grief is sneaky.
typically i am so busy that i don't have time to grieve. i don't have time to dwell. i don't have time to remember. it's not like it was in those first days, weeks, months and years. it's not like it was when there was just me and my very little son (both inutero and out). these days i go go go...i try to run hard enough that the grief can't sneak up on me. i go go go trying to outrun the grief, trying to get ahead of it. trying to outsmart it.
i like it this way. i like to stay busy so i don't have to think about the 3rd grader i don't get to pick up today.
emma's angel day was busy this year. i didn't cry. at all. i didn't have time.
it was the kids' first day of school, my friend michelle and i went to lunch, the kids came home, we skyped with my folks in the philippines, jeremy's sister and her kids came from kansas. it was insane.
i felt guilty about not crying the next day and the next and the next.
but you know what? i don't think emma cares if i cry or not. i don't think she thinks i love her any less and i know she wouldn't want me to abandon all else that needed to be done just because it was the day she died.
but then, just when i say it's ok that i didn't cry, i see a picture of someone from my past. someone with a child a few weeks younger than emma. someone whose child got to live and grow up. and then it hits. and it is unfair and it hurts. i get mad, i get jealous, i lash out at everyone around me, i eat and then i surrender and i cry.
it has happened so many times. a song, an outfit i think she would have looked cute in, a smell, a picture, a thought. something so simple can bring me to my knees and extract sobs from the deepest part of my soul.
when my soul becomes as parched as the texas desert, grief comes and is a rain storm for my heart. it cleans, refreshes, renews. it knows what i need before i do.
i feel it coming. i am harder on my kids, on myself, on others around me. i snap more. i eat more. i am more easily frustrated. i know this cycle. i know what to expect. i can feel it coming so i run harder trying to escape it. and just when i think i have...
i will break down.
like i said, grief is sneaky. it gets me every time.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Monday, September 19, 2011
Monday, June 6, 2011
What It's Like
When people find out I have a daughter in Heaven, they often say, "I can't imagine what that must be like".
Here is what I want to tell them (but I don't because I am too kind).
It is like having your entire being crushed. It is like having your heart ripped out of your body, you entire sense of self and all security you've ever had taken away.
It is a physical pain that can't be described. When you cry, it comes from a place so deep and so dark you surprise yourself that it is even there.
When you sleep it is fitful. You can't sleep without medicinal help. You don't want to sleep because you dream of your old life, your child, the way things were. But then you wake up and in the fog of sleep and awake you find yourself frantically searching for your baby. You don't want to sleep because waking up hurts too much.
As time passes everyone goes back to life as it was and you just can't. You still cry at the drop of the hat, you end up at the cemetery laying next to your child's grave wishing you were with her. You put on a brave face for others, but inside you are dying.
Years pass and people say, "Oh that must have been so hard". You reply with, "Yes it is".
People who meet me now and see that I have 4 beautiful children think that I have only 4 beautiful children. When they learn I have a 5th, an Angel waiting for me, they often say, "How did you do it? How did you have more children?"
I didn't have a choice. I couldn't stop living because Emma was gone. Believe me, I wanted to, but I knew that she had siblings that needed to come to Earth.
It is not easy though. The first year of my children's lives are filled with my anxiety.
I worry. I worry that I will lay them in their beds to sleep and come back only to find them gone.
I worry that I will send Seth to check on Elliott and he will be the one to find his brother dead.
I force those thoughts out of my mind, but they always come back, ready to haunt at any given minute.
The other night, I went to the store. Alone. I was panicked the entire time. Elliott was home asleep while Jeremy and the kids made dinner.
I convinced myself that I would come home to ambulances and firetrucks all around my house, and my baby would be gone.
This happens every time, with every child. With Seth, I went to the gym when he was 4 months old. Jeremy was home with him. I was going 1 mile away. I got there, and was in such a panic I couldn't even go in. I turned around and went home.
I remember running into our apartment, eyes red from crying, and rushed to my baby. I held him and just cried. I was so convinced he'd be gone when I got home, I was shocked that he wasn't.
That is a portion of what it's like.
It is hell to lose a child.
It is terrifying to have more.
It is my life though, so I do it the best I know how and am grateful for every minute I get with each of my children.
Here is what I want to tell them (but I don't because I am too kind).
It is like having your entire being crushed. It is like having your heart ripped out of your body, you entire sense of self and all security you've ever had taken away.
It is a physical pain that can't be described. When you cry, it comes from a place so deep and so dark you surprise yourself that it is even there.
When you sleep it is fitful. You can't sleep without medicinal help. You don't want to sleep because you dream of your old life, your child, the way things were. But then you wake up and in the fog of sleep and awake you find yourself frantically searching for your baby. You don't want to sleep because waking up hurts too much.
As time passes everyone goes back to life as it was and you just can't. You still cry at the drop of the hat, you end up at the cemetery laying next to your child's grave wishing you were with her. You put on a brave face for others, but inside you are dying.
Years pass and people say, "Oh that must have been so hard". You reply with, "Yes it is".
People who meet me now and see that I have 4 beautiful children think that I have only 4 beautiful children. When they learn I have a 5th, an Angel waiting for me, they often say, "How did you do it? How did you have more children?"
I didn't have a choice. I couldn't stop living because Emma was gone. Believe me, I wanted to, but I knew that she had siblings that needed to come to Earth.
It is not easy though. The first year of my children's lives are filled with my anxiety.
I worry. I worry that I will lay them in their beds to sleep and come back only to find them gone.
I worry that I will send Seth to check on Elliott and he will be the one to find his brother dead.
I force those thoughts out of my mind, but they always come back, ready to haunt at any given minute.
The other night, I went to the store. Alone. I was panicked the entire time. Elliott was home asleep while Jeremy and the kids made dinner.
I convinced myself that I would come home to ambulances and firetrucks all around my house, and my baby would be gone.
This happens every time, with every child. With Seth, I went to the gym when he was 4 months old. Jeremy was home with him. I was going 1 mile away. I got there, and was in such a panic I couldn't even go in. I turned around and went home.
I remember running into our apartment, eyes red from crying, and rushed to my baby. I held him and just cried. I was so convinced he'd be gone when I got home, I was shocked that he wasn't.
That is a portion of what it's like.
It is hell to lose a child.
It is terrifying to have more.
It is my life though, so I do it the best I know how and am grateful for every minute I get with each of my children.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Complete
When Jeremy and I got married I already had 11 nieces and nephews. I became an Aunt for the first time when I was 13.
I always knew I would have a large family. I never thought about when that family would be done growing though.
My sister and sister-in-laws, who are done having children, told me that when they were done, they just knew. Their families felt complete.
I have wondered, is my family complete? Am I really done having babies?
Is my family complete?
No, it is not.
I don't think it ever will be.
So, despite trying to go by that feeling, I can't. Because no matter what I do, my family will not be complete.
No matter how many babies I have, one is always going to be missing.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
My Angel
Today, the girls and I had to run some errands. When we got in the van, I plugged in my iPod, and turned on Billy Joel. I hit shuffle, and the first song to come on was Lullaby. If you don't know, this is my song for Emma. It is the song I listened to non-stop for a month after she died. It is my Emma song.
I haven't heard it in a while and today while driving, it played twice.
I miss her. I miss having her here. I miss being able to take care of her grave. I miss visiting her.
But, today I feel her so close. I know that she is here when my babies are born. I know that she is close and helps to usher in her brothers and sisters as they come to the world. I know that she is my special angel who lifts me up and gives me the strength I need when I am in labor.
I love feeling her Spirit so near, but I miss her so much it just hurts. It is bittersweet for certain.
I wish when I told people that I have an 8 year old daughter that it was true. I wish that when people looked at my family they knew that this was my 5th baby, not my 4th as it seems to the outside world. I wish I didn't have to add the disclaimer to people who will see us a lot, that this is my 5th baby, but my 4th living.
I am just missing my girl so much.
Sweet Angel ~ be with me while I labor. Be with your baby brother while he works hard to come into this world. Give him a kiss and tell him it's time to come to Earth. I promise I will love him just as I love you and your brother and sisters. I promise to teach him all about his big sister who loves him so much. I promise to raise your brothers and sisters to know you, to know Jesus and to know of the miracle of Easter that lets us be a forever family.
I promise these things. Just don't leave me. Stay close while I work to bring your baby brother into the world. Stay close, let me feel you, and know that I love you more than I have words to express.
Love, Mama
I haven't heard it in a while and today while driving, it played twice.
