Category Archives: Finding Wellness in Grief

Patience and Gratitude

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I’ve been MIA for quite a while, totally stepping away from the blog, and even my Lucy letters. It’s been an interesting time of growth for me over the past few months, both as a mama and an individual. I won’t bore with the details or give some drawn-out explanation, because I guess what really matters is that I’m here now, and I feel up to writing again, and I’m in pursuit of all things that enable me to thrive.

I’m feeling stronger, happier, and more motivated than I have been since before losing Lucy. She’s a major piece of all of this too; I still associate all good things in my life with Lucy Rose’s light, as I always will. Now, I really do want to follow through on my promise to her that I’ll live well to honor her memory. It’s time. Everett is growing and thriving, and is even napping during the day on a nearly regular basis, which means I have a little more time on my hands for writing and other endeavors. I love my role as a rainbow mama and I’m excited to keep aiming to be the best mom, wife, and decent person that I can be. That means sharing my truths and learning to love myself the way I ought to.

Self love is something I have failed at for much of my adult life. It’s time to change that, and I’m committed to working on it daily. I have some deeply ingrained toxic habits when it comes to my self talk, and they’ve held me back for long enough. I’m ready to let go of that. I’ve been doing a lot of heart work lately, sorting through a lot of old memories, experiences, and negative influences. I’m actually looking forward to writing about some of those things here in the blog. I’ll come back to this post and update with links to those once they’re written. I know I have valuable insight and that my story is worthy of sharing, so it’s time to get down to it!


Photo by Ales Me on Unsplash

Life With Our Rainbow

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Welcome to the world, my precious son.

Everett Casper arrived on Saturday, September 1 at 9:51am, weighing 9 lbs, 6 oz, measuring 21 1/2 inches long. He’s amazing to behold; I still can’t believe he’s here, thriving and growing. Hearing his first cry rip through the air was one of the most powerful experiences of my life; holding his warm, vibrant little body in my arms for the first time was pure magic.

For five weeks, our amazing little rainbow has captivated me beyond any expectations I had. He’s stolen my heart and proven, like Lucy before him, that love knows no boundaries. Life with him is both unbelievable and familiar. I look at him and feel awe and disbelief sometimes, yet already life before him is almost hard to reimagine. Everett has healed me in surprising ways, made parts of me feel whole again, in spite of my ever-residing brokenness.

Taking care of Everett gives me a renewed sense of purpose and self-respect. While caring for a newborn is not without its challenges, I feel a contentment I’ve never felt before as I go through the motions of physically nurturing him. It’s all so wonderful, overwhelming, tiring, hilarious, empowering, challenging, and rewarding… I am so thankful.  And so in love with this beautiful boy. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photos by Jordyn at Illuminate Photography.

 

Anxiety Management During Pregnancy After Loss

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This journey is so full of contradictions and complexities. It’s getting difficult to document any of it because my brain is so full of mist and overwhelming thought; that, coupled with the chaos of teacher life in May, leaves little energy to write. Most days are good now, with small bursts  of grief and fear intermixed. I make no implications that it’s been easy, but at least it’s been manageable.

I’ve wrestled with whether or not to write about this topic, but I think I’ve decided to go ahead with it. While the decision to do what I’m about to write about may come with some criticism or skepticism, I think it’s important to share with other women in my situation so they can add my experience to their wealth of knowledge on how to cope with pregnancy after traumatic loss. A couple of months ago, the anxiety of what could go wrong with our little rainbow was becoming incredibly difficult for me to handle. On top of that, I was experiencing additional work stress. I wasn’t coping well; in fact, I was a mess. Getting through each day felt like a monumental task, and I could feel myself slipping into the familiar depression I’ve experienced so often since losing Lucy. I wasn’t snapping out of it. Chris noticed that I was returning to my “dark place”, as we call it. I couldn’t see how I was going to make it to the end of the school year, let alone to the end of this rainbow pregnancy without losing myself. My stress levels were through the roof, and I was battling with anxiety over the simplest of things, both at home and at work. So, I made the decision to speak with my doctors about anxiety medication.

