Tag Archives: loss

“anniversary reactions” & “shadow grief”

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Last night I spent most of my time reading and taking in (most) every word of a chapter in ‘Empty Cradle, Broken Heart’. The section was called ‘Anniversary Reactions’. How perfectly fitting as we have now entered this week of anniversaries.

As I read, it helped bring clarity and peace to my mind with some of the things I’ve been struggling wondering. The book talked about having anniversary reactions and I really wanted to share a bit of what I’ve read.

You may find that you have particularly bad days at certain times of the year. These “anniversary reactions” are normal responses to the grief of anniversaries relevant to your baby’s life and death…anniversary dates are special and painful …

Anniversary reactions can be discouraging, especially as time goes on and you feel as though you’re putting your life back together. You may be surprised by the appearance of these emotions… some call this “shadow grief” – the dull background ache that stays with you; anniversaries simply bring that ache to the foreground.

When I read that about “shadow grief” it really resonated. One of the struggles, and I’m not sure how to even word this, is that I am aching everyday and yet there are specific dates that bring this ache our in me more than ever. I wondered if maybe something was wrong with me that on specific dates, it’s harder than others. A part of me know that it makes sense, totally. But then another part of me struggled with this as well. Was something wrong with me and my struggling?

As the dates of Eisley’s passing and her birthday come, pretty swiftly, upon us I found myself struggling more and more as this week drew nearer. I knew that the dates themselves would be really difficult and also bring up a lot of painful and precious memouries.

I think my biggest fear and struggle is wanting this week to be meaningful, to honour her memory and to help us in healing. I am worried and fearful that I will miss something or be unable to do something that I need to, for her and for us as a family.

All along I’ve wanted to still celebrate her birthday. I know that it could possibly sound weird, how could I celebrate her birthday when she wasn’t here with us? But something inside of me just really wants to, at least for this year and possibly in the years to come. I struggled at first, thinking that I was weird or messed up or maybe I was in denial still. But as I think about it more and more, it’s what I want and need. I want to celebrate her life and who she was and is to me and us as a family. I want to recognize her as a part of our family, even though she’s no longer with us. She’s a part of us forever.

And then last night, something so simple yet profound (for me) hit me; every day we are thankful for Chase and the dynamic he brings to this family and once a year we celebrate his life, his birthday. Even though every day, we’re thankful and recognize his life, we still do that once a year. It’s special and memorable and for him.

It’s different with our Eisley-girl because she’s not here and also in that, every day we ache and miss her whether it be like what they talk about with “shadow grief” or it be more intense. And it makes sense that, just as once a year we celebrate Chase’s birthday, that once a year the date of her passing will be more intense and difficult and also that I have a longing to celebrate her birthday as well. To me that date of her passing is very difficult, with a lot of painful memouries, shattering dreams, etc. The date of her birth I remember as peaceful. It is the day that I got to hold my baby girl in my arms, see her beauty and her features that resembled her daddy and me. To me, September 17th, though painful it was beautiful as well.

I want to celebrate her and I know this year, I need to.

I guess I just wanted to share a bit of where I’m at and also hope that this could maybe encourage and help a momma who has lost a baby as their anniversary dates come and with each year.

Side note: Reading ‘Emtpy Cradle, Broken Heart’ is helping me immensely and maybe it could help you too. I’ve read a few books that have helped my grieving and this is the only one that is written by someone with a Ph.D. I wasn’t sure I’d like it but I love it. They interview several momma who’ve lost a baby as different times or stages in pregnancy or after birth. Each momma has a different perspective and way that they are grieving. It has helped me immensely to not feel so alone or abnormal in what I’ve felt since we lost Eisley. If you haven’t heard of this book or read it, I seriously recommend it. It doesn’t reach you as a spiritual level, really at all, but it does help in other areas. 

music; held.

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music.

The words, the movement, the beauty expressed, the harmonies, the emotion is can draw out of one.

I close my eyes, take it in and find myself healing.

I’ve seen God meet people where they’re at time and time again and I’ve found He meets me in music, speaks to me through music, heals my heart through music.

He meets my heart through many different types of music, both “christian” and “secular”. Since we’ve lost Eisley, I’ve gained an entire “soundtrack” or two of music that speaks to my heart. Some music people have shared with me. Some of the songs I’ve stumbled across.

Music that meets me in the deepest, darkest, most painful places. The unexplored regions of my aching heart that need healing.

I decided to start sharing some of these songs and what they mean to me.

I’ll begin with Held by Natalie Grant and the meaning below.

Two months is too little
They let him go
They had no sudden healing
To think that providence
Would take a child from his mother
While she prays, is appalling

Who told us we’d be rescued
What has changed and
Why should we be saved from nightmares
We’re asking why this happens to us
Who have died to live, it’s unfair

This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We’d be held

This hand is bitterness
We want to taste it and
Let the hatred numb our sorrows

The wise hand opens slowly
To lilies of the valley and tomorrow

This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We’d be held

If hope if born of suffering
If this is only the beginning
Can we not wait, for one hour
Watching for our Savior

This is what it means to be held
How it feels, when the sacred is torn from your life
And you survive
This is what it is to be loved and to know
That the promise was that when everything fell
We’d be held

I don’t really even know if I need to share what this song means to me. I remember hearing it before we ever walked through losing our Eisley-girl and if I’m being honest, I brushed it off. I didn’t understand it.