I miss her. I miss having her here. I miss being able to take care of her grave. I miss visiting her.
But, today I feel her so close. I know that she is here when my babies are born. I know that she is close and helps to usher in her brothers and sisters as they come to the world. I know that she is my special angel who lifts me up and gives me the strength I need when I am in labor.
I love feeling her Spirit so near, but I miss her so much it just hurts. It is bittersweet for certain.
I wish when I told people that I have an 8 year old daughter that it was true. I wish that when people looked at my family they knew that this was my 5th baby, not my 4th as it seems to the outside world. I wish I didn't have to add the disclaimer to people who will see us a lot, that this is my 5th baby, but my 4th living.
I am just missing my girl so much.
Sweet Angel ~ be with me while I labor. Be with your baby brother while he works hard to come into this world. Give him a kiss and tell him it's time to come to Earth. I promise I will love him just as I love you and your brother and sisters. I promise to teach him all about his big sister who loves him so much. I promise to raise your brothers and sisters to know you, to know Jesus and to know of the miracle of Easter that lets us be a forever family.
I promise these things. Just don't leave me. Stay close while I work to bring your baby brother into the world. Stay close, let me feel you, and know that I love you more than I have words to express.
Love, Mama
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Angels
Days after Emma's death, I received this Willow Tree Angel.
This is called Angel's Embrace. My nephew, who was almost 3, looked at it and gingerly touching the head of the baby said, Baby Emma.
I cried.
I cried a lot in those days.
******
I have a curio cabinet in my bedroom and it has sat empty since we moved into our new home. I unpacked her hand and foot molds, her sweet hats and a few other trinkets that reminded me of Emma. But, other than that, it has sat empty.
Today, I opened it up and dusted off the shelves and opened my box of Willow Tree Angels. I unpacked each of my angels and placed them on the shelf. I have done this before. We have moved several times in the last 7 years, so this is not something new.
However, when I got to this angel today, I started to cry. I no longer thought of this being Emma when she died being held by an Angel, but instead, Emma holding her baby brother who is getting ready to come to Earth.
I thought of my sweet girl who is there to see off each of her siblings and cousins as they are coming into the world. I thought of my sweet angel who is there to meet her Great-Grandparents and one day Grandparents as they leave this world.
I thought of my darling daughter. My first born. The one that first made me a Mother.
I thought of her heart and how she must feel watching us here on Earth. How she must feel watching her brother and sisters get hugs and kisses from Jeremy and me. How she must feel not being here, but knowing hers is a bigger mission to fill.
I wonder if she misses us as much as we miss her.
This is called Angel's Embrace. My nephew, who was almost 3, looked at it and gingerly touching the head of the baby said, Baby Emma.
I cried.
I cried a lot in those days.
******
I have a curio cabinet in my bedroom and it has sat empty since we moved into our new home. I unpacked her hand and foot molds, her sweet hats and a few other trinkets that reminded me of Emma. But, other than that, it has sat empty.
Today, I opened it up and dusted off the shelves and opened my box of Willow Tree Angels. I unpacked each of my angels and placed them on the shelf. I have done this before. We have moved several times in the last 7 years, so this is not something new.
However, when I got to this angel today, I started to cry. I no longer thought of this being Emma when she died being held by an Angel, but instead, Emma holding her baby brother who is getting ready to come to Earth.
I thought of my sweet girl who is there to see off each of her siblings and cousins as they are coming into the world. I thought of my sweet angel who is there to meet her Great-Grandparents and one day Grandparents as they leave this world.
I thought of my darling daughter. My first born. The one that first made me a Mother.
I thought of her heart and how she must feel watching us here on Earth. How she must feel watching her brother and sisters get hugs and kisses from Jeremy and me. How she must feel not being here, but knowing hers is a bigger mission to fill.
I wonder if she misses us as much as we miss her.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Knowing
I woke up to him shaking my shoulders.
I was crying, sobbing really.
Tears soaked my pillow.
It was so real. And then, relief.
It was a nightmare.
Amelia wasn't dead. I wasn't sitting down writing her obituary. I was in my bed sobbing for the daughter I love so much.
The tears then started again. This time tears of relief. Then replaced with tears of sorrow again for the nightmare I didn't get to wake up from.
The problem with knowing what a living nightmare feels like is that when the boogie man comes knocking on your door in the middle of the night, you don't know if it is real or not.
The problem with knowing the devastation of what it really feels like to have a dead child, is that those feelings can resurface at any moment, even in yourdreams nightmares.
The problem with knowing...is that you know and can't ever forget what those gut wrenching sobs feel like.
You may wake in the middle of the night sobbing like you did the day your child died, just sure another one has left you.
There are so many problems with knowing...and those are just a few.
I was crying, sobbing really.
Tears soaked my pillow.
It was so real. And then, relief.
It was a nightmare.
Amelia wasn't dead. I wasn't sitting down writing her obituary. I was in my bed sobbing for the daughter I love so much.
The tears then started again. This time tears of relief. Then replaced with tears of sorrow again for the nightmare I didn't get to wake up from.
The problem with knowing what a living nightmare feels like is that when the boogie man comes knocking on your door in the middle of the night, you don't know if it is real or not.
The problem with knowing the devastation of what it really feels like to have a dead child, is that those feelings can resurface at any moment, even in your
The problem with knowing...is that you know and can't ever forget what those gut wrenching sobs feel like.
You may wake in the middle of the night sobbing like you did the day your child died, just sure another one has left you.
There are so many problems with knowing...and those are just a few.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Birthday Girl
Today Emma turns 8. In our religion, this is a pretty big deal. You see, when a child turns 8, they can be baptized. We don't baptize as babies because we don't believe that babies can sin. They are perfect and can't really be held accountable for their mistakes until they are 8. Plus, at that point, they can understand a bit better what they are getting into.
This year I have watched many of my friends who I was pregnant with, have their kiddos turn 8. I have seen the pictures on their blogs of these special days. I have seen the pretty white dresses, the pictures of the kids with their Moms and Dads, and read the posts about what they did on that day.
With each one, I ached for my little girl. My little girl who was so perfect, she didn't need to be tested and tried by this life. My little girl who was so perfect, she didn't need baptism. My little girl, who 8 years ago today, was born.
I wonder what she would be like now. How long would her hair be? Would she be taking dance classes like her sister? Would she be like me and just now be losing her teeth, or would she have done it earlier? Would she be loving 2nd grade? Who would her best friend be? What music would she like? What would she look like? What would her voice sound like? What would her laugh sound like?
These are questions I have everyday, but especially today, on her birthday.
But today, we will celebrate her birth. We will buy her gifts and donate them to Toys for Tots, the kids will pick a lunch store and we will go to a local fun park to play arcade games and just have fun. We will celebrate with family, eat cake and remember our sweet girl. This year, we are going to remember her with laughter (and I am sure a few tears), but we are going to celebrate her life, no matter how short.
Today is my sweet Emma's day. I am so glad she was born. I am overjoyed that I am her Mom. She has brought me more joy than I ever dreamed possible.
This year I have watched many of my friends who I was pregnant with, have their kiddos turn 8. I have seen the pictures on their blogs of these special days. I have seen the pretty white dresses, the pictures of the kids with their Moms and Dads, and read the posts about what they did on that day.
 |
| Emma in her 1st white dress, on her blessing day. |
With each one, I ached for my little girl. My little girl who was so perfect, she didn't need to be tested and tried by this life. My little girl who was so perfect, she didn't need baptism. My little girl, who 8 years ago today, was born.
I wonder what she would be like now. How long would her hair be? Would she be taking dance classes like her sister? Would she be like me and just now be losing her teeth, or would she have done it earlier? Would she be loving 2nd grade? Who would her best friend be? What music would she like? What would she look like? What would her voice sound like? What would her laugh sound like?
These are questions I have everyday, but especially today, on her birthday.
But today, we will celebrate her birth. We will buy her gifts and donate them to Toys for Tots, the kids will pick a lunch store and we will go to a local fun park to play arcade games and just have fun. We will celebrate with family, eat cake and remember our sweet girl. This year, we are going to remember her with laughter (and I am sure a few tears), but we are going to celebrate her life, no matter how short.
Today is my sweet Emma's day. I am so glad she was born. I am overjoyed that I am her Mom. She has brought me more joy than I ever dreamed possible.
Happy Birthday baby girl. You made me a Mama and I will forever love you.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Someone to Take Care of Her
We sat in a small room in the hospital trying desperately to digest the news that our baby was gone when the Social Worker came in, introduced herself and asked us "Where do you want to bury her?".