From the beginning, my doctors have said that if I feel like I can’t handle the overwhelming anxiety that inevitably comes along with pregnancy after loss, I need to speak up. It isn’t something to be ashamed of, it simply goes with the territory. Something my doc told me at my first Maternal Fetal Medicine appointment stands out to me, and I think it’s worth sharing. He said that many women often feel that they need to just ‘suck it up’ and be tough through pregnancy. We want to be strong. I think this is even more true with PAL moms. We feel that the aches, pains, and difficulties of pregnancy are simply to be expected, and that we’ve no right to complain or ask for help for fear of coming across as ungrateful. I believe this is so true in my case. I’ve wished so much over the past year just to make it back to pregnancy and begin the journey again, and I’m fearful of seeming weak now that I have what I’ve wanted so desperately. But- I had to be honest with myself– in doing that, I was breaking myself down, and finding that the strength I’d wanted to embrace was dwindling because I was being so hard on myself. I wasn’t doing okay. I needed some help.

My doctors reassured me that the potential risks of letting stress and anxiety go unmanaged through a pregnancy could potentially have a negative impact on a developing baby, more so than what a low dose of anti-anxiety medication could possibly have. I was scared. I was afraid to take any unnecessary medications into my system, but I also knew that I was starting to spiral out of control emotionally. I was also reassured that the particular anti-anxiety med they were prescribing has been used for long enough to have many long-term studies done, all of which indicated what they’d already told me: that their potential for harm to a developing baby is less than what the unmanaged anxiety might do. With a lot of hesitation, fear, and apprehension, I agreed to get the script filled. I was an absolute wreck when I took the first dose. But gradually, over the course of a couple of weeks, I felt that overwhelming heaviness of the fear and anxiety slowly drop away. This isn’t to say that I don’t still feel paralyzed by fear and anxiety ever, because I still do, but I am much better at being able to rationalize and calm myself down. It has helped me manage the lows and keep myself going.

Pregnancy after loss is a difficult experience, and I don’t think most people can imagine what it’s like on any level unless they’ve lived through it themselves. While it is beautiful and filled with hope, it’s also terrifying and extremely hard at times. Irrational fears, legitimate worries, worst-case scenario imaginings… it’s all part of the daily game. Truthfully, it’s about survival. Surviving, and hoping against all odds that that our arms won’t be empty when we return home from the hospital this time. At any given moment, I truly am trying to do what’s best for this little rainbow baby, even if it’s hard to understand why I’m doing something the way I do. I’ve also been reminded by both my therapist and my doctors that doing what’s best for my baby also includes doing what’s best for me. That’s actually tough advice to take sometimes, but there’s no denying that self-care is so important, especially at a time like this.

And so, I’m okay with my decision to take anti-anxiety medication through this pregnancy. It was a tough one to make, but there is a positive difference. I’m not in a constant state of panic anymore and I’ve found more optimism to embrace along the way. I’m surviving.

To my fellow PAL moms: each of us must find our own ways to navigate pregnancy after loss. It’s an individual journey, filled with unknowns. There are countless ways to manage our anxieties, and we all need to make sure we’re choosing the best ways to do that for ourselves. There are so many options; anti-anxiety medication is just one of them. There’s no doubt that we’re all looking out for our babies’ best interests first and foremost. Don’t focus on how you may be judged for making the choices that are best for you and your baby, because this is your journey. Anyone who criticizes you or feels entitled to share their opinions about how you do this can’t possibly have a true understanding of what you’re going through. This journey is not for the weak, and it’s not all smiles and happiness either. You keep doing you, and give yourself some grace every now and then. Do what you need to do to survive and thrive through this difficult journey and make no apologies about it.

 

Hope in 2018

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My intention for 2018 is HOPE.

Kristen Wood, author, fellow loss mom, and contributor over at Still Standing Magazine, mentioned that each year, rather than make resolutions for herself, she chooses a word as a theme for the year.  (You can find her at @authorkristinwood on Facebook, and on the Still Standing Writer’s Page)  I really like this idea, because I feel that choosing a word as a guiding principle is much more feasible than a handful of resolutions that I have the potential to fail at achieving. I’m embracing this now because I believe it’s an uplifting, lovely way to begin a new year.