A few people shared it with me after we lost her. I brushed it off again because I remember thinking it was cheesy and I didn’t want cheesy, I wanted something that met my heart. One day I finally decided to look up the lyrics (I’m always look up the lyrics of a “new” song while it’s playing to see if I really like what it’s saying or if there is something I have missed)

Whoa, this song brought me to tears.

it resontated.

it spoke what my heart and mind were having a hard time understanding. i knew people who had said if we’d prayed more or had more faith and i found myself doubting myself and how much faith i had.

i battled feeling that feeling although deep down i knew there was nothing more i could have done. nothing more. i had faith she would survive. God knew my heart’s cry but sometimes a miracle just doesn’t happen. sometimes, yes even with faith, we have no sudden healing.

“who told us we’d be rescued? why should we be saved from tragedy?”

the other part of the song that met me was when it speaks of being held, throughout everything.

and oh, are we held.

 i know that without a doubt in my mind and in my heart. we are held.

tightly held, between His shoulders.

amidst the darkest, most treacherous valleys, we are held.

in our grieving and aching, we are held.

in our questions and struggles, we are held.

i’m held. i feel this now.

and when i struggle in feeling this, i still know this to be the truth.

we. are. held.

September 14th, we were held, even though we couldn’t feel it at the time, we were held. i know that without a doubt.

September 17th, as Eisley was placed in our arms… as we held her, i felt him holding us.

as we said our earthly goodbyes and parted from our daughters body until eternity, we were held.

we were, we are and we will be held. 

and you…

YOU are held. whether mountain top or the darkest valley; You are held.

Pregnancy After Loss {Part 4}: Was I hoping for a boy or a girl? (Word heavy blog post)

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(You can read part 1 here, part 2 here, and part 3 here.)

This “Part 4″ is where I feel the most fear and hesitation about sharing honestly but I also feel a desire to share my heart regarding this. It’s a question that comes up a lot and also I think an unspoken one among many and I really do want to share.

 Was I hoping for a boy or a girl?

Mustache or bows? :)

I really want to pause here before I write about my response. I want to say that if you’ve walked through the loss of a child and are reading this, PLEASE know that this post isn’t to say that how I felt is the only way to feel or that you were wrong in your feelings. Another reason I feel so hesitant to share also because I don’t want another momma who has lost a child to feel an ounce of guilt over what they/you may have/will feel. Even though we may walk the same path of losing a child, we all grieve and ache differently and have different desires and longings when it comes to pregnancy after loss. Okay, whew, how’s that for a disclaimer :)

From early on in this pregnancy I journaled my heart away and I will share a snit bit of my response to these very questions. Let’s rewind to the beginning of this pregnancy.

If you’ve ever been pregnant or have known a loved one who has been pregnant, you know that the moment the two little pink lines show up, they never shut up :) You/they are flooded with all kinds of emotion and the excitement pours out at any given moment when a new thought arrises; thoughts about a future with a baby, will it be a boy or girl, wondering what day they will be born, early or late, big or small, hair or bald, daddy’s nose or mommy’s, etc, etc, etc…

Newly pregnant with baby #3, I wasn’t able to enjoy these questions that arose within me as I did with my first two babies. Instead I was faced with a loads of fear and anxiety as I finally began to think of the future. Thinking of labor was out of the question due to fear and memouries from a stillbirth. Thinking of a life with another little one on the way, I just couldn’t. I had a hard time finding hope to believe this little one would make it into my arms healthy and alive, breathing.

When it came to the thought of gender of this little one… whew. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have hopes for one gender or the other in each of my pregnancies. In my pregnancy with Chase, I had thought it was a girl all while deep inside I had hoped it was a boy because I loved the idea of having my kids have an older brother as I never did. With Eisley, I just had a feeling from the beginning that she was our Eisley-girl. I wanted her to be and she was.

This time around I found myself in an entirely different place than with the first two pregnancies. I cried out to God in regards to this little one’s gender. (And here is where my fear sets in before I share my heart…) Here is a quote from my journal that I feel says what my heart felt the best (I edited out some more personal things, but this is the main portion I feel to share);

“…you know my heart, you know how I’m wired, you know me better than even I know myself…I know that you know what I need, even if it’s not what I would have thought….but my heart doesn’t feel ready for another girl. Not so soon after losing my Eisley-girl…. I feel like I would be replacing her, I know I wouldn’t ever do that intentionally but I know myself and I know I would struggle believing that lie. Everything that I had dreamt and hoped for my Eisley, I would struggle as maybe those same thoughts arose if this is another little girl. And they will, I mean, even just how different it is to dress a boy and a girl, they would arise…. Please hear my heart. I know that either way You will be with me, guiding me in healing, whether this little one is a boy or a girl. But please, hear my cry … my heart just doesn’t feel ready…”

Even though that sums up what I had felt, I want to share a little more extensively. From the beginning I had hoped with everything in my that this little one was a boy. As you read, I was terrified of what my heart and mind would do if we were pregnant with another girl so soon after losing Eisley. I will be having this baby just 14 months after we lost her. It felt too close for my heart. I know that Eisley and this baby are two totally different children, two different personalities, etc. I just knew that my heart and mind would struggle in feeling like I was replacing her. I know myself well enough to know that it would be a daily battle at least for a while.