Huh? Bury her? What?
I had no clue. I wanted to scream, "I don't want to bury her. I want to take her home and have my life back!!" But, even in that very illogical state, I knew it wasn't an option.
What about cremation? No, I couldn't bear the thought of her little body being burned. Her body that was so perfect, I couldn't think about it.
I looked at Jeremy, "Kaysville?" I said. "Yes" he replied.
We were living in Shawnee Mission, Kansas. Jeremy had just finished his undergraduate degree at The University of Kansas, and hadn't found a job yet. We had no idea where in the country we would end up, but my folks, sister, and 2 brothers all lived in Utah. That is where Jeremy's folks are from and we knew there would always be someone there to take care of her.
Two weeks after Emma died we returned home. It felt so familiar yet so strange. It was so quiet, yet she was everywhere and no where at the same time. I told Jeremy that I couldn't do it. I couldn't stay there without her.
Two weeks later we found ourselves driving a Penske Truck with all of our belongings in it. My Mom and Brother caravaning with us, we made our way across the plains and into the mountains of Utah. My first stop was to see my girl, my baby, my Emma.
Since that day, I have visited her thousands of times. I have changed her flowers, wiped clean her picture and headstone, brought my babies there to "meet" their sister, and taken care of her the only way I can.
Now I am facing the reality that I will not get to do this anymore. We are moving 1400 miles away. I can't drive up here for her Angel Day and her Birthday anymore. I can't go wipe her picture clean after the mowers have been there. I can't make sure that I take her flowers down at Spring Cleanup so they don't throw everything away.
After December 15th this year, I won't be able to do anything for her anymore.
I knew this was a possibility when she died. I knew it was a possibility when Jeremy finished Graduate school and we were possibly moving to Indiana. But when he got a job in Utah I was relieved. I wouldn't have to leave her behind.
We received a 7 year grace period. 7 years to be near her, to have all of our children in 1 State. 7 years...
I woke up early this morning and realized that I had to leave her. That this birthday is my last one with my baby. Who would take care of her? I thought of my sisters, they are all so busy, I am sure they would forget. No one loves her as much as I do. No one else will take the time to remember all the important dates.
In tears, I sent out a plea today to my sisters. Who will take care of her? Who will love her? Who will make sure that she isn't forgotten?
Almost immediately after sending the email, my sister Cristin replied telling me that she and my niece would be happy to do it and I could stop worrying.
I am so grateful that I have people who not only love me, but love my baby and will take care of her while I am gone.
I am so grateful that God gave me a family full of people who love me and will help with whatever is needed. I am so very blessed.
Tender mercies indeed.
Huh? Bury her? What?
I had no clue. I wanted to scream, "I don't want to bury her. I want to take her home and have my life back!!" But, even in that very illogical state, I knew it wasn't an option.
What about cremation? No, I couldn't bear the thought of her little body being burned. Her body that was so perfect, I couldn't think about it.
I looked at Jeremy, "Kaysville?" I said. "Yes" he replied.
We were living in Shawnee Mission, Kansas. Jeremy had just finished his undergraduate degree at The University of Kansas, and hadn't found a job yet. We had no idea where in the country we would end up, but my folks, sister, and 2 brothers all lived in Utah. That is where Jeremy's folks are from and we knew there would always be someone there to take care of her.Two weeks after Emma died we returned home. It felt so familiar yet so strange. It was so quiet, yet she was everywhere and no where at the same time. I told Jeremy that I couldn't do it. I couldn't stay there without her.
Two weeks later we found ourselves driving a Penske Truck with all of our belongings in it. My Mom and Brother caravaning with us, we made our way across the plains and into the mountains of Utah. My first stop was to see my girl, my baby, my Emma.
 |
| Emma's first Halloween |
 |
| Introducing Seth to his big sister |
 |
After December 15th this year, I won't be able to do anything for her anymore.
We received a 7 year grace period. 7 years to be near her, to have all of our children in 1 State. 7 years...
I woke up early this morning and realized that I had to leave her. That this birthday is my last one with my baby. Who would take care of her? I thought of my sisters, they are all so busy, I am sure they would forget. No one loves her as much as I do. No one else will take the time to remember all the important dates.
In tears, I sent out a plea today to my sisters. Who will take care of her? Who will love her? Who will make sure that she isn't forgotten?
Almost immediately after sending the email, my sister Cristin replied telling me that she and my niece would be happy to do it and I could stop worrying.
I am so grateful that I have people who not only love me, but love my baby and will take care of her while I am gone.
I am so grateful that God gave me a family full of people who love me and will help with whatever is needed. I am so very blessed.
Tender mercies indeed.
* I just want to add that although my other 2 sisters didn't respond to the email as quickly as Cristin, I know that they too would have taken care of her. I have an amazing family and I am sure they will all be pitching in.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Help for Another
When Emma died, I was very blessed to be surrounded by some amazing women. They were not women I had ever met in person, but were like sisters to me. They were my sisters on an about.com due date forum - the January 2003 Mommies.
These women were amazing and lifted me up through a very difficult time in my life. They sent food, bracelets with Emma's name, monetary donations (enough that they paid for her headstone!), phone calls, cards, letters and prayers.
One thing I cherish to this day is a book they made for me. They took every post, every comment, everything they could find about Emma and printed it off and put it together in a book for me. Itwas is so comforting to go back and read these words, the words of hope and peace and love from my sisters.
My dear friend Loralee has brought an awful situation to my attention. There is another grieving Mama, her name is Jill. She just buried her sweet son and now there are those on the internet who are attacking her. They are attacking her decisions as a Mother and blaming her for the death of her child.
I have had people do that to me. It is not fun and it hurts. It makes me so angry to see another Mama who is going through unspeakable pain to have to defend her decisions to people she doesn't even know.
Loralee has started a Letters of Love campaign to show this Mama just how great the internet can be. All you need to do is write Jill a note. Let her know she is not alone, let her know she is loved, send her love through an email. Loralee and Jill's friend, Kristine, will then print the emails off and bind them into a book for Jill.
This small act of kindness can bring more love and light into Jill's life than you know.
I am closing comments on this post. Instead of writing to me, go write to Jill. Send your email to loraleechoate@gmail.com subject Letters of Love before Sunday evening.
I know I can count on each of you to show her the same love and support you have shown me.
Thank you each so much.
These women were amazing and lifted me up through a very difficult time in my life. They sent food, bracelets with Emma's name, monetary donations (enough that they paid for her headstone!), phone calls, cards, letters and prayers.
One thing I cherish to this day is a book they made for me. They took every post, every comment, everything they could find about Emma and printed it off and put it together in a book for me. It
My dear friend Loralee has brought an awful situation to my attention. There is another grieving Mama, her name is Jill. She just buried her sweet son and now there are those on the internet who are attacking her. They are attacking her decisions as a Mother and blaming her for the death of her child.
I have had people do that to me. It is not fun and it hurts. It makes me so angry to see another Mama who is going through unspeakable pain to have to defend her decisions to people she doesn't even know.
Loralee has started a Letters of Love campaign to show this Mama just how great the internet can be. All you need to do is write Jill a note. Let her know she is not alone, let her know she is loved, send her love through an email. Loralee and Jill's friend, Kristine, will then print the emails off and bind them into a book for Jill.
This small act of kindness can bring more love and light into Jill's life than you know.
I am closing comments on this post. Instead of writing to me, go write to Jill. Send your email to loraleechoate@gmail.com subject Letters of Love before Sunday evening.
I know I can count on each of you to show her the same love and support you have shown me.
Thank you each so much.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Dear Emma
Your brother and sisters and I watched this video today. They were full of questions about you. They tell me they miss you, but they really have no idea.
They wanted to know if I took any videos of you when you died. Was that the day you died? Was that before you died? Did I know you were going to die?
No, yes, no. Those were my answers.
Amelia wanted to know what you ate. I told her you nursed a lot. "Where are the videos or pictures of that?", she asked. I don't have any.
The pictures end way too soon. I look at these videos and pictures and barely recognize myself. I wonder what kind of a Mama I would have been had you lived. I wonder a lot about what my life would be like if you were still here.
You should be starting 2nd grade today with your brother. You two should be walking to school together, being excited to see each other on the playground and in the lunch room. You should be telling me what you want to eat in your lunch tomorrow and playing with your sisters right now.
There are so many shoulds. You should be here. You should be here. You should be here.
I miss you. I love you.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
If I had known
That this was going to be our last picture, I would have made sure it was a lot better.
