When Gracie died, our parents had no idea what to do for us. None of them had ever been through miscarriage, let along late term stillbirth and they were all just as lost as we were. Since then, they have tried to support us as they feel appropriate, but we have not asked much of them. We have asked them all to join us once a year for the October 15th remembrance walk, and we have asked them to participate in the March for Babies with us each year. We have asked them to participate in our annual Christmas Eve balloon release (which requires nothing other than walking outside and letting a balloon go into the air), and my MIL babysits for us once a month when we go to our support group meeting.
My MIL asked us a while ago (I'm not really sure when - maybe 6-12 months ago) how long we were planning to attend 'this thing' (our support group meeting) every month. Our parents have all donated toward our March for Babies team every year, but none of them have helped at all with our fundraising...not one penny. My father did not walk in our first March for Babies because of knee pain. Jeff's mother will not be walking this year because of medical issues. I will not fault either of them for this. Jeff's dad will not be walking with us this year for unknown reasons.
Since last year's walk, my father has had his own medical issues that have left him with moderate neuropathy in his feet that tends to get worse with lots of activity or walking. He informed me yesterday that he wouldn't be able to walk because of his neuropathy. I told him that I kind of anticipated that, and told him that the walk coordinator was still looking for more folks to man the refreshment break areas along the walk. I suggested that he consider this instead of just sitting around waiting for us, he consider helping at one of these break areas and he said that he would think about it. He followed that up with 'but I'll have to be done by 12:00 or 12:30; I have a 2:00 tee time with one of the guys from my Wednesday night league group." He mumbled something about this man not being able to make one of the league nights and using this round of golf to make up that time... My step-mom emailed me today to say that my father would not be attending the walk, so she will be coming by herself tomorrow. Somehow, I was not overly surprised. But, man, am I pissed and disappointed. Golf. He can play 18 holes of golf tomorrow (granted, he does ride instead of
walk) but he can't walk with us or even be bothered to help at a
refreshment station. He can't miss his tee time...even though he's known about the walk for several months. I got really upset when he missed on of my high school musicals without a reasonable explanation other than 'I forgot that it was this weekend", but that doesn't even compare to what I'm feeling today.
We don't ask for much, and when they bail on the things that we do ask them to do, it just frustrates and disappoints to levels that can't be described. Gracie is our daughter...she is their granddaughter....just as much now as the day she died and was born. Yet, it's moments like this that the 'get over it' mindset seems to be stronger than any other thought or feeling that they have... It's moments like this when I feel like enough time has passed that it still matters and is still important to just two people...
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Disappointment
To the world you may be just one person, but to one person
you may be the world.
You never understand until it happens to you.
These statements are fitting to describe the new normal
for those who have lost a baby or young child. I walk through each day
reminding myself that the world does not revolve around baby loss...and that
99.9% of the people I come into contact with on a daily basis have
suffered loss of a loved one. But there are certain situations where
the impact of baby loss simply cannot be denied, a primary example being
subsequent pregnancies and children for those who have experienced
loss. While some will never go through pregnancy
again, many will endure at least
one or more pregnancies after their loss.
I am in my third pregnancy – the second pregnancy following
the death of my first born. Pregnancy after loss does not even begin to compare with pre-loss pregnancy. And because of
many variables, this entire pregnancy has been a much different experience than
our second pregnancy. This was a topic
of discussion during one of our recent support group meetings, and I finally
threw out the suggestion of extending an invitation for our providers to join
us for one of our meetings to talk with us specifically about life, and
pregnancy, after loss. I made the
suggestion fully knowing that our practitioners are very busy folks, and with
the understanding that there could certainly be no expectation of all of them attending
one of our meetings. But, I’ll be
honest, I held hope that maybe one or two (out of 7) of them might make 30
minutes to speak with us, based simply on the understanding that interactions during prenatal visits tend to be structured and limited (in terms of regularly branching out from conversation about new baby to conversation about dead baby). I really felt like it could have provided them with some beneficial perspective, not just in terms of their interaction with us, but in terms of their interaction with any and all parents experiencing loss in the future...