I struggled immensely in deciding when to share our pregnancy with the “whole world”. Hence waiting 5 months, and even that was hard!

For one, I found myself struggling to believe in myself for this pregnancy, that I could carry to term and grow/nourish a baby. A part of my fear of sharing was fear of hearing people ask me if it was too soon after Eisley or if I’d be able to carry this baby full term, etc. I needed people to {believe} in me and in that we could do this. I was afraid of even the few responses, like that, that might come. (I’m thankful that I only ever had one response where I felt they weren’t happy for us but more fearful!)

I also wasn’t in an emotionally stable place (not that I am now ;)) to share. We decided to share with close friends and family right away, which was terrifying, but we immediately found ourselves surrounded with their joy, excitement and belief that this would be a healthy pregnancy. As we began to share, questions were brought to me that I didn’t know how to process. I realized that if we were to share with the “whole world” that many more questions would arise and I really wouldn’t be able to share where I was at. I didn’t know. I was in shock. Fear and anxiety had a strong grip on me and what I was able to feel during that time. I needed the time to “process” the best that I could. I found taking it one day at a time, even still, is the best medicine for me. God guided my heart in showing me that important “one day at a time” lesson when I was pregnant with Eisley. Not that I am a faithful do-er, but I try to remember that and it helps immensely.

Another huge reason for not sharing early on was due to fear of having my heart wounded. After we lost Eisley, I was incredibly stunned to find myself wounded by people I’d never imagined myself hurt by. I had an incredibly hard time being able to sort through what people intentions were when they shared something publicly or to me personally. It was (and occasionally is) a constant daily struggle.  I found distance creep into even some of my closest friendships. I lost friendships due to feeling abandoned and ultimately wounded in the time of our darkest season, but for the most part, I allowed distance between friendships and people because of my assumptions. God has brought a lot of healing to my heart and now I rarely struggle with bitterness anymore. But it’s taken time and I still feel the ache of the loss of those friends when I really think about it. All this to say, I wasn’t sure how much more hurt I could handle at that point, where I first found out we were pregnant. I was in an incredibly vulnerable state that I feared more pain. I feel much stronger now and am able to (for the most part) sort through what’s said, or not said, and let. it. go. 

Perhaps, though, my biggest reason for not sharing my pregnancy with everyone for months… I didn’t want to have people think or even say things that implied that I would be replacing Eisley with another baby. Especially if this baby would have been a girl. As I began to share our pregnancy with family and close friends, I found myself in tears after sharing more than standing in joy and belief. I didn’t want to hear how “redeeming” this pregnancy could/would be. I didn’t want to hear that people had hoped I was having a little girl, because it conflicted with what I had hoped and my reasonings, and so I would believe that ultimately people were saying to me “I hope you have a little girl! Wouldn’t that be so redeeming?!” Even when that was {not at all} what people were really saying. I struggle believing that if we shared with everyone, perhaps most would hope we’d have a little girl. In my heart, I ached at the thought that others might really think having another little girl would be redeeming when in fact I knew for myself, even though that might look to be like redemption, it would not be at all. It would never bring my Eisley back and in that way, it could never be redeeming. (I hope I’m making sense)

All of the above are the “reasons” for why, for the most part, I kept my mouth sealed tight, until we shared at our Mustache or Bows Party. As I shared all of these above struggles with one of my dearest friends, she suggested that maybe I wait to announce to everyone (like on social media) until after we’ve had the party and can share with the “whole world” that I was pregnant and it was a boy. That way it left very little room for my heart to feel wounded by responses of people hoping it was a girl for redemptive purposes. Even when that wasn’t what people meant or their intention, it was/would be hard to hear.

So a quick summary of what I felt when I first learned that baby #3 was a boy… well, first things first, I noticed before anyone told me! I have seen quite a few ultrasounds and I just noticed that it was a boy. I asked the ultrasound technician  if what I was seeing was little boy parts and she looked at me quite surprised and said, “Yes! I’m almost positive that what we’re seeing it outdoor plumbing.” :)

At 13 weeks pregnant I found out that I was having a little boy. My heart and mind felt relief. He had heard my cry and knew that this was what was best for my heart right now. I was also so thankful I found out so early in this pregnancy. That same week, I chose the perfect name for our boy and I can’t wait to share the name and the incredible meaning for him and for our family, in less than 10 weeks now!!! Boy S will have to do for now :)

Do I want a girl in the future? Yes I do. And I feel so strongly that we will have another little girl in our family but that time is not right now. I feel in my heart that when we do know that we are pregnant with another little girl, I will be as “ready” as one can be. I imagine that some of these same fears, struggles and lies will arise, but I also know that time will help my heart to heal and become ready for another precious baby girl.