But still, I love it. It is just so us. She crawled up on my lap and wanted some of my water. See the sopt on my shoulder? That was from her. The toys on the floor? From her. If I had known this was my last picture with her...well, I guess I wouldn't have changed a thing.
August 22, 2003
But still, I love it. It is just so us. She crawled up on my lap and wanted some of my water. See the sopt on my shoulder? That was from her. The toys on the floor? From her. If I had known this was my last picture with her...well, I guess I wouldn't have changed a thing.
August 22, 2003
Friday, August 20, 2010
Surviving
"How did you get through it? How did you survive?"
This is something I hear very often, especially from people when they find out my baby died. My response is always the same;
"I just do."
I say this in present tense because it wasn't something I did, something that happened and now I am done. Coping with the death of my daughter, my oldest child, is something I deal with every day of my life.
Maybe it's because her Angel Day is on Monday, or maybe it's just because I can finally be introspective enough to answer the question...but I have been pondering this a lot lately. How do I do it?
Emma died around 4pm on Saturday, August 23, 2003. It was my in-law's 30th Anniversary, and we were at their house.
Jeremy's sister and her friend brought us back to our apartment that night. I know if we had to drive ourselves, I wouldn't be writing this right now.
As we stumbled in the back door of our apartment, it was so quiet. It had been like that many times before. We would come home from being out and Emma would have fallen asleep. Usually I would take her into our room and Jeremy would change her diaper while I nursed her so she wouldn't wake up. That night we didn't have to worry about that.
Her toys and clothes were everywhere, her diapers needed to be washed, there was blood on my shirt and the stink of death on me. Before we had done anything though, my darling took me by the shoulders and, looking me in the eye said, "Don't you dare leave me here alone. Promise me. Please don't leave me here by myself."
I promised him. That is how I made it through the early days.
Most people have funeral arrangements to make, not me. I couldn't do it. My fabulous in-laws did everything. They picked out her casket, bought her plane ticket, and made sure we ate. My family got us out there, picked out her plot and dressed her for the graveside service.
In the early days I got through as best I could. I had family around me and they lifted me up and helped me.
If I didn't mention my faith, I would be leaving out a huge part of my story. I believe that I will not only see Emma again someday, but after the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, there will be a resurrection. I believe that at that time, Emma will be resurrected as the baby she was and I will have the opportunity to raise her in a world free of temptation and sorrow, in a perfect world. That promise, that belief, has carried me through some very dark moments.
If I were to say that is all it has been, my faith, I would be lying. There have been times when my faith isn't enough and I just don't want to do this anymore. I have always said that religion and beliefs are great, but they won't fill my empty arms or empty my overfull breasts.
One month after Emma died, I became pregnant with Seth. I knew then that I was here for the long haul. I knew then that I would do everything I could to make her proud of me and to be a good Mama to her siblings.
In the last 7 years, I have had several different coping mechanisms. But the ones that stick, the ones that get me through the most difficult times are the ones that live in my house.
It's the late night nursings, kissing fat baby cheeks, tending to a scraped knee, brushing away crocodile tears. It is the spontaneous hugs, the "I love you's", the late night stories and memories we make. It's the first day of school, the first bike ride, the first steps and words. It's my hands in their hair, singing a soft lullabye. It's hearing, "Hello Mama!" at 3 am and just smiling because they're so happy to see me.
It's all the things I never got to do with Emma. All those things that I try so hard not to take for granted.
It's the look in his eyes when he tells me he loves me. It's walking through Time's Square eating cheesecake in the rain, it's snuggling up to my love and having him hold me when I cry.
So when you ask how I do it? How I survive? It's on love. I survive on love. The day Emma died a huge part of me died too. I never thought I would love again that way, but I do. The love I have for her brother, sisters and Dad help to heal my broken heart daily.
That is how I do it.
This is something I hear very often, especially from people when they find out my baby died. My response is always the same;
"I just do."
I say this in present tense because it wasn't something I did, something that happened and now I am done. Coping with the death of my daughter, my oldest child, is something I deal with every day of my life.
Maybe it's because her Angel Day is on Monday, or maybe it's just because I can finally be introspective enough to answer the question...but I have been pondering this a lot lately. How do I do it?
Emma died around 4pm on Saturday, August 23, 2003. It was my in-law's 30th Anniversary, and we were at their house.
Jeremy's sister and her friend brought us back to our apartment that night. I know if we had to drive ourselves, I wouldn't be writing this right now.
As we stumbled in the back door of our apartment, it was so quiet. It had been like that many times before. We would come home from being out and Emma would have fallen asleep. Usually I would take her into our room and Jeremy would change her diaper while I nursed her so she wouldn't wake up. That night we didn't have to worry about that.
Her toys and clothes were everywhere, her diapers needed to be washed, there was blood on my shirt and the stink of death on me. Before we had done anything though, my darling took me by the shoulders and, looking me in the eye said, "Don't you dare leave me here alone. Promise me. Please don't leave me here by myself."
I promised him. That is how I made it through the early days.
Most people have funeral arrangements to make, not me. I couldn't do it. My fabulous in-laws did everything. They picked out her casket, bought her plane ticket, and made sure we ate. My family got us out there, picked out her plot and dressed her for the graveside service.
In the early days I got through as best I could. I had family around me and they lifted me up and helped me.
If I didn't mention my faith, I would be leaving out a huge part of my story. I believe that I will not only see Emma again someday, but after the Second Coming of Jesus Christ, there will be a resurrection. I believe that at that time, Emma will be resurrected as the baby she was and I will have the opportunity to raise her in a world free of temptation and sorrow, in a perfect world. That promise, that belief, has carried me through some very dark moments.
If I were to say that is all it has been, my faith, I would be lying. There have been times when my faith isn't enough and I just don't want to do this anymore. I have always said that religion and beliefs are great, but they won't fill my empty arms or empty my overfull breasts.
One month after Emma died, I became pregnant with Seth. I knew then that I was here for the long haul. I knew then that I would do everything I could to make her proud of me and to be a good Mama to her siblings.
In the last 7 years, I have had several different coping mechanisms. But the ones that stick, the ones that get me through the most difficult times are the ones that live in my house.
It's the late night nursings, kissing fat baby cheeks, tending to a scraped knee, brushing away crocodile tears. It is the spontaneous hugs, the "I love you's", the late night stories and memories we make. It's the first day of school, the first bike ride, the first steps and words. It's my hands in their hair, singing a soft lullabye. It's hearing, "Hello Mama!" at 3 am and just smiling because they're so happy to see me.
It's all the things I never got to do with Emma. All those things that I try so hard not to take for granted.
It's the look in his eyes when he tells me he loves me. It's walking through Time's Square eating cheesecake in the rain, it's snuggling up to my love and having him hold me when I cry.
So when you ask how I do it? How I survive? It's on love. I survive on love. The day Emma died a huge part of me died too. I never thought I would love again that way, but I do. The love I have for her brother, sisters and Dad help to heal my broken heart daily.
That is how I do it.
Monday, June 28, 2010
And Sometimes They Live
Today I am talking to those of you who have lost a babe. There is something so scary about having another one after you know what can happen. Your heart races when you think about loving this new little person and giving so much of yourself again, just to have it possibly destroyed, again.
You might wake up in the night sweating and have to rush to check on your baby. You may not feel your babe moving in your womb and immediately start calculating when the last time you felt them was and rush to get a glass of orange juice to wake them up. You might think about their impending birth and have a full on panic attack.
This is all normal. Seriously, it is. You see, when you know what it is to losesomething someone so perfect, precious, and YOURS, you are forever changed. You will never look at the world the way you once did. The naive part of you is gone. You will assume the worst. You may just assume your next child will not be born, will not live, will not live past the age that your sweet angel left you.
But I want to tell you something. I want to give you hope. It has been almost 7 years since Emma left us. In that time she has gained 3 siblings. And guess what? Sometimes THEY LIVE.
Usually they live. We are the exception, not the rule. Enjoy those flutters, kicks, birthing pains, late nights, sore nipples, first teeth, first words, first steps and more. Because they are going to continue.
My baby boy, the one who came to heal our hearts and fill our arms just a month after Emma died, that boy who I was SURE wouldn't live past a year, that same boy just turned 6 and is starting 1st Grade this fall.
Sometimes they live. Hang on my friends. It won't always be as hard as it is right now. Hang on to my promise and know that when you need reassurance, I am always here.