So, ‘Hope’ it is.  In 2018, I HOPE TO…

  • find my Lucy’s light in all things, ordinary and extraordinary.
  • share more of Lucy’s light with others. In 2017, I didn’t necessarily do enough of this because the darkness felt so vast.
  • feel alive again.
  • embrace possibility and to celebrate it, no matter what the potential outcome may be.
  • open my heart more to others again.
  • let go of the guilt I’ve been hanging on to. Losing Lucy wasn’t my fault; it’s time to stop punishing myself.
  • begin loving the person that I am now. She’s endured a lot and she deserves love!
  • strengthen my relationship even further with my husband.
  • stop censoring my grief and be more confident in speaking about my experience.
  • keep letting hope float up.
  • live a life that would make Lucy proud.

 

Photo by Ron Smith on Unsplash

Those are my New Year’s intentions for 2018.

Hope is tenacious. It lights the way through the darkest of human experiences. It’s the quiet voice that says, “I won’t give up. There are better things ahead.”

Though hope has been something I’ve struggled to keep in the front of my mind through my loss experience, its resiliency has not failed me. It’s what has made me keep going when I’ve wanted to quit, forced me to pick myself up from the floor of despair and shown me that there’s more. There’s hope.

Time to embrace it!

Lucy Bear

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Today, I am thankful for Molly Bears. Molly Bears is an organization I cannot say enough about. Molly Christine, an perfect little angel who passed on May 30, 2010, inspired her family to create the Molly Bears to help provide comfort to other families who’ve lost their precious angels as well. They create weighted teddy bears and send them to families with empty arms in need of cuddles. Each one is unique and handcrafted with loving care. Please check out their site at www.mollybears.org and consider donating to this cause.

We received our Lucy Bear today, on a day that she was very much needed. I opened the box, and immediately felt comforted by the sight of this sweet bear. I pulled her out of the box, and I couldn’t believe for a moment how heavy she was… somehow, in the past 14+ months, I’d forgotten how the sweet weight of Lucy felt in my arms as I met her for the first time and prepared to say good-bye. I felt close to my baby suddenly; I remembered those moments holding her as if they’d happened only yesterday.

Feeling this again, there’s no denying that our beautiful girl was so big and healthy when she was born. I’d give anything to have her back here, healthy and thriving. But since this is our reality, I’m thankful at least to have this beautiful bear as a reminder of her, of my precious baby daughter.

Heart Pains

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Today, Chris and I were both in a bit of an end-of-summer blues type of mood. Tomorrow officially marks the end of the summer for this teacher household and we return for professional development in the morning. It’s obviously an inevitable shift, yet, it always ends up feeling as if we must say good-bye to our carefree summer selves. Nothing to mourn, I suppose, but our self-care must become much more intentional once this next cycle of school begins. I’ve been oh-so-grateful for this time to care for myself, work around our home, grieve freely, and just be “Jess”, but everything must progress, so it’s off to work we go! Anyway, since I have to get up early, I’d better make this quick.

We went driving around today, running errands, and we also checked our last item off our Summer Bucket List. We found a place that serves dip cones! We ate like kids with our messy ice cream dripping down our hands and giggled at the messes we’d made (no worries, we ate outside and then cleaned it up!). It was simple and fun, and an attempt to chase our little blues away.

We also went to the grocery store… that’s where the heart pains flared up again for me.

The thing is, no matter how much I’ve come to realize that this grief journey is full of waves that ebb and flow, those waves can still come unexpectedly. And they still knock the breath out of me. Heart pains will do that.

I was doing pretty well with grief today, as I had lots of other things on my mind with work starting back up again. But then, a big wave lambasted me at the grocery store and revved up those heart pains. There was a dad with his two little ones, a boy and a girl. The little boy looked to be about 4 and was walking next to the cart, and the little girl, with blonde curls, was under two years old. She was a cutie, and I was doing just fine with it. We’d passed them in a couple of aisles and it was okay. Then, I glanced up and saw them again, when I heard “Mama!” in this sweet little voice. My heart lurched, I jerked my head up, and that little girl made eye contact with me and smiled. She must have thought I looked like her mama, at least that’s what it seemed like. I cannot describe the sharp sadness that jolted through me when I looked up and that child locked eyes with me for a moment and thought I was her mommy. It was devastating. I felt that familiar lump click back into place in my throat, and my face got hot. I mustered a smile at that cute little girl, and couldn’t look at her again after that. She was so sweet. It was all I could do not to start crying right there in the store. (We all know it wouldn’t have been the first time that has happened!) I longed for my Lucy in the most intense, terrible way. Oh how I wish she were here to call me Mama. But– in the moment, I held it together. I have to say I am proud of myself for actually being able to contain myself. Only a few inconspicuous tears escaped (Chris hardly even noticed), and I made it. I didn’t fall apart. Now, just because I didn’t crumble doesn’t mean that it hurt any less than any other heart pain I’ve endured since losing Lucy, but I was strong enough to overcome it and move past it. I have grown stronger, more resilient.

