As I sit here in the same spot that I so often had sat to use the computer during my pregnancy with Lucy, I can’t help but feel a void within. I spent so much time planning and dreaming, right here in this very chair, thinking that I knew exactly the path my life was on. Thinking that by such and such date, I’d be doing this or that with Lucy, or Chris would be doing this or that with her… now, there’s just a void. How could we have ever possibly imagined that this would be our reality? We did not plan for her death, we didn’t plan on picking up broken, shattered pieces of our lives and trying to figure out how to survive and move forward. I know we’re already well into our grief journey, braving what is likely the toughest part of it (yes, I know the waves are going to keep crashing and retreating as we go), but it’s still so hard to believe. Our whole lives have been altered forever. I know I’ve typed this before, but sometimes I still just can’t believe it. Our daughter died. It is so hard to understand. We are never going to be the same, for worse and for better I suppose. I feel like I have a completely new identity now. I knew that my life was going to change, I knew that motherhood in itself is a new personal identity, I just never ever thought in a million years that I would be faced with this. I can’t believe how much I miss her and how much a part of me feels as though it is missing. I know that there’s nothing that can be done about it, we can’t change the past, but I wish with all of me that it were different, that she were here, healthy and alive, like she was meant to be. Logic tells me that there’s no fixing it and we just have to keep moving forward, with Lucy in our hearts. It still isn’t fair. I am beginning to feel hope continue to rise with each day that passes; we want the chance to give Lucy a sibling. Lucy could never, ever be replaced, as no child replaces another… but Chris and I want so badly to be able to give more of our love and to raise a child together. I continue to hear stories from people who’ve experienced the ultimate loss like us who’ve gone on to have other children, and that that helps to fill a small part of the void left in the wake of child loss. This gives me a lot of hope. I know that I will never get over Lucy because there simply is no “getting over” a lost child, and it may well shape the kind of parent I may go on to be… but I do hope that we have the opportunity again and that I can be good at it. I know that another future journey through pregnancy will be terrifying at times, but I fear that if we don’t try, the void from losing Lucy will never lessen. How I wish she were here, she was so wanted and so loved… I can’t believe she isn’t. I can’t believe that this is the reality we’re looking at. BUT- as I’ve said before, I know I owe it to my sweet girl to try my best to live life well, for both of us. I just hope I can still make her proud.

I have such conflicted emotions when I think of how time continues to move forward after our greatest tragedy. Time stops for nothing and no one; it keeps inching along ceaselessly, without a care or consideration of the past. It continues moving, as if nothing happened. For Chris and me, it felt as if the world just stopped when Lucy died, felt as if the world and time should have stopped, because our world will never be the same. The rest of our time on this earth cannot be the same. Sometimes it hurts, the way everything just goes on, the way time continues to put more distance between us and Lucy. Early on, I was angry that my body continued to be a cruel reminder of what we’d lost; the postpartum symptoms seemed to mock me with every breath I took. I wanted those signs gone, it just seemed too harsh. And then, just like that, my body began to move on. Now it’s moved on to the next thing as mother nature has decided to begin another cycle, as if the past never happened. I know this would have happened anyway, but it seems like a sad reminder that time just keeps moving forward, life just keeps moving forward. There’s nothing that can be done about it but to go along. Though it’s still oh so very hard, time has also allowed for more moments of so-called normalcy. I know that my sadness will never completely disappear, but it’s interesting how time can find ways to weave moments of security, greater love, and even some more happiness in with the sadness. As it goes on, I can’t help but wonder what Lucy would be like right now in this moment if she were here with us. With every day that passes, I continue to wonder what might have been with that beautiful baby. It is empty without her, no matter how much time passes.

This week, I had a good session with my new therapist. One thing we discussed was ‘openness’, after I expressed to her that I worry my grief might be turning me into a truly crazy person. I talked about how there’s always so much chaos occurring in my mind at any given time, and how I’ve also taken up the belief that the butterflies and dragonflies are representative of Lucy. I got excited because one landed on me yesterday during my morning walk with Waggs. I shared these things with her, and she said, “No, you are absolutely not crazy, you are simply open to more things and possibilities because your perception of the world has changed.” She went on to ask me if I know how rare it really is for a dragonfly to land on a person, and that maybe it really was a little gift. She’s right, my perception of the world has changed drastically; nothing seems the same. I suppose it’s also only natural for me to look for ways to connect with Lucy, and I’ve decided to go ahead and embrace it all because it brings me comfort. Butterflies, dragonflies, and the beauty in nature are all representative of our little angel. I’ve been taking my daily walks with Waggs and looking for a good photo op each time for something that makes me think of her (well, really everything makes me think of her, it’s just a matter of what to take a picture of), and it’s become something I look forward to in my daily routine. It’s a positive piece of my day and I don’t like missing it now. Then, I turn around and share those photos with others on my Facebook page, utilizing the #lucyroseslight stamp along with some thoughts. It feels good to do that since there are so many ways in which I wish I could share her, but I can’t. I will have to settle for what I can do, which is preserving her memory and ensuring that others get the chance to think of her too. There’s some comfort in that, though of course I just wish she were here instead. I continue to try to leave myself open to different ways of healing, and I’m sure I’ll be doing that for the rest of my life.