Part 5 I’ll share what it was like to share the news at our gender reveal and also to the “whole world”.

3 weeks.

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I’m not really sure where to begin today. My heart is so full of emotion and aches as we begin to reach weeks that last year, were of the most painful weeks and days in our lives. I guess I’ll begin with a bit of what happened on this very date last year.

August 23rd, 2010, I went in for another check-up on our Eisley-girl and instead of releasing me to go home, they put me in the hospital to be monitored and to be on strict bed rest. I was already on strict bed rest, but being home with a 1-year-old (at the time) “strict bedrest” wasn’t as strict as it could have been. Being hospitalized, I was only up to use the restroom and shower. I’ll never forget that first night in the hospital. They put me in a labor and delivery room for the night, until they could ready a room for me, as an antepartum patient. They hooked me up to a monitor and immediately began checking on our Eisley-girl. As Ted and Chase arrived, I could see the fear written all over his face. We both felt so helpless.

Ted had just begin his fall semester load of classes that very day. I had called him as he was leaving the college to tell him I wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon. It felt as though everything was slowly digressing and going downhill. We held so tightly to hope amidst this chaotic journey we were on for our daughter’s life. Ted and Chase weren’t able to stay with me and had to head back home, 1 hour and 15 minutes away. I wept when they left and then found that I couldn’t breath. That was the moment I had my first (of many more to come) panic attack. My nurse Lindsey (whom I love and can’t wait to see again) put me on oxygen and calmed me down and comforted me.

I don’t think I slept but maybe an hour that night. I looked around the labor and delivery room and couldn’t help but think that I shouldn’t be there in such a situation like we were. I saw the little area in the corner where they put your newborn infant to clean and measure, etc. I just felt so sick and terrified. The memouries still haunt me from that night. The only window I had in my room was a sky light that was way up high. I felt hopeless and oh so weak. I just cried out to God. Not even aloud, just within my heart. The most desperate cry from the momma heart in me.

The very next day I was moved into a room with a window and a view. I was so grateful for the sunlight. I felt something change within my heart and decided then that I would make the most of my time with my Eisley-girl. I am so thankful that I did that. I wrote her notes and read them aloud to her everyday.

 I sung and sung and sung to her. I prayed for her. I watched Gilmore Girls “with her”. I always held the palm of my hand on my belly and savored her every movement within.

(“143″ was Ted and I’s silly way of saying “I love you” when we were dating. When I saw her heart rate at 143 repeatedly one night, I couldn’t help but think she was saying she loved us and snapped this photo for Ted and I)

I cherished my time with her and I often wonder if that change in my heart was actually something that was preparing my heart for September 14th. I missed my Chasey-boy and my Ted but I am so thankful for those last few weeks I had to focus on just her.

Today, August 23rd has arrived. I’ve sent my hubby off to his second fall semester of college and we’re 29 weeks pregnant with our Boy S who is growing and thriving within me. I feel hope, but I also have this constant ache, an Eisley shaped hole in our family remains. I long so much for her to be here, even still and I feel like I’ll be one of those momma’s who always ache. I read that happens with some and I really feel, that’s me. Maybe it’s because it was our girl, our precious Eisley-girl, who I’d dreamt of since I was a teenage girl. She’s captured a place in my heart that will never ever be the same again.

Her first birthday is coming up so quickly. I feel like I’ve barely been able to catch my breath since she passed away and now the date of her death (September 14th) and the date of her birth (September 17th) are arriving ever so swiftly.

I am so thankful for a Father in heaven who reaches our hearts with comfort and peace amidst the aching. And the most incredible thing is that even as He is comforting our hearts, I know our Eisley-girl rests between His strong shoulders.

Around 3 weeks from now, we’ll be both grieving and celebrating our Eisley’s life.

Oh my heart…

Pregnancy #3 {Part 2}: Paralyzing Fear.

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If interested, you can read  part 1 here.

The very moment we found out we were pregnant with another little one the fear set in. Every day I was a wreck. My fear was paralyzing me, almost quite literally (with the major exception of a super active boy) and the anxiety within me would ruin any hope that my heart wanted to have. Ted would come home from work or school to find me… and our home… a mess.

For a while I told myself and those around me that my reason for not doing much was because I was so sick and exhausted from pregnancy. Yes, that was partly true but I also knew that a lot of why I wasn’t moving, why I wasn’t doing things I love and brought me hope, why I wasn’t even doing things that I should be doing… was out of fear.