I suppose that it was presumptuous to think that anyone outside
of our group would see the benefit and/or need for this kind of
discussion. (And, perhaps, it was
presumptuous to believe that none of our practitioners has first hand
experience with loss.) As it turns out,
it didn’t really matter. The invitation
was extended to one of the docs, who more or less shot the idea down, and it
never went any further than that. I
never expected that any of the docs would show up in the first place, but I was
holding out a little bit of hope that a midwife or two might have a little
interest….
So onward we trudge through the remainder of this pregnancy
and related appointments. Onward we
trudge through the repeated assumptions that life has been all sunshine and
roses prior to this pregnancy. Onward we
trudge through the ‘how many pregnancies?’ questions every time someone new can’t
be bothered to read a chart. Onward we
trudge feeling like we have returned the status of being a number instead of
being someone with noteworthy history. Onward
we trudge carrying the disappointment that even the people who should
understand more than any other practitioner out there, the ones who told us
that our daughter’s heart had stopped beating, don’t really get it…
Monday, March 26, 2012
Looking for My Person
"She's my person. If I murdered someone, she's the person I'd call to help me drag the corpse across the living room floor. She's my person." --Sandra Oh as Dr. Cristina Yang, Grey's Anatomy
Perhaps this is an indication that I watch too much Grey's, but it's so fitting for my mood tonight. The value of this person in one's life is immeasurable. I've been fortunate enough to have 3 people throughout my life who have stepped into this role at one point or another; a friend in high school, a roommate in college and my sister. But what do you do when you find yourself personless for an extended period of time???
Technically, I guess I'm not personless. Two of the three are still in my life, but not really in the sense of calling them to 'help drag the corpse across the living room floor' anymore....and definitely not in the sense of this damned grieving process. My college roommate and I have been separated by about 3.5 hours for the last 12 years; we see each other a few times a year and we talk frequently, but it's just not the same as the 5 years that we spent living together. For some reason there is something that prevents me from calling her and saying 'I miss my daughter' and processing what I need to process with her. I'm pretty sure she wants to ask about it, but there's something that prevents her from doing so. We talk about everything in the world except how I really am, and I don't know how to change it. Deep down, I think most of it is due to the fact that her first baby was born just 3.5 months before Gracie. There is so much connection when you're pregnant at the same time as a close friend...where that connection goes when one of the babies dies is something only those reading this blog can know and understand. The emotions of watching the other child grow and develop are something only those reading this blog can know and understand. The ridiculous barriers that it can create are, again, something only those reading this blog can know and understand.
My sister left American soil exactly two weeks after Gracie's funeral; she spent the next 27 months serving with the Peace Corps in Africa (with the exception of a 3 week visit home about half way through her service that I wrote about quite a while ago). Despite the fact that she lived 2-3 hours away for years before she went into the Peace Corps, we talked daily. There isn't much that I couldn't and didn't say to my sister. Obviously, her departure with the Peace Corps had nothing to do with me, but it couldn't have come at a worse point in my life. Good God, how selfish does that sound???? She heads to Africa to spread assistance, peace and good cheer and I'm saying that it was inconvenient for me. But in all reality, her departure was a definite turning point in our relationship. Had she stayed stateside, our daily communication would have certainly continued, at least after the first few weeks following Gracie's death. The way things played out, communication was minimal for months after she left, simply because of her logistics and environment. Once we were able to resume regular communication, it was usually via 'instant message', which leaves much to be desired when you're working through grief. Once regular phone communication was established, the window had more or less closed; she was so wrapped up in the daily hardships of what she was doing that she never really asked, and I never found a good way to inject 'I miss my daughter' into our conversations. Between the halfway point of her service in Africa and the time she came home, other things happened to just 'kick the horse while it was down'. She's been home for 5 months, and in that time, I've seen and talked to her a fair amount, but it's different that it's ever been in the past. There's an element missing...or perhaps some kind of barrier that we've never had; there are things that I just don't/can't say at this point that I would have said 3 years ago, I know that she's not openly communicating things with me that she would have shared 3 years ago. She moved from the east coast to Colorado a month ago, and my gut tells me that that will be another very damaging blow, as will substantially limit how much we see her and how much she gets to interact with the rest of my kids.