Suezi, my mother-in-law, invited me to go check out the shops in nearby St. Joe yesterday, just for something to do and a change of scenery, so we went and did that. I am lucky to have one of the sweetest people ever as a mother-in-law. Lucy was so blessed with both her and my mom as grandmothers… they were both so in love with little Lucy all along. It breaks my heart all over again when I think of all that they have lost too. It was good to get out and about yesterday, though between all of the walking from shop to shop and my morning walk with Waggs, I was absolutely exhausted by the end of the day… I definitely see now that with the C-section still healing, there’s no way I’d make it through a full day of teaching on my feet yet with the way I felt at the end of the day. Overall, it was a good day, but there was a moment in one shop where a woman around my age pushed a stroller, much like the one we bought, with a new baby girl that looked around Lucy’s six week age… even writing this makes me feel like I’ll burst into tears… it was all I could do to choke back sobs and blink hot tears back. I wanted so badly to just bolt out of that shop; I couldn’t breathe, I was starting to shake a little, and I couldn’t get away from that stroller fast enough. Talk about PAIN… oh there it was. Outwardly, I didn’t draw any attention to myself, but inside I was screaming. I knew that I also should have been pushing my baby girl in a stroller through that shop, just happy to be out of the house, taking my baby out and about. I think this time, it really wasn’t jealousy I was feeling… I’m not sure exactly what it was. Panic for sure, mixed with sadness, hurt, longing, and more panic. THAT is a trigger- seeing other babies Lucy’s age. That’s it right there. Yes, it makes me sad when I see pregnant women, or other little ones, but when it’s a baby her age, that’s when the walls come crumbling down. After that, I just didn’t really feel like myself at all. Suezi was of course very understanding and gave me a hug after we stepped out of the shop, because she knew. I’m sure it was tough for her to see that too, just like it would be for my mom. It’s moments like that where my world feels like it’s all caving in and I don’t want to dig myself out of the rubble. But, that’s not a choice I have… I have to keep on going, step by step. On the drive home, after I left Chris’s mom and dad’s house, it hit me once again just how much we have lost and how much we are all missing out on. I cried the whole way… I couldn’t stop the tears from soaking my face- they just wouldn’t stop. I could obviously still drive, and there’s just something about being alone in the car with sunglasses on that makes it seem okay to cry it out. Our Lucy should be here with us.

This is just so damn hard.

In spite of the beautiful, warm days here in West Michigan, there’s a hint of autumn in the air… the cooler nights and the spots of changing leaves on the maples are gentle reminders that a new season is nearly upon us. Time pushes us farther from the time we had with Lucy, it puts more distance between us and the innocence and faith in the universe that we once had, and it’s a reminder that time moves ahead and we must too. Grief has become my accepted companion, and I think she’s here for life, no matter how much time moves forward. I long for future happy times, but I also ache to have my sweet baby here in my arms. I know that ache will never go away, but I also know there are better days ahead, there must be. Looking at the changing scenery, I missed my Lucy more than ever, wishing with all of my heart that she were here with me to experience the new season.

In spite of the storm we’re weathering, I told Chris yesterday that there’s still so much to be grateful for. He certainly knows this, but I needed to say it out loud. I often need to say things like that aloud, it helps me to believe it more. I told him that I couldn’t do this without him… I am so lucky to have a strong, supportive partner, and we’re both so fortunate that we’ll always be there for each other to have each others’ backs, loving each other no matter what. There’s still so much to be thankful for; everything that was good in our lives before this is still there. It’s just hard to remember that in the dark moments. Everything’s the same, yet everything has changed- it’s a rough paradox to live within. I don’t believe there’s any going back. Joy and grief will simply coexist, and I suppose I will have to handle that.