You might wake up in the night sweating and have to rush to check on your baby. You may not feel your babe moving in your womb and immediately start calculating when the last time you felt them was and rush to get a glass of orange juice to wake them up. You might think about their impending birth and have a full on panic attack.
This is all normal. Seriously, it is. You see, when you know what it is to lose
But I want to tell you something. I want to give you hope. It has been almost 7 years since Emma left us. In that time she has gained 3 siblings. And guess what? Sometimes THEY LIVE.
Usually they live. We are the exception, not the rule. Enjoy those flutters, kicks, birthing pains, late nights, sore nipples, first teeth, first words, first steps and more. Because they are going to continue.
My baby boy, the one who came to heal our hearts and fill our arms just a month after Emma died, that boy who I was SURE wouldn't live past a year, that same boy just turned 6 and is starting 1st Grade this fall.
Sometimes they live. Hang on my friends. It won't always be as hard as it is right now. Hang on to my promise and know that when you need reassurance, I am always here.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
What It's Like
We are out on a walk enjoying the beautiful Spring weather. The sun is shining, flowers are blooming, we hear the birds chirping and we are all happy. Right in that moment, we are happy. The children are singing and laughing and I am enjoying them.
Then I see it. A little girl, about 9 years old pushing her baby sister in a stroller. My heart sinks and instantly I am reminded of what I don't have. I am reminded of what my life could have been like, should have been like, was supposed to be like. And in that instant, I am hurt to the core and want to sit down and sob.
It comes out of nowhere this grief. When I least expect it, I will be knocked onto my butt for days to come, all from seeing a girl who is just a wee older than Emma would be. Seeing a glimpse of what my life was going to be like.
After that I am super sensitive to everything. I can't focus on the children that are here because in that moment, I am so wrapped up in the one that is gone. I think back to the several people who came up to me at CBC just to tell me they couldn't come to my panel on Grief. They just can't handle it, can't sit through it, they can't listen to the stories and imagine themselves in it. After a while I started to think, "You can't handle listening to it? Try living it".
I will never be done grieving. I will always have an ache, an emptiness that nothing but her will fill. I heard someone say that grief shouldn't define who you are, but it does. Only those who have never experienced grief in a very real way can say that it shouldn't define who you are. It does define who we are because it is something we live with everyday and has changed us to the point where we often don't recognize that person in the mirror.
I will never stop grieving. I still function everyday. My children know I love them and that I am here for them at all times. But sometimes I just need to sit and cry and miss and remember and be a little selfish with my broken heart.
Then I see it. A little girl, about 9 years old pushing her baby sister in a stroller. My heart sinks and instantly I am reminded of what I don't have. I am reminded of what my life could have been like, should have been like, was supposed to be like. And in that instant, I am hurt to the core and want to sit down and sob.
It comes out of nowhere this grief. When I least expect it, I will be knocked onto my butt for days to come, all from seeing a girl who is just a wee older than Emma would be. Seeing a glimpse of what my life was going to be like.
After that I am super sensitive to everything. I can't focus on the children that are here because in that moment, I am so wrapped up in the one that is gone. I think back to the several people who came up to me at CBC just to tell me they couldn't come to my panel on Grief. They just can't handle it, can't sit through it, they can't listen to the stories and imagine themselves in it. After a while I started to think, "You can't handle listening to it? Try living it".
I will never be done grieving. I will always have an ache, an emptiness that nothing but her will fill. I heard someone say that grief shouldn't define who you are, but it does. Only those who have never experienced grief in a very real way can say that it shouldn't define who you are. It does define who we are because it is something we live with everyday and has changed us to the point where we often don't recognize that person in the mirror.
I will never stop grieving. I still function everyday. My children know I love them and that I am here for them at all times. But sometimes I just need to sit and cry and miss and remember and be a little selfish with my broken heart.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Don't Mess With Grieving Parents (cause we stick together)
As Mother's Day drew to a close, I sat down at my computer to unwind a bit. I logged into Twitter and saw this post from my friend, Loralee...
I was shocked, but only for a minute. Because in the last 7 years I have learned a lot of things, one of them is that people who have no idea what they are talking about will usually spout off and make their complete ignorance known.
I have had several people say things to my face about my grief, how I am grieving, with their opinions on what happened, what I should have done, what I should have said, how I should have acted or should act...I've heard just about everything. I have had a few horrific experiences where people said things and I had to stand there and try to keep my composure as my heart was being ripped to shreds.
Sadly, I am used to this. It is my life. It is what I deal with every day, as does every other parent who has lost a child.
So, when I saw this tweet from Loralee, I wasn't too surprised. I had barely responded to her tweet when my phone rang, I knew that number, it was her.
Since we live in the same town and have been walking this walk for the same amount of time, we often will chat and vent to one another. I knew this call was coming.
I immediately asked what happened, and she summed it up saying that a woman had sent her a very concerned email. This woman had seen that she was speaking at a conference this summer and was really worried about how she was going to be able to handle speaking about grief when she seems to be so fixated on hers. She implied that she didn't think it was healthy and helping anyone to be so focused on the child that was gone and that by posting about him twice in a row was, excessive.
This is where I dropped the phone because I could not believe that someone had the audacity to tell her how to grieve and what was and wasn't okay. Seriously. The woman then went on to say that what she really had a problem with was this picture.
My first thought was, why? Because her son was leaning on the headstone? But no, because it is morbid and inappropriate to post a picture of her family around the headstone of her dead son. The only family picture you can get with all of your children in it.
Does she mean like this??? Like the SEVERAL pictures I have of my kids playing with their sister the only way they can? The pictures that I have of my family with one of the only tangible things I have left of Emma? Is this what she was talking about? Maybe I am a bit excessive too and maybe I am a bit fixated on my child.
+April.jpg)
Now, I rarely get into anything like this online. If someone hurts a friend, I console my friend in private, but will rarely say a word online because I am a peacemaker and like everyone to be happy.
But this crossed a line for me. Let me just say this, if you have not lost a child do not tell a grieving parent what they should and shouldn't do and what seems excessive to you. You have no idea. You don't know what it is like to have Mother's Day come and to know that you have only part of your family here with you. You don't know what it is like to have birthday's come only to go celebrate them in a cemetery. You don't know what it is like to watch other children your child's age grow and know that you will not get to see that. You just don't know.
Heck, I have lost a child and I still wouldn't do that. Why? Because everyone grieves so differently. Grief is a strange animal and it manifests in so many different ways.
I have chosen writing to help me on my path to healing. It isn't for everyone. In fact a few months after Emma died, I convinced Jeremy that he should get a journal and start writing. I mean, it was helping me, surely it would help him, right? Wrong. He wrote in it once. What helps one person may not help another.
If you go into my archives and read around August and December (yep, including July, September, November and January) of every year you will find many posts about Emma. You will see that I am sad, I am focusing on her, I am maybe even writing about her excessively. But guess what? That is my prerogative. This is how I have chosen to cope, to heal, to live my life. If you don't like it I have 4 words for you.Shut the H*** Up Don't Read My Blog. (you know I am riled up when I have a pseudo-swear word in here).
One more thing that was mentioned, either in that email or another one Loralee received that night. She was told to stop focusing so much on the child that is gone and start focusing more on the children that are here.
I really have a hard time with this. I have been told this several times by many well intentioned people. But here is the thing. I focus almost all of my time and energy on my living children. I am with them day in and day out. I feed them, clothe them, play with them, shuttle them to and fro, do all the things a Mother does and I am dang good at it. I am there for them, I listen to them, I rock them, I dry their tears and I cry with them. And just because I do all of that with them doesn't make me love and miss Emma any less.
So, why would it make me be less present and love my living children less if I still miss Emma? If I cry about her, if I long for her, if I wish with all my heart I could do all the things I am doing with my other kids with her? Why is that not okay? Why is that so taboo? Why can't I do both? Why can't we all do both?
I love all of my children. They each make my heart ache in their own way. I swell with pride when thinking about each of them. And at times I fixate on each of them individually. And if when I am hurting because I miss the one who is not here, I write about her a bit more than usual, that's okay. It's how I am healing.
And I am healing.
I have had several people say things to my face about my grief, how I am grieving, with their opinions on what happened, what I should have done, what I should have said, how I should have acted or should act...I've heard just about everything. I have had a few horrific experiences where people said things and I had to stand there and try to keep my composure as my heart was being ripped to shreds.
Sadly, I am used to this. It is my life. It is what I deal with every day, as does every other parent who has lost a child.
So, when I saw this tweet from Loralee, I wasn't too surprised. I had barely responded to her tweet when my phone rang, I knew that number, it was her.