So, essentially, I'm personless. I have lots of acquaintances, but I run really short in the good, true friend department. I'm picky about who I let into my life, and I'm just not that good at making friends (and there are just not that many opportunities for me to meet lots of new people face-to-face these days...). As a result, the void created when my daughter died is perched right next to the void(s) where 'my people' should be, due in large part to this unending grieving process. Gotta love the domino effect...
Perhaps this is an indication that I watch too much Grey's, but it's so fitting for my mood tonight. The value of this person in one's life is immeasurable. I've been fortunate enough to have 3 people throughout my life who have stepped into this role at one point or another; a friend in high school, a roommate in college and my sister. But what do you do when you find yourself personless for an extended period of time???
Technically, I guess I'm not personless. Two of the three are still in my life, but not really in the sense of calling them to 'help drag the corpse across the living room floor' anymore....and definitely not in the sense of this damned grieving process. My college roommate and I have been separated by about 3.5 hours for the last 12 years; we see each other a few times a year and we talk frequently, but it's just not the same as the 5 years that we spent living together. For some reason there is something that prevents me from calling her and saying 'I miss my daughter' and processing what I need to process with her. I'm pretty sure she wants to ask about it, but there's something that prevents her from doing so. We talk about everything in the world except how I really am, and I don't know how to change it. Deep down, I think most of it is due to the fact that her first baby was born just 3.5 months before Gracie. There is so much connection when you're pregnant at the same time as a close friend...where that connection goes when one of the babies dies is something only those reading this blog can know and understand. The emotions of watching the other child grow and develop are something only those reading this blog can know and understand. The ridiculous barriers that it can create are, again, something only those reading this blog can know and understand.
My sister left American soil exactly two weeks after Gracie's funeral; she spent the next 27 months serving with the Peace Corps in Africa (with the exception of a 3 week visit home about half way through her service that I wrote about quite a while ago). Despite the fact that she lived 2-3 hours away for years before she went into the Peace Corps, we talked daily. There isn't much that I couldn't and didn't say to my sister. Obviously, her departure with the Peace Corps had nothing to do with me, but it couldn't have come at a worse point in my life. Good God, how selfish does that sound???? She heads to Africa to spread assistance, peace and good cheer and I'm saying that it was inconvenient for me. But in all reality, her departure was a definite turning point in our relationship. Had she stayed stateside, our daily communication would have certainly continued, at least after the first few weeks following Gracie's death. The way things played out, communication was minimal for months after she left, simply because of her logistics and environment. Once we were able to resume regular communication, it was usually via 'instant message', which leaves much to be desired when you're working through grief. Once regular phone communication was established, the window had more or less closed; she was so wrapped up in the daily hardships of what she was doing that she never really asked, and I never found a good way to inject 'I miss my daughter' into our conversations. Between the halfway point of her service in Africa and the time she came home, other things happened to just 'kick the horse while it was down'. She's been home for 5 months, and in that time, I've seen and talked to her a fair amount, but it's different that it's ever been in the past. There's an element missing...or perhaps some kind of barrier that we've never had; there are things that I just don't/can't say at this point that I would have said 3 years ago, I know that she's not openly communicating things with me that she would have shared 3 years ago. She moved from the east coast to Colorado a month ago, and my gut tells me that that will be another very damaging blow, as will substantially limit how much we see her and how much she gets to interact with the rest of my kids.
