had received the "Save the Date" wedding card in the mail back when I was just about 5 months pregnant, I asked my Mom if she would babysit. And of course she had gladly accepted and was happily looking forward to it. If things had turned out differently, she would indeed have been looking after our three month old daughter. Unfortunately, our box of chocolates did not allow us to choose this outcome. I have to face this reality just as I have had to every day since February 1st.
Today, my Mom and I traveled up to my alma mater to watch my idol, Peyton Manning, deliver the Valedictory speech to the graduating Class of 2014. I was member of the graduating Class of 2004. Exactly 10 years ago from May 16, 2014 I was walking down the Lawn at UVA getting ready to embark on a new chapter in my life. Now ten years later, I'm still having to turn the pages over in my book of life. Each page has been different, and lately the chapters have been darker than previous ones, but as the pages continue to turn, hopefully the lighter, happier chapters will again reappear. I thought about all of this as I waited for the ceremony to start.
Peyton's speech lived up to the expections I had developed in my head. His words of wisdom were poignant and his delivery was impeccable. He talked about having to face the unknown - equating it to crossing the San Andreas fault. Having to jump from one side of that fault to the other is scary, but once you do, the path ahead is limitless and as vast as you imagine it to be. He talked about exuding kindness - he advised that many think that the real world is cruel, and that it can be if you choose to be unkind but it does not have to be if you make the decision for yourself to be kind and spread that vision with those around you. Well, he is right - the real world has been unkind to me, but I can still choose to be kind to others around me and through that kindness, I can help to enact change. I do believe that - I do believe I can make the most of my situation and use it to help educate others or support others.
He advised that the graduates should choose a passion, and use their time, money, or talents to further that passion. Well, my passion is to support others in their grief journeys as best as I can - and this blog is one of those ways I can do that. I see it is a reciprocal cycle - this helps me through my struggles and in turn, may help others. I may be no expert in grief psychology, or be any wiser than the next person, but as Peyton reminded everyone, "amateurs built the arc; experts built the Titanic." We all have something to offer and contribute, and that is what is most important. We should all strive to be leaders in some way, shape, or form, even if it is on a small scale.
So to Peyton Manning, I say thank you. Thank you for sharing your life wisdom with the graduating Class of 2014, and with me, a UVA alumni who is facing a much different unknown. Seeing other perspectives helps to sometimes clarify your own as I have talked about before, and today's lessons have been positive. My only regret is that Ellie was not here to have gone with us. Even if she would have been much too young, and completely disinterested in watching a sports legend speak, I would have been able to tell her all about it when she got older. I would have been able to share with her Peyton's speech, and relished the fact that she got to see my idol even if she didn't remember it. I know a piece of her was with me and I know she knows how happy I was to have been able to experience this.
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Mother's Day
How can a day that is supposed to be filled with love and joy bring so much sadness? Instead of having a three month old love of my life to spend the day with and celebrate Mother's Day with, I'm left staring at pictures and missing my girl like crazy. I'm the mother of an angel. While that sounds so glorious to others who tell me "your baby is in Heaven" and "Isn't God's glory wonderful" and so forth, to me it is just a terrible reality. I don't feel glorious knowing that my baby is not here with her loving parents who would have shown her all the love in the world. It doesn't make me happy at all to have to spend my Mother's Day watching other mothers get little keepsake crafts and cards made by their children knowing that I will never get one of those from my Ellie.
As much as I love my own mother, and my grandmother, and the other mothers in my life who I am close to, it is still difficult for me to see past my own grief to focus on my love for them. All I can think about is how I just miss Ellie so much that I feel like I have cried an ocean already, and that my tears might actually run out. I wanted to be her mother so bad, and I did everything I possibly could have to make it happen, and it still wasn't enough to keep her here.
