It’s been a long moment since I’ve allowed myself the opportunity to collect and record the random pieces of my life. Here’s a bit of reflection…
The Good
In the bogginess of grief, it is easy to overlook the goodness that works its way into the cracks of my life foundation. The goodness is always hiding out somewhere, but I’ve found that I need to be more intentional about finding it than I was in my former life before loss. The light has found ways to shine through my darkness, though I know I don’t often feel that joy as vividly as I used to. I’ve been working hard to create good in Lucy’s name, and have done well with it, if I do say so myself.
I bulk-ordered silicone “Lucy Rose’s Light” bracelets to give to people (shown in one of the photos below) who bring light to the world, as a reminder also of Lucy’s light. This was the first thing that Chris seemed genuinely excited about. When I told him what I’d done, I was actually a little anxious about his reaction. I wasn’t sure if he’d like the idea, or if he’d be hesitant. My fears were unfounded, because he absolutely lit up when I told him, and was thrilled when the bracelets arrived. We were both so giddy to give them away that we got ahead of ourselves and gave away a lot more much sooner than anticipated, and I had to order more. Because so many people have been impacted by our story, there were a lot of people we found ourselves giving bracelets to, especially at the school. Chris came up with the idea of selecting certain students we’ve bonded with (who bring light to our world) to give a bracelet to, then we requested that they choose a few individuals they believe bring light to the world and distribute bracelets to them. I know we both get a secret thrill seeing those bracelets on the wrists of everyone they’ve been given to. The downside of this was that the bracelets went fast, and some of the people that should have had them in the first wave of giving didn’t… I was so relieved when the next shipment arrived yesterday because now I can get to mailing more of them out! I cannot wait for more people to have a piece of Lucy’s light. It’s a beautiful thing, and it has given both Chris and I a much needed dose of happiness. We’ve had several people ask if we will sell the bracelets, but since we’ve started it, because we get such a genuine thrill by simply giving them away, we want to just give them away. I realize now that perhaps we could have done this as a fundraiser for a cause related to infant loss, so part of me is really kicking myself for not thinking of it. However, I didn’t anticipate that they would become a sought-after item the way they have. I would have felt arrogant demanding that people pay for them, and it would have diminished the act of kindness in giving them to the people who share their light with the world, and of reminding them that every act of kindness we do is in honor of Lucy.
I partnered up with the Student Council to put on our third semi-annual Community Closet event, which took place this past Saturday at our high school. It’s a donations event in which community members donate their gently used clothing, shoes, household items, furniture, etc. and on the day of the event, all items are displayed and they are free to anyone who needs/wants them. It’s a great opportunity for many of our students to gain community service hours by working the event, and a way for all of us to give back to the community a bit. It was a wonderful experience last year, and I was pregnant with Lucy for both events, which means she, along with her beautiful light, was with me during both. The Student Council group started The Lucy Rose’s Light Project, and wanted this event to continue in her name. Of course Chris and I agreed. In fact, the Student Council is the reason I thought of the bracelets to begin with, because I wanted them all to have something special that’s connected to Lucy. I have often been stunned by the compassion and love we’ve received from our students, and so honored that they’ve insisted on keeping Lucy’s light in our school. The Community was a success, and everyone had the lovely euphoria that comes as a result of helping others and putting some good into the world.
My birthday came and went quietly last Monday. It was a day that Chris went out of his way to make special, and it was. He snuck in and decorated my classroom with birthday flowers and a sign, and then later created a dinner masterpiece for us to indulge in. My mom brought gifts and my grandmother and sister Megan for a visit the day before, and my mother-in-law sent a gift for Lucy’s garden. Both sweet moms sent me a cake, which of course served as devilish temptation all week long. With my birthday each year, comes the realization that Spring has arrived and that the world is in bloom, becoming a more beautiful place. However, both my birthday and Spring have been diminished because my baby isn’t here to experience them with me. This time last year, I was imagining how all of my future birthdays and Springs would occur with my sweet daughter being earthside.
Though I’ve been trying to immerse myself in the happy moments, it’s all still tinged with sadness. This sounds so terrible, but I’ve realized that none of it is good enough, simply because in order to have any of these good moments as they are, the trade-off was losing my daughter. I don’t know when that will change, or if it ever will, but since the here and now is all I have, I’m doing my best to embrace and appreciate whatever good it brings.
The Bad
I’ve been struggling with new and old obstacles lately. The most significant portion of ‘the bad’ is my job. I am questioning my ability to teach, and am facing the difficulties that come with no longer being able to put my whole heart into teaching. I think the only reason I’m surviving it right now is my past success as a teacher. The relationships I’ve built and the reputation I’ve gained as my former teacher-self are the things that keep me afloat at all right now. I am struggling with the pressure and demands of the job, the constant interaction, the student apathy, the pile-up of extras, and the terrible building morale. All of these things have become toxic for me in my current state of mind. The end of the school year is just over a month away, but I am failing to see anything other than what’s in front of me… I am not seeing the light at the end of the tunnel yet, and the darkness is crushing me. I cannot possibly count the number of times in the past couple of weeks that I’ve fantasized about just walking out of my classroom, getting into my car, and driving away. Somehow, I’ve stuck it out, but it’s been rather miserable to paste on the happy face and go about business as usual. It feels like too much lately.
