I'm a few days late, but I wanted to post something about the many things I have to be thankful for this year. It's tough to see the forest through the trees when you're grieving, and I've spent a lot of time over the last few days reflecting on the things I've been blessed with, rather than what I feel has been taken from me. It really boils down to me being grateful for my family and friends, but there are a few small moments from the last several months that have really driven home how lucky I am.
I recently received a letter from a college friend. She expressed her condolences, shared that she had suffered a loss recently (on the same day I lost Emma, in fact), and generally said some of the kindest things I've read.
My friend Melissa texted me recently to tell me about a song she thought I might like, from an album called "For Emma, Forever Ago." I've been listening to it ever since. Knowing that Emma is in my friend's thoughts, as well, makes me feel like she's reaching out to all of us.
Lindsay recently sent me a note saying that she'd had a dream of Emma, looking beautiful in purple. Again, that she was thinking of us (even subconsciously!) means so much to me.
My mom continues to send me inspirational notes and emails, often when I need them the most. It's like she can feel from miles away when I am having a tough day.
Jen wrote to me on Thanksgiving to let me know she was thinking of me, and that she knew the holidays had to be hard. It was a lot easier than I thought it would be, in large part because I knew I had so many wonderful people supporting me.
Alli sends me some of the funniest, most random texts and emails - again, she has a knack for reaching out when I need a laugh the most!
My aunt Mary sent me a beautiful wooden block engraved with Emma's name and birth date. It is lovely, and looks perfect in her room. It's nice to have a permanent reminder that we can bring everywhere with us.
I have the best co-workers in the world. Whether it's going out to lunch to talk about Emma, asking how I'm doing, or making me delicious chili for no reason, I don't dread going in to work on tough days because everyone is so great.
My husband. He's pretty much the best. I had a really tough day a couple of weeks ago, and he left work early to come home and be with me. And then he bought me pizza and wine and cupcakes. It was perfect!
My dad, my dogs, my grandma, my aunt Cindy, Jeff's sisters and parents - they are all constantly doing little things that make me grateful to have them. I could never list the things that everyone has done to help Jeff and I, so I will have to make do with a blanket, "Thank you."
Monday, December 2, 2013
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Second Class Concerns
So I've done a lot of writing about the horrible things that I have dealt with post-stillbirth. However, there are a lot of things that are absolutely secondary concerns to everything else, and feel a little silly to whine about. But you know what? I have decided I'm not going to limit myself to whining about the big things. Here are the (distant) second class concerns that we "angel parents" (still not a fan of that term, suggestions for something else are welcome and encouraged) deal with:
1. Play-Doh Body. Oy, with this. It's not enough that we are dealing with the hormonal side effects of pregnancy and birth, we are forced to deal with post-pregnancy bodies, as well. Does this sound shallow? It is. And it makes me feel like a part of the mother tribe to share this shallow complaint. I was blessed with genetics that allow me to be 5'10" and know that I would have try extremely hard to become morbidly obese. The unfortunate side effect is that I have never had a huge need to exercise or watch what I eat (how sorry for me do you feel?). At this point I am baffled by the way my body looks - it's like a child was molding a Barbie doll out of Play-Doh and lost steam. There are lumps and bumps in completely nonsensical areas. And I don't understand why when I do Pilates once a week(ish) and work out with a trainer once a week and sort of watch what I eat but also cheat with Qdoba nachos I'm not losing weight. It's a mystery.
2. Bills, Bills, Bills. This is a huge insult to injury. Leaving the hospital without a baby in your arms is heartbreaking. Getting bills in the mail for months after losing your child feels criminal. Shelling out thousands of dollars for what feels like nothing (except the aforementioned Play-Doh body and enough material to start a blog) is a pain in the ass and a constant reminder of what you've lost.
3. Lactose Intolerant. Losing a child at any point beyond 12 weeks can result in a woman's milk coming in. I have heard that this is painful. It didn't even occur to me in the hospital that this would happen until my doctor told me. Apparently there used to be a shot that would halt milk production, but it had cardiac side effects that were less than desirable. Within a couple of days of getting out of the hospital, it happened. My boobs were like the Grinch's heart. They grew three sizes that day. Sadly, Jeff could not even bear witness to this event (I have never been what the kids would call "well-endowed" - kids say that, yes?), as I was essentially binding myself down with the tightest sports bra I could get. To women in my position, I have very few tips to help you through this, except for one: cabbage. It helps. It's gross. But it helps.