I know that some women who have gone through a loss prefer to ignore Mother's Day and get upset if someone wishes them a "happy Mother's Day," and I can understand their feelings to an extent. Each person grieves differently and has their own way of handling events, and that is perfectly fine. I, on the other hand, desperately wish everyone would acknowledge me with even a simple "I'm thinking about you and Ellison." As a mother of an angel, I want to do all that is humanly possible to make sure that my little one's life, and memory, mean something to all those in my life. She is such a huge part of my life, and I don't want anyone to forget that or think that I don't love her with all of my being even if she is not here to experience my love. I'd like to think she knows how much I think about her or understands how deep my love for her runs, and I want everyone in my life to know that there is a hole in my heart in the shape of her - All 4 lbs. and 13 oz. of her.
So, I plan on spending quite a bit of time in her room tonight and tomorrow on Mother's Day, looking at her pictures and talking to her. I'm also going to be planting two butterfly bushes for her. She is my metaphorical butterfly who fluttered away too soon, and when I see butterflies it makes me think she is near. I may even venture out to the Roslyn center where the bench and tree are that were dedicated to all those babies lost too soon and spend some alone time in reflection - if I have the emotional energy to.
I'm also going to go to lunch with my husband, parents, grandmother, and uncle and "aunt." After all, their emotional support has helped me to keep moving forward. Not to mention, I love my mother and grandmother very much, just as Ellison would have loved me and them, and celebrating that love is paramount, even if I may feel broken and incomplete without Ellison being a part of it. My Mom, Gran, brother/sister-in-law/Natalie, and my "aunt" Sandy and Uncle Freeman all sent me cards and it means a lot to me to have that support system. Natalie even drew me a little heart picture tonight at dinner and wished me a Happy Mother's Day. Even a 4 yr. old can understand that I am Ellie's mother, and always will be. And at the end of the day, that is all that matters.
As much as I love my own mother, and my grandmother, and the other mothers in my life who I am close to, it is still difficult for me to see past my own grief to focus on my love for them. All I can think about is how I just miss Ellie so much that I feel like I have cried an ocean already, and that my tears might actually run out. I wanted to be her mother so bad, and I did everything I possibly could have to make it happen, and it still wasn't enough to keep her here.
I know that some women who have gone through a loss prefer to ignore Mother's Day and get upset if someone wishes them a "happy Mother's Day," and I can understand their feelings to an extent. Each person grieves differently and has their own way of handling events, and that is perfectly fine. I, on the other hand, desperately wish everyone would acknowledge me with even a simple "I'm thinking about you and Ellison." As a mother of an angel, I want to do all that is humanly possible to make sure that my little one's life, and memory, mean something to all those in my life. She is such a huge part of my life, and I don't want anyone to forget that or think that I don't love her with all of my being even if she is not here to experience my love. I'd like to think she knows how much I think about her or understands how deep my love for her runs, and I want everyone in my life to know that there is a hole in my heart in the shape of her - All 4 lbs. and 13 oz. of her.
So, I plan on spending quite a bit of time in her room tonight and tomorrow on Mother's Day, looking at her pictures and talking to her. I'm also going to be planting two butterfly bushes for her. She is my metaphorical butterfly who fluttered away too soon, and when I see butterflies it makes me think she is near. I may even venture out to the Roslyn center where the bench and tree are that were dedicated to all those babies lost too soon and spend some alone time in reflection - if I have the emotional energy to.
I'm also going to go to lunch with my husband, parents, grandmother, and uncle and "aunt." After all, their emotional support has helped me to keep moving forward. Not to mention, I love my mother and grandmother very much, just as Ellison would have loved me and them, and celebrating that love is paramount, even if I may feel broken and incomplete without Ellison being a part of it. My Mom, Gran, brother/sister-in-law/Natalie, and my "aunt" Sandy and Uncle Freeman all sent me cards and it means a lot to me to have that support system. Natalie even drew me a little heart picture tonight at dinner and wished me a Happy Mother's Day. Even a 4 yr. old can understand that I am Ellie's mother, and always will be. And at the end of the day, that is all that matters.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
The Wolf
I know I haven't posted in a while. I feel fairly guilty about this, but no time like the present to begin again. Today has been a whirlwind of emotions. This morning, Doug and I participated in the local March of Dimes walk in memory of Ellison. We were joined by family and friends. The weather was beautiful and the company was even better. To be honest I never thought I would have been participating in the March of Dimes the way that I was - in memory of my baby girl. I always figured she would be walking with us as a preemie. I never would have thought my life would have brought us to this point. But now that it has, I feel that I at least honored her memory the best way that I could. If we can prevent just one family from having to experience a loss like ours, then I know we have accomplished something during this journey.
