Family Descriptions after Loss

Today, one of the days my heart has been dreading has come. Cohen's preschool is talking about families. He got a note with a little bag of small rocks with instructions to send back a stone for each family member and a family photo. It seems simple enough, right?

 But then I feel it. The heaviness in my heart that we don't have that extra stone. That the pictures won't include our Carter, the other member of our family. Someday when Cohen understands more I will let him decide what and who he wants to tell about his brother. We counted out the four stones to send back to school, feeling the ache in my heart. This may be our first encounter with this, but I know it won't be our last. I don't know how we will handle it in the future, probably however Cohen feels he wants to handle it.

It took me a while to get over the guilt of answering "how many kids do you have?" with the number of my living children. But I reached a point where I didn't need to tell every single person about Carter. I know he is my child and in some ways, I feel like I'm protecting us both by not always delving into his story. There have been times where I have mentioned him and have been so, so blessed by the reaction, stories, or hugs I have received. But not everyone understands child loss (thankfully) and the reactions can be awkward and uncomfortable and hurtful. So I've learned to go with what feels right in the situation. I have a feeling this may become similar in the future for Cohen. But right now, the first time makes me feel that deep longing for my child and how much I wish he could be here counting out family stones with his brother.

The Grief Journey - 4 Years Later

Coming up on four years later...it still hurts. I can't say that it's better. All those memories, forever in my heart and brain, spilling out here and there. Still breaking my heart every time. The tears still fall, although maybe not quite as frequently, and my arms still ache to hold him, kiss him goodnight, and send him off to preschool.

We are so blessed to have met our sweet boy, but to have only known him for such a short time feels like a tease. Some days it feels like we didn't just lose him once, but we feel that loss at every birthday, first and last day of preschool and every milestone in between.

I know the emotions are stronger as we approach a milestone that "should have been". I know the waves that feel so strong right now will settle back down again. Sometimes it just feels good to get it out, to say that my heart hurts.

The Sadness

It's been nearly 4 years but I keep circling back to this place. The place of loss and the sadness. At first, it was raw and heart wrenching pain that I never thought possible. Bursting out in tears at expected and unexpected times. In private, in public. Now, it comes in waves, sometimes catching me off guard. I still feel it so deeply, I don't think that will ever change. Sometimes, it amazes me that we, baby loss parents, can still carry on with our lives. I mean, I live every day without one of my children. Every.day. without knowing his smile, hearing his words, feeling his hugs. Every day with that ache in my heart for what will never be in this life.

The quiet moments are usually when it finds me. The still mornings watching the sunrise on my way to work, the song on the radio that always makes me cry, or the nights I stay up too late because I don't want to face the darkness. When I think about how different our lives would be. Sometimes I miss my life before the sadness. I don't think parenthood and sadness generally go hand in hand, but we have never known it differently. There is (lots!) of great joy in being parents, but we don't have experience being Mom and Dad without our grief. I wish I could know it differently. But I can't change what has happened, and so I will keep circling back. I will let myself circle because it matters. The sadness matters because he mattered.

An Opportunity to Share

I was asked to share a little of our story at church for our Bible study. I said yes and then wondered what had I gotten myself into. What do I have to say? How much should I share? What if I can't actually talk and I just cry the whole time and get snot everywhere?

It got me thinking about all those months we spent in the hospital with Cohen. About our broken dreams and hearts. About the day we buried our Carter and the days we watched Cohen struggle continuously. Those days were hands down the hardest days of my life. They were the days when I wrestled with God, his plans and his will. I questioned why a good God would allow all of this to happen.

But, when I look back on those days, even amidst the struggles and the doubts, those are the days that I felt God's presence so greatly. Even in the darkest days, there was light. Sure I yelled, screamed, kicked my feet and was very angry. But my actions and my situation didn't change who God was. He was my constant as the world crashed down on me. God showed himself to me again and again through circumstances, friends, and strangers. He reminded me that in the midst of tragedy, pain and sorrow, he is still faithful and good.

Our experiences have brought us to a lot of places we never would have imagined and given us opportunities that we wouldn't have had otherwise. Losing a child and walking the road of grief and heartache are incredibly difficult and no one should have to do it alone. We have had many opportunities to share our story, walk alongside, and hopefully soften the road a little for those walking similar journeys.