So those are my top three annoyances. Petty? Sure. But as I said, it makes me feel like I'm a normal mother - something that's a rare occurrence in my daily life.
1. Play-Doh Body. Oy, with this. It's not enough that we are dealing with the hormonal side effects of pregnancy and birth, we are forced to deal with post-pregnancy bodies, as well. Does this sound shallow? It is. And it makes me feel like a part of the mother tribe to share this shallow complaint. I was blessed with genetics that allow me to be 5'10" and know that I would have try extremely hard to become morbidly obese. The unfortunate side effect is that I have never had a huge need to exercise or watch what I eat (how sorry for me do you feel?). At this point I am baffled by the way my body looks - it's like a child was molding a Barbie doll out of Play-Doh and lost steam. There are lumps and bumps in completely nonsensical areas. And I don't understand why when I do Pilates once a week(ish) and work out with a trainer once a week and sort of watch what I eat but also cheat with Qdoba nachos I'm not losing weight. It's a mystery.
2. Bills, Bills, Bills. This is a huge insult to injury. Leaving the hospital without a baby in your arms is heartbreaking. Getting bills in the mail for months after losing your child feels criminal. Shelling out thousands of dollars for what feels like nothing (except the aforementioned Play-Doh body and enough material to start a blog) is a pain in the ass and a constant reminder of what you've lost.
3. Lactose Intolerant. Losing a child at any point beyond 12 weeks can result in a woman's milk coming in. I have heard that this is painful. It didn't even occur to me in the hospital that this would happen until my doctor told me. Apparently there used to be a shot that would halt milk production, but it had cardiac side effects that were less than desirable. Within a couple of days of getting out of the hospital, it happened. My boobs were like the Grinch's heart. They grew three sizes that day. Sadly, Jeff could not even bear witness to this event (I have never been what the kids would call "well-endowed" - kids say that, yes?), as I was essentially binding myself down with the tightest sports bra I could get. To women in my position, I have very few tips to help you through this, except for one: cabbage. It helps. It's gross. But it helps.
So those are my top three annoyances. Petty? Sure. But as I said, it makes me feel like I'm a normal mother - something that's a rare occurrence in my daily life.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Save Me, Jessica Lange
Last week's "American Horror Story" was quite intense. And not just because of the crazy "Evil Dead" chainsaw homage (BTW, spoilers ahoy!). There was a scene where the divine Jessica Lange was high as a kite on prescription drugs in a hospital (who hasn't been there, amirite?). She wanders the halls and eventually enters a room where a woman has just given birth.
The woman is curled up and crying, and a baby lays motionless in a bassinet nearby. My stomach dropped and my heart skipped a beat. "Was it stillborn or did it die after?" asks Jessica. "Stillborn. What is it? They didn't even tell me." "She's a girl," whispers Jessica. She picks the baby up, and hands it to the mother. She tells her to tell the baby that she loves her, and that she's beautiful, and that she'll never stop loving her. And then she touches the baby on the head and walks away. The baby takes a breath and starts to cry (oh, if you don't watch the show, Jessica Lange is a super powerful witch). And my head explodes and I feel like Ryan Murphy is trying to make me insane.
What I wouldn't have given for someone to save Emma like that - to save me. That scene was gut-wrenching for me. Shocking because stillbirth is so rarely mentioned on television. Touching because a lot of the things that the woman said to her daughter were things that I said to Emma. Heartbreaking because I know that it's fiction and fantasy and there's not a chance that ever could have happened to me. Even as I gave birth and hoped against everything I knew that she would cry and breathe and it would be a miracle. But there was no miracle to be had that day. Maybe Jeff and I getting up every day and going on with our lives and trying to heal are the miracles?