It’s been six weeks today since Lucy was born. Like the seasons, time just keeps marching along. There are so many moments in which it all still feels so raw, so painful. There have been more moments sprinkled here and there though where I feel okay, and just a little bit like myself. Still wandering lost for much of the time, but it is getting better. It occurred to me on my walk this morning, as I noted the evidence of the changing season, that perhaps I’m living on borrowed time. In the whirlwind of losing our baby, I continue to forget that I could have been lost too. Had it all happened in some other time or place, I wouldn’t have survived what happened either. I do have to wonder though why I’ve been given the gift of more time, but my daughter wasn’t. As a mother, I truly feel it should be my little girl living and experiencing what life has to offer. The harsh reality for me is that it isn’t her, and that we just didn’t have a choice in the matter. Instead, time goes on without our baby, and I’m left trying to make sense of it. She wasn’t given this gift, but I am allowed to continue experiencing it whether I accept it or not. It’s not fair, but I’m doing my best to get back on my feet so I can experience it for both of us. Not an easy task!

Another thing that’s been on my mind is the hard fact that grief changes people. This is not always a bad thing, but it’s difficult when others can’t find a way to accept that. I feel that at least at this point, everyone understands that grief in a situation like this changes the mother and father, but they forget that it sometimes changes others who are connected to them as well. Tragedy and grief should change people. In this case, it gives people an opportunity to examine their life, their priorities, their attitudes. It’s been a shock to me to see a few people who are connected to me and the loss of Lucy who simply keep doing what they’ve always done, even amplifying their negative behaviors, continuing to exist in their own self-centered little bubbles. How a tragedy like this could not change someone’s perception of what’s truly important and what is simply small stuff is surprising. I am by no means perfect or always handling my grief and sadness in the most ideal way; in fact, as usual, I am the first to admit my shortcomings. However, I refuse to let my situation give me license to treat others poorly, though I bet anyone would understand if I did on occasion. There’s no excuse for that, even on the days when I just feel like I can’t face the world. It’s hard to hurt all the time, but my ultimate goal is to come through this better, not bitter. If I can do this, I think others can too. Somehow I feel as though I’m on my soapbox right now… maybe it’s the teacher in me fighting her way to the surface again. I guess what I could say in simpler terms is that it pisses me off when people gripe, complain, or treat others like crap because of their own obstacles, instead of realizing it could be worse and that most life problems are fixable. Death of a child? Not fixable. Whether or not you choose to be proactive about facing your grief? That’s called dealing with it and fixing what you can. If people like Chris and me, and anyone else who’s lost a loved one, can put on our big kid pants and figure out how to carry on in spite of the ultimate heartbreak and loss, anyone can. I believe that. I don’t mean to get so angry when I hear or see complaints, but when it’s piddly stuff or something an individual totally caused for themselves due to bad decisions, I can’t stand it. Do they really have any clue of how bad it can really get?? It’s a daily battle right now with grief… it could so easily break me (I often feel like I’m on the edge of breaking), but I won’t let it. I will never stop loving and missing my child, ever, but I still choose to try to live as well as I possibly can every day I wake up. Like the seasons change our environment, grief changes its companions. It doesn’t have to change them for the worst.

It’s been bubbling to the surface a little more each day… the anger I feel when I think of our situation… it’s becoming more present in my thoughts and mood. I woke up today after a terrible night of sleep just pissed off. I was mad at the world last night too. Yesterday evening I filled up a handwritten page in my journal spouting off and littering the page with expletives and jealous thoughts. I don’t always share here in the blog the pure ugliness of what I feel at times… I guess sharing it makes it more concrete and tangible, and that’s not necessarily what I want to embrace through this grief journey. It’s getting harder to ignore as it surfaces more often. I don’t want anger to be my guiding emotion, but I also know that it’s to be expected in this kind of situation. It’s normal, it’s okay. What happened to Lucy is not fair, not right, and not okay. What happened to Chris and me is not fair, not right, and not okay.