It was nice having the support of our families and friends as we walked today for Ellie. I've always said that I have to live for Ellison, but it was amazing to see others living for her as well. It touched my heart. I know she was looking down at us as we walked - I felt her love all around. I couldn't believe how many other families were there walking for their loved ones - both living as well as those who had passed. It was sad and surreal all at the same time. It was also really nice catching up with old friends. I always knew I had been lucky growing up to have so many positive friends in my life but now that I am older, I can appreciate this even more so now that they have returned to support me in my time of need. All of them grew up to be amazing individuals who I respect very much and I'm so happy to have shared Ellie's story and her love with them.
After the walk, we shared a nice lunch with my parents and Doug's parents. We then prepared for the annual Service of Remembrance that is sponsored by the hospital I spent so much time in with Ellie. I was not sure what to expect at this service. It was hosted at the local Diocesan Center. I had never been there before but it is a beautiful location set right on the James River. My parents, Doug's parents, my brother and sister-in-law, and my grandmother attended. Several of the individuals that attend the support groups I go to were there as well with their families. The service was simple, yet profound. A candle was lit for each baby whose brief life touched ours. A few poems and readings were shared, and a chaplain gave a brief sermon of sorts - a sermon that talked about how we can use our loss and experiences for the positives of helping others who may face a similar loss in the future. In others words, to be a light for them in the darkness just as others have been our light. We then all went outside to the tree that had been donated and planted in honor of all the babies lost too soon and each family released a butterfly. It was a very nice service, and I am glad that the hospital does this every year.
I ran into two of the nurses who attended to me during my long stint in the hospital and I was so happy to see them again. I know that they all become so invested in their patients and when one experiences a loss, it effects them all. They were all so good to me while I was there, both before and after, and I am so thankful for that. As everything was wrapping up, I had a chance to speak with several of the hospital staff members and I shared with them how important I found this service to be. When a family experiences a loss like that of a child who has yet to be born, we struggle with ways to keep that child's memory alive and share it with others. This service allows us to remember the depth of our love for our lost children and honor that memory with those who truly understand our pain. It is a healing service allowing us to grieve and find the strength to continue to move forward while always remembering. No matter what the future brings for Doug and I, I am sure we will attend this ceremony every year.
Both of these events today have brought a whirlwind of emotions - sadness, joy, disbelief, and hope. Think of an adjective and I'm sure it will describe how I have felt at some point during the day. To those who shared in this with me, thank you for showing me that I can move forward and for supporting me when I've stumbled backwards. As I last talked about a little in my last blog entry, it is sometimes hard to find the light in the darkness, but each of the memories I have from today have helped illuminate my positive path. So with that, I wanted to share something a cousin of mine posted on Facebook not long ago which I find to be a very profound message:
An old Cherokee told his grandson, "My son, there is a battle between two wolves inside us all.
One is Evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, inferiority, lies and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, & truth." The boy thought about it, and asked, "Grandfather, which wolf wins?" The old man quietly replied, "The one you feed."
So with that, the wolf which gets fed is entirely up to you. Some days it's hard not to feed the Evil one, but as long as you make an effort to feed the Good wolf more days than you feed the Evil wolf, you push the balance in favor of the Good. And as I continue my journey, it's a goal of mine to focus on feeding the Good wolf. I know there will be setbacks, but it's important to set goals and be proud of the progress that is made. I woud have wanted Ellie to strive to feed the Good Wolf, so I should lead by example. After all, mothers need to be good role models for their daughters, and she's my sweet, amazing, angel baby so I want to be the best mother I can be for her!
