Monthly Archives: February 2017

This, That, and Nelly

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Sometimes it’s hard to remain positive. Sometimes I struggle with seeing the light in this darkness. Looking back at myself six months ago, I wonder if I was stronger then than I am now. Somehow in those early days, I was able to cling more fiercely to the idea that I had to go on living my life well for Lucy’s sake. I feel ashamed of myself as of late, because I frequently have to remind myself to look for Lucy’s light in all good things, to keep working hard to make that little baby proud of me. Often, I feel anything but strong and capable.

In recent months, the old demons I had conquered years ago have come back to the surface. The despicable and malevolent self talk, negative body image, lack of faith in my abilities, and absence of self love have all crawled back into my brain. I am constantly beating myself up. Last month was by far the worst, and though I’m trying to consciously eliminate all of those self-hating behaviors, it’s a daily struggle. How can I make Lucy proud of me with all of these hurtful things I say to myself? In so many ways, I am disappointed in myself, yet, at the same time, perhaps it’s also a reason to be proud of myself too. In spite of the terrible things I say to and about myself, in spite of wanting to quit on so many levels, I do what I need to do every single day to keep my life together. The battles I fight right now are ones that no one aside from Chris can see. Without him to talk me off the ledge of self hatred, I don’t know how I’d still be standing here. Every day is hard, but I’m getting through them. I am trying to love myself again.

One of my biggest obstacles, aside from constantly being mean to myself, is my job. It takes everything I have in me sometimes to muster up smiles and good cheer for my students. It is absolutely exhausting, and because of this, at the end of the work day and on the weekends, I turn into a puddle of antisocial goo. I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to have to fake anything (especially my mood), and I crave solitude. I’m not allowed to grieve my daughter or act sad at work, so I always feel like I’m ready to emotionally combust by the time I get home. I’ve become notoriously bad at returning phone calls. It’s harder than hell to have to keep it all together while interacting with 100+ people throughout the day (I love my students, but dealing with moody teenagers is hard sometimes). What makes it tougher is that it feels like it’s been forgotten that I’m a grieving mother, aside from maybe three colleagues. I don’t expect to be catered to or treated better than usual because of our loss, but things impact me a lot more than they used to because of my vulnerability. Because I act like everything is perfectly okay, it’s easy for my students to dismiss everything that happened. They have teenage lives full of everything they’re dealing with, they shouldn’t worry about their sad teacher whose baby passed away. It’s hard to fake smiles and happiness when they tell me about brand new siblings or nieces and nephews, when all it does is remind me of what I don’t have. It’s tough to brush it off when a student gets rude with me because I’ve asked them three times to stop talking while I’m talking, or they walk past without even answering a hello from me. I never used to take these little things personally, but that sort of thing, coupled with society’s negative view of teachers, definitely impacts my self-esteem in this vulnerability. It’s a hard job to begin with, but morale in our building is pretty low, so I often feel like I’m at the bottom of the well when I’m there. No matter what I’m feeling, I still have to play nicey-nicey all day long, and it’s awful. I do my very best when I’m there, but it’s a hard and unpleasant job in my current state of being. I have realized that I do not want to retire from a life-long career in teaching. Losing Lucy has made things clearer to me, especially the things that hinder my happiness. What will I do instead? I have no idea. In the meantime, I’ll tough it out, but it isn’t easy.

We splurged and bought a treadmill and just started using it on Sunday. It will be a way to eliminate excuses for not getting exercise, no matter the weather. Of course, I went ahead and caught the plague of a cold that’s going around our school, so now I’m sort of waiting to feel better to jump back on. I’m hoping it helps to improve my body image and make me feel better… I have not engaged in regular exercise (aside from the long dog walks back in the fall) for quite some time, and I’m definitely feeling the negative impact it’s had. The extra weight I’m holding on to from the pregnancy is a constant reminder of how changed I am. It’s only about 15 pounds or so, but I’ve never been in such bad shape before, especially with cardio. Depression and grief have made it nearly impossible for me to hang on to any motivation. It’s so hard for me to look at my body lately… there are so many reminders of pregnancy. The cruelest part of all is knowing that my body went through that to grow a perfect baby who never got to come home with me. I know that all mothers go through an adjustment period with their postpartum bodies, but having no baby to hold makes it oh so much more difficult. I’m clinging to the hope that I will be pregnant again, but that won’t happen if I continue to neglect myself.