Although it has been 4 years, it's still a struggle to understand it all. There are still days where the pain feels so fresh and present. We have always been open with our story and our hope is that God can use it for his glory. That there can be beauty out of the ashes and even in tragedy, there is still hope. The hope of heaven and that someday everything will be made perfect and right.

These are some verses and songs that have been rolling around in my head that say it better than I can!

Isaiah 61:3 
The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
    because the Lord has anointed me    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,    to proclaim freedom for the captives
    and release from darkness for the prisoners,[a]2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor    and the day of vengeance of our God,to comfort all who mourn,3     and provide for those who grieve in Zion—to bestow on them a crown of beauty    instead of ashes,
the oil of joy    instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise    instead of a spirit of despair.They will be called oaks of righteousness,    a planting of the Lord    for the display of his splendor.

Tenth Avenue North - Worn
Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart that's frail and torn

I want to know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that's dead inside can be reborn

David Crowder  - Come As You Are
Come out of sadness
From wherever you’ve been
Come broken hearted
Let rescue begin
Come find your mercy
Oh sinner come kneel
Earth has no sorrow
That heaven can’t heal
Earth has no sorrow
That heaven can’t heal

Capture Your Grief 2014

In the past few years, I have followed along with the "Capture your Grief" series. Sometimes I pick and choose which ones I want to do, sometimes I share them publicly and sometimes I just think about them or share them with select people. I have always found healing (and support) in doing this. So just in case you haven't heard and might be interested, here is the list for this year and the website that explains it a little more.

It's Still There

“I thought I could describe a state; make a map of sorrow. Sorrow, however, turns out to be not a state but a process.” 
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

I often wonder when the pain is going to let up. When I won't find myself tearing up when I think about my boy. When the nights won't feel so dark. When the waves won't crash so hard.

The thing is, grief is bittersweet in a way that every time I hear of another loss, I feel that family's pain. I know the ache that mother's arms are feeling to hold her child just one more time. I know the feeling of walking around in a daze, trying to wake up from the nightmare. The feelings of sadness and jealousy when you see another family with kids the same age as yours should have been. I go back to the day we buried Carter. How I told Danny I wasn't getting out of the car. That I couldn't, this couldn't be happening. I hurt for the things the family is going through and will go through. And it brings back my own hurt.

I don't talk about it as much because in theory, I should be "over it" by now. (I'm not). I'm slowly starting to learn, that as much as I would like for it to not hurt still, it does, and it's going to keep hurting. Trust me, I would love to not feel this ache so deeply. I even get frustrated that I can't not hurt. That I can't not think about it for even one day. I want my heart to be whole again. The hurt is still there and I don't think it's going anywhere.

There Will Be a Day...

Can I be honest for a minute? There are days when I am so tired of grieving. My soul is weary and I don't want to feel this pain anymore. Yes, it's been three years. It still hurts so very much. The first year was the most intense, emotional pain I have ever felt. I walked around in shock and was both numb and also unable to hide my emotions for the most part. 

Now, it's the ache. The ache that comes at night, in the quiet or sometimes during the day when I see my boys playing. The hurt that comes when people don't want to hear our story because we are in fact living out their worst nightmare. I don't want to hurt. I don't want to have this story. I want Carter. I want to be naive. 

Having a child you can only dream about is hard. Really hard and it hurts in big ways. If you're tired of hearing about how much it hurts, I'm tired of feeling how much it hurts. I know why it is so painful, but that doesn't make it any easier. I can't change what happened, I can only hope that I can see the good that will come out of this. And to try and remind myself that someday, I will get to heaven and there will be no more tears or suffering. 

"There Will Be A Day" by Jeremy Camp

I try to hold on to this world with everything I have 
But I feel the weight of what it brings, and the hurt that tries to grab 
The many trials that seem to never end, His word declares this truth, 
that we will enter in this rest with wonders anew 

But I hold on to this hope and the promise that He brings 
That there will be a place with no more suffering 

There will be a day with no more tears, no more pain, and no more fears 
There will be a day when the burdens of this place, will be no more, we'll see Jesus face to face 
But until that day, we'll hold on to you always 

I know the journey seems so long 
You feel you're walking on your own 
But there has never been a step 
Where you've walked out all alone 

Troubled soul don't lose your heart 
Cause joy and peace he brings 
And the beauty that's in store 
Outweighs the hurt of life's sting 

I can't wait until that day where the very one I've lived for always will wipe away the sorrow that I've faced 
To touch the scars that rescued me from a life of shame and misery this is why this is why I sing

A New Kind of Birthday

You know what's kind of weird? Having my baby's birthday coming up and not feeling sad and overwhelmed. It's a birthday and I get to fully celebrate it. I don't have to visit a grave. It's a birthday that doesn't double as a death day. A supposed to be the "best day of my life" that was actually the worst day of my life. We have taken to having a little party for Cohen after the actual birthday so that we still get to celebrate him, but his actual birthday will always have some bitter with the sweet. I hate that this is the way it is, but I can't change it. Maybe someday the pain will ease, but for now, it's a difficult day.