So, essentially, I'm personless. I have lots of acquaintances, but I run really short in the good, true friend department. I'm picky about who I let into my life, and I'm just not that good at making friends (and there are just not that many opportunities for me to meet lots of new people face-to-face these days...). As a result, the void created when my daughter died is perched right next to the void(s) where 'my people' should be, due in large part to this unending grieving process. Gotta love the domino effect...
Thursday, December 15, 2011
And the winner is....
Sorry that I'm so very late with this, ladies, but it's been a day.
The winner of the bead sprout ornament is the author of comment #8... Kate.
The runner-up, and winner of the Pampered Chef 29-day raffle ticket, is the author of comment #14... Cooper and Lily's mama, Jen.
Kate, please send me an email at sand0113 [at] gmail [dot] com with your address so I know where to send your ornament.
Jen, I will scan your ticket and email it to you.
Thanks to all who visited and commented. Wishing you a very merry, safe and peaceful Christmas season.
The winner of the bead sprout ornament is the author of comment #8... Kate.
The runner-up, and winner of the Pampered Chef 29-day raffle ticket, is the author of comment #14... Cooper and Lily's mama, Jen.
Kate, please send me an email at sand0113
Jen, I will scan your ticket and email it to you.
Thanks to all who visited and commented. Wishing you a very merry, safe and peaceful Christmas season.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Amendment to Day #14 Giveaway
If any of you that follow Gracie's blog have already visited today for the giveaway, please be aware that the end of my original post somehow got cut off or omitted. I have added to the end of what was posted earlier, so you might want to go back and read for one second about the second item that I am offering...
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
25 Days of Giveaways - Day #14
Welcome to all who are here as part of Tina's 25 days of giveaways. I have finally had the foresight to get this posted in early enough for those living half a day ahead of me to participate on the right day, and I will be leaving it open until 7:00 a.m. (EST on 12/15/11) for the benefit of those living several hours behind me.
Although I haven't been able to participate in each day of this year's giveaways, I want to thank Tina for coordinating this awesome event again this year. It is a little bright light to look forward to during a time that can be so bittersweet. I have participated for the last two years, and each year I have struggled to find the right item to give away. Two years ago, I gave a hand-made angel stocking that Betty so graciously waited very patiently for. Last year I thought I had found the perfect gift in the form of an angelversary garden flag, but when the flags arrived, I was so disappointed with the quality. So, what to give this year???
Two years ago, my husband and I decided that we would find a few new Gracie ornaments for our Christmas tree each year. This will be our third year for this tradition, and I suspect that it will get a bit more difficult each year, as I have had a difficult time limiting myself to just one or two per year. Last year, one of the ornaments that I purchased was a hand-made bead sprout angel ornament that has wings and Gracie's name and date of birth on the back. I love this ornament so much that I have decided to give one for this year's giveaway. The winner will receive a baby in pink blanket if their angel is a little girl, and a blue blanket if their angel is a little boy. If your angels were multiples, I will do my very, very best to send one of the appropriate color for each angel (if a mama of multiples wins, it might be closer to next Christmas until I am able to send both, simply because of the 'production' schedule of the wonderful woman who makes these.). I know that there are few of you who already have one of these ornaments; if the winner happens to already have one, I will find a replacement ornament for you.
To enter, please leave a comment below and tell me your angel's name and date of birth. Please also tell me what holiday traditions you and your family have established or fallen into to remember your angel(s).
***** I did this post ahead of time and scheduled it to be automatically posted by blogger. I just discovered that the last 1/4 of it is missing and never posted. So here is the rest of it for those who have not visited yet...I suppose it will just be a surprise to those who have already been here!!
One additional winner will receive a Pampered Chef calendar raffle ticket for February 2012. This is a fund raiser that we are doing for our March for Babies team. For more information on the raffle (and information about how to purchase a ticket if you don't win one), please visit our Team Graciebelle blog.