I’ve been working on making time to cope when I can. Because work is so draining, it’s hard, but I’m doing my best. My journal has been an almost daily ritual, along with sitting, even if for just a couple of minutes, in the nursery to focus my thoughts on Lucy. The elephant my mom got for Lucy on the day she was born has also become part of my coping. Sometimes I feel a little bit like a crazy person doing it, but I often hold Nelly (yes, I have named her elephant Nelly) during my moments of reflection. Something about the sensory element of her fur is soothing. There have been a few nights, when I miss Lucy too much, that I’ve snuck Nelly to bed with me. Somehow, it makes me feel closer to Lucy. Childish? Maybe, but sometimes I just need to feel comfort. Nelly should be Lucy’s cuddle toy, not mine. I miss her terribly, but Nelly eases that every now and again. In life after loss, it’s about staying afloat, and if Nelly the elephant helps me do that, I am not ashamed.

The new normal is hard, and I can’t say that even now, almost seven months later, that I’ve fully adjusted to it. I’m trying. There are many days that I don’t want to try, but then I remind myself that I have to for Lucy, and I work harder. All I can do is keep trying.

Nelly the Elephant

Trying to get back on track on the treadmill…

Glimpses

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I’ve mostly been staying emotionally afloat lately, but every now and again, when I’m doing something perfectly ordinary, I catch glimpses of what my life is supposed to be like, and it crushes me. There are reminders everywhere I look that tell me I’m missing something. Everything is different than it should be because Lucy isn’t here. Overall, I know I’m doing a lot ‘better’ than I was, but sometimes my emotions bubble up to the surface from nowhere, and the pain is as fresh and raw in those moments as it was when we first lost our little girl. Now, I suppose I can’t imagine what my life could ever be like without the intense sadness that repeatedly washes over me; it’s become a part of me, as much as Lucy is a part of me.

Today, the parallel universe in which Lucy got to stay with us has been taking over my brain. I keep seeing in my mind’s eye what life would be like with an almost seven month old baby. It’s painful and debilitating to consider all that we’re missing. Nothing I do today is a distraction from it, and I keep having mini crying spells. Chris was briefly concerned, but we both know this is just normal now… so I let my tears flow, the moment passes, and I take another breath and keep going. If love and wishes were enough to bring my sweet baby back to me, she’d be here. Though I’m moving forward toward living my life again, the Lucy-shaped hole in my heart has not changed… she will always be my missing piece. I miss her terribly today.

Moments

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This morning, after a quiet night last night with two of our friends and an out-of-the-ordinary February bonfire in the backyard, I washed our wine glasses and put them back in the cabinet. There was a small stack of envelopes and random little papers stuck inside along the edge, probably put there to prevent our crazy cat from chewing or tearing them up. I started sifting through them and ran across the photo (see below) my mother-in-law gave to us. I remember this, it must have been maybe a couple weeks before Lucy arrived, at Chris’s parents’ house. I think we’d gone over there so Chris could tend his bee hives he keeps at his parents’ house, or maybe it was to help his dad with something in the workshop (hence the shorts and work boots). We were getting ready to leave, and my Mother-in-law wanted to snap a few pictures. I was reluctant because all I could think about in that moment was how I wasn’t wearing any make-up, hadn’t done my hair, how swollen my feet were, and how very tired and full-term pregnant I was. In spite of that, it ended up being this silly belly comparison photo, both of us giggling and feeling a bit more excitement/nervousness that our little lady was soon to arrive and change our lives. What I didn’t know then, that I do know now, was that I was still beautiful, that I shouldn’t have been self-conscious, that I should have been embracing every precious moment with my sweet baby safe within me… Oh what I wouldn’t give to go back to some of those moments. Moments when we still had our Lucy, our innocence, and everything we’d ever wanted. I couldn’t have known that the small moments, like the one in the picture, would be all I’d have left to cling to in the near future.

I sat down and had a good cry after stumbling upon the photo. I wished again in vain that we’d had the outcome we expected, that things were different than they are. I know how lucky I was to have carried Lucy for her whole life, and that nothing will ever change the fact that she is my daughter and that I will always love her. I also wished that we’ll have the chance to pose for a silly pregnant photo again someday with a sibling for Lucy. I suppose those are things that I think daily, and that hope is something I continue to try to nurture. I am trying to look ahead and embrace Lucy’s light in all of the good things that still remain. It has become easier to see the good things in my life, especially when I look at them as small gifts from my Lucy. The days are getting easier, six months into this journey, but the waves still crash over me and take me by surprise. I’ve embraced those waves of sadness as something that will always be a part of my life, just as Lucy will always be part of my life.