This time, we get a little normalcy. I get to think back to the day our little chubby baby entered the world and even though it was a bumpy ride, he was healthy. We got to count his fingers and toes and snuggle and have a baby experience that didn't involve life support and isolettes.

It's kind of crazy to have a birthday coming that I don't have to prepare myself for and send out "this is a bad time of year, bear with me" messages. I don't have to take the week off work or throw myself into projects to stay busy and distracted. This birthday feels different and light and joyful. Well, mostly joyful, I am eating brownies and crying into my pillow that my baby is one.

So this is a new kind of birthday and I just get to enjoy it. I'm kind of excited about celebrating this sweet little rainbow baby!

3 Years: A Grief Letter

Dear Family and Friends,

Well, it's that time of year. I should be joyfully planning a party for our twins.  Instead I throw myself into various projects and avoid going to bed so I don't have to be alone with my thoughts. My heart aches to hold and hug and kiss my child. The pain of not getting to see Carter playing alongside his brothers gets harder to bear. The new mom to the twins that walks by my house frequently and the neighbors calling to their Carter feels like salt in my wounds.

I can't believe it has been three whole years. Three years since we heard the words "It's time" even though it was far too early. We knew the boys would be early but we were in no way prepared for what was ahead of us. We didn't know our lives would forever be affected and changed as we simultaneously joined the world of both parents of preemies and baby loss parents. The boys'  birthday was not the best day of our lives, in fact it was one of the scariest and most devastating. I can still see his face and remember the moments I spent with him. I have lost a lifetime of hopes and dreams. We have lost a son. Our boys have lost a brother. I still wish it was all a bad dream and that I will wake up one day and we will be whole again. 

Does it still hurt three years later? Absolutely. Am I "over it"? No. I will never be over that my child died. Has the pain changed? Yes, it has. Most days I don't have to struggle to gather the strength to get out of bed. I still cry for Carter. I still want to see him play and run with his brothers. I still want to tuck him in at night and tell him I love him and I can't do those things. I still struggle to see twins because it is an incredibly painful reminder of our loss. Carter will always be a part of me, just like my other children. 

Carter's life was not for nothing, it has to be for something. Because of Carter (& Cohen), thousands of families will have tiny diapers to dress their babies in and will hopefully feel that their babies are treasured and that they matter. Care packages have been taken to the NICU. Money has been donated to the March of Dimes to continue research for treatment for preemies. I have found new purpose and meaning in my life because of him. I have learned so much about myself and who I want to be as a person and as a mom. I understand that there are no guarantees in life and that we need to do our best to make the most of each and every day. To love deeply because we may not have tomorrow. To not take for granted the gift I have to raise my other children (even when they are naughty) and to realize that there truly are things in life that don't matter. I have made connections and lifelong friends that I never would have if I weren't in this baby loss "club". 

In the days leading up to and surrounding the boys' birth, we watched people we thought were our friends walk away from us in our time of greatest need. We also saw people surround us and hold us up when we weren't able to stand on our own. The prayers, gifts, and support were truly amazing. Thank you to those of you who held our hands, prayed with us, cried with us, gave to us, and just loved us. Thank you for your kind and supportive words, on the blog, in emails, texts, and in person.  And thank you to those of you who didn't know what to say or do, but just stood by us. We couldn't have done it without you. 

We also watched as the Lord changed us and worked in our lives and others' lives as well. Our faith was shaken and then strengthened as we faced the hardest days of our lives. And we were reminded over and over and over of God's love and faithfulness, even in times of great darkness. He carried us through days we never thought we would make it through. And yet, he never left us.

And now, here we are. We have made it through three long, difficult, rewarding, and joyful years. I will always wish things had gone differently for our family. Always. But, we have learned that our lives are led by one who is greater than us. Who has gone before us and walked the path that we have and will walk. We know there is a greater purpose for our lives and that this world isn't the end.

