Grief - 11 Months Later

Grief is one of the hardest, most complex things I’ve ever known.  I can go from one emotion to another in a second - from guilt, happy, sad, angry, hopeful, and failure.  Allowing myself to take the time to feel all of those emotions as they have come, and my faith, are the only ways I’ve been able to slowly pull myself out of the grief fog over the past eleven months.

I’ve felt guilty since the day Isaac passed away.  I’ve blamed myself because my only job was to keep him safe while carrying him in my womb.  I’ve asked so many “what if” questions that I’ve lost count.  I’ve gone over every scenario with Tom and my doctor, and both have assured me over and over that this wasn’t something I did, or could have been prevented.  As many times as I’ve heard that, there’s still a little voice within me that says “You did this to him.”  “Maybe I shouldn’t have had caffeine that morning, or danced at my brother’s wedding.”  “Maybe I should have lost weight, or realized there was something wrong before it was too late.”   All of these thoughts, and more, have brought me to a crumbling, sobbing mess more times than I can count.  But, lately instead of asking those questions I’ve been leaning more on this truth I grew up learning:

And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to His purpose. – Romans 8:28 ESV

Maybe losing Isaac wasn’t a punishment for not doing all of the above mentioned things; maybe losing him was just part of my story.  Maybe losing him was to make me more empathetic towards others, and to learn to love more, and to learn the hard way that life is too short.  Why would I assume that by giving my life to God would mean that I would only have happy moments, and no sadness?   I won’t lie, at the beginning I was very angry at God – how could He let this happen to our precious son?  I was angry at other moms that had healthy babies.  I was angry that the world seemed to keep going when I felt stuck frozen in the moment I lost Isaac.  But, through all of that anger, I kept repeating the following verse, sometimes hourly, just to get me through. 

Blessed is the man who remains steadfast under trial, for when he has stood the test he will receive the crown of life, which God has promised to those who love him. – James 1:2 ESV

This little boy has brought forth so much love in his little life.  I still don’t know why we had to lose him or go through this, but I know deep down that God chose that little boy for us.  And, if I had to do it all over again, to have Isaac with me - even for that short time, I would do it again without hesitation.

How very softly you tiptoed into my world.  Almost silently.  Only a moment you stayed, but what an imprint your footprints have left on my heart.  – Author Unknown

I’ve often thought that maybe I don’t have the right to grieve him since I never met him.  I feel like it's taboo to bring him up in conversation because he was never alive outside of my womb.  I feel like maybe if he had been born alive and lived for a few minutes or hours that it would be “acceptable” to talk about him, or post about him.  However, he was my son, and no matter if I lost him at 6 weeks, 20 weeks, or when I did at 34 weeks – he was and always will be my son.  And I have accepted that I have just as much right to mourn my son as one who lost a child that was born alive.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. – Matthew 5:4

As hard as it is some days to tell my story, I’m reminded that I owe it to Isaac to honor his life, and to let the world know that I’m so thankful I was chosen to be his Momma.  So as the many emotions of grief take over me, without warning, during the next days, months, and years – I won’t let it keep me down.  Instead, I will focus on the love that Isaac brought to our lives, and spread that love to everyone that I can.  I’m choosing love over grief, and I’m choosing to focus on my faith in God to keep me going.  I will allow myself to feel all of those feelings, but then I’ll pick myself up and choose love because love always wins. 

What we have once enjoyed and deeply loved, we can never lose.  For all that we love deeply becomes a part of us.  – Helen Keller

Terrified of Failing

I’m terrified of failing.  I’m tempted to shut down my dreams because of the “what if I fail” fear.  The truth is, if I dare to start a business, have another baby, mother a certain way, not do what someone wants me to do, admit I have a dream, open my heart up again, I could fail.  It could be ugly and messy and soul crushing.

I’m slowly learning that it’s not about failing.  It’s about what happens if I do try.  Failure isn’t the end, it’s the means by which profound heart work happens.  Love – meeting me in my brokenness, embarrassment, shame, guilt – that is what makes me deep, resilient, and gives me more compassion for others. 

Love is the cushion that catches me if I crash.   Failure then becomes a badge of honor – “I tried.  I failed.  I was loved.”  That’s EVERYTHING!  Failure is the fire that makes our heart gold.  So I’ve decided to walk out on the water and trust that there is a much bigger picture.  Life isn’t about success or failure – it’s always about love.  So go try, chase after the dream you have in your heart…and success or failure, if it’s done in love – you’re already won.