Wishing for this moment back again…

Happy Valentine’s Day, Little One

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Hello sweet girl,

Because you are so much of my heart, this day is, of course, about you. You have taught me more about love and matters of the heart than I could ever have imagined. Though I miss you so, so very much today (and every day), my heart is full of love, and I feel the power of the love I have for you guiding me. No matter the time or distance between us, you will always be my beautiful baby daughter and I will always be your Mommy. Nothing can ever change that, and nothing will ever diminish the love I have for you. Happy Valentine’s Day, my Lucy…

I love you, my precious daughter.

Love always and always,
Mommy

Loss In My Life After Loss

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For the past six months, as I’ve made the treacherous trek through the landscape of grief, I have been doing all I can to make it through each day still standing. Every day has had its challenges, but every day, I have somehow managed to get out of bed and make my way on to the next one. Most of the time, my daily survival is consuming enough to leave little room for personal reflection, or even to stop and notice how my world has changed around me. Losing our baby has irrevocably changed everything. It is easy to be so consumed by loss and grief that all of the other things that have slipped away from me go unnoticed for a time. Grief is selfish that way, demanding all of your energy, blocking everything else out. There isn’t a minute that passes in which my Lucy isn’t present in my mind somewhere. However, there are moments when the fog lifts and I become aware of what else I have lost in the wake of loss. That’s the thing about a loss like this- it doesn’t stop at the initial loss, there’s often more loss to follow.

Here are five things I’ve personally lost since losing Lucy:

1. My innocence. Never again will I be able to invest my absolute trust in anything in this world. I will forever step cautiously through my life because I know that at any given moment, no matter how ‘safe’ everything seems to be, disaster can strike. Nothing is certain. I find myself often jealous of others who have the ability to experience unbridled joy and hearty laughter; those days are gone for me. There will always be something missing, and everything will always be a little less than complete.

2. My tolerance. By this, I mean my tolerance for petty things, complaining, noise commotion, big crowds, insensitive comments, menial tasks, pointless drama, spending energy on people who’ll never return it, rudeness, and a myriad of other things. The one thing I’ve become the least tolerant of is hearing others complain about their children. I’d give everything to have my child wake me up out of a deep sleep at 5:00 AM, so I cannot stand to hear such utterances from other parents. They got to keep their precious child(ren), I didn’t. I used to be an exceptionally tolerant person, but now, my perspective on so many things has changed, and I know that life is too short to be spent in additional discomfort. My patience is simply not as strong as it once was, and I think that’s okay.

3. My previous ideas about faith. I’ve never necessarily identified with a specific religion, but I’ve always believed that there must be something greater than all of us. Part of me still does, but not in the way I once did. I also used to believe in the concept of karma; now I am absolutely convinced that it does not exist. What goes around comes around? Really? Nope, I don’t think so. My perfect baby died, but there are still rotten individuals who do terrible things walking around, wasting their lives, making the world a harsher, more awful place. My husband and I have done our best to live honestly, be good to others and try to make the world around us a better place, and we’re ‘rewarded’ with the ultimate loss. How does that work? For the past six months, I’ve been prayed for, encouraged to talk to god, encouraged to find god… and nothing. I won’t go into all of this now, but in spite of my own efforts and the efforts of others, nothing about my loss is better because of these things. Even if I did ‘find god’, would my situation change or hurt less? I don’t believe so. Now more than ever, I simply believe that there is energy within each of us that never dies, it just changes form. That energy is then a part of the bigger picture, a part of everything. That makes sense to me. That’s why I still believe that my sweet baby will never truly be gone… she’s gone from me, but never truly gone. At least now, I no longer need to argue with myself about whether or not to believe in certain things. What I do believe in, above all else, is love. It’s love that has kept my heart beating and the rest of me anchored. THAT is where my faith is at.