Since we live in the same town and have been walking this walk for the same amount of time, we often will chat and vent to one another. I knew this call was coming.
I immediately asked what happened, and she summed it up saying that a woman had sent her a very concerned email. This woman had seen that she was speaking at a conference this summer and was really worried about how she was going to be able to handle speaking about grief when she seems to be so fixated on hers. She implied that she didn't think it was healthy and helping anyone to be so focused on the child that was gone and that by posting about him twice in a row was, excessive.
This is where I dropped the phone because I could not believe that someone had the audacity to tell her how to grieve and what was and wasn't okay. Seriously. The woman then went on to say that what she really had a problem with was this picture.
My first thought was, why? Because her son was leaning on the headstone? But no, because it is morbid and inappropriate to post a picture of her family around the headstone of her dead son. The only family picture you can get with all of your children in it.
Does she mean like this??? Like the SEVERAL pictures I have of my kids playing with their sister the only way they can? The pictures that I have of my family with one of the only tangible things I have left of Emma? Is this what she was talking about? Maybe I am a bit excessive too and maybe I am a bit fixated on my child.
+April.jpg)
Click to make it bigger...that is if you don't think it's too morbid.
But this crossed a line for me. Let me just say this, if you have not lost a child do not tell a grieving parent what they should and shouldn't do and what seems excessive to you. You have no idea. You don't know what it is like to have Mother's Day come and to know that you have only part of your family here with you. You don't know what it is like to have birthday's come only to go celebrate them in a cemetery. You don't know what it is like to watch other children your child's age grow and know that you will not get to see that. You just don't know.
Heck, I have lost a child and I still wouldn't do that. Why? Because everyone grieves so differently. Grief is a strange animal and it manifests in so many different ways.
I have chosen writing to help me on my path to healing. It isn't for everyone. In fact a few months after Emma died, I convinced Jeremy that he should get a journal and start writing. I mean, it was helping me, surely it would help him, right? Wrong. He wrote in it once. What helps one person may not help another.
If you go into my archives and read around August and December (yep, including July, September, November and January) of every year you will find many posts about Emma. You will see that I am sad, I am focusing on her, I am maybe even writing about her excessively. But guess what? That is my prerogative. This is how I have chosen to cope, to heal, to live my life. If you don't like it I have 4 words for you.
One more thing that was mentioned, either in that email or another one Loralee received that night. She was told to stop focusing so much on the child that is gone and start focusing more on the children that are here.
I really have a hard time with this. I have been told this several times by many well intentioned people. But here is the thing. I focus almost all of my time and energy on my living children. I am with them day in and day out. I feed them, clothe them, play with them, shuttle them to and fro, do all the things a Mother does and I am dang good at it. I am there for them, I listen to them, I rock them, I dry their tears and I cry with them. And just because I do all of that with them doesn't make me love and miss Emma any less.
So, why would it make me be less present and love my living children less if I still miss Emma? If I cry about her, if I long for her, if I wish with all my heart I could do all the things I am doing with my other kids with her? Why is that not okay? Why is that so taboo? Why can't I do both? Why can't we all do both?
I love all of my children. They each make my heart ache in their own way. I swell with pride when thinking about each of them. And at times I fixate on each of them individually. And if when I am hurting because I miss the one who is not here, I write about her a bit more than usual, that's okay. It's how I am healing.
And I am healing.
Friday, April 16, 2010
The Aftermath
It is 4 am and I am awake with the baby. She is not a baby anymore, but she is my baby and she is wide awake. I am frustrated with her, but then I think of her older sister. I think of my oldest who I would give anything in the world to be up all night with. My mind starts wandering back to that place, the place where it goes when things are quiet and the world is still. My mind starts wandering back to that Summer day 6 years ago.
*******
Here I am, 26 years old and am sitting in a cold sterile hospital room holding my baby girl, wiping her face around the tubes that were put in to help her breathe. Singing to her one last time, cutting a lock of her hair, smelling her, feeling her back where it is still warm, trying to believe she is still alive. Then it is time. I know it is time. I have to leave. As I choke back a sob, I leave my baby's lifeless body on the hospital bed, open the glass door and walk away.
*******
Saturday morning started much like every other. I woke up with the sun and with my sweet Emma crawling up and whispering in my face. Letting Jeremy sleep in, Emma and I got ready and walked to Weight Watchers. She played with people's water bottles, got super dirty (seriously, those carpets never get cleaned!), and entertained the masses.
We went home and I got online. I posted a bit in my due date forum, talked with my dear friends, read what others had written and then wrote something really important. On that day, I wrote on the ICAN board, Today I am going to be happy. This was really important because for the last 8 months I had really been struggling with the fact that I'd had a c-section. I had really struggled with the fact that I was going to have to fight to have a vaginal birth when I had another baby. I was tired of struggling though, I was tired of feeling like a failure. She was born, that was all that mattered. So, that day, I decided to be happy.
******
“It's your Mom and Dad's Anniversary, we should go over there. Plus your sister wants to see us and Emma before she takes off to the football game”.
We got our things ready and headed over to see Jeremy's folks. 30 years they'd been married, we needed to celebrate with them. Emma had dirt under her nails and dirty knees from our excursion that morning, I wiped off her knees and decided to clip her nails after her bath that night. I grabbed a few diapers and wipes and we were off.
We arrived at Grandma and Grandpa's house and Emma immediately started crawling around. She ate Cheerios, the decision to buy outlet guards was made and she did a huge poop. About an hour or so later, she was exhausted and ready to nurse. She nursed for an hour. I remember that hour so well. I played with her hair, was disgusted at her nails, and just loved on my baby.
When it came time to lay her down, I tried putting her in the playpen, but she just wouldn't have it. She had always slept on our bed with us, so I put her on the bed upstairs.
******
“Honey, we're going to get some Winter clothes for Em, Children's Orchard just put out their good Winter stuff today. She's upstairs sleeping, call on your Mom's cell if she wakes up and I'll come right home”.
An hour later I returned with bags of cute clothing that would never be worn.
“Is Emma still asleep? I need to go check on her” I said.
“I just did 10 minutes ago, she was fine. But if you want to you can”. My father-in-law replied.
I didn't want him to think I didn't trust him, so despite the feeling in my heart and the voice in my head that said, “If anything happens to her I'll never forgive myself”, I didn't. I showed him the clothes we bought and sat down enjoying the silence that comes before my baby woke up.
3 minutes later...
“Kim, there's something wrong with Emma, I found her like this”.
I will never forget what my Mother-in-law said that day. I screamed for Jeremy when I saw my baby, who didn't look like my baby anymore. When I looked at her and knew her Spirit was gone.
The Paramedics were called, they worked so hard, we sped to the hospital, “faster, faster, faster” I prayed.
******
In a room at the hospital, the doctor comes in and tells me she's gone. I hit him. I cry. I make phone calls to tell my family. The Social Worker asks where we want to bury her. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I just want to see her. I just want to hold my baby. I just want to wake up from this nightmare.
******
What do I do now? We went home with Jeremy's sister and her friend. I asked her to post to my due date forum about Emma. They needed to know. They were my family.
When we got home, I walked in the door and just didn't know what to do. Her smell was everywhere, permeating every bit of where we lived. Her highchair ready for her to sit in, diapers in the pail waiting to be washed, the books and toys she's played with that morning, her clothes, our bed...everywhere I looked I saw Emma. But it was so silent. My breasts were full with milk and had no one to feed. The silence overwhelmed me. Where was she?
Jeremy's best friends parents came over. They had a baby die also. I asked her, what do I do now? I am so lost. I just don't know what to do now.
A friend called, one who was in my due date forum with me. She had a baby die in utero at 19 weeks. I sobbed to her, what do I do now?
I talked to the organ and tissue donation people. So surreal. I couldn't believe this was my life now. I couldn't believe that just 5 hours ago my life was normal and now it was changed forever.
We couldn't sleep, we couldn't eat. We just held each other and cried. We talked, we cried. Finally we both fell into a fitful sleep only to wake up and realize our nightmare was real.
******
“Your Mom and Stephanie will be there today. They are renting a car and will come right over”.
The immediate aftermath is frenzied. Making arrangements, where to bury her, buying a plot, designing a headstone, flying to Utah, what to bury her in, who to call, what to do, what to do, what to do.
Jeremy's Parents dealt with the funeral home for me. My Mom, Jeremy's Mom, my Sister-in-law and someone else (but I don't remember who) dressed her. A friend of my Mom's came and did hand and foot molds of her for us. I just existed. As much as I didn't want to, I kept going.