It was nice having the support of our families and friends as we walked today for Ellie. I've always said that I have to live for Ellison, but it was amazing to see others living for her as well. It touched my heart. I know she was looking down at us as we walked - I felt her love all around. I couldn't believe how many other families were there walking for their loved ones - both living as well as those who had passed. It was sad and surreal all at the same time. It was also really nice catching up with old friends. I always knew I had been lucky growing up to have so many positive friends in my life but now that I am older, I can appreciate this even more so now that they have returned to support me in my time of need. All of them grew up to be amazing individuals who I respect very much and I'm so happy to have shared Ellie's story and her love with them.
After the walk, we shared a nice lunch with my parents and Doug's parents. We then prepared for the annual Service of Remembrance that is sponsored by the hospital I spent so much time in with Ellie. I was not sure what to expect at this service. It was hosted at the local Diocesan Center. I had never been there before but it is a beautiful location set right on the James River. My parents, Doug's parents, my brother and sister-in-law, and my grandmother attended. Several of the individuals that attend the support groups I go to were there as well with their families. The service was simple, yet profound. A candle was lit for each baby whose brief life touched ours. A few poems and readings were shared, and a chaplain gave a brief sermon of sorts - a sermon that talked about how we can use our loss and experiences for the positives of helping others who may face a similar loss in the future. In others words, to be a light for them in the darkness just as others have been our light. We then all went outside to the tree that had been donated and planted in honor of all the babies lost too soon and each family released a butterfly. It was a very nice service, and I am glad that the hospital does this every year.
I ran into two of the nurses who attended to me during my long stint in the hospital and I was so happy to see them again. I know that they all become so invested in their patients and when one experiences a loss, it effects them all. They were all so good to me while I was there, both before and after, and I am so thankful for that. As everything was wrapping up, I had a chance to speak with several of the hospital staff members and I shared with them how important I found this service to be. When a family experiences a loss like that of a child who has yet to be born, we struggle with ways to keep that child's memory alive and share it with others. This service allows us to remember the depth of our love for our lost children and honor that memory with those who truly understand our pain. It is a healing service allowing us to grieve and find the strength to continue to move forward while always remembering. No matter what the future brings for Doug and I, I am sure we will attend this ceremony every year.
Both of these events today have brought a whirlwind of emotions - sadness, joy, disbelief, and hope. Think of an adjective and I'm sure it will describe how I have felt at some point during the day. To those who shared in this with me, thank you for showing me that I can move forward and for supporting me when I've stumbled backwards. As I last talked about a little in my last blog entry, it is sometimes hard to find the light in the darkness, but each of the memories I have from today have helped illuminate my positive path. So with that, I wanted to share something a cousin of mine posted on Facebook not long ago which I find to be a very profound message:
An old Cherokee told his grandson, "My son, there is a battle between two wolves inside us all.
One is Evil. It is anger, jealousy, greed, resentment, inferiority, lies and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, humility, kindness, empathy, & truth." The boy thought about it, and asked, "Grandfather, which wolf wins?" The old man quietly replied, "The one you feed."
So with that, the wolf which gets fed is entirely up to you. Some days it's hard not to feed the Evil one, but as long as you make an effort to feed the Good wolf more days than you feed the Evil wolf, you push the balance in favor of the Good. And as I continue my journey, it's a goal of mine to focus on feeding the Good wolf. I know there will be setbacks, but it's important to set goals and be proud of the progress that is made. I woud have wanted Ellie to strive to feed the Good Wolf, so I should lead by example. After all, mothers need to be good role models for their daughters, and she's my sweet, amazing, angel baby so I want to be the best mother I can be for her!