I’ve been thinking about those moments since. It’s unbelievable how much things like that can hurt, but it’s also unbelievable that I have survived that pain, that I AM surviving it. I don’t believe there’s ever going to be any recovering from my baby dying… there will be moments like this to catch me by surprise for the rest of my life. I will always have to ponder things similar to what happened today. I’ll always wonder what Lucy would have sounded like as she smiled and called me ‘Mama’. There are some things that will always cause my heart pain. But that’s part of being a bereaved mommy, I guess. In spite of those excruciating heart pains, Lucy is and will always be worth it.

Hope and Appreciation

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Yesterday was the International Day of Hope. Started by Carly Marie (check out her site here), a fellow loss mom, a prayer flag project takes place through social media all over the world each year on August 19. I really love that this project is modeled after the symbolic Tibetan prayer flags that are said to deliver hope, love, compassion, wisdom, strength, and all kinds of positive concepts into the universe through the wind that flows around them. I think it’s a beautiful notion and I was excited to participate in this for the first time. I ended up finding the perfect materials around the house and in my craft bin, and since I’m pretty handy with a glue gun, it turned out to be a lovely tribute to Lucy, if I do say so myself. I felt a sense of purpose and calm as I created Lucy’s flag. When I placed it in her garden early yesterday, the morning sun illuminated it and a quiet breeze fluttered the ribbons along the bottom. I was soothed and felt connected to her. The flag whispered her name into the wind, along with my feelings of peace, love, and hope. The thought that so many other loss parents were doing the same thing around the world and in their own sacred spaces, honoring their children too, is magical to me. I truly did feel renewed hope, and such immense love.

Today, a renewed appreciation has come over me. This began with a message from a kind woman who found a Lucy Rose’s Light bracelet in a parking lot, looked up the Lucy Rose’s Light Facebook page, and was determined to find the owner of the bracelet. I was taken aback by the heartwarming happiness that washed over me when I read her message, so excited that Lucy’s story was heard by someone who didn’t know us, and likely wouldn’t have had she not found the bracelet. We’ve found the original holder of the bracelet, but before we did, I asked the sweet person who’d found it to please keep it as a reminder of the beautiful light she has within and to take an extra moment to reflect on the good things in her life. I hope I wasn’t too preachy with it, but I just wanted her to have it and to know a little bit about the light our little girl brought to the world during her short stay in it. When I shared this story in order to find out whose bracelet was lost, quite a few people responded, and now I have the privilege of sending out even more bracelets to others who requested them. It’s stuff like this that really makes my heart feel better… being able to share little Lucy with others makes the loss of her a little easier to bear. I am always, always thankful for those opportunities. Mostly because it’s the only way I can actively parent her. Keeping her memory alive is vital to my existence in this new normal.

Thinking back to Lucy’s birthday last week also brings to mind my love for the community that surrounds Chris and me. That ‘community’ is made up of our family, friends, actual members of the community in which we live, the loss community, and so on. Unable to help myself on her birthday and remembrance day, I asked others to share things with us that remind them of Lucy… I was absolutely overcome with gratitude as a result. That little baby has impacted more people and things than I could have imagined. Because of that, she continues to live on in different ways. I have our community of support to thank for that. So much of this past year has been swallowed up by grief and depression; every single day has been a struggle. Without this community of people to help reveal glimpses of Lucy’s impact and love she left behind, I don’t know how we could have made it through this.

Tonight my heart is filled with more warmth and lightness than its felt in quite some time. I see now that hope can indeed float and carry us through the darkest of times. I’m thankful for this day of hope.