The thing that ignites my anger the most is seeing and observing others who are experiencing right now what we should be with our new baby. I am exposed to it every time I go out in public, every time I do anything on the internet, every time I log in to Facebook. Facebook is presenting some obstacles for me; it would make sense to just quit looking at it altogether, right? Social media is such a trivial thing, yet it’s a concrete part of our society and what so many of us do. It’s hard not to look. I often feel that it’s a connection to the outside world (let’s face it, I’m not exactly out and about cheerily participating in the outside world at this point) and a way to connect with my loved ones and even in the support groups I’ve recently joined. Lately though, there’s a lot of bad that comes along with it too. The ads seem to be the worst; I hate that I am still bombarded with ads for baby products and such. Yes, they can be unfollowed, but you can’t unsee the stuff. Same goes for all of the new baby photos that people in my network post and put up… Yes, they can be unfollowed too, but it’s hard. I saw that an ex of mine and his wife just recently welcomed their second healthy son into the world the other day, and I was actually afraid of the immediate flare of jealousy that I felt upon seeing even one of the photos. Not jealous of the ex, but jealous that they, like so many other happy couples snuggling joyously with their newborns right now, have what we do not: their own healthy living baby. It’s not their baby that I want, it’s our baby Lucy that I want. And we don’t get to have her. And why do they get to have two when we couldn’t even have our one that we wanted so very much? It pisses me off to no end. We were so close to having it all. I made the mistake of looking through all of the posts and photos I’d shared throughout my pregnancy… there was so much joy and happy anticipation leading up to Lucy’s birth. It was like watching a Shakespearean tragedy unfold with the dramatic irony overshadowing the characters’ happiness, the characters never knowing what kind of hell was about to befall them. I am so angry that our innocence, optimism, and happiness were stolen from us. Both Chris and I feel that we can never simply trust that life will just be okay again… there will always be the shadow of doubt lurking in the backs of our minds no matter what solid ground we may find ourselves on in the future. It all eerily reminds me of my once favorite quote from Macbeth: “Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” I used to think the language of this was so powerful, so vivid and beautiful, in spite of the dark view of life… now, I wonder sometimes what it’s all for. I wonder why Lucy was created so beautifully, why she was able to make it to birth, only to have her life snatched from her upon entering the world. I don’t want to think it all signifies nothing… but really, what was it all for? It isn’t f%#*ing fair. It’s bullshit. I just feel so much rage when I think of the beautiful waste of it all. There won’t ever be an absolution for this loss… just questions, sadness, pain, and anger.

This week I’ve been plagued by unsettling, bad dreams. Several nights ago, Chris left me (only in my nightmare) and I woke up feeling absolute terror at even the thought of that prospect. I think it just stems from my fears of losing more loved ones. I’ve already lost Lucy, who’s to say that fate won’t play another bad hand and take more away? I know that Chris isn’t willingly going to leave me; we’re too solid and love each other too much for that. However, those fears of losing him by some other means are enough to make my blood turn cold. The past few nights, I’ve had several dreams of being pregnant (I think with Lucy?), going through the entire pregnancy and even into labor, and then there is absolutely no resolution. Either Lucy is simply no longer there and the pregnancy was merely a figment of my imagination, or it just stops. It’s seems pretty clear where those dreams are stemming from. I wake up in an even more intense state of sadness with these dreams. It makes my heart hurt even more. This seems to be getting infinitely more difficult as the days pass.

I keep seeing Lucy’s image in my mind’s eye… I see her every time I close my eyes, and even when I don’t. She was so beautiful, so perfectly made. I can’t believe how gorgeous she was, so angelic. I can’t help but think of what a beautiful waste her death is. She was the picture of infant health… she had every opportunity ahead of her for a wonderful life, with parents who loved her and had already made her their whole world. We really did have all of the makings for a lovely fairy tale. Talking to my mom a few days ago, she’d mentioned the idea of the ‘fairy tale’ that my life had seemed to become, and how adding Lucy to it was only going to make it even more wonderful. Then this happened. And my mom had the realization that the original fairy tales all ended in some horrifying, gruesome way. They were meant to teach the little children lessons by using genuine fear tactics and the characters’ meeting some sort of frightening demise due to their actions. Well, I guess I got my authentic fairy tale then. The thing is, deep down in my sub-consciousness, I worried all along that something would go wrong… things were simply too good to be true, or I simply wasn’t meant to have or didn’t truly deserve to have it all. Maybe I was right. But it isn’t fair that Lucy had to pay the price. She didn’t deserve this, even if for some cosmic reason I did. A beautiful waste. Logically, I know that I did nothing to deserve this, Chris did nothing to deserve this… it just happened. I’ve always been plagued with self-doubt for as long as I can remember, and now that this has happened, the self-doubt is threatening to become bigger than it’s ever been. Again, logically, I know that I can overcome those things, but I feel as though I have to learn how all over again. It’s an uphill battle.

Yesterday, while out walking, I had this image suddenly burn into my brain of carrying Lucy in her ergo carrier, her chubby, perfect baby hand and arm sticking out, bathed in sunlight, grasping the index finger of my free hand, my thumb stroking her little hand. It was beautiful. Because that’s what was supposed to be happening at that moment. These are the types of dreams I have in the moments I’m awake. All of the ‘should haves’ splinter my heart into a million pieces every day, and I know I’ll never be able to put it back together, even if I try for the rest of my life.

It’s been a month. The worst month of my life. The ebb and flow of grief for me has been so tiresome for my soul. I miss my baby every moment of every day. They say the amount of grief is comparable to the amount of love, and I have oh so much love for our little Lucy Rose. I just miss her. I was so angry yesterday evening… that has ebbed just a bit, but only to be replaced with more sadness.