At 8 weeks I had to make the trip to Dr. Hill’s office to have the first checkup on the baby. I walked in his office feeling so nauseous, fearful and shaken up. They put me in the room to wait for him and I began to cry and shake. I couldn’t do this. The last time I had an ultrasound, I was a few days away from 7 months pregnant with Eisley (one week away from potentially delivering her) and they showed me the most devastating thing a mother could see. My baby girl’s heart had stopped beating. The memouries came flooding back and I almost couldn’t handle even being there. When Dr. Hill came in he did the ultrasound and I saw a tiny little baby the size of a bean, wriggling around and when he shared the heartbeat aloud. I cried the entire time.

Even after seeing his swift heartbeat, I allowed myself to sink so quickly into fearing for this baby. And even though I had heard and knew this would be “normal” for a momma who lost a child, it was worse than I’d ever imagined.

There was a part of me, of course, that wanted to hope and trust and believe with everything in me that this baby will be in my arms, healthy and breathing. Of course, I wanted to hope for that. However, with everything we’ve walked through, I feel it would be incredibly ignorant to not remember the reality. I can’t even forget that reality that we’re faced with everyday. I began to believe very fatalistically. I’d constantly dwell on the reality that any given moment I could begin bleeding, I could lose this baby, despite how “good” the heartbeat sounded just the week before, despite how everything was going thus far…

When people who knew we were pregnant would hang out with us or talk with me about this little one, I would say things like, “IF we get to November…” or things like “IF we can carry this baby full term…” I remember one night we had a whole group of friends over and afterwards Ted sat me down and had a serious talk with me. He was so sad and weary of hearing me speak so fatalistically. He wanted to see me hope again and believe that this could happen. He felt so strongly that this pregnancy would be just like it was with Chase.

Not long after our talk I had a major breakdown. I was almost 12 weeks pregnant and the fear was unbearable for my mind. I couldn’t move from the couch besides helping Chase or getting him out of trouble. I laid on my left side and drank a ton of water (both of which I did with Eisley because they were what could help her). I never even got Chase out of the house for most of my first bit of pregnancy.  Most days, I couldn’t even get myself to the shower. I was depressed, fearful, full of anxiety and worry. I didn’t believe in myself. I’d, once again, convinced myself that I was to blame for Eisley’s death and that maybe if I did everything “perfectly” with this pregnancy things would be different.

One huge struggle I have had with believing I had failed Eisley, that my body had failed her, was with this little one, not knowing what it was that I really could do differently. They never gave me a solid reason for why my placenta clotted and why it pulled away from the uterine wall. There wasn’t something they could pin point and say “Do this differently next time.” Nothing. So imagine my fear of doing anything.

The road to 13 weeks was incredibly daunting. At 13 weeks with my sweet Eisley-girl, I had begun bleeding. At 12 weeks with this little one, I had to see the specialist I saw weekly with Eisley. Talk about traumatic experiences… I’m still working through my times in her office when I was pregnant with Eisley.

The thought of returning to her office was more than I thought I could handle. Having rarely ever heard or seen our fetal medicine specialist speak positively or with hope, I only feared the worst…

Part 3 coming soon with how it was to walk back into the specialists, facing week 13 and how I felt in learning this little one’s gender.

my dream; the perfect picture.

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(balloon pendant I bought from Mayo Mahem on Etsy)

Saturday night I dreamt I stood on a tiny little box and held tight to thousands of pink balloons. They lifted me and took me high into the sky (like you know when you’re on an airplane and you pass the first set of clouds and it kind of looks like a plain of clouds? I got that high) but then a point came where I could no longer hold onto them. The wind tossed them so strongly that little by little I let go. And I fell and as I fell I watched the balloons fly higher and higher until out of sight. I was so upset that I couldn’t hold on, that I’d let go…

I fell into the ocean and came up for my first breath only to have this wave immediately hit me and pull me under. Every time I would try to catch my breath, another wave came and then another and then another. (This was the majority of my dream until I woke)

I can’t even begin to tell you how perfectly this dream mirrors how I feel. I mean, at first I didn’t think so. At first, I felt upset and panicked when I remember how I felt in my dream, when I couldn’t hold on to the balloons. I told Ted I was afraid it “meant” I need to let her go. He immediately told me, no he didn’t think that’s what it represented. He felt it perfectly represented losing Eisley and how we felt when we lost her. That resontated in me. I wept.

If I could take how I feel and put them into a picture, this dream is a perfect picture.

When we lost Eisley, I felt an array of emotions. I can’t really pinpoint one. But I can say I had an overwhelming desire to hold on when I knew I couldn’t. Watching the “balloons” slip from my fingers until I could no longer hold them. The to watch them fly higher and higher, away from me, out of my reach, my heart screaming “no, no, no!” when my mind knew so clearly I couldn’t do anything to get “them” back.

And then, before I knew it, the waves came roaring in with all of their might and strength and swept me under before I can catch my breath fully. Before I even knew what was happening. And then the waves keep coming. Here and there the “waves” calm and I’m able to fully catch my breath and brace myself for the next round.

I was talking with my friend Petra about my dream. When I shared my dream with her, she immediately shared something so profound with me. I was hesitant to even share my dream on my blog but the collaboration of my dream, my feelings and the things I and others feel it means. I just had to share because I just had this feeling this would really, really speak to someone else like it did me.