A close up of Lucy’s prayer flag.

The perfect addition to Lucy’s Garden on a beautiful summer day.

Beginning to Live Again

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I write this with caution, almost hesitantly, because I know that life can turn on a dime, and so can feelings in grief. I feel like I am beginning to live again. I am not sure if I am altogether comfortable with it yet; it feels strange to breathe lightly, to actually enjoy things again. For now, I am carefully embracing it and doing my best not to feel guilty for feeling like my head is clearer and that everything doesn’t hurt. I have had almost 10 good days in a row. Of course, even on my good days, the sadness still hangs upon me, but it hasn’t pulled me under the way it usually does. I haven’t had that many good days since before Lucy was born, and I’m almost unsure of what to make of it. I almost mistrust it.

I’ve been thinking differently and making small discoveries lately. Lucy is often on my mind and I have found comfort in the thought that perhaps she is never far from me. She is forever a part of me. I am finally prepared to live life enough for both of us, to find joy in the small things. I am accepting that joy is acceptable . I’m finding more evidence of Lucy’s purpose all the time, which is helping me recognize the goodness that surrounds me. I am fearful that this change is waiting to unravel, but I am taking it one day at a time, and appreciating the rare moments of peacefulness. I’m not foolish enough to think that I am finished grieving because I will grieve Lucy for the rest of my life. I know that those waves will continue to wash over me, but I also know that I can handle them. As Lucy’s first birthday creeps closer, I feel less fear than I thought I might. I know that day, and the day following, are going to be difficult, but I also know I will make it through. Somehow, it will be okay again. In fact, it almost is okay again. Hope is beginning to float to the surface and linger there longer. I feel that Lucy could be proud of me, as I am, like this.

The Good, Bad, and Ugly

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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.

Gratefulness

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This will be a short post on this quiet Sunday evening, but I want to take a moment to share what I am grateful for on this day.

First, I am grateful for the feeling of “okayness” that has been with me since Friday evening. Feeling okay is like some sort of foreign feeling that I am simply not used to anymore. I feel okay. I am always feeling the loss of my sweet Lucy somewhere in my mind and heart at all times, but I am learning that I can also feel okay and be in a good mood at the same time. Some contentment and happiness has moved into my soul alongside the hurt and grief. It is almost unsettling, but it is progress and it is real.

I am also grateful for the waves of love I have been overcome with for both Lucy and Chris. I am so in love with my wonderful husband, and I know how truly lucky I am in that aspect. I waited a long time to find a wonderful man like him, and he is all I dreamed of in a spouse. I am thankful for our solid, unshakeable connection and for the way he has stood by me through this storm of grief. I love and am loved… this is truly a gift.

I am grateful for my students. Even though work has been very tough since my return for various reasons, it has also had its rewards. I have wonderful students, and a handful of them have been absolutely critical to my progress these past few months. I have had several students go out of their way to acknowledge Lucy and Chris and I’s grief; several have done as much for my healing as family or my closest friends. It is beautiful to know that I must have had some positive impact on them, and that they want to return that. I am unsure of exactly how to thank them, but I will find a way to share with them my gratefulness for their kindnesses. I have been blessed with them in my classroom, in my life… I see Lucy in them so often. I received an uplifting message about hope from one of them on Friday, and it’s made me realize that while teaching can be so tough, especially in my grief state of mind, it is also so inspiring.

I am grateful for our sweet dog, Waggs… she has been our comic relief, our laughter, our comfort. We are lucky to have such a great pup. She has kept us active and accountable!

I am grateful for my health. I push it out of my head so often, but I know that I almost lost my own life when we lost Lucy… I know I must and should be grateful that I am still here. I owe Lucy that much, at the very least, and I want to continue to be healthy and thrive and make her proud. I am feeling optimistic about being able to carry a sibling for our precious Lucy… my health is obviously a necessity for that… I am so grateful that time will allow for us to carry another baby. I remain hopeful, so hopeful, that we will be blessed with a Rainbow.

Though it has been so, so indescribably difficult these past months, I know that I am making progress, and that I am making my little girl proud. I continue to try, I continue to believe. I am feeling Lucy’s light today…

A sweet post-it note from one of those incredible students I was talking about…