Carter, my boy. In almost 3 years, not a day has gone by that I haven't thought of you and wished you were here. You will always be a part of this family. I can't wait to see you again. 

Normalizing Grief

Grief and sadness are uncomfortable. Nobody wants to talk about it or "go there". Grieving mothers and fathers are often misunderstood or worse, judged. Unfortunately, there is an alarmingly large number of parents facing loss whether through early miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant loss. There are a growing number of programs and support networks for parents, but there is still a long, long way to go. No parent should ever feel like their child's life didn't have meaning or that it shouldn't be grieved or celebrated. And for that reason, I will not stop talking about grief or my son.

The hurt I feel didn't immediately go away in the days and weeks after my child died. It didn't fade when I, along with my husband, lowered that impossibly tiny casket, containing a piece of our hearts, into the ground. When the headstone came, the pain was still there. My sadness didn't disappear at year one or year two. The nights that I cry myself to sleep because I can never hug or kiss my child still exist.

Our children may not physically be here, but we will never forget them. We will never get over the fact that we can't raise them. We are still their parents and they are still our children. When you get emotional at your child's first steps, or sending them off to their first day of kindergartner, or watching them get married, we get emotional too. Our reason is different, however. We get emotional because we don't get to see them, we can only imagine these times.

I want it be okay for a parent to grieve the loss of their child. The goal in expressing grief is not to make others uncomfortable, but to be able to acknowledge our children and the gaping hole left in our hearts from their absence. I want it to be okay for parents to grieve for however long they need to and to express that in ways that will help them heal and not be hurt, intentionally or not, by their loved ones and strangers alike. I won't ask you to stop talking about your child, so please don't ask me to stop talking about mine.

It's Not Fair

Nope, it's not fair. Burying a child is totally, completely unfair. Whether you've lost a child or not, I think we can all agree on that. The thing is, we could all find something about our lives that isn't fair. I'm not sure life was meant to be fair.

While I have many days where I want to kick and scream and throw a 2 year old tantrum about the unfairness of it all (and some days I do), I just can't live there. This is a hard journey, and dwelling on things I can't change does me no good. You know what I mean? Some people don't even want their kids and I would give up a whole lot to have mine. Some people don't know how lucky they are. Some people smoke and drink throughout their pregnancy and get to keep their babies. There are a lot of these types of things that I could focus on, but I can't. Getting stuck in all of those thoughts makes me dig a deep, deep hole that I want to lay down in and not get out of.

It's a daily battle, it's not easy, and I am far from perfect. But, I know that it's not good for me, my relationship with Danny, or my boys. Everyone faces hardships in their lives and I truly believe that it is what we make of it. I can stomp my feet and get angry, and then continue living my life to the best of my ability.

People tell me that I do such wonderful things through Teeny Tears, NICU Care Packages and a few other projects. Truthfully? I do them for selfish reasons. It makes me feel good. I do it for Carter and for myself. Having my son die was one of the worst things I have been through in my life. The pain is often indescribable. If I let myself get idle, I find that I begin to go to "the dark place" where I wallow and pout about the unfairness of it all. And no, it's not fair. And yes, there is a place for being upset. But long term, I have to do something with it all. Sometimes I take on a few too many projects, but I need my grief and Carter's life to be for something. And so I bury myself in projects, get involved with causes, to try and keep myself moving and to hopefully make this world a little bit better for someone else going through a hard time.


This is not meant to be a "holier than thou" or "toot my own horn" type of post. I have hesitated to post this, but I do want people to know that even in those very dark places, there are ways out. My way out has been helping other people.  Everyone is at a different stage in their journey and I definitely didn't come to this place immediately. It's taken me a long time, I'm still not all the way there, and not sure I ever will be and I'm okay with that. Losing a child is still unfair. But I just have to keep asking myself how I want to handle it and how I want to make Carter's life meaningful.

Being Back in "That" Room

Last week was brought a flood of emotions and memories. It was physically emotionally exhausting. Hard, but good. I think I'm still recovering.

Going back to the NICU has never phased me very much. It's not that our journey wasn't hard or traumatic, it was, I just think everything else we went through was bigger than that, if that makes sense. I'm not sure how, but somehow we were spared the PTSD aspect that so many preemie parents can face after a long NICU journey.