The woman is curled up and crying, and a baby lays motionless in a bassinet nearby. My stomach dropped and my heart skipped a beat. "Was it stillborn or did it die after?" asks Jessica. "Stillborn. What is it? They didn't even tell me." "She's a girl," whispers Jessica. She picks the baby up, and hands it to the mother. She tells her to tell the baby that she loves her, and that she's beautiful, and that she'll never stop loving her. And then she touches the baby on the head and walks away. The baby takes a breath and starts to cry (oh, if you don't watch the show, Jessica Lange is a super powerful witch). And my head explodes and I feel like Ryan Murphy is trying to make me insane.
What I wouldn't have given for someone to save Emma like that - to save me. That scene was gut-wrenching for me. Shocking because stillbirth is so rarely mentioned on television. Touching because a lot of the things that the woman said to her daughter were things that I said to Emma. Heartbreaking because I know that it's fiction and fantasy and there's not a chance that ever could have happened to me. Even as I gave birth and hoped against everything I knew that she would cry and breathe and it would be a miracle. But there was no miracle to be had that day. Maybe Jeff and I getting up every day and going on with our lives and trying to heal are the miracles?
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Day 31: Sunset
Today is the final day of Capture Your Grief. The word today is sunset. Of course it has been raining all day today, so I didn't have the opportunity to take a photo. I asked Jeff if he had a sunset photo he wanted me to use, and he sent me this one:
This photo was taken in Florida when we were on vacation last spring. I was seven months pregnant, and I spent the trip imagining how different the trip would be next year, when Emma was along and Jeff could take her to the beach, and we could take her swimming.
This month has been hard for me. The first half was uplifting and liberating, and the last two weeks have just been weighing heavily on my heart. I feel like I'm having some form of PTSD. Halloween is the first real holiday we've gone through (4th of July was so close to Emma's birth that it barely registered), and I was looking forward to picking out her costume and taking pumpkin pictures and taking her trick-or-treating so that Jeff and I could keep candy for ourselves.
Someone I know was diagnosed with a serious illness, and that's been difficult, as well. This year has just dealt devastating blow after devastating blow, and I can't keep seeing people that I care about being knocked down. It seems like every time I hear from someone, things are going awry.
So what does this sunset mean to me? I hope that it means that the sun is setting two months early on this nightmare of a year. I hope that it means that I can wake tomorrow and refocus my energy on healing and looking at the good things in life. I hope that it means that the people I love are going to be able to do the same. As a general rule I avoid any sense of entitlement, but I think we all have earned it. We deserve for things to turn around. So here's to the sun coming up in a day of hope and positivity. And the red squiggle under positivity will not deter me, I am declaring it a real word.
This photo was taken in Florida when we were on vacation last spring. I was seven months pregnant, and I spent the trip imagining how different the trip would be next year, when Emma was along and Jeff could take her to the beach, and we could take her swimming.
This month has been hard for me. The first half was uplifting and liberating, and the last two weeks have just been weighing heavily on my heart. I feel like I'm having some form of PTSD. Halloween is the first real holiday we've gone through (4th of July was so close to Emma's birth that it barely registered), and I was looking forward to picking out her costume and taking pumpkin pictures and taking her trick-or-treating so that Jeff and I could keep candy for ourselves.
Someone I know was diagnosed with a serious illness, and that's been difficult, as well. This year has just dealt devastating blow after devastating blow, and I can't keep seeing people that I care about being knocked down. It seems like every time I hear from someone, things are going awry.
So what does this sunset mean to me? I hope that it means that the sun is setting two months early on this nightmare of a year. I hope that it means that I can wake tomorrow and refocus my energy on healing and looking at the good things in life. I hope that it means that the people I love are going to be able to do the same. As a general rule I avoid any sense of entitlement, but I think we all have earned it. We deserve for things to turn around. So here's to the sun coming up in a day of hope and positivity. And the red squiggle under positivity will not deter me, I am declaring it a real word.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Day 23: Jewelry
Today's word is jewelry. I have two pieces that remind me of Emma:
The bracelet is a silver Kate Spade bracelet that reads, "hand in hand in hand" over and over. The inscription inside the bangle says, "There's strength in numbers." My sister works for Make-a-Wish, and her wonderful co-workers purchased these bracelets for Alli, my mom, and I. It reminds me of the generosity of strangers, and that Allison has a great support group of her own. Her co-workers drove her up to Milwaukee from Indianapolis the day that we were in the hospital. The selflessness they displayed was inspiring.
