I hate feeling that. I hate that when I hear that somebody's baby is coming home from the NICU, the first thing that I think is not, "That's great, that's amazing, God is good!"
Rather, the first thought that comes into my head is, "That's not fair. Dylan never got to come home. We never had that moment. The doctors and the nurses never got excited for us."
I hate feeling that.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Truth
Borrowed from a fellow blogger:
"Anyone can give up,
it's the easiest thing in the world to do.
But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength."
it's the easiest thing in the world to do.
But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength."
Monday, April 5, 2010
Happy Easter Dylan!
Dylan,
Every holiday without you is difficult. It's just another cruel reminder of your physical absence. But on Easter, unlike any other holiday, I feel the peace of knowing that you are safe in the arms of Jesus. (It's a far better place to be, and I pray nightly that I may be reunited with you in Heaven one day, my dear.)
A great big hug to all the babylost mommas (and daddies, of course) who celebrated without your angels yesterday. And a very, special thank you to Michelle from Missing Juanito for this precious little gem:
Every holiday without you is difficult. It's just another cruel reminder of your physical absence. But on Easter, unlike any other holiday, I feel the peace of knowing that you are safe in the arms of Jesus. (It's a far better place to be, and I pray nightly that I may be reunited with you in Heaven one day, my dear.)
A great big hug to all the babylost mommas (and daddies, of course) who celebrated without your angels yesterday. And a very, special thank you to Michelle from Missing Juanito for this precious little gem:
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
E-Mails Never Sent
Have you ever written an e-mail and just hovered over the send button? I've done it before (many times), gotten worked up over something, written a scathing e-mail, and eventually thought better of it, never sending it to its destination. In most cases, the mere act of writing the e-mail made me feel better. I just came across one of those e-mails (I wrote this when I was pregnant with Faith, with hormones raging and obviously alot on my mind):
While I can appreciate what you're trying to do and you're truly altruistic view of people, you can't just group "mothers" and "maternal people" in the same category and you also can't group people who don't have kids with people who have kids with people who've lost kids. People who've never experienced the loss of a child only have a certain capacity of understanding and sadness for what I've gone through. They can't imagine it, they can't put themselves into my situation and be as empathetic as you'd like to think. Sympathy, sure . . . empathy, probably never. It irritates me that you think I'm not being positive about these moments that I've experienced, moments that you have not been there for. You have NO RIGHT to tell me how I should be feeling. Yes, you're just the outsider. And your optimistic point of view may be due to the fact that you've NEVER lost a child or experienced any of the situations that I'm talking about. You've never been on the other side of that conversation, when you experience the visible discomfort in people's eyes after I've told them that my son has passed away. Even if there's sadness behind their reaction, it's still something they didn't want or expect to hear and, for the most part, it's something that they don't want to discuss further. It's awkward. Children aren't supposed to die before their parents. So how, exactly, do you make the best out of that situation? I wasn't talking about any kind of people, I was talking about all people. What's happened to us is a freak of nature. No one, except those who've been through it themselves, can ever feel comfortable with that situation.
One of the worse things to say to a person experiencing pregnancy after loss is "well everything is going to be fine this time around" or "this baby will be completely healthy". It negates what I've just been through and makes my pregnancy easier for you to swallow, not me. I'm still anxious all the time, I'm still thinking about the distinct possibility that anything could go wrong at anytime. It's not because I'm being a pessimist, it's because I've been there and I know it can happen. If you want to tell me that I'll learn something as a parent this time around, fine. I know I will be learning new things as a parent everyday for the rest of my life. But don't word it like you have NO IDEA about my last pregnancy or about Dylan. For all intents and purposes, I already consider myself a mother. There's no telling me, "WHEN you become a mother. . . " Again, if you do that, you've just written off my son and his life.
You keep reminding me that I'm not being positive or optimistic about any of this. That really hurts and irritates me. You have NO idea, and I can see that in your reaction. More often than not, I give people the benefit of the doubt. What you read on my blog happens to be those times when I just can't. Most people have written both Justin and I off and do not even address it anymore. Fine. That's perfectly fine. They don't know what to say, and THAT I can understand. But I most certainly cannot understand, nor should I have to, the people that find it necessary to say something that completely writes off our experience and what we've been through. WE'VE HAD A CHILD! WE ARE PARENTS! Do I really have to explain that to you? There's no fresh, optimistic approach to looking at childloss. It sucks. And Justin and I have done an incredible job healing and moving on with our lives, never forgetting, and also integrating Dylan into our daily existence. You can't imagine. You can't! Everyone is naive to the situation, do you know something that I don't know? Did someone else experience this? I have been so open-minded about what people say to me. I try not to be hyper-sensitive about all of it. The things that end up on my blog are major to me, obviously big enough for me to write about. I don't just publish posts about how irritated I am everyday, about how for the most part people have found it customary to just sidestep or ignore or avoid situations where they have to talk about Dylan. That's my life, I've come to accept it. I don't expect people to understand, I expect better of my friends that they could have a greater sensitivity towards what we've been through and are continuing to go through EVERY, SINGLE DAY of our lives. Not for our own friends to say things like, "Oh, you'll know when you have kids." or "Maybe you should have a more positive outlook." WTF!