While we were at the hospital we went to visit my friend who is there on bedrest. We visited with her and her husband for a little while and then found ourselves visiting another family there on bedrest. This family was in the very same room that I was in after our boys were born. The room where I held my baby's lifeless body. Where family members came and went quietly. Where I cried myself to sleep.

The days before and after the boys were born were some of the most awful days of my life. My children's births have not been the happiest days of my life, in fact, they have been far from it. Not many parents fear the birth of their child, but I was terrified. Deep down in my heart, I knew it wasn't going to turn out well.

Sitting in that dark room, a reflection of the somber mood, listening to the babies heartbeats on the monitor, having the nurse come in and adjust the monitors frequently. It was all too familiar. The helplessness and incredible fear came right back. Memories of begging God to give me just one more day to grow my babies. And then having my water break and knowing that the time was nearing even though it was still way too soon.

I don't think I said anything encouraging to this family because the memories just came flooding back. I could feel the fear again. I could feel the heartbreak of hearing other children in the hallways, knowing that I would never hear mine. I wanted to help this family, I wanted to hug this mom and tell her that everything was going to be okay. I truly hope with all of my heart that it does turn out okay for them.

Capture Your Grief - Day 20

Day 20: Hope
(Do you have hope for the future? What do you hope for those who will join this club in the future)

I do have hope. I have lots of hope. I have to or I won't get out of bed to face another day. I have hope that my boys will grow up knowing how loved and precious they are. I have hope that the things we are going through now will be able to help give someone else hope. I have to believe that this isn't all for nothing and that good will come out of Carter's life. 

The hope I have for other parents who may be facing loss is that they are supported in even greater ways. I hope that their baby's life is validated. I hope they are giving the opportunity to spend time with their baby and to make as many memories as they can in a short amount of time. I hope that the healthcare system and those involved in it can be kinder in the words spoken and actions taken. I hope that people can be more aware of their words and how much they can affect grieving families. I hope families know that they are allowed to grieve their baby(ies). I hope that no one ever tells them to "get over it" or to "move on". I hope that families can find support and love to get them through the hardest time of their life. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 12 & 13

Day 12: Article

I've read lots of articles. The one that has stuck with the most is this one from the Center for Loss in Multiple Birth. Grieving the loss of a multiple is such a unique experience in that you are grieving for a lost baby and celebrating for a living baby. You are in anguish for the parent you don't get to be while trying to be the parent you do get to be. You are saying goodbye to "twins" and the life you thought you would have and getting used to words like "surviving twin" or "single twin".

From the CLIMB website:

"One twin" – it seems like a contradiction in terms...It was not something we ever would have imagined at the time of learning that we were expecting twin babies, and everything became "twos". Yet for so many of us, because of the high risks in pregnancy and birth, it is the way it turned out: we have one to care for and raise while missing and mourning for his or her twin. We experience all the realities of becoming a parent at the very same time as all the realities of becoming a bereaved parent, and all in one package. Not this year and next year, but all at once now, and "my twins". We grieve for our baby and for our twins being together, and we worry about the impacts on our survivor. It is often a deeply sad, confusing, and physically and emotionally exhausting time. We're the last ones who need to be told to be grateful when a baby lives – yet finding joy in our survivor can be a huge challenge, for so many reasons, even though we need and want to all the more, and want our child to be happy.

As if this weren't enough, many of us experience feeling like we don't fit in anywhere, and that no one understands what we are having to go through and cope with. We also usually receive comments by others who may mean well but aren't trying to "get it", urging us to downplay or even deny our loss. (Like we want to hurt so much – but it hurts more to act like this baby was the only one or that our other child didn't matter.) With all the attention paid to living multiples, and little shown of the risks and realities, it is also easy to feel that we truly are the only one and are much more unique than (sadly) we actually are.

Just when others think we are or should be doing fine, is often when we need the most support. Because of all the realities and pressures of caring for a newborn (and for many, having a tiny survivor who is in the NICU) none of us is in the position of being able to "only" grieve, as painful as that is. Many of us find that the grieving process really begins when we bring our survivor home, and for many of us that means after weeks or months in the NICU (and just when others might think everything would be "normal" now). Later also there are pressures from others and from within ourselves to be "fine", to be coping, to not expect to spend much time thinking about our baby who died or doing what we need to do in relation to him or her. Sometimes we get used to putting our grief to the side and then it can seem scary to get in touch with it when we do have the opportunity or the need.

