The Capture Your Grief Project continues, and I find that I feel on the verge of tears every time I read someone else’s take on the topics, or I struggle to find words to articulate my own answers to the prompts. I think it might just be too early in this journey for me, because the CYG prompts keep putting me in an odd place emotionally, and it’s hard to handle. Today’s topic is “Beautiful Mysteries”… the only thing I can say about that is that Lucy herself will always remain a beautiful mystery to me. I will never know who she might have been, I will never know why this happened, I will never know why it had to be us. Those things, along with everything else Lucy will always remain a mystery. She will always be my beautiful baby. She will always be loved. Unfortunately, there is little else to say.

I find myself at a loss for words about anything really today. The sadness is seeping out, but nothing that I can’t handle I suppose. It’s just a part of the new normal, and it happens to be a little amplified today. So in a meager attempt to not allow it to consume me this afternoon, I am going to focus on what saves me from the darkest depths of my sadness lately.

My Husband
I mean it when I say I could not get through this without my sweet husband. He is truly the most important person in the world to me, and I am so incredibly lucky to be his wife. I so often feel bad because I am certainly not the strong one of the two of us. He knows and accepts that we are coping differently, and he does everything he can to help me stay focused on being good to myself and keeping my hope alive. Without him, I would have no hope; he is the reason I get out of bed in the morning and keep going each day. He’s so strong and amazing, and I love him more every single day. Chris is the very image of a loving, devoted husband. For better, for worse… he meant it when we said our wedding vows (and so did I).

Walks with Waggs
My daily walks with our dog have become a critical element in helping me deal with our loss of Lucy. They’ve become necessary. I see them as somewhat of a symbolic ritual in this grief journey: one step at a time, one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. We’ve been lucky (Lucky? Dare I actually use that word? I don’t know that lucky is really how we could be described here…)with perfect fall weather to walk in while I’ve had this time off work. Waggs is a fantastic companion when I’m home alone, and she keeps Chris and I laughing daily, which is quite a feat really. She is such a character, and just the sweetest dog. I don’t know what I’d do without her here; she’s saved my sanity, I’m sure of it. During and after our walks, I feel stronger, healthier, and a little more like myself (whoever that is these days).

Writing
Whether I’m writing here in the blog or in my private journal, it is helping. Seeing the flow of thoughts on the paper or the screen is healing for me; it makes me feel at least like I’m doing something productive with all of the sadness I’m carrying around. It helps.

Reading
I’ve always been an avid reader, and it’s nice to have an escape. Historical fiction is usually my cup of tea, but I’ll read most anything that grabs me and pulls me into a great story. A couple weeks ago, I read The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls, and that was fantastic. Today I read (yes, all today) An Exact Replica of a Figment of My Imagination by Elizabeth McCracken, and oh, my heart… it is amazing. I think a blog post of its own might be due for that one. I giggled, cried, and felt so much less alone while reading it- every loss mom should give it a look. More on that later. I am thinking actually of going back to Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander series (even though I’ve already read it) because oh my, does she know how to tell a fantastic story! I love her characters and I miss them in my life… a great escape for sure, and unfortunately, a mini escape from my current life is something I’m needing every so often.

Therapy
This is self-explanatory, but I am thankful for my weekly appointments with Julie, my therapist. I feel a great connection with her, and she makes me feel a lot less crazy. Her suggestions and feedback have done me so much good and I often wish our sessions were just a little longer. She is also helping me to keep hope alive in my heart while allowing me to work through my grief over sweet Lucy. I think I’m going to miss having our regular appointments after I return to the classroom.

Nature
There’s something so healing about nature, and I’ve tried to embrace that, especially in the past month. I find myself looking for signs of Lucy in the beauty surrounding me outside. I just feel more connected to her, like her energy is now part of the ‘bigger picture’ and by being out in it, I can feel her presence more. The sky in particular has been my focus for some reason now more than ever. The cloudier the sky, the more interesting it is. I keep taking photos on my walks and that’s been something I’ve grown to really enjoy.