The necklace is a few different things. The diamond is from a necklace that Jeff gave me on our wedding day. The ring is the ring that was in Emma's hand when we were in the hospital. Jeff bought me the chain for my birthday in July. I have worn it every day since. Holding that ring in my hand makes me feel like I'm touching her again. It's a bit hard, because I know that this ring will always be too big for her tiny fingers. She will never grow into and out of it. Still, there's a comfort in touching something that touched her.
The bracelet is a silver Kate Spade bracelet that reads, "hand in hand in hand" over and over. The inscription inside the bangle says, "There's strength in numbers." My sister works for Make-a-Wish, and her wonderful co-workers purchased these bracelets for Alli, my mom, and I. It reminds me of the generosity of strangers, and that Allison has a great support group of her own. Her co-workers drove her up to Milwaukee from Indianapolis the day that we were in the hospital. The selflessness they displayed was inspiring.
The necklace is a few different things. The diamond is from a necklace that Jeff gave me on our wedding day. The ring is the ring that was in Emma's hand when we were in the hospital. Jeff bought me the chain for my birthday in July. I have worn it every day since. Holding that ring in my hand makes me feel like I'm touching her again. It's a bit hard, because I know that this ring will always be too big for her tiny fingers. She will never grow into and out of it. Still, there's a comfort in touching something that touched her.
Monday, October 21, 2013
Day 21: Honor
Or Honour if you're feeling fancy.
Many things have been done in Emma's honor. Some of my wonderful friends got together and registered a star in her name. Many of our friends, family, and co-workers have made donations to Make-a-Wish in her honor. The idea that our little girl is fulfilling someone else's wish is bittersweet. We took all of the diapers, wipes, and creams that were given to us so generously and donated them to the Sojourner Family Peace Center. We will continue to strive to come up with new ways to honor Emma and make sure her memory lives on.
This blog also serves as a way to honor her. I am working every day to educate people about a subject that is still taboo. I don't want to feel awkward talking about her or writing about her or letting people know that she existed. Keeping her memory alive is the best way I can honor it.
Many things have been done in Emma's honor. Some of my wonderful friends got together and registered a star in her name. Many of our friends, family, and co-workers have made donations to Make-a-Wish in her honor. The idea that our little girl is fulfilling someone else's wish is bittersweet. We took all of the diapers, wipes, and creams that were given to us so generously and donated them to the Sojourner Family Peace Center. We will continue to strive to come up with new ways to honor Emma and make sure her memory lives on.
This blog also serves as a way to honor her. I am working every day to educate people about a subject that is still taboo. I don't want to feel awkward talking about her or writing about her or letting people know that she existed. Keeping her memory alive is the best way I can honor it.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Day 20: Hope
Today's word for Capture Your Grief is Hope. Obviously it's an abstract premise, so I don't really have a photo. I will say that this is one of the hardest words for me to write about. When I was pregnant with Emma, I didn't realize how much I wanted to be a mom. More than that, I didn't realize how much I wanted a child. It wasn't until I lost her that I realized how much I needed her.
I am hoping that I will be able to have another child and fulfill that need. It's a tough thing to hold on to, when I feel like everything I wanted was stripped away in an instant. I know that I have many other things in my life to be grateful for, and I've written about those things at length. Unfortunately the one thing that is out of my grasp seems to be the most important thing right now - isn't that always the case?
I hold on to this hope for myself, and for Jeff. For our families, our friends. For the people who have stood shoulder to shoulder with us and cried with us and who I know hope this for us, too.
I am hoping that I will be able to have another child and fulfill that need. It's a tough thing to hold on to, when I feel like everything I wanted was stripped away in an instant. I know that I have many other things in my life to be grateful for, and I've written about those things at length. Unfortunately the one thing that is out of my grasp seems to be the most important thing right now - isn't that always the case?
I hold on to this hope for myself, and for Jeff. For our families, our friends. For the people who have stood shoulder to shoulder with us and cried with us and who I know hope this for us, too.
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