But – we have the same amount of grief as anyone who loses a baby, plus the grief for "my twins" and the concern for our survivor, and so it gets stretched out over a fairly long period of time – longer, not shorter because of having a survivor, and complicated, not "easier". Besides our sheer feelings of losing our baby, we have a great deal to re-live and process emotionally, mentally, spiritually, and even physically about what happened, "why" it happened, and how to somehow integrate it all into our ongoing life. While all that is going on, we are dealing with a birthday which is also the birthday, and then the anniversary, of our twin who died...other landmarks and day-to-day reminders...issues about talking to our survivor and about what they may be feeling, and similar for any older children we may have...and often, issues about another pregnancy.

All of this is a big order, especially when we think we're supposed to do it without appearing to be, and without support. We don't recommend you try it alone! and hope that this section and others in this site will be helpful in some way. This section is focused on the loss of a twin during pregnancy, at birth, or in the days or weeks after birth. Also in this site are sections on the loss of a twin or multiple to SIDS (which is relevant to other sudden losses in infancy), and the loss of an "older" twin or multiple (after the age of 1). The section If You're Pregnant Now focuses on the needs of those who learn during pregnancy that one of their multiples has died ("going longer"), or will not survive past birth ("knowing ahead"), or who are pregnant after one twin has born born prematurely and died ("delayed interval delivery"). Also, we are in the process of constructing a section on raising and talking to surviving twins and multiples.

Day 13: Books

In their grief, some people go straight to books. I was trying to juggle the NICU and other things so I didn't have a ton of time to read. The two books I found most helpful were "Heaven is for Real" by Todd Burpo and "A Grace Disguised" by Jerry Sittser. I highly recommend both of these books. 

 

Capture Your Grief - Day 9: Music

Rascal Flatts - Won't Let Go

Favorite Lyrics:

I will stand by you
I will help you through
When you've done all you can do
If you can't cope
I will dry your eyes
I will fight your fight
I will hold you tight
And I won't let go

I love this song for not only Carter, but for Cohen as well. I will never let go of any of my babies for as long as I live. I cry every time I hear this song.

Mercy Me - The Hurt and the Healer

Favorite Lyrics:

So here I am
What's left of me
Where glory meets my suffering

I'm alive
Even though a part of me has died
You take my heart and breathe it back to life
I fall into Your arms open wide
When the hurt and the healer collide

Breathe
Sometimes I feel it's all that I can do
Pain so deep that I can hardly move
Just keep my eyes completely fixed on You
Lord take hold and pull me through

So here I am
What's left of me
Where glory meets my suffering

This song. Everything about it, the lyrics describe this journey so well. This impossible journey that I could never walk without my Healer. 

Selah - I will Carry You

 Lyrics: 

There were photographs I wanted to take
Things I wanted to show you
Sing sweet lullabies, wipe your teary eyes
Who could love you like this?People say that I am brave but I’m not
Truth is I’m barely hanging on
But there’s a greater story
Written long before me
Because He loves you like this

So I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All my life
And I will praise the One Who’s chosen me
To carry you

Such a short time
Such a long road
All this madness
But I know
That the silence
Has brought me to His voice
And He says…

I’ve shown her photographs of time beginning
Walked her through the parted seas
Angel lullabies, no more teary eyes
Who could love her like this?

I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All your life
And I will praise the One Who’s chosen Me
To carry you

This song makes me cry every time. EVERY time. Written by a mom pregnant with a child that was not expected to live. Written by a mom who knows the pain of burying her baby. A mom that knows that Jesus is now carrying her child when she can't.

Capture Your Grief: Day 7 - You Now

I first saw the topic for this day and just thought Oh boy. How do I explain where I'm at? It's been two years but sometimes feels just like yesterday. I have come a long, long ways. I have been through the anger, the devastation, and the disbelief. I've wandered around in a daze, not knowing or caring what day it was. I've wondered how this could happen to us and why. I've questioned why people aren't more understanding and sometimes so insensitive. I feel like I've come so far sometimes, and not so far other times.

When I post about Carter or my grief, I hesitate. My head tells me that people are tired of hearing about it, but sometimes it just needs to come out. And I have always believed in being honest with people about what it's like to be a babyloss parent. The pain has definitely changed. It's still here and always will be, I will always feel the loss of my baby. Now instead of constant rip your heart out aching and longing, it comes in waves. A lot of times when I don't expect it, it sneaks up and washes over me, threatening to take me under. When it comes, I try to let myself "go there" and not just stuff it down. I think that has been a huge part of my healing is allowing myself to feel and be present in the pain which then allows me to continue moving forward. I have been so blessed in having family and friends that make a safe place for me to do that.