A Handful of Supporters
After the initial wave of support we received at the beginning of this sad journey (which I still can’t say enough how supported and loved we felt during the unbelievable outpouring of loving thoughts in the first weeks; it really was amazing), there have been a handful of people who continue to make efforts to check in and let us know we are loved and that they still think of Lucy. They know who they are, and they are appreciated beyond measure. When we were in those early days (come to think of it, I guess we’re still in the early days) during the first couple of weeks, we really just needed time alone to try to process what had just happened to us, but now it’s truly great to have a handful of people that continue to be there for us. The notes and cards have pretty much stopped trickling in, but those things helped me keep afloat during the worst of this. I’ll be forever grateful to the people who aren’t afraid of feeling uncomfortable around our grief and who have no qualms about sharing our sadness with us.

Reading the Blogs and Stories of Those Who’ve Been Through This
Knowing that I’m not alone and that it is going to be okay is one of the most tremendous helps to me right now. It hurts my heart to know that there are so many parents who’ve gone through this hell, but I am also glad that they share their stories. It’s one of the main reasons I decided to do this blog in the first place… I don’t know if it will actually help anyone for sure, but if it makes even one person feel less alone in their own child loss, then it’s served its purpose.

Looking Ahead with Hope
Almost immediately, Chris and I both decided that we want to have another child. There is this aching need in both of us to parent a living child and to give all of the love we have in our hearts. We were ready to be parents to Lucy, ready to form our entire lives around her… it hurts so much that we can’t. We deserve the opportunity to raise Lucy’s future sibling, not to replace her (there is no replacement), but because we want to share our love with another child in addition to her. To quote Elizabeth McCracken, “I missed the child we lost and I wanted another and these seemed like two absolutely separate aches”. We both feel these separate aches. Looking ahead to the future with the hope of another child is also what is saving me. Hearing stories of those who’ve been here before and have gone on to have their ‘rainbow baby’ gives me hope, and hope is what keeps me floating when it would be so easy to sink.

The healing of nature and the changing of the seasons…

I started this post yesterday and never got around to finishing it… so I’m posting anyway.

While going through the grief of losing Lucy, there are some really bad days. Everyone has bad days, but I’m finding with our new identity of loss parents, our former bad days have got nothing on this. I know that being only two months in, our bad days are pretty rough and they probably won’t always spiral into what they do now, but it’s hard.