I remember so vividly the pain. First there was the physical. The obvious pain. My breasts were so swollen and rock hard. They were hot and huge and hurt at all times, especially when someone would hug me...which happened a lot.
Then there was the pain that was not so obvious. The searing pain of loss. The feeling of being completely empty inside and filled with darkness. The knowing in my head that she was gone, but waking every morning frantically looking for her.
I can see myself sitting on the floor of the living room, the warm sunshine streaming in through the window. My sister Stephanie is trying to get me to eat and suddenly the tears come. They start silently going down my face. I am thinking of trying to feed Emma solids and know that it will never happen again. Then my body starts to shake with sobs. I cry, I scream, I beg, I plead, I bargain with God, just anything to get her back. It doesn't help, she is gone. I scream so hard to try to erase the emptiness I feel inside. I wander around my small apartment searching for her. Expecting her to be in another room, sleeping or hiding or just waiting for me. She is not though. The reality is too much to bear. The reality that she is at the mortuary, cold and lifeless, I just can't take it. I scream again and again and again.
Slowly the tears stop and I can breathe again. I imagine this is what contractions feel like. They come, build up slowly, peak and you think you can't do it anymore, and then subside. I am finally laboring, laboring my grief.
******
It has been 6 years 8 months since Emma died. I would be lying if I said that I didn't miss her anymore or that it is easier. It is not easier, it is just different. I have learned to live with a hole in my heart. I have learned to laugh without feeling guilty, I have learned to love without fear of my children dying. I have learned to treasure moments and to not take my babies for granted. But it still hurts. I still cry, I still long, I still miss her.
In the days, weeks, months and years that have followed Emma's death, I have played the worst time in my life over and over in my mind. That truly was the worst time of my life. The most painful, the most trying, the absolute hardest thing I have ever had to endure.
And what I find is that I am not done enduring it. I will be enduring this for as long as I live. This is part of me, part of my life, part of who I am.
*******
Here I am, 26 years old and am sitting in a cold sterile hospital room holding my baby girl, wiping her face around the tubes that were put in to help her breathe. Singing to her one last time, cutting a lock of her hair, smelling her, feeling her back where it is still warm, trying to believe she is still alive. Then it is time. I know it is time. I have to leave. As I choke back a sob, I leave my baby's lifeless body on the hospital bed, open the glass door and walk away.
*******
Saturday morning started much like every other. I woke up with the sun and with my sweet Emma crawling up and whispering in my face. Letting Jeremy sleep in, Emma and I got ready and walked to Weight Watchers. She played with people's water bottles, got super dirty (seriously, those carpets never get cleaned!), and entertained the masses.
We went home and I got online. I posted a bit in my due date forum, talked with my dear friends, read what others had written and then wrote something really important. On that day, I wrote on the ICAN board, Today I am going to be happy. This was really important because for the last 8 months I had really been struggling with the fact that I'd had a c-section. I had really struggled with the fact that I was going to have to fight to have a vaginal birth when I had another baby. I was tired of struggling though, I was tired of feeling like a failure. She was born, that was all that mattered. So, that day, I decided to be happy.
******
“It's your Mom and Dad's Anniversary, we should go over there. Plus your sister wants to see us and Emma before she takes off to the football game”.
We got our things ready and headed over to see Jeremy's folks. 30 years they'd been married, we needed to celebrate with them. Emma had dirt under her nails and dirty knees from our excursion that morning, I wiped off her knees and decided to clip her nails after her bath that night. I grabbed a few diapers and wipes and we were off.
We arrived at Grandma and Grandpa's house and Emma immediately started crawling around. She ate Cheerios, the decision to buy outlet guards was made and she did a huge poop. About an hour or so later, she was exhausted and ready to nurse. She nursed for an hour. I remember that hour so well. I played with her hair, was disgusted at her nails, and just loved on my baby.
When it came time to lay her down, I tried putting her in the playpen, but she just wouldn't have it. She had always slept on our bed with us, so I put her on the bed upstairs.
******
“Honey, we're going to get some Winter clothes for Em, Children's Orchard just put out their good Winter stuff today. She's upstairs sleeping, call on your Mom's cell if she wakes up and I'll come right home”.
An hour later I returned with bags of cute clothing that would never be worn.
“Is Emma still asleep? I need to go check on her” I said.
“I just did 10 minutes ago, she was fine. But if you want to you can”. My father-in-law replied.
I didn't want him to think I didn't trust him, so despite the feeling in my heart and the voice in my head that said, “If anything happens to her I'll never forgive myself”, I didn't. I showed him the clothes we bought and sat down enjoying the silence that comes before my baby woke up.
3 minutes later...
“Kim, there's something wrong with Emma, I found her like this”.
I will never forget what my Mother-in-law said that day. I screamed for Jeremy when I saw my baby, who didn't look like my baby anymore. When I looked at her and knew her Spirit was gone.
The Paramedics were called, they worked so hard, we sped to the hospital, “faster, faster, faster” I prayed.
******
In a room at the hospital, the doctor comes in and tells me she's gone. I hit him. I cry. I make phone calls to tell my family. The Social Worker asks where we want to bury her. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I just want to see her. I just want to hold my baby. I just want to wake up from this nightmare.
******
What do I do now? We went home with Jeremy's sister and her friend. I asked her to post to my due date forum about Emma. They needed to know. They were my family.
When we got home, I walked in the door and just didn't know what to do. Her smell was everywhere, permeating every bit of where we lived. Her highchair ready for her to sit in, diapers in the pail waiting to be washed, the books and toys she's played with that morning, her clothes, our bed...everywhere I looked I saw Emma. But it was so silent. My breasts were full with milk and had no one to feed. The silence overwhelmed me. Where was she?
Jeremy's best friends parents came over. They had a baby die also. I asked her, what do I do now? I am so lost. I just don't know what to do now.
A friend called, one who was in my due date forum with me. She had a baby die in utero at 19 weeks. I sobbed to her, what do I do now?
I talked to the organ and tissue donation people. So surreal. I couldn't believe this was my life now. I couldn't believe that just 5 hours ago my life was normal and now it was changed forever.
We couldn't sleep, we couldn't eat. We just held each other and cried. We talked, we cried. Finally we both fell into a fitful sleep only to wake up and realize our nightmare was real.
******
“Your Mom and Stephanie will be there today. They are renting a car and will come right over”.
The immediate aftermath is frenzied. Making arrangements, where to bury her, buying a plot, designing a headstone, flying to Utah, what to bury her in, who to call, what to do, what to do, what to do.
Jeremy's Parents dealt with the funeral home for me. My Mom, Jeremy's Mom, my Sister-in-law and someone else (but I don't remember who) dressed her. A friend of my Mom's came and did hand and foot molds of her for us. I just existed. As much as I didn't want to, I kept going.
I remember so vividly the pain. First there was the physical. The obvious pain. My breasts were so swollen and rock hard. They were hot and huge and hurt at all times, especially when someone would hug me...which happened a lot.
Then there was the pain that was not so obvious. The searing pain of loss. The feeling of being completely empty inside and filled with darkness. The knowing in my head that she was gone, but waking every morning frantically looking for her.
I can see myself sitting on the floor of the living room, the warm sunshine streaming in through the window. My sister Stephanie is trying to get me to eat and suddenly the tears come. They start silently going down my face. I am thinking of trying to feed Emma solids and know that it will never happen again. Then my body starts to shake with sobs. I cry, I scream, I beg, I plead, I bargain with God, just anything to get her back. It doesn't help, she is gone. I scream so hard to try to erase the emptiness I feel inside. I wander around my small apartment searching for her. Expecting her to be in another room, sleeping or hiding or just waiting for me. She is not though. The reality is too much to bear. The reality that she is at the mortuary, cold and lifeless, I just can't take it. I scream again and again and again.
Slowly the tears stop and I can breathe again. I imagine this is what contractions feel like. They come, build up slowly, peak and you think you can't do it anymore, and then subside. I am finally laboring, laboring my grief.
******
It has been 6 years 8 months since Emma died. I would be lying if I said that I didn't miss her anymore or that it is easier. It is not easier, it is just different. I have learned to live with a hole in my heart. I have learned to laugh without feeling guilty, I have learned to love without fear of my children dying. I have learned to treasure moments and to not take my babies for granted. But it still hurts. I still cry, I still long, I still miss her.