4. Connections with people. This is a tough one to approach, but if I’m being totally honest with myself, and anyone who reads this blog, it’s true that I have lost some connections with others entirely along my grief journey. Not all of them are completely lost or gone, but they have completely changed. For example, my two sisters have become strangers to me, and I to them. This is simply speculation, but I think they, along with many others, just don’t know how to approach me. So, we don’t talk. I can’t say that I blame them. No one is really at fault. I know that I’m different now, I know that not everyone is comfortable with that or even understands it. It does make me terribly sad, but I guess it just is what it is. When it comes down to it, I’ll always be more sad about losing my daughter. I can’t help that. I also can’t help the sneaking suspicion that some people think I should be “getting over it by now”, or think something is off with me because I’m still so heartbroken, and that’s a major bummer. Some of my changing relationships are solely my fault, because I just can’t handle some of the things that come along with them, like babies or pregnancy. This makes me feel helpless and out of control of my feelings. I absolutely despise myself for this weakness, but right now, I’m not handling those things very well. Those things were taken from me and I desperately want them back. It’s the worst feeling in the world to suddenly realize that you’re at all envious of someone you love dearly, and that you have an uncontrollable emotional reaction whenever they begin to talk about the most important, happiest things in their lives. Those people deserve every bit of their good fortunes, and they should be shouting it from the rooftops, but for some reason, it still hurts. Distance, for now, seems to be the only way to protect my heart from such things, but my greatest fear is that those precious people won’t still be there when this fog clears from my life. I just hope they don’t totally give up on me. That brings with it an entirely new dimension of grief and fear in the wake of baby loss.

5. The ability to just ‘BE’. This particular loss has pros and cons. The biggest pro is that I am never without my Lucy, she is always with me in both my heart and my thoughts. I’ll never be able to let go of her, no matter how much time passes. I don’t want to. The amount of grief I feel can be measured by the amount of love I have for my baby girl, which is endless. Therefore, I can never just ‘be’, because my thoughts will always be mingling with some amount of grief and sadness. Because of that, simple conversations and social niceties like, “How are you?” and “Have a good day” are no longer easy things to respond to. How am I? My go-to answer these days is, “I’m surviving.” Often, I get a sympathetic nod and sometimes a semi-understanding chuckle, but for me, it’s always this multi-dimensional, difficult thing. I may have good days, but they’ll never be quite as good as they were before our loss. Sometimes even well-meaning remarks can hit me in all the wrong ways, and I end up feeling hurt whereas before, I never would have even noticed. I will forever read into things differently than I did in my past life, which really can be difficult.

I know that there have been many other little losses following our Lucy’s departure, but I have learned to accept those things, no matter how much it hurts. Most of the losses I’ve mentioned here aren’t my fault or anyone else’s, I think it just goes along with the territory. Along with the additional loss, there has also actually been a lot that I’ve gained. I’ll focus on sharing those things soon. The certainty here though is that my life will never be the same. For most parents, the most important thing in their life is their child. The same is true for us loss parents, it’s just different. Lucy is still the most important thing in my life, but because she is no longer physically here with me, I’m forced to adjust so that I can still parent her somehow. It’s a tough path to be on, and one that will never end.

Happy Half-Birthday, Lucy

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Hello Sweetheart,

I am thinking of you today, I am always thinking of you. Who knew that six months could pass this way? Six months of our hearts aching and missing you with everything we are. Six months of asking ‘Why?’, but knowing that there will never be an answer for our separation from you. Today was an especially hard day without you, my sweet baby, but I did get your message… I’m keeping that little heart for always, just as I cherish every little gift sent from wonderful little you. You are a part of everything I do, and I am trying to keep being a good example, just for you. I hurt today, your Daddy hurts today… but the hurt is there because of the immense love we have for you. I miss you so much, and I love you more than you will ever know. Many people love you, and they, along with Daddy and me, continue to shine the light you’ve brought into this world. I wish I had more words to share, but you already know my heart, and sometimes we don’t need any words, do we? Your heart is forever in my heart, you are my heart. I love you higher than soul can hope or mind can hide… always and always, Lucy Rose. Happy Half-Birthday, precious girl.

All my love,
Mommy

A Break From The Chaos

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I had a day to myself yesterday. A day away from chaos, a day away from people. A day to feel, do, and be whatever I needed to be. The solitude was exactly what I needed to disconnect from my obligations and constantly racing brain, and instead connect with myself, and most of all, Lucy. It was calming and therapeutic. I took care of myself, talked to Lucy, took a chilly walk down the tracks with my dog and let the sunshine and cold air kiss my face. I wrote Lucy’s name in the snow. I soaked in a long hot bath, listened to calming music, ran the aromatherapy diffuser, drank chai tea, colored a butterfly for Lucy, got lost watching “Z: The Beginning of Everything”, cried, spent time in the nursery, and enjoyed not needing to fake it for anyone all day. It was the nicest thing I’ve done for myself in a long, long time. I didn’t even engage in the self-loathing I’ve been so immersed in as of late. I was able to just “be”.