Yesterday when I went to an appointment and to the store, Chris condensed all of the baby items scattered about the house and put them in the nursery. I was relieved when he did this, though I felt a surge of sadness at the same time. The door to what was supposed to be Lucy’s room stands open all day, though I think I may need to close it soon. I swear I hear sobbing and screaming in my brain every time I look at the empty crib. It hurts. The only occupant of the room now is the cat, which has bothered me from the start. All through the pregnancy it drove me crazy, that cat exploring the room, sitting on the changing table, and taking up residence in the brand new glider chair. Now I feel like somehow he desecrates a sacred space that was meant for our baby, putting his footprints and fur all over everything, and I want him out. I don’t throw him out only because Chris loves his cat, but it bothers me all the same. It might just be easier to take a stand and shut the door.

Chris left for a while today to go prep for his return to the classroom tomorrow, and I went in to Lucy’s room and sat on the floor and cried for a bit. I guess I needed a few minutes to let the tears flow and think again about all that will never be. Part of me is truly anxious and upset about Chris returning to work tomorrow… I am going to be faced with these kinds of feelings all day on my own. I have to really push myself to leave the house, because in public I feel so vulnerable and out of my element. I only want to be at home, but when I am at home, I become so restless and the emotional rollercoaster resumes its course. It’s so strange, there are moments when I feel like I’m okay, I can handle this and I know it’s all going to get better eventually; then it shifts its course and I am suddenly not okay. Not okay in the sense that I cannot control my emotions and all I want to do is breakdown and cry. And often, that’s just what I do. I know I need to feel all of this, it’s part of the journey, but it is truly exhausting. There really is no easy way to travel this road.

I’ve taken steps toward therapy with a psychologist who specializes in grief situations like mine, and I am hoping it helps. Without outside help, I feel like I continue to take steps backward and I’m just losing my footing. It almost seems like grieving the loss of Lucy gets harder every day, certainly not easier. All I can think about is her. I continue to do things around the house to keep busy, I think about work (and almost look forward to when I can return), etc., but I don’t have anything much going right now that takes my mind off of this situation. Social media, I’ve decided, is so detrimental to any progress I could potentially make, and I know that continuing to browse through it throughout the day is only making things worse. It only makes me sad right now to see everyone else living their happy lives, and it kills me when suddenly everyone is posting photos of babies and little kids.I know that will likely change eventually, but as of now, there’s no escaping the things that make me hurt. I’ve even had to unfollow some of the loss groups I joined, because I just get so overwhelmed that there is so much of this unbearable hurt in the world. I still have faith that things will get better. I do still have hope for my future, and I know that things will change. However, going with the ebb and flow of this torment as I am now is just so hard. I feel like I’m just stuck in limbo. I haven’t been given the go-ahead by the doctor to exercise yet, which doesn’t help my frame of mind, and everything I’m feeling is so raw. It’s like I’m just stuck in a holding pattern of sadness and restlessness, and I’m making no progress and getting nowhere. Dare I say that I wish a little more time would hurry by so I can keep moving forward? I will always miss my baby girl, I will always have a void in me… but, she will always be in my heart, and I know I will eventually need to give myself permission to continue forging ahead. It’s just so hard to feel anything else but heartache right now.

Today is a rough one. Lucy would have been one month old today. I should be taking a photo of her one month milestone and sharing her unbelievable cuteness with the rest of the world; we should be marveling at each adorable yawn and smile, laughing about diaper duty and sleeplessness. We should be wrapped up in being her lucky parents. Instead, we have an urn of her ashes in a goddamn curio cabinet. I feel so angry, I just want to rage, to scream scream scream scream scream SCREAM until the everything explodes. I feel like I am quickly approaching the edge of madness, and I am ready to just jump. But there’s no getting out, there’s no escape. I have to live this, I have to live through this without her. Somehow, the Eagles’ Hotel California popped into my head today and I realized that this grief is much like the hotel: “You can check out any time you like, but you can NEVER leave”. I can never leave it’s, it’s with me for eternity. Oh there might be little breaks here and there, but I will inevitably find myself back in the thick of it again and again and again. No escape. Each day is a different variation of the ocean, the waves changing from hour to hour or day to day… today it’s a harsh tempest, a hurricane. There is a darkness that wants to cling to me, to hold my thoughts hostage. I see now how things like this can make people bitter… the anger is easier to feel than the unbearable heartache. I have promised to not let this make me bitter, but better… I will make good on that promise… I am trying so hard.