Tag: grief

Posted on in Parenting

As We Heal..

Mourning and grief are tricky.  I saw a photo shortly after we had lost our daughter, Faith, of a sculpture someone had created, called Melancholy. The photo showed a large person slumped over, with a giant, gaping hole in the center. It spoke to me immediately. I naturally did some follow-up research, and this was completely intended by the creator to depict the way grief leaves us with a massive void that we most likely never “get over,” but instead learn to grow around. It became the way I chose to approach my healing, and as time passes and I go through seasons of ups and downs, it becomes all the more clear of just how appropriate this sculpture is, particularly when as a parent who has experienced loss and feeling like a piece of your heart and insides have gone to heaven along with your baby. 

After nearly four and a half years, I can say that I know how far I have come in coping with the loss of our first daughter. She had a rare condition called Turner Syndrome that caused her to go into heart failure in Utero. Trust me, I went down the research rabbit hole looking for answers after we found out, and to see the progress I have made, I know each day, I do grow around my grief and I am proud of how it has shaped me. Since healing is most certainly not linear, however, there are definitely times that the giant hole feels like it is on fire and threatening to grow even larger, or as if it can even swallow you up and all the growing around it will not matter. It makes even the most wonderful moments difficult to enjoy because the grief just feels so strong. You see, my perfect daughter, (because yes, in my mind she will forever be perfect), would be turning four years old soon. Add in the fact that my beautiful, feisty, earthly daughter has been giving me a very hard time lately, three being significantly more difficult with her than it ever was with her brother, and it makes the grief and the emotions feel magnified.

Now, I know how truly blessed by God I am to have two remarkable children on this earth, but I would be lying if I said that there are not seasons as a parent to both children on earth and in heaven, that I do not feel the pain and anger all over again. My daughter has genuinely been such a handful the last few weeks. I would be lying if I said there haven’t been moments that I hid in the bathroom and cried as I mourn the loss of what would have been, and cope with the frustration of my spirited little girl. It brings a new sense of guilt and shame as I struggle to grapple with the feelings of sadness and frustration and recognizing that all of the feelings are acceptable. I adore my daughter. She challenges me in ways I never knew were possible. BUT, it is also okay for me to miss and mourn my first baby girl. It is okay for me to wonder what she would have been like at three, and now preparing to be four. In my mind, she’d be just as easy as her brother, but with the fierce spirit of her baby sister, and all the struggles I am currently facing with my youngest would not exist. I know this isn’t logical at all, but it becomes a way of processing when the grief starts to blaze too intensely. When I actually put words to it and let the shame of it go, it becomes a little easier to carry. My therapist reminds me of how proud of myself I should be. Today, that is what I will hold on to. If you are a parent who has lost and you have felt these emotions, you are not alone. It does not make you a worse parent to your children on earth; in fact, I think it only makes us stronger as we learn to grow in different ways around that grief we hold so well.

Posted on in Parenting

Growing around our Grief

We are the lucky ones. I remind myself of this whenever I feel upset thinking of our losses, the beautiful little souls we will not meet on this earth. We are the lucky ones. We have two, perfectly imperfect, happy, healthy, little rainbows babies that fill our hearts with so much joy (and chaos, and stress, just as they should). We are the lucky ones. While I am well aware of this, and it has taken me quite a long time to come to terms with this next realization, we are still entitled to feel and to mourn our losses. The agony we, as parents, have felt, especially in saying goodbye to our daughter, Faith, does not take away from the immense love and gratitude we feel for our two angel babies here on earth. I think there is a misconception sometimes that if you have children after your losses, it somehow erases those losses, or perhaps as parents we just feel our own guilt in feeling the weight of the loss(es) when we know what a gift we have received with a new baby/babies.

As this year’s Pregnancy, Infant, and Child Loss Awareness Week approaches, and I am filled with love as I type away while my two, beautiful miracles giggle two rooms over (as they pretend to be napping in preparation for a late afternoon play date) I am also filled with a heaviness as a remember my babies’ lives cut before they could experience this earth. I especially think of our daughter, Faith, whom I carried for 20 weeks, and I recall how much I struggled after our daughter was born to balance the relief and gratitude in a healthy baby, but the pain in the loss I was still mourning. Specifically within that first month post-partum, adjusting to a new norm, a newborn schedule again (I hadn’t had one in 3 years), and regulating hormones, I found myself torn, my heart overjoyed with love and contentment of this remarkable little girl in front of me, but also coupled with sadness, wondering why it is sometimes that we receive certain babies, but not others. These were questions that then filled my heart with guilt rather than simply accepting that this is my reality, and that my heart definitely has enough love to grieve and give, and that if I allow myself to grieve, it will actually help me to better give to my children and loved ones on earth. This next year will mark five years since we lost our daughter, and it is still a ball of feelings that may often hit me without warning. Sometimes, in the highest points of joy for one of my miracle children, I feel an equal pang of guilt or sadness that she will not experience these moments. I could lie and say that it “gets easier over time,” but I think that we simply grow stronger, around our grief, allowing it to make us softer. That is at least, how I hope to use my grief, so that others feel less alone.

This is your reminder to be easy with yourselves. This entire month of October is dedicated to raising awareness regarding pregnancy, infant, and child loss, and opening up a dialogue so that people feel less alone, and oftentimes, less ashamed, because while there is NO shame in this burden, I have found that many women I speak to feel a deep sense of shame, somehow blaming themselves for what has happened. Treat yourselves with gentleness. Mourn the way you need to mourn. Celebrate the time you got with your baby if that is what best suits you. Allow yourself to change your mind in how you cope, recognizing that there is no right way to cope with such a tragedy (excluding causing harm to yourself or others of course). For me, I find different seasons to bring various challenges and I still battle some of those feelings of guilt, so I have to remind myself how lucky I am, but also to give my heart and my mind a break and allow them to feel what they need to feel. To all the families who have lost, to all the families waiting patiently, to all the families who cling to their miracles but still relive the losses, my heart is with you. This week, when we light our remembrance candle (made by a dear friend for our daughter) we also light for all the pregnancies, infants, and children lost here on earth.