I was told by my very wise massage therapist on Wednesday (I had an appointment with her after a long hiatus) that what she read from my energy was that I was on the verge of emotional collapse, which I could not disagree with. I am often on the verge of emotional collapse these days. I spend each work day wearing a mask to hide my pain, I take care of everyone who walks into my classroom as well as I can, but I am in pain and I need to take care of myself too. I have not been taking care of myself, and I am miserable. I have not been tending to my grief. After leaving my massage the other day, I was still holding a lot inside, and it was trying desperately to get out by whatever means possible. Chris knew I wasn’t okay, and he came up behind me, wrapped his arms around me, and told me that he loved me and that he saw how much I’d been struggling. I buried my face in his chest and just sobbed. Another hopeful, drawn-out cycle (34 days) had come to a very disappointing end that morning, and I was so low. I think I was worse than maybe I’ve been on this whole journey of losing Lucy. I am fighting hopelessness. I am fighting the ugly thoughts of never feeling or getting better, or worse, never having something to truly look forward to again. We’ve both been clinging to the idea of a rainbow baby, another reason to feel something other than overwhelming sadness and despair. No, it won’t solve everything, but it gives us hope. Until the hope has to be delayed once again for yet another month. Unrealized hope is truly the most crushing thing. I am angry at myself and furious with my body because it simply won’t cooperate. I feel trapped in a body that continues to fail me in all of the most important ways right now. I suppose I forget sometimes what my poor body has been through, and that she is also doing her best to heal and find a new normal. I have said the meanest, nastiest things to myself. I used to have issues with that in my past, but I’d reached a point where I’d accepted myself and had nearly conquered those evil voices within me that always whispered that I wasn’t good enough or didn’t deserve this or that. Then we lost Lucy, and my natural reaction has been to blame myself somehow. All of those voices have become louder and louder, and I think I feel worse about myself now than ever before. It’s impossible to ignore. On top of that, every month brings with it new disappointment, new hurt. Sometimes I worry that it’s all just too much for me to handle.

This past week, I’ve tried to be more honest with people when they ask how I’m doing, which is actually very tough for me. I’ve wanted everyone to think I’m okay and that I’m doing better, because I don’t want to make anyone else feel bad or think there’s anything they can really even do to help. The truth is, I’ve never felt weaker and I’m not always okay. This grief is not getting easier as time passes. I finally shared more of this with my best friend Aimee… she has continued to reach out and do what she can to let me know that she is here for me. I have kept my distance a bit because I love my friend too much to want to drag her through more of my pain when she has so much going on in her life that is good. I have done the same with many of my friends and family. In doing this, it has become lonelier and more difficult to navigate through the grief because I am not always completely honest about how shitty I feel. It’s so hard to figure out what is best for me and often, I just don’t know what’s best for me. My mom has gone out of her way to make sure I know that she is also there for me… it pains me so much to know that she hurts because of how much I am hurting. I can imagine how crushing it must be for her to feel so helpless about her child’s situation, to know there’s nothing that can be said or done to fix it. I know this now because I have also been in that situation, helpless. I have been as raw and honest with her as I can about how I’m doing, which is hard for me because I know how much it hurts her to know the way I struggle. Often, with friends and family, it is easier for me to sugarcoat things because I don’t want to cause anyone else additional grief or sadness. Here I am, trying to put myself in their shoes, when I can barely walk in the ones I’m wearing. Lately, the grief is just so heavy, and it’s getting harder and harder to fake it through the day, both at work and in my personal life.

I’m trying to listen to my mom, Chris, my massage therapist, and my grief therapist about being nicer to myself and taking better care of myself. They’ve all said I need to stop being so mean to myself, and I know they’re right. It’s easier said than done though when you’ve become your own worst enemy. I try to remind myself that grief has no timeline and that it’s okay to not be okay. It’s tough, but it’s what I need to remember. As a loss mom, I know I really ought to be proud of all that I do accomplish each day. And that I should also cut myself some slack here and there. Yesterday was a start. I will keep trying, and I will stop hesitating to be honest with the ones who love me most.

Lucy’s name in the snow in our yard.