Carter will always be my child and I will always be living without him. I will always be wondering what he would be doing at which stage. Some days it makes me smile, other days it makes me cry. There are times I can think about Carter with joy that he is my child, and other times all I feel is the pain of his absence in my life.

That's where I am not. Still grieving, but living. Feeling the pain that means that I have lost something so special
in a big way. Trying to make the most of what we've been through and enjoying our life and my boys the best that I can.

Capture Your Grief: Day 3 - Myths

"Time Heals All Wounds"

Nope. It doesn't. Time does heal wounds, but only to a certain extent. These are wounds that will never go away. Will they heal? Yes. Will I always be deeply scarred? Yes. This is one of my least favorite "meant to be comforting" statements. It is basically telling a grieving mom that someday, she will not feel pain about losing her child.

Think about it (even though it's hard). 

If your infant, toddler, teenager or grown child died, would you not be completely devastated? Would you want someone to tell you that eventually you'll get over it? I don't ever want to be over my son. Just like loving my living children, I will always love Carter as well. And I will always wish that he could be here with us. Time does change wounds, but it will never make them go away.

If you are interested, here's another post I wrote awhile back about words and their impact on a grieving family.

Capture Your Grief 2013

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. Last year I did the "Capture Your Grief" project and found it a very healing process. I will be doing my best to keep up with it this year. I found it interesting to look back at my posts from last year. Some things have changed and some things are still very similar.

Day 1: Sunrise
I wasn't up to see the sunrise today (or hardly any days). It's been so rainy the last week I'm not sure I would have seen one anyway. So I'll take a different perspective on the sunrise. These boys are my sunrise.

They are what get me out of bed every day and give me the strength and courage to keep moving. The sunrise brings a new day, which can sometimes seem so daunting in the midst of grief, but it can also be a chance to start new. To throw off whatever happened yesterday and have a fresh beginning and to make the most of the time I have with the ones that I love.

A Parent's Grief

I shared this photo over on our facebook page, but wanted to share it here as well. I've never seen such a powerful, accurate picture of what it's like to lose a child. A parent that doesn't want to let go of their baby, who can't stand the thought of leaving them alone in a grave, who will never get to hold that child again.

I always thought that I was strange for having thoughts about wanting to go and get Carter out of his tiny coffin and to hold him. I thought I was odd for wanting to take a blanket to his grave so he didn't get cold. Clearly, I am not the only one who has these seemingly unnatural thoughts. Although, we of course want to take care of our living children, so why wouldn't we want the same for all our babies, even if they aren't on this earth anymore. A part of us goes and stays with our babies when they are buried. It was so hard for me to walk away and leave my baby there in the ground. This picture just says it so well...

A Bittersweet Day

Last Sunday was International Bereaved Mother's Day. I was asked to write something for a link up but never got around to it because we were so busy and sometimes it seems like there is a "day" for everything. I honestly didn't think much about the day. But now I get it. It almost doesn't seem fair for moms who have lost their babies to have to live through Mother's Day. We had plans to go to church this morning but I just wasn't sure I could do it. The thought of having to listen to all of the "Happy" Mother's Day wishes was almost too much to bear.

The day that is supposed to be joyous and reflecting of how wonderful being a mom is and how grateful children are for their own mothers. And yet here we are, with our arms aching to hold our little ones just one more time. To hear their voices, to give them kisses, and to rock them to sleep.

My boys have taught me the true depth of a mother's love. I never knew I could love so deeply until I lost that chance. Of course I love my Carter, but it's not the same. I love him with all my heart but there's nothing physical to match my emotions. He isn't here. I can't parent his pictures and the things he left behind, they aren't him. 

So I will spend my day loving Cohen and being so incredibly grateful to have him here in my arms. But I will also be thinking of Carter, who I long to have here with me. My journey to motherhood has not been what I have expected, but I am thankful to my boys for making me a mom and for teaching me so many valuable lessons. While today will be a joyous and day of celebration for so many, it will also be a bittersweet day for many who are moms but don't get to have their babies here on earth. In your celebrations, please remember the moms of angels and keep them in your prayers.