Chris had the ultimate ridiculous and painful situation just thrown into his face yesterday morning. Because we are teachers, I think it’s fair to say that we don’t necessarily have a ‘normal’ job. When something emotionally rough happens, it’s not like we can just suddenly pack up our stuff and head for home. It’s usually harder to be gone than it is to just suffer through, because there’s the matter of having 30 students waiting for you to be ‘on stage’ at any given time during the school day… subs have to be placed in the room (and if we can’t get one, it’s our colleagues that suffer and have to cover), plans have to be given to the subs, and on and on. So anyway, Chris felt he really had no escape and just had to face the day after this situation. So, before school, a former student of ours showed up to Chris’s classroom to say hello. She was a senior during my first year teaching at our school, so that puts her around 25 or so. She didn’t just pop in, she popped in with her new baby… two months old. Lucy’s age. Before school was out for the summer, she’d stopped in to say hello to me, and we both talked about our pregnant bellies, etc. So fast forward to yesterday… She brings her baby in to see Chris, and one of the first things she said was, “I heard what happened, I’m so sorry.” She knew what happened, so she brought her baby in with her to say hello. WHO DOES THAT?! Chris, being the kind person he is, congratulated her and made small talk, even being brave enough to ask her how old her baby was, etc. He said when she told him her baby was two months, he just wanted to pack up his crap and head for home. That was when the wave hit him. It devastates me just thinking of him being trapped in his own classroom, with this girl and her baby, all the while thinking of how we were supposed to have that, we were supposed to have OUR baby with us, and here’s another cold reminder that we don’t. And then he had to perform his teaching duties ten minutes after that. It isn’t fair. Needless to say, his day was not great after that. I am so proud of him for being able to continue on normally after that. He is stronger than I am… I think of the immediate, almost physical reaction I have in public when faced with new moms and their babies around our Lucy’s would-be age… it’s been all I can do to keep it together, and I don’t even feel an obligation to talk to those women. If I had been there at school yesterday and she’d done that to me, I don’t know what I would have done. I don’t know that I could have gone about the rest of my day after being accosted like that in my classroom. There would have been some sort of meltdown, to be sure. My poor sweet husband. It’s stuff like that that’s making me tense about returning to work. At home, we can control most all of what’s going on and always know what to expect, which is really why I hate leaving the house. Those bad days are dark, rough days. We’re getting through them though.
…
On to today…
I have been in a funk the past few days. I feel like I’m losing heart, like I just want to quit with this façade of “strength”. I don’t feel strong. I feel like I’m unraveling and that my rope continues to fray and weaken. The noise of my grief just continues to grow louder in my head, and I am now self-conscious and feeling as though I’ve overdone it with the sharing of that noise on Facebook, etc. Like maybe now the majority of the people I connect with on there could simply be getting sick of hearing it. No one has indicated this, but I guess I just wonder if now that it’s been a couple of months, there’s this perception that maybe I should be “getting better”. To be completely honest, I don’t think I am getting better. I’ve had more moments lately where I just want to quit altogether, just lay on the couch and never get up again. I don’t want to go anywhere or do anything. I have to make myself do everything. The other day, I had that feeling of defeat while laying on the couch, just thinking it would be easier to just stay in that spot for the rest of the day. But there was this voice that said, “Get up!” I heard it loud and clear. I realize that quitting isn’t an option, but I wish it was once in a while. It’s hard to have to force every necessary action, to feel like a meltdown is on the verge of happening at any moment. There are the bigger things too (they were never big before, but now everything seems monumental) that I fear doing that I know have to be done, that I just can’t bring myself to do. For example, I need to go to the store. Since I’m home all day, I feel it is my job to get the groceries, but I am having a hard time making myself do this today. I have so much anxiety doing anything that requires going out in public on my own, so I keep putting it off, and putting it off, until I’ve talked myself out of doing it. What am I so afraid of? I can’t really even say. I’ve never felt so vulnerable. I hate it! I am getting better at trying to simply suck it up and get on with it. Quitting isn’t an option, and neither is dodging responsibility. Losing Lucy is the hardest thing I’ll probably ever live through, so everything else should be easier, right?

October 1st. Another new month, another reminder that as things continue on, they continue on without Lucy here in my arms. Today is particularly weird and emotional for me, a lot like September 1st was. I wonder if it will continue this way, or if it’s just what’s going to happen for a little while. I think maybe the idea that October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month is partially responsible, though I see the awareness part of it as a good thing. Obviously, the people I know are already aware of my loss… it’s the idea that so many other mothers and fathers have lost a baby shocks me as much as my own loss. I am probably beginning to drive my friends and family crazy on my social media accounts with the loss of Lucy stuff, but I find I can’t seem to help myself the past few days. It’s so sad that these things are some of the only things I can do to celebrate and share my love for Lucy… they simply pale in comparison to having her physically here with us with her whole life ahead of her. It’s all I can do, and it will never, never be enough for me. I’m starting an acts of kindness movement (I hope it will be a movement anyway, no matter how small) in honor of Lucy on Facebook and Instagram (#lucyroseslight); I feel comfort in the idea that others might do nice, kind things on behalf of our precious baby, and feel hopeful that her memory continues on with the idea that her name is spoken and attached to those things. It’s all I can do.

I find I’m also looking more and more for ‘signs’ of Lucy. I continue to see dragonflies on my walks with Waggs and while puttering around the yard; they always feel like a sign of her. This is strange too, but I’m also finding hearts everywhere. That started when my aunt brought us a collection of stones in the shape of hearts from Lake Michigan and my mom also found a really cool one for the garden. Now, I see random heart shapes in the weirdest places in the strangest ways like a smudge on a window, a tear in a piece of paper towel, a splatter on the stove, a leaf in the yard. It’s certainly odd, but I am finding comfort in all of the weird hearts I find… they are like little hellos from my Lucy. Crazy? Maybe, but it makes me feel good. I will keep looking for my ‘Lucy notes’!