Prior to losing Noah, I'd always enjoyed writing and had been told by many that I had some talent at it, that I had an ability to make people feel and see and smell the places I wrote about, to really help them connect with whatever it was I was writing. And so, when I lost Noah, I knew I had to write something. I knew almost instantly that I had to write something for him, a gift from my heart as surely as he had been a gift from God.
Writing the letter I made for Noah was a hard and painful thing, but also cathartic. As much as I cried writing it, it also brought me some measure of peace, knowing I was truly giving of myself, doing the most for him that I knew how. I never realized how far reaching that impact would be.
Back when I lost Noah, nearly some 6 years ago now, there wasn't anything like a blog out there in cyberspace. There were bulletin boards and websites with comments and articles, but that's about it. I did my research and found a loss group called SHARE. I think my genetic counselors might have even mentioned them, or my OB....I can't quite recall now, but I do believe someone pointed me in their direction. I found them online but was saddened to learn they did not yet have a chapter in Richmond. So what did I do? I did the next best thing and got involved online. I started posting to some of the message boards they had and in doing so, stumbled upon an unexpected blessing. I could help people.
Purely for me, I had posted the letter I wrote for Noah. I just wanted a record of it somewhere, a testament to my precious baby. And then out of the blue, I started getting emails and comments from folks who had read it, all people who had suffered a loss of one kind of another. They thanked me through their tears, and sighs and pauses, telling me how much my words had meant to them, how much it touched them. I had folks thank me and say that they had read the letter at their own children's funerals or memorials, some had placed copies of my letter into their own memory boxes, others emailed it to their family and friends and told them to read it, that this was how they were feeling but didn't know how to explain. And with every thank you I received, my heart felt lighter and happier. Sure I was still devastated with the loss of my son, but it felt so good to be able to help others through their own dark and terrible times. It gave me such pride and joy and made me realize yet again what a blessing having had and lost Noah was. Through him, I was able to touch countless others and right then I knew someday I'd have to write about the whole experience. I knew somewhere deep down, that part of my mission was to help others through the pressing darkness of their own losses.
And the blessings came, whenever I happened to talk about it, I found I was reaching people, affecting them in ways I never knew possible. And the more people I helped, the better I felt.
I had a very humbling experience yesterday, one more blessing brought back around my way at an unexpected time. I was talking to my mother on the telephone. I'd only recently told her about this blog, but she knew of some other women I'd been helping recently through church and some other things, women going through their own losses. She said she'd heard something the other day on the radio or TV about the heroes in your life and how so many times we never tell them how we feel. I could hear her voice faltering on the phone as she almost shyly told me that I was her hero. Even just thinking about it now brings tears to my eyes. Never in my life had I imagined to hear I was any one's hero, much less my mother's. I didn't know what to say. I mumbled some sort of thank you and that I appreciated it, that I thought it was really sweet, but I was honestly at a loss of words. You know, like so many others, I am more content giving than receiving compliments and as adeptly as my words can flow from my fingers while I am writing, I find I am far less graceful in person and my tongue often trips me up.
So I listened quietly to my mother tell me that I was her hero. I was her hero for how I dealt with the loss of my children, for how I managed to hold everyone together during that horrible time and how I have been able to put aside my pain, even dwell in it so that I might help others.
Thank you, Mom. It meant more than words can say. You are a truly special person and I am thankful to have you in my life. I love you.
Showing posts with label coping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label coping. Show all posts
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Monday, October 13, 2008
Monday, October 13th
I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you to all those who've passed by my little corner of the online world and taken the time to say hello or leave a comment. I truly appreciate them. Feel free to comment or email me at anytime. I am always glad to talk.
On to other things.....
POST LOSS doctors visits:
I have one bit of advice. Well, maybe a couple. But first and foremost, going back to the OB after having experienced a loss is an overwhelming thing. At least it was for me. During those days and first weeks post loss, the slightest thing would set me off crying and having to walk into a waiting room full of pregnant women was no picnic. I was blessed to have a great OB and nurses who as soon as they knew I was there and checked in, they pulled me into the back halls to sit and wait for my room to open up rather than have to sit out there and be surrounded by all those happy pregnant women.
Well, they weren't all pregnant, but it sort of seemed that way. When it's a sensitive issue, that seems to be all you see. I highly recommend making your appointments for first thing in the morning or just after lunch when the office opens again. Waiting around, even in back halls, is not an easy thing. Try to spare yourself that anguish and limit the wait if you can.
I also had a really hard time seeing all these other pregnant women. It actually made me mad sometimes when I saw them smiling or laughing or holding their plump bellies as the precious child within moved. Seeing an obviously new parents-to-be couple nearly set me over the edge. They were all happy and smiles, clearly excited. She wasn't showing the slightest bit. Obviously it was early on. They were beside themselves, so happy and expectant and excited and all I wanted to do was throttle them. I wanted to march right over there and shake some sense into them, yelling at them to not be happy, to worry, to worry all the time! Didn't they know how it could all go so terribly wrong?!?!