9 months

Next Wednesday, the 8^th,  will be nine months since we lost our son, Isaac, and our lives were forever changed.  It’s also the day that Thomas turns four.  Extreme highs and lows to process.  For the most part, we’re having more good days than bad days at this point, and that in itself brings highs and lows. 

I was 34 weeks pregnant nine months ago when my doctor said the words “I’m sorry” – words you never want to hear from a doctor.  The part that gets me the most is we were never given a reason.  I mean medically the term “Placenta Abruption” was used, but we were given no reason that the placenta became detached from him and he quit receiving oxygen.  I had a perfect pregnancy with zero complications until that moment.  He was fine one minute, and gone the next. 

On Labor Day, I had been having severe cramps all day, and they were getting worse.  I assumed it was contractions, but I never felt them with Thomas without an epidural so I wasn’t sure.  The pain got to the point that it was unbearable and Tom insisted we go to the emergency room.  When we got checked in and into a room in the ER Isaac still had a heartbeat.  All seemed normal except for the pain.  After they did the exam I immediately got dizzy, clammy, yet burning up, and started getting sick.  They let me gain composure, and after a few minutes they tried, but were never able to find the heartbeat again.  The moment that I felt like the world was ending, it did…just not for me. 

We’ve relied on our faith and the strength of our families and friends to get us through the past nine months.  There were days we didn’t feel like we could keep going, but minute by minute we made it.  As the nine month date passes, that only brings us closer to the year mark.  Another day that I’m not sure I’m quite ready to deal with.  But, minute by minute we’ll make it, just like every other day so far.

9 months…281 days…countless minutes and not one of those have gone by that we haven’t thought of you, precious boy.  I’m hoping we continue to have more good days than bad, but when those bad days do come we will tackle them head on, and allow ourselves to feel all of the emotions. If I’ve learned anything in these nine months, it’s that great loss only comes from great love.  You are so loved and missed, Isaac.  

Meeting New People

Meeting new people used to be a lot of fun for me.  I’d love to hear their stories and learn who they were.  Since losing Isaac meeting new people is completely different, and slightly scary.  I met some new people Friday night, and I’ve been processing it ever since. 

When having small talk, trying to get to know the other woman she asked me about children and how many I had.  Put on the spot I wasn’t even sure how to answer it.  Do I say two?  Or just one and deny that he existed?  So, I took the less invasive, less sympathetic eyes, and said I have an almost four year old.  She then said “oh, that’s it – do you guys want more?” But, somehow, I held myself together and just said “maybe someday” and that was it.  Then, meeting another woman that night – same thing.  “Oh, do you guys want more?” 

I don’t fault them for their questions, as they have no idea the things I’ve gone through in the last seven months.  But, when did it become okay to ask total strangers about such personal things like that? 

In the end, I guess I just hope that people realize that those questions are very hard for some to answer.  It’s not always black and white.  So, please if you’re in this situation meeting someone new – please don’t ask those questions unless they bring it up.  You never know what they’re fighting.  

Comfort zones and new friends

Sometimes the things that I dread the most turn out to be something so much more special than I ever imagined.  I found this to be true again today.  My friend Tricia had five friends over for brunch this morning, including me.  All of us at that table, except Tricia, had lost a baby.  It was so amazing to meet these other women, and know they "get" me, and I didn't have to put up a front on how good I'm doing.  There were tears, there was some laughter, but most importantly I saw the love they have for their babies too.

I dreaded going because social gatherings have been awkward for me since I lost Isaac.  I feel like I walk on eggshells so that I don't break down or lose it in front on a group of people.  I hate being that vulnerable, but today I didn't have to worry about being the only one.

When Tricia invited me I loved the idea of meeting these other moms, but this morning I woke up extremely nervous and almost backed out at the last minute.  I had this picture of us all sitting around crying, and then leaving.  I even had another friend that was ready to call me for an "out" if it became "too much".  Instead, I was at her house for almost three hours, and it felt like we had only been there for half an hour.  

What I also saw in that room was a group of ladies that have also had their faith completely shaken, and yet we all talked about how we've grown closer to God since losing our babies.  It was so refreshing to see others that have the same perspective.