In the days, weeks, months and years that have followed Emma's death, I have played the worst time in my life over and over in my mind. That truly was the worst time of my life. The most painful, the most trying, the absolute hardest thing I have ever had to endure.
And what I find is that I am not done enduring it. I will be enduring this for as long as I live. This is part of me, part of my life, part of who I am.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Maddie
One year ago today, Madeline Alice Spohr became and Angel. Today is her Angel day. She was the first born of her Mama and Daddy and is so loved. She had big blue eyes and a smile that is sure to melt your heart.
I first wrote about Maddie on April 10 of last year. Three days after she had been gone. Three days into her family's nightmare.
I immediately emailed Heather, as I do any Mom when I find out they have lost a baby. You can feel so alone and it is nice to know you're not.
Heather and I didn't really start corresponding until after Blogher this year though. You see, Heather became pregnant 1 month after Maddie died. This was something that I could understand completely. Lose your first baby and get pregnant right away? I got it. The grief compiled with pregnancy hormones is just indescribable. I only wish I lived closer so I could have gone and actually helped her face to face.
Today is Maddie's Day. Today is the day her folks will cry and laugh when they think of her. Today they will hold onto Maddie's little sister, Annie, extra tight and say an extra prayer for her.
Today millions around the globe will remember Maddie and send prayers, thoughts, and good energy to help uplift those who miss and love Madeline oh so much.
I didn't know Maddie in this life, I am so glad I have had the chance to get to know her through Heather though.
Today I pray Maddie's spirit can be with her Mama and Daddy and they can feel her close. I pray that other babies who are born so early and have damaged lungs will receive the care they need so no more parents have to do the unthinkable, say goodbye to their babies.
Today I hold Heather, Mike and Annie close in my heart.
And today, in honor of Maddie, everything sale in my Etsy shop will be donated to March of Dimes.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Therapy
I had my first therapy session last Thursday. It went really well. I even cried. Something I swore I would not do on the first day of therapy. But, I guess when you have an amazing therapist, you can feel comfortable enough to really let it all out.
I feel really lucky to have found someone right off the bat who has worked with trauma a lot. I never really thought of my life as being overly traumatic, but I guess when you break it down the last eight years have been a rollercoaster at best.
I am starting to realize just how much the death of Emma is impacting all of us in my home. As I was talking with my therapist, I started to wonder if maybe, sub-consciously, her death is the reason that Seth is so angry. Maybe he feels that he is living in her shadow. It was something I never wanted to happen. I never wanted my children to feel that they were less than their older sister. I just wanted them to know about her.
However....she fills a very large space in our family. I swore when she died I would never have a shrine to her. When you walk into my house though, there is a curio cabinet filled with Emma and pictures on the wall of her. I have always justified having more pictures of her up than the other kids because the other kids are here. But I wonder now what that is doing to them even if they don't realize it?
One of my homework assignments for therapy this week is to think about how to change the space that Emma takes in our family. To make room for the other five of us. To make it equal. In the first few years there was no way I could have done this. But now, now that it's been 6 1/2 years, I think I can. I am starting to be able to let go of physical things that were hers. Or, to let the girls wear her bracelets and when they ask whose they are NOT say Emma's. I just tell them that they are theirs.
Creating this new space, this new way of our family's thinking is not going to be easy, and may be painful. But it needs to be done. She is a part of our family now and always. But she is not the most important member of our family, we are all equally important. She is not the only person whose memory is important, the people who are here right now have just as much right to have their memories preserved as she does.
I love Emma so much. But I also love Seth, Amelia, and Libby. She is not my only child. I know that she wouldn't want me to put her up on a pedestal or glorify her. She was a baby and therefore she was so sweet and innocent. Had she had the chance to grow up, I am sure she would have been a stinker, gotten in trouble, caused me tears and grief (not that she hasn't already), and given me the same struggles that the other kids have given me.
So, here I go. I am trying to figure this out. How to make this family of mine work. How to heal and mend this broken family.
This journey of grief is never ending it seems. It just evolves and changes and hopefully I can evolve and change with it.
I feel really lucky to have found someone right off the bat who has worked with trauma a lot. I never really thought of my life as being overly traumatic, but I guess when you break it down the last eight years have been a rollercoaster at best.
I am starting to realize just how much the death of Emma is impacting all of us in my home. As I was talking with my therapist, I started to wonder if maybe, sub-consciously, her death is the reason that Seth is so angry. Maybe he feels that he is living in her shadow. It was something I never wanted to happen. I never wanted my children to feel that they were less than their older sister. I just wanted them to know about her.
However....she fills a very large space in our family. I swore when she died I would never have a shrine to her. When you walk into my house though, there is a curio cabinet filled with Emma and pictures on the wall of her. I have always justified having more pictures of her up than the other kids because the other kids are here. But I wonder now what that is doing to them even if they don't realize it?
One of my homework assignments for therapy this week is to think about how to change the space that Emma takes in our family. To make room for the other five of us. To make it equal. In the first few years there was no way I could have done this. But now, now that it's been 6 1/2 years, I think I can. I am starting to be able to let go of physical things that were hers. Or, to let the girls wear her bracelets and when they ask whose they are NOT say Emma's. I just tell them that they are theirs.
Creating this new space, this new way of our family's thinking is not going to be easy, and may be painful. But it needs to be done. She is a part of our family now and always. But she is not the most important member of our family, we are all equally important. She is not the only person whose memory is important, the people who are here right now have just as much right to have their memories preserved as she does.
I love Emma so much. But I also love Seth, Amelia, and Libby. She is not my only child. I know that she wouldn't want me to put her up on a pedestal or glorify her. She was a baby and therefore she was so sweet and innocent. Had she had the chance to grow up, I am sure she would have been a stinker, gotten in trouble, caused me tears and grief (not that she hasn't already), and given me the same struggles that the other kids have given me.
So, here I go. I am trying to figure this out. How to make this family of mine work. How to heal and mend this broken family.
This journey of grief is never ending it seems. It just evolves and changes and hopefully I can evolve and change with it.
Friday, January 1, 2010
Another Angel
Tuesday evening another Angel earned her wings. Her name is Ella, she is 6 years old, loves princesses and art, has 2 brothers and a baby sister. She is one of the sweetest little girls I have ever had the privilege of knowing.
Her Mom has been one of my dear friends for the last 9 years. We met at church when I moved back to Kansas in 2001. We got married within 6 months of each other and I confessed my new pregnancy to her right before she had her first baby. We lived on the same street as newly weds and new parents. She came and cleaned up my amniotic fluid and lined my car with Chux pads when my water broke with Emma. She brought us dinner, we watched each other's babies when we needed breaks...she cried with me when Emma died. We never would have dreamed that she would be in this terrible club.
One year and 20 days ago, her daughter was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She was told that Ella would not live to see the Spring flowers. Ella lived. She touched so many lives. She is loved by so many. When we were out in Kansas this Summer, we went to visit their family. Ella and I talked about Emma and I promised her that when she was scared and sad that my Emma would come and help her. I know that they are together right now.
My heart is breaking for my dear friend. This time is so hard. The pain is so intense, yet the situation is so surreal.
For her, I snuggled my babies just a bit longer tonight than normal. I held them each, looked at them, and thanked the Heavens that my kids are all healthy right now. For her, I said a prayer and asked that she be lifted up and comforted. For her, my dear friend, I will light a candle and remember her darling Angel.
Her Mom has been one of my dear friends for the last 9 years. We met at church when I moved back to Kansas in 2001. We got married within 6 months of each other and I confessed my new pregnancy to her right before she had her first baby. We lived on the same street as newly weds and new parents. She came and cleaned up my amniotic fluid and lined my car with Chux pads when my water broke with Emma. She brought us dinner, we watched each other's babies when we needed breaks...she cried with me when Emma died. We never would have dreamed that she would be in this terrible club.
One year and 20 days ago, her daughter was diagnosed with a brain tumor. She was told that Ella would not live to see the Spring flowers. Ella lived. She touched so many lives. She is loved by so many. When we were out in Kansas this Summer, we went to visit their family. Ella and I talked about Emma and I promised her that when she was scared and sad that my Emma would come and help her. I know that they are together right now.
My heart is breaking for my dear friend. This time is so hard. The pain is so intense, yet the situation is so surreal.
For her, I snuggled my babies just a bit longer tonight than normal. I held them each, looked at them, and thanked the Heavens that my kids are all healthy right now. For her, I said a prayer and asked that she be lifted up and comforted. For her, my dear friend, I will light a candle and remember her darling Angel.
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