(image from pinterest)

“right now you are in grief
because of the trauma and the sadness
grief = the crashing waves
suffocating
stifling
that make it feel like you will never breath again
but they will begin to ebb …you will still experience sorrow and sadness
the waves will grow gentler with time
gradually the grieving season will end
not the sadness
not the sorrow
not the missing Eisley
but the grief
the heart gripping, gut wrenching grief
it will
i promise
i know right now it feels like you can’t breath
and i don’t know how long the grieving process will take
and i also think its really important you let you know that you can have the saddness without the grief
that there will be a time where it feels as if you have grieved
don’t feel like you need to do it again
and dont start trying just because the feelings arent as deep anymore
because the seasons are all important
grief is not the goal
and its not the end
it is a process and it is so VERY necessary to embrace it
and to let jesus and those around you help be your life raft
take your time grieving
if you don’t grieve her now
and take all the time you need
then you will again later
and again
and again and agin
again
and it will eat.you.up.
when you know the season of grieving is coming to an end…let go of that part
not of eisley
that’s not what you’re letting go of
by allowing yourself to move from grieving to the next season may feel like at times you’re letting go of her
and i’m encouraging you now not to feel that way
when the time comes.
right now you have…the ache from missing her, the crushed dreams, the grief from loosing a child, the trauma from her birth,etc…, all together
the ache won’t go away
ever
you will ALWAYS miss her.
BUT you won’t always feel it as acutely as you do now
you won’t always feel all these things all together; the grief and the trauma…there will be a time when they are replaced with joy and laughter
i know that might sound trite
its not like you will ever forget that those things happened
but you will have the grace to carry on
and be able to feel his joy being your stregnth
but that ache and missing her will still be present“
Whew. I copied her words during our conversation and pasted them in a note on our computer because I want to put them in my journal, they just really resonate and help me to understand my grieving in a better way.
I’ve been battling and trying to understand how I would ever stop grieving when I ache this much right now. I don’t know if I could even clearly express with words this battle within me. Whenever I hear “time heals all wounds” or anything related to with time it will get better, etc… my heart is confused. How is this possible? I don’t want time to heal this wound. I will always ache and I want to ache. I can’t explain what goes on inside of me when I think of the future and what people tell me of grief and “the grieving process”.
Slowly the pieces are slowly “falling into place” inside of my head and my heart with grieving, sorrow, loss, aching and the future. I’ve let it really bring me down but realized that I need to be in this moment now without letting it completely control me but also making sure I am really allowing myself to grieve how I need to grieve. In a healthy way. This dream and what I (and others) feel it represents helps me to understand this even more.
I need to be in this moment.
And this might sound crazy, but right now, I’d rather be in the crashing waves, banged up and bruised; feeling.
I’d rather this than be numb or to be done grieving. I’m not ready to be done.
All the while, I am carrying her in my heart.
Not letting her go, because I don’t have to.
I can face grief full force knowing this.

5 months; the part where the shock wears off.

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(5 months ago today, we held our precious baby girl, whispered our earthly goodbyes)

My fear of man keeps surfacing lately and I’ve really allowed myself to be so afraid of what everyone would think of where I am at in the “grieving process” (ugh) so I slowly find myself retreating from the truth of where I’m at when I share. I always hope to be real, raw and authentic but to also use wisdom in what I share and what I don’t (totally failed on that front more than once!)

All that to say, I really still want to share where I’m at. Okay, whoa, how’s that for a disclaimer ;)

Last Thursday, Ted got me out of the house, we went for coffee and then he took me to Hobby Lobby (which for me is relaxing haha). When time came to leave, I stood in line to pay for my few items and before me stood a momma with her baby girl. Her daughter looked to be around 5 maybe 6 months old. She had a cute little pink and brown monkey hat on and was chewing on a toy. I couldn’t stop staring… imaging… dreaming. I couldn’t help but think of my Eisley-girl. I teared up and tried to think of anything else to distract me from crying.

Then this Tuesday, I attended my first ever, mom’s group called “Moms 4 Moms” at my mom’s church. She has been asking me to go with her since this fall, but until now I haven’t had the desire or the strength. So I went, I did it! I actually had a really good time. It was so great for Chase to hang out with kiddos his own age and for me to be around other moms. I tried to prepare myself for the fact that there would probably be baby girls there (and there were many). I did pretty well when we arrived, but then when they asked about new visitors and asked my name and if I had any kids, I was taken back and didn’t really know what to say. I awkwardly answered, “I have a son, Chase, he’s 18-months-old”…. because I knew as soon as I spoke of her name, I would probably cry.

Holding it together sometimes just doesn’t seem possible unless I, I don’t want to say lie but I guess that’s what it is. Unless I withhold the whole story, the truth. But then I felt horrible because I also want people to know I have a daughter, my Eisley-girl. I do, I have a daughter, she’s just not here with me. When I face moments like that or when I seeing precious girls around the age Eisley should be, my heart breaks deeply, again. Over and over.