What I learned today is that God doesn't want us to go through the rough messy stuff alone, and if we're willing to go out of our comfort zone, there is sometimes great rewards.  I'm hoping the women I met today will become friends for years to come.  

Before leaving there today a couple of them told me about songs that have helped them with their grieving and healing.  While driving home I was reminded of a song I posted on my blog back in April of 2012.  I've listened to that song so many times since this morning.  "Even when it hurts, even when it's hard, even when it all just falls apart - I will run to you 'cause I know that you are lover of my soul, healer of my scars."

And I'm praying that God will continue to bring people into my life that will encourage me to keep going back to Him when life gets hard and messy, and I'm thankful that our friend invited us all into her home so that we could have that time together.  Forever thankful.

Next Steps

I feel like I've been doing really well with the grieving process lately. I've been happy and hopeful again. 

This weekend I felt like I was emotionally ready for the next steps. Our awesome friend Nichole Ruhl made Isaac an afghan long before we knew he was gone. She felt the afghan should still be ours so she made it larger with his in the middle. And now it's our family blanket that represents  all of us. We've had it in the box it came in until yesterday. We opened it and a feeling of peace came over me as I felt like I now has something to hold onto to remind me of him. I'm so thankful she still gave it to us. 

Today we took it one step further and opened the cd of the professional pictures that "Now I lay me down to sleep" took for us. We've had this cd for months, but just weren't ready to see the pictures yet. 

Today I saw his fingers and toes for the first time. When we were in the hospital he was all wrapped up when we held him and I never unwrapped him. It was too hard. I've regretted that decision almost every day since. So, as hard as it was to see those pictures, I'm so glad we agreed to let them take them. And part of me wishes we had pictures of us with him. That was also too hard in those first moments. Now I'll cherish these pictures. 

The only thing we have left to conquer is the box that the hospital sent home with us which includes a lock of his hair, his hand and foot prints and I'm not even sure what else. That one will have to wait quite a bit longer. I'm not even close to ready to begin looking at all of his personal things that are in that box yet. Someday. 

The loss of my boy is very real and something I think about constantly.  As much as I think I'm doing better and having more good days than bad, it's still hard. It's still a choice to keep going, and get out of bed each morning. I still feel like part of me died when he did, and I'm not sure that will ever go away. 

All that being said, I'm still glad I got to be that little boys Mommy. Even when it's hard, even when I have good days, he's always on my mind. 

Six Months / 182 Days

That’s how longs it’s been since the day we lost you.  I’ve learned a lot about life in those days. 

In the beginning every day that passed felt like a year was gone.  Those days it was hard to even get out of bed. 

Somehow each day got a little bit easier, and slowly, without me realizing it I started to live again.  I didn’t dread the evening when my thoughts would take over.  I didn’t wish for time to pass quickly so I’d “be over” losing you already.  And, somehow in these first six months I started laughing again.  Not the “pretend laugh” so that people don’t feel awkward around me…but real laughs that scared me at the beginning.  It was such a foreign sound, but it was in that moment I realized the old me was still in there, and I needed to give myself permission to let her out. 

Deep down I believe you want me to be happy.  I’m now living my life knowing each day that passes can be a good day, and will bring me one day closer to seeing you again someday. 

I’ve seen unexpected people reach out to me, and others that I thought would be there for me that weren’t.  Sadness does funny things to people.   They don’t know what to say and don’t want to be around sad people, so for them it’s easier to just stay away.   I don’t blame them.  Just like me – everyone is doing the best they can. 

I also want you to know that I would do it all again.  I would choose you.  I would choose the love that we have for you, even if it meant losing you.  Pain changes a person, and I like the new me that I’ve become because of you.  You taught me to be kinder, and softer, and to always choose love.  Even when it’s hard, even when it’s messy…love is always worth it.  You were worth it. 

Six months have passed, and some days it feels like it was yesterday that I lost you.  I remember every detail about the doctor trying to find the heartbeat, and putting his hand on my leg, with tears in his eyes, saying the words “I’m so sorry.”   Then, other days it feels like that was an eternity ago, and I feel like I’m okay.  Grief and time are a funny thing…but somehow we’re making it.  One day at a time.  Six months, and not a minute goes by that we don't think about you little one.