Although I haven't been able to participate in each day of this year's giveaways, I want to thank Tina for coordinating this awesome event again this year. It is a little bright light to look forward to during a time that can be so bittersweet. I have participated for the last two years, and each year I have struggled to find the right item to give away. Two years ago, I gave a hand-made angel stocking that Betty so graciously waited very patiently for. Last year I thought I had found the perfect gift in the form of an angelversary garden flag, but when the flags arrived, I was so disappointed with the quality. So, what to give this year???
Two years ago, my husband and I decided that we would find a few new Gracie ornaments for our Christmas tree each year. This will be our third year for this tradition, and I suspect that it will get a bit more difficult each year, as I have had a difficult time limiting myself to just one or two per year. Last year, one of the ornaments that I purchased was a hand-made bead sprout angel ornament that has wings and Gracie's name and date of birth on the back. I love this ornament so much that I have decided to give one for this year's giveaway. The winner will receive a baby in pink blanket if their angel is a little girl, and a blue blanket if their angel is a little boy. If your angels were multiples, I will do my very, very best to send one of the appropriate color for each angel (if a mama of multiples wins, it might be closer to next Christmas until I am able to send both, simply because of the 'production' schedule of the wonderful woman who makes these.). I know that there are few of you who already have one of these ornaments; if the winner happens to already have one, I will find a replacement ornament for you.
To enter, please leave a comment below and tell me your angel's name and date of birth. Please also tell me what holiday traditions you and your family have established or fallen into to remember your angel(s).
***** I did this post ahead of time and scheduled it to be automatically posted by blogger. I just discovered that the last 1/4 of it is missing and never posted. So here is the rest of it for those who have not visited yet...I suppose it will just be a surprise to those who have already been here!!
One additional winner will receive a Pampered Chef calendar raffle ticket for February 2012. This is a fund raiser that we are doing for our March for Babies team. For more information on the raffle (and information about how to purchase a ticket if you don't win one), please visit our Team Graciebelle blog.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
25 Days of Giveaways!
If you are no familiar with the 25 Days of Giveaways organized by Tina (this is the THIRD year already!), please visit her blog and check it out! Today is day #1 of the giveaways. Come back here and visit me on December 14th for the giveaway that I am hosting.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
What Remains
Twenty-seven months. 791 days. Just over 18,984 hours. Just over 1,139,040 minutes. Yet, it seems like just yesterday that I gave birth to my oldest child's lifeless body, with the only cries to disturb the quiet of that night belonging to myself and my husband.
Twenty-seven months. Enough time for my little girl to have grown into an active, inquisitive and loving toddler who would have understood this year's trick-or-treating, this year's visit to Santa, and the presents under this year's Christmas tree.
But instead, what remains is simply a notion of my daughter...a notion of what she would have looked like...and a notion of who she would be now.
What remains is a mama who appears, on the outside, to have 'gotten over it' and 'moved on'. Truth be known, I am okay. I have far more good days than bad days. But the bad days...the bad days are very.bad.days. that knock this mama down and leave her heart hurting in the worst way possible. The bad days leave this mama wanting to stand on the roof and shout loud enough for everyone within 100 miles to know just how much this sucks.
What remains is a mama who has never struggled with anxiety, but is now regularly blindsided by the feeling that her heart is going to pound right out of her chest...followed by inexplicable angst that lasts for the remainder of the day and evening and interferes with everything else on her agenda.
What remains is a mama that desperately wishes that she could understand this phase of her husband's grieving process (and that he could understand hers a little better, too.). For now, she will settle for finally accepting that there are sometimes no words to begin to describe the difference between a woman's grief and a man's grief.
What remains is this blog space. Originally intended to honor my daughter, hold my thoughts and my grief, and let others know that they aren't alone, this space is now relatively quiet. Over the last twenty-seven months it has certainly served its purposes, but now it is seldom visited and seldom updated. I like to hope and believe that it still serves it purpose in the natural progression of my grief...