I find myself in this really dark and awful rut here and there. In the darkest parts of the “valley” where it feels like everything around me is crashing down and all hope is gone. Where the lies that I’ve failed her and that I’ll lose everyone I love, I begin to believe. Where the flashbacks and traumatic memouries haunt me. It is hard to get motivated, to have will power to do even the most basic things, on these days.

When I’m in this rut, it affects every area. I take care of Chase and his needs, but that’s it.  I can’t even find the strength to create something beautiful. Our house is also proof of this “rut”; piles of laundry, toys and books everywhere, dishes piled up, trashed bedroom, every thing is a huge mess.

My body is proof; my weight, my chewed fingernails, my hair from splitting my ends/yanking my ends off, the bags under my eyes, etc. I feel much older than my 23 years. Weary, worn down.

The enemy hounds me in every way possible, he has me questioning myself on “those” days where I’m so low, “Shouldn’t I be past this part in the “grieving process” yet?” and then the days where I am doing really well, still grieving but able to face life, I find myself battling guilt, “You didn’t even think of her once this morning. What is wrong with you?” “You haven’t cried in over two days.”

Sneaky, sneaky enemy. Wherever I’m at in my journey, he’s one step behind, trying to pull me down. Many would say that might not be so, but I tell you, in the darkest of the valley it’s true. He is one step behind you, constantly reaching for your ankle, to pull and drag you down. It really comes down to whether or not you allow that to happen. There have been countless times where I’ve believed the lies as truths and fallen, BUT let me just say, every. single. time….

I find {hope}. I think I know deep inside, even on “those” days, that there is hope. That I am not beyond repair. That there is promise and life and truth and healing meeting me where I am at, waiting for me to grab hold and begin to move forward.

To us this feels like the darker parts of the valley, the part where the shock wears off and the reality sets in full force.. I was telling a friend just the other day, that I really hate this place where I’m at because, honestly, I prefer the shock. For many, us losing Eisley was but a brief moment. For us, it is our life. In our life we will never had her here with us on earth. Never. She is gone. I really, really hate that this is our reality.

It all falls back to acceptance, again. I’ve talked about this before. Now that the shock has worn off, I really have to face this and … accept this.

As the shock wears off  and as I allow myself to really face the truth, I’ve found, that even though this (for me) is the most difficult part of our journey, I find myself healing. I cry even as I write this because I am slowly healing even though it doesn’t always feel like it. Even though sometimes I fight it because I don’t feel ready to heal completely and I’m far from being healed completly. I read this quote and this has helped me a lot because it’s something I’ve really struggled with since we’ve lost Eisley;

“Knowing the Lord and His comfort does not take away the ache; instead, it supports you in the middle of the ache. Until I get home to heaven, there’s going to be an ache that won’t quit. The grieving process for me is not so much a matter of getting rid of the pain, but not being controlled by the pain.” Dr. Larry Crabb

When I first read this, I just cried. Yes. God really spoke to me through this very word and showed me that I can begin to heal and still feel this deep, unending ache. And the even though the enemy is one step behind me, my Heavenly Father is walking beside me, not taking away the ache, but supporting me in the middle of it. WHEW. He is. And most of the time, I realize that He has me, “Resting between His shoulders”, carrying me, carrying us, through the darkest parts of this valley.

Let the beloved of the Lord rest secure in Him, for He shields him all day long, and the ones the Lord loves rests between His shoulders. Deuteronomy 33:12

He carries our precious Eisley. And He carries us.

There is hope, forevermore and through every deep, dark valley and unending ache.

i wasn’t prepared.

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Disclaimer; this post is really raw.

I wasn’t prepared to lose Eisley. You might argue that the time I had in the hospital might have prepared me, but honestly, all the time in the world couldn’t prepare you to lose a child. Nothing could, because even if you guard your heart sometimes and try to prepare, you still hope fervently and with {everything} inside you. You could never prepare, ever.

I wasn’t prepared for the {infinite} shattered dreams.

I wasn’t prepared for the constant shattering and the effect thereof.

I wasn’t prepare for how it feels when you lose someone you love so deeply.

I wasn’t prepared for how often grief is revisited. How quickly it surfaces when I read or see or hear things that reminds me of Eisley.

I wasn’t prepared for the insensitivity towards us.

I wasn’t prepared for the lack of response/encouragement to our loss of Eisley from ones we once called friends. Or even those who knew of what we walked through and never once said a word to us.

The flip side- We are so grateful for the friendships we’ve made and those that have deepened since we lost her. We are so grateful for the encouragement, love, care and letting us know that you are standing with us. That means the world to us right now. More than I can express.

I wasn’t prepared for those, even those who are pro-life, who never considered our loss a loss. I was 3 days away from 7 months pregnant. Our beautiful baby girl was a life lost, a beating heart gone. I wasn’t prepared for how people would treat us as though we never lost a child.

I wasn’t prepared for how quickly people think we should be moving forward.

I wasn’t prepared for how comforting and encouraging I find words like; “I haven’t forgotten Eisley or you guys”, “you are not forgotten”,  anything I hear about Eisley’s life and her impact on others, etc. The messages, comments, texts, calls… whew. They comfort our hearts a lot.