A weird thing happened last week, around Thursday. A woman in our community, a parent of a few former students, dropped off a “birthday” card for me in our mailbox. Though I know she absolutely had good intentions, she managed to create a thing of absolute horror for Chris and me. She wrote many of the things that are considered to be on the “don’t say” list for people like us. First of all, I do not know her very well personally, so maybe that’s part of why the card was so… well, I don’t even know the word to use for it. She started off by addressing the envelope to “Lucy Rose’s Mom and Dad”, which was actually very sweet. However, she wrote it from Lucy’s perspective, as if she were Lucy. I opened the card with a smile because of it. But my smile quickly changed into a grimace as I read the following: “Dear Mom and Dad, So happy I got to know you for 1 whole day! I am in heaven now, and I’m preparing a place for you– later– much later. The sun always shines here! I know it is hard for you, but take courage- God has conquered the world. He could not help what was wrong with me. But I am perfect now! You will have more children and they will be great! Time heals all!” (That ends the part written from Lucy’s perspective) She went on to write, “Just wanted to let you know how special you are. God must think very highly of you to trust you with one of his perfect angels, even if only for one day. So sorry about your loss! Love, Mrs. C. God will bless you beyond your wildest dreams now! PS- a woman named Karen Kingsbury writes a story about her daughter who also only lived for one day- she had anencephaly too.” (Lucy did not have anencephaly, which seemed to add another element to this card that made it impersonal and incorrect.) I shared a photo of this card on a couple of the Facebook Loss groups I’m a part of, and the other loss parents all seemed to understand where I’d find discomfort reading it, no matter how pure and kind the intentions were of the woman who wrote it. They’ve been there and understand, and lent some much-needed support. The card bothered both Chris and me, but I ended up feeling guilty because I know that woman meant well, and certainly never meant to hurt us. But it still feels wrong.
I have been trying to take the ‘bad’ in stride, but it is difficult when the waves of grief swell and flood. It’s hard to stay afloat.
The Ugly
And then there’s the ugly. This is a tough tale to begin to tell. A couple of things have been extremely difficult to process or talk about. I will gloss the surface here, but I cannot begin to articulate it well, and probably never will. A close friend, a friend that I love dearly, is pregnant with her second beautiful child. She is on exactly the same timeline that I was with Lucy, with a due date only three days after Lucy’s birthday. I must say that I am SO happy for this amazing friend of mine. She has struggled so much to get to where she is, and I am so genuinely glad that she has gotten what her heart desires, because god knows she deserves it. This is where the ugliness that is guilt, envy, and heartache steps into my world. I hate hate hate hate myself because the situation has morphed into one that I am not handling as well as I wish I could. I keep my strength and love in front of all else in our interactions, but I cannot deny the fact that I find myself wishing I could have what she has, and hating my life because I don’t. It hurts so much that I cannot fully share in her joy because I am so sad for myself. Because I am lost in the grief of all that I don’t have right now. I am petrified that I will hurt or ruin this friendship because of my pain. I am terrified that I won’t be able to visit frequently after the newest member of her family arrives, or that I won’t be able to hold her new child because of the pain it will bring to me, because it will make me sob for my own loss. I am sobbing even now as I write this, because there is so much fear associated with even entertaining the thought of holding someone else’s baby. I haven’t held an infant since losing Lucy, and I don’t know if I can even be in close proximity to one for any length of time. Even a new baby that I automatically love because it’s the child of one of my dearest friends. I keep thinking I can delay these feelings, that maybe I can avoid them for a while, but the more time that goes by, the more advanced the pregnancy will become, and the more broken I realize I am. It hurts so much, and all it does is generate more self-loathing and fear. I am so lost, and I am so, so sad.
The other ugliness that has forced its way into my world is the trying to conceive journey. It has turned into this thing that is breaking me in ways I didn’t even know I could be broken. Haven’t I been broken enough already? I have been playing tug-of-war in my mind constantly between hope and despair. And each month of hopefulness has turned into despair, especially this last one. Chris and I so desperately want another child, and suddenly that struggle has become so painful and so disheartening. I have now begun to worry that it simply may not happen again. It feels like experiencing another loss every time a new cycle begins. I was doing well, all things considered, with those negative pregnancy tests. Until this month. When my cycle restarted yesterday, it felt as though the world came crashing down again. I cannot even truly say how disappointed I am right now that it’s not happening for us. What if Lucy is the only child we will ever conceive? We poured so much love into that sweet baby, and she was ripped away from us. What if we never get the opportunity to love like that again? What if this is our life now? What if this is it? I know that maybe in a few days, I won’t feel so tragically broken over this, and that perhaps my hope will come creeping back in with this next fertile window, but I am so scared that this is all there is. I know I must sound so ungrateful again… I am lucky to have been Lucy’s mother, I know that… I am lucky to be Chris’s wife, because he is the most supportive, doting, wonderful husband I could have ever hoped for… I know that despite the loss of Lucy, my life is good, but that is so hard to see sometimes through the fog of sadness and disappointment. Will I ever have true joy again? I don’t know. I really don’t. There are times when I just want to hide myself away from the world, or pack up and simply disappear to some new environment, but I know that the sadness of this loss would just follow me. How could it not?
……………………….
It’s been nearly nine months, and though I recover from setbacks far better than I used to, I am constantly plagued by visions of my nearly nine month old daughter, haunted by sounds of a never-formed laughter, tormented by a longing for a life that I can never have now. I am working on healing every day, and I am becoming a more ‘whole’ person, but it. is. so. hard. It is the most difficult thing I could ever have imagined, and I can’t believe that I have made it to even this point. I cannot believe what I have been through, or that this happened in the first place. I’m so tired. It’s been a grueling journey, and it’s only just begun.
“The Card”
Lucy Rose’s Light
I miss her.