What remains are acquaintanceships and friendships that I have forged through this blog and other avenues within the loss community. Lots of acquaintances. More than I can easily count. A small handful of life-long friends that I feel like I have known since elementary school. Friends who understand. Friends who expect nothing from me except the same understanding. Friends who will always be there.
What remains is a mama who feels compelled to reach out to those who suddenly find themselves the newest member of this dreadful 'club,' despite the fact that doing so sometimes seems to add insult to injury. Salt constantly poured into the wounds, yet it feels worse to not reach out... I guess it balances out in knowing that I am able to pay forward the love and support offered to us when we needed it most...
What remains is a mama who lives amongst people who see the things that she does to maintain and honor daughter's memory and say things like "Maybe if you did less to keep her 'alive' and constantly remember her, you would have an easier time letting her die. Maybe you would feel better if you just let her die." (I sometimes secretly wonder if these people might have a small, yet valid, point...)
What remains is a rainbow who embodies everything that I pictured her older sister to be...and more. I love her more than words...with everything I have, but sometimes I feel like it's just not enough.
Ultimately, what remains is a mama who misses the 'before,' yet would not trade any of this for anything...except for one very small, tiny, little Peanut...
Twenty-seven months. Enough time for my little girl to have grown into an active, inquisitive and loving toddler who would have understood this year's trick-or-treating, this year's visit to Santa, and the presents under this year's Christmas tree.
But instead, what remains is simply a notion of my daughter...a notion of what she would have looked like...and a notion of who she would be now.
What remains is a mama who appears, on the outside, to have 'gotten over it' and 'moved on'. Truth be known, I am okay. I have far more good days than bad days. But the bad days...the bad days are very.bad.days. that knock this mama down and leave her heart hurting in the worst way possible. The bad days leave this mama wanting to stand on the roof and shout loud enough for everyone within 100 miles to know just how much this sucks.
What remains is a mama who has never struggled with anxiety, but is now regularly blindsided by the feeling that her heart is going to pound right out of her chest...followed by inexplicable angst that lasts for the remainder of the day and evening and interferes with everything else on her agenda.
What remains is a mama that desperately wishes that she could understand this phase of her husband's grieving process (and that he could understand hers a little better, too.). For now, she will settle for finally accepting that there are sometimes no words to begin to describe the difference between a woman's grief and a man's grief.
What remains is this blog space. Originally intended to honor my daughter, hold my thoughts and my grief, and let others know that they aren't alone, this space is now relatively quiet. Over the last twenty-seven months it has certainly served its purposes, but now it is seldom visited and seldom updated. I like to hope and believe that it still serves it purpose in the natural progression of my grief...
What remains are acquaintanceships and friendships that I have forged through this blog and other avenues within the loss community. Lots of acquaintances. More than I can easily count. A small handful of life-long friends that I feel like I have known since elementary school. Friends who understand. Friends who expect nothing from me except the same understanding. Friends who will always be there.
What remains is a mama who feels compelled to reach out to those who suddenly find themselves the newest member of this dreadful 'club,' despite the fact that doing so sometimes seems to add insult to injury. Salt constantly poured into the wounds, yet it feels worse to not reach out... I guess it balances out in knowing that I am able to pay forward the love and support offered to us when we needed it most...
What remains is a mama who lives amongst people who see the things that she does to maintain and honor daughter's memory and say things like "Maybe if you did less to keep her 'alive' and constantly remember her, you would have an easier time letting her die. Maybe you would feel better if you just let her die." (I sometimes secretly wonder if these people might have a small, yet valid, point...)
What remains is a rainbow who embodies everything that I pictured her older sister to be...and more. I love her more than words...with everything I have, but sometimes I feel like it's just not enough.
Ultimately, what remains is a mama who misses the 'before,' yet would not trade any of this for anything...except for one very small, tiny, little Peanut...
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