Friday, April 25, 2014
Revisiting
So I know I haven't posted in 3 days. That's partly because I was actually enjoying a few night outings this week - one to a baseball game with family and family friends, one being spent with my husband before he had to go to work, and one for Girl's Night last night with the niece and sister-in-law. Yes, I feel guilty that I haven't written in 3 days, but there's also another reason I didn't write any posts for the last few days...
The last couple of days I have been having rather strong bouts of anger. Little things that shouldn't make me angry, are. It's also been a selfish anger - the type of anger where you feel your problems are far worse than anyone else you know is experiencing, or at least you think that in your mind. I've been angry over things I can't control, and I've been angry at things that I can. I've also been having a hard time dealing with the anger. I don't want to take it out on anyone or express it to others because it is a selfish anger. I have talked, and vented, about it to my husband, my Mom, and my sister-in-law, and that has helped alleviate some of it. But I can't shake that feeling that I just want to punch someone or something.
I know that the grief cycle doesn't always flow perfectly. Hence, I guess that's why the anger stage has reared its head again. To be honest, I wasn't expecting it to return, but it did. I guess that means that even if I get past this stage again, it will return at some other unforeseen time when I least expect it. I'd be lying if I didn't say I was having a hard time processing the angriness - I'm not usually an angry person and it's hard being that person you don't want to be, or feel an emotion you don't like all the time. But I need to face this just as I have faced the sadness, pain, etc. The only way to deal with it is to forge through it.
My sister-in-law shared a few thoughts with me today in an effort to help me through this stage. So I will share one of the thoughts with you all: "The only way past the pain is through it. You can't escape it. You can't ignore it. Pain, grief, anger, misery..they don't go away - they just increase and compound and get worse. You have to live through them, acknowledge them. You have to give your pain its due." - Jasinda Wilder.
So I'm giving my angry phase its due. It's sitting there boiling under the surface and I'm doing my best to keep it from boiling over and out.
The last couple of days I have been having rather strong bouts of anger. Little things that shouldn't make me angry, are. It's also been a selfish anger - the type of anger where you feel your problems are far worse than anyone else you know is experiencing, or at least you think that in your mind. I've been angry over things I can't control, and I've been angry at things that I can. I've also been having a hard time dealing with the anger. I don't want to take it out on anyone or express it to others because it is a selfish anger. I have talked, and vented, about it to my husband, my Mom, and my sister-in-law, and that has helped alleviate some of it. But I can't shake that feeling that I just want to punch someone or something.
I know that the grief cycle doesn't always flow perfectly. Hence, I guess that's why the anger stage has reared its head again. To be honest, I wasn't expecting it to return, but it did. I guess that means that even if I get past this stage again, it will return at some other unforeseen time when I least expect it. I'd be lying if I didn't say I was having a hard time processing the angriness - I'm not usually an angry person and it's hard being that person you don't want to be, or feel an emotion you don't like all the time. But I need to face this just as I have faced the sadness, pain, etc. The only way to deal with it is to forge through it.
My sister-in-law shared a few thoughts with me today in an effort to help me through this stage. So I will share one of the thoughts with you all: "The only way past the pain is through it. You can't escape it. You can't ignore it. Pain, grief, anger, misery..they don't go away - they just increase and compound and get worse. You have to live through them, acknowledge them. You have to give your pain its due." - Jasinda Wilder.
So I'm giving my angry phase its due. It's sitting there boiling under the surface and I'm doing my best to keep it from boiling over and out.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Safety
I attended a different support group meeting tonight. It is extremely helpful being able to have support group meetings twice a month. I've come to realize that there is safety in numbers. This may sound strange but I feel safe being with those who can truly understand the pain that I feel on a daily basis. These individuals often think the same thoughts I do, struggle the ways I do, and just get me when I talk about the loss of my child. Unfortunately, they have been through the death of a child - and nothing compares to it. We all realize we will never be the same and we can all embrace and support each other through something as simple as just talking in a circle. No one else fully knows our pain, and though we all wish we did not have to experience it, at least we have each other.
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