I wasn’t prepared for the deep ache I’d feel when watching others do the very thing I longed to do with her. The very things I had talked about, hope for, dreamt of, etc.

I wasn’t prepared for feeling so wounded.

I wasn’t prepared for the array of emotions or sudden force of them.

I wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming realizations that hit frequently.

I wasn’t prepared for so much more.

I sometimes lie in bed feeling so overwhelmed I don’t know what to do, I just weep into my pillow and even that sometimes isn’t enough…

The LORD is near to those who have a broken heart,
And saves such as have a contrite spirit. Psalm 34:18

I also love this version too;

If your heart is broken, you’ll find God right there;
if you’re kicked in the gut, he’ll help you catch your breath.

I am sitting here crying as I write this. We will not be overcome because it’s not by our strength that we’re getting through this. I believe that with my whole heart.

Jesus, give us the courage to face what we do everyday. As we face our reality. Please give us courage and be our everything for we cannot.

Edit: Please understand I know that (esp if you’re reading this) you’ve probably been one who has been there for us throughout everything. I am so very grateful for your love, encouragement , etc, etc! The above just sometimes overwhelms me more than it should and I focus on the negative too much sometimes.

acceptance.

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(photo taken during Eisley’s service)

Accept: to accommodate or reconcile oneself to: to accept the situation. (source)

Acceptance has been the hardest part. I think it’s what has caused this last month to be the hardest to walk through yet. I know we really have to face our reality in order to really begin moving forward, but to accept this… whew.

I feel like I go through the “grief cycle” many times throughout a day but the acceptance is the part that I still get caught up on. I could try to accept this, I don’t want to accept this.

It’s hard to accept or come to terms with what happened, with the bed rest, the hospital, the waiting, the hoping, the trauma, the birth…

I don’t want to accept that this was the first and last time we got to hold her in our arms.
 
I don’t want to accept the fact that I will never kiss her nose on a daily basis, or that Chase will never get to play with his baby sister, or that I will never get to see Eisley adore her daddy, or that I can’t dress her like me or watch her creativity blossom (I really felt she was a lot like me, I know it sounds odd, but I do). I don’t want to accept that our dreams with her are gone, or that we will never watch her grow to be a beautiful lady. I don’t want to accept that I won’t someday watch her walk down the aisle… etc, etc, etc, ETC. There is so much that I don’t want to accept. It’s seriously infinite.
 
I like the above quote, but suddenly realized it is more like INfinite disappointment then finite disappointment. Infinite is immeasurable. There is immeasurable disappointments and aches and there is also infinite hope. A hope that says no matter what we face, we can make it through the hardest, darkest day. Hope helps us breathe deeply, take that first step out of bed each morning, face the day, live… hope will help us to dream again eventually. We are clinging to hope, to Him. We must not lose infinite hope and we aren’t. We’re struggling and aching still, everyday and often.
 
 Four and a half months too many.
We miss you baby girl. 

Whew, I know this is really a downer of a post, but I want to stay true to where I’m at and honestly, to ask for your prayers.

I will share a not-so-down post next, with some fabulous finds to lift the mood.

Come on, come on, come on…

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When she came her family was there
And all her things were neatly prepared
When the moment came I was scared
If I look at her I’ll break down
If I don’t she’ll know it somehow
When she came there wasn’t a sound

Come on, come on, come on

Come on, come on, come on

Come on come on, come on

Listen for the beat of her heart
Listen as your plans fall apart
Listen but there’s nothing there
When you lose what you never had
Left with impossible plans
Listen in but you can’t hear

We knew that this could happen
I feel the distance creeping
One there in my position
Moving against my fingers
Against my human nature

Come on, come on, come on

Come on, come on, come on

Come on, come on, come on

Are you through with punishing me
I thought that you would at least
Give what you promised me
Are you through with punishing me
I thought that you would at least
Give what you promised me

What would a father say
He would say to come right home
What would a father do
He would try to comfort to you

What would a father say
He would say to come right home
What would a father do…

When she came her family was there
And all her things were neatly prepared
When the moment came I was scared
If I look at her I’ll break down
If I don’t she’ll know it somehow
When she came there wasn’t a sound

Come on, come on, come on
Should have done something

Marot – by Meese

A friend gave Ted and I this song after we lost Eisley. Written by a father that had lost their daughter Margot. When I first heard it I weeped. “Come on, come on, come on”. Two words that speak volumes to me. I cry even now. My heart hoped and longed for her heartbeat to be found. Oh Eisley-girl, “Come on, come on, come on”…

Today we brought Eisley’s ashes home from the funeral home. I keep thinking “This isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.” And it’s not. My heart and my mind still aren’t connected the dots. Four and a half months in and still, it’s so very hard to accept. It’s my reality every single second of every day and even still…

I long, hope, “Come on, come on, come on”… and ache when the reality strikes again and again and again.

No more words… just an aching heart asking for your thoughts/prayers.