While I can appreciate what you're trying to do and you're truly altruistic view of people, you can't just group "mothers" and "maternal people" in the same category and you also can't group people who don't have kids with people who have kids with people who've lost kids. People who've never experienced the loss of a child only have a certain capacity of understanding and sadness for what I've gone through. They can't imagine it, they can't put themselves into my situation and be as empathetic as you'd like to think. Sympathy, sure . . . empathy, probably never. It irritates me that you think I'm not being positive about these moments that I've experienced, moments that you have not been there for. You have NO RIGHT to tell me how I should be feeling. Yes, you're just the outsider. And your optimistic point of view may be due to the fact that you've NEVER lost a child or experienced any of the situations that I'm talking about. You've never been on the other side of that conversation, when you experience the visible discomfort in people's eyes after I've told them that my son has passed away. Even if there's sadness behind their reaction, it's still something they didn't want or expect to hear and, for the most part, it's something that they don't want to discuss further. It's awkward. Children aren't supposed to die before their parents. So how, exactly, do you make the best out of that situation? I wasn't talking about any kind of people, I was talking about all people. What's happened to us is a freak of nature. No one, except those who've been through it themselves, can ever feel comfortable with that situation.
One of the worse things to say to a person experiencing pregnancy after loss is "well everything is going to be fine this time around" or "this baby will be completely healthy". It negates what I've just been through and makes my pregnancy easier for you to swallow, not me. I'm still anxious all the time, I'm still thinking about the distinct possibility that anything could go wrong at anytime. It's not because I'm being a pessimist, it's because I've been there and I know it can happen. If you want to tell me that I'll learn something as a parent this time around, fine. I know I will be learning new things as a parent everyday for the rest of my life. But don't word it like you have NO IDEA about my last pregnancy or about Dylan. For all intents and purposes, I already consider myself a mother. There's no telling me, "WHEN you become a mother. . . " Again, if you do that, you've just written off my son and his life.
You keep reminding me that I'm not being positive or optimistic about any of this. That really hurts and irritates me. You have NO idea, and I can see that in your reaction. More often than not, I give people the benefit of the doubt. What you read on my blog happens to be those times when I just can't. Most people have written both Justin and I off and do not even address it anymore. Fine. That's perfectly fine. They don't know what to say, and THAT I can understand. But I most certainly cannot understand, nor should I have to, the people that find it necessary to say something that completely writes off our experience and what we've been through. WE'VE HAD A CHILD! WE ARE PARENTS! Do I really have to explain that to you? There's no fresh, optimistic approach to looking at childloss. It sucks. And Justin and I have done an incredible job healing and moving on with our lives, never forgetting, and also integrating Dylan into our daily existence. You can't imagine. You can't! Everyone is naive to the situation, do you know something that I don't know? Did someone else experience this? I have been so open-minded about what people say to me. I try not to be hyper-sensitive about all of it. The things that end up on my blog are major to me, obviously big enough for me to write about. I don't just publish posts about how irritated I am everyday, about how for the most part people have found it customary to just sidestep or ignore or avoid situations where they have to talk about Dylan. That's my life, I've come to accept it. I don't expect people to understand, I expect better of my friends that they could have a greater sensitivity towards what we've been through and are continuing to go through EVERY, SINGLE DAY of our lives. Not for our own friends to say things like, "Oh, you'll know when you have kids." or "Maybe you should have a more positive outlook." WTF!
Monday, March 1, 2010
A Positive Side of Loss
Okay, you know how I love lists (and apparently quizzes), so I will answer the question posed by the Butterfly Mommies blog in list form.
What positive things have come from the loss of your baby?
5. Writing - It has been so therapeutic and healing to return to my writing roots. While I hate that my crippling pain and grief had to exist in order for me to have something to write about, I am honored to share Dylan's story in this way.
4. Community - While the stories that I've come across have ranged from somewhat similar to radically different, the common bond that babylost parents share and the friendships that result from "meeting" in this way have proven extremely helpful. When you're constantly surrounded by people in real life who have no idea what you're going through or no idea what to say to you, it's both calming and refreshing to be reminded that I'm not alone in this journey and that it's absolutely okay to grieve how I need to.
3. Perspective - The little things are just that, little. I've learned not to sweat the small stuff, and I've learned that I don't fear much anymore. I've faced the absolute worst that this world can throw my way - outliving a child.
2. Character - I am strong, I am a survivor. Losing Dylan proved that to me like nothing else could. From the grace that I exhibited in the face of adversity to the hope and courage that I had to find in order to survive a pregnancy after loss, I've certainly grown as an individual.
1. Faith - As Justin so eloquently put it the other day, "Dylan put us right with God." Truth be told, I know that I still have alot of questions when it comes to God and why things happen the way they do, but I am closer to God. I'm getting there, I'm no where near perfect. I know, at the end of the day, there's nothing I want more than to live my life so that I may end up reunited with Dylan in Heaven one day.
What positive things have come from the loss of your baby?
5. Writing - It has been so therapeutic and healing to return to my writing roots. While I hate that my crippling pain and grief had to exist in order for me to have something to write about, I am honored to share Dylan's story in this way.
4. Community - While the stories that I've come across have ranged from somewhat similar to radically different, the common bond that babylost parents share and the friendships that result from "meeting" in this way have proven extremely helpful. When you're constantly surrounded by people in real life who have no idea what you're going through or no idea what to say to you, it's both calming and refreshing to be reminded that I'm not alone in this journey and that it's absolutely okay to grieve how I need to.
3. Perspective - The little things are just that, little. I've learned not to sweat the small stuff, and I've learned that I don't fear much anymore. I've faced the absolute worst that this world can throw my way - outliving a child.
2. Character - I am strong, I am a survivor. Losing Dylan proved that to me like nothing else could. From the grace that I exhibited in the face of adversity to the hope and courage that I had to find in order to survive a pregnancy after loss, I've certainly grown as an individual.
1. Faith - As Justin so eloquently put it the other day, "Dylan put us right with God." Truth be told, I know that I still have alot of questions when it comes to God and why things happen the way they do, but I am closer to God. I'm getting there, I'm no where near perfect. I know, at the end of the day, there's nothing I want more than to live my life so that I may end up reunited with Dylan in Heaven one day.
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