And then one day, while pregnant again and visiting my perinatal specialist for one of those early fetal scans we had to do, I changed my mind. Now granted...folks coming here were often already worried, for one reason or another. You could see it on their faces, sometimes in the tears freely falling down as they left in a hurry. And I suddenly realized. I'd been judging everyone else unfairly. How do I know that this happy pregnant woman across the way hasn't had a loss before this one? For all I knew, maybe she'd lost five and this one, this one was finally going to be ok.
The point is, I didn't know and it was unfair of me to look at them so sternly. And even those who were pregnant for the first time...they should be happy and excited. Looking back that is one thing I was blessed to have with my first pregnancy. I had no clue. Everything was fine all along. I was blissfully ignorant. I had no idea of all the horrible things that could go wrong. Oh sure, you worried about the normal battery of tests, the Downs, the Spinal Bifeda, the Glucose test, the AFPs....but as some of us out there know, that is only like the pin-point tip of an iceberg. I am glad I didn't know with my first. I worried alot as it was, like any mother to be does. At least I had one pregnancy (and half of a second) without the gloom and doom constantly hanging over my head.
So again, when looking at the pregnant woman you run into at the doctor's office, or in a parking lot, or in the crowded aisle of a store...remember...when that sudden anger flairs its ugly head...or jealousy, remember we don't know anything about them. For all we know they've tried for years and years and had one loss or setback after another before getting to this hopefully happy point. We don't know. We've not been in their shoes. Give them space if you need to, and perhaps if you can manage, even say a little prayer for their baby, hoping that all is well and one more sister in this world won't have to know the pain and suffering we have.
REMEMBRANCES:
People do lots of different things to remember the precious children and babies they've lost. We do balloons.
Every year on the anniversary of their birth and death, we buy a balloon and write all over it with a permanent marker. We send up our messages of how much we miss them and Happy Birthday's and I love yous and all of that. My oldest daughter used to just draw smiley faces at first, but now she writes more. We don't direct or make her do anything. She can do as much or as little as she wants. My four year old is getting old enough now to understand something is going on, but she doesn't really get it yet. But that's ok. We all hold onto the ribbon at the same time and after one last round or goodbyes, we love yous, we miss yous (silent or otherwise) we let it go and watch the balloon sail upwards, up and up....floating off to Heaven to be caught in the hands of our precious ones so the message can be received. I know they see it. I like to imagine them there up in Heaven, all smiles and happy, running around with their decorated balloons.
At some point in time, I'd like to plant some sort of memorial garden too, but I am hesitant to do that just yet. I don't think I'd be very happy if we planted a garden (ie trees and flowers and shrubs) and then had to move. With my husband's job we sometimes move around and I know I would be very upset to leave something like that behind. I know I could do something in pots, but I have in mind something bigger, grander. Maybe one day it will all work out, but for now the balloons work and leave me feeling like I've done something special for them each year.
On to other things.....
POST LOSS doctors visits:
I have one bit of advice. Well, maybe a couple. But first and foremost, going back to the OB after having experienced a loss is an overwhelming thing. At least it was for me. During those days and first weeks post loss, the slightest thing would set me off crying and having to walk into a waiting room full of pregnant women was no picnic. I was blessed to have a great OB and nurses who as soon as they knew I was there and checked in, they pulled me into the back halls to sit and wait for my room to open up rather than have to sit out there and be surrounded by all those happy pregnant women.
Well, they weren't all pregnant, but it sort of seemed that way. When it's a sensitive issue, that seems to be all you see. I highly recommend making your appointments for first thing in the morning or just after lunch when the office opens again. Waiting around, even in back halls, is not an easy thing. Try to spare yourself that anguish and limit the wait if you can.
I also had a really hard time seeing all these other pregnant women. It actually made me mad sometimes when I saw them smiling or laughing or holding their plump bellies as the precious child within moved. Seeing an obviously new parents-to-be couple nearly set me over the edge. They were all happy and smiles, clearly excited. She wasn't showing the slightest bit. Obviously it was early on. They were beside themselves, so happy and expectant and excited and all I wanted to do was throttle them. I wanted to march right over there and shake some sense into them, yelling at them to not be happy, to worry, to worry all the time! Didn't they know how it could all go so terribly wrong?!?!
And then one day, while pregnant again and visiting my perinatal specialist for one of those early fetal scans we had to do, I changed my mind. Now granted...folks coming here were often already worried, for one reason or another. You could see it on their faces, sometimes in the tears freely falling down as they left in a hurry. And I suddenly realized. I'd been judging everyone else unfairly. How do I know that this happy pregnant woman across the way hasn't had a loss before this one? For all I knew, maybe she'd lost five and this one, this one was finally going to be ok.
The point is, I didn't know and it was unfair of me to look at them so sternly. And even those who were pregnant for the first time...they should be happy and excited. Looking back that is one thing I was blessed to have with my first pregnancy. I had no clue. Everything was fine all along. I was blissfully ignorant. I had no idea of all the horrible things that could go wrong. Oh sure, you worried about the normal battery of tests, the Downs, the Spinal Bifeda, the Glucose test, the AFPs....but as some of us out there know, that is only like the pin-point tip of an iceberg. I am glad I didn't know with my first. I worried alot as it was, like any mother to be does. At least I had one pregnancy (and half of a second) without the gloom and doom constantly hanging over my head.
So again, when looking at the pregnant woman you run into at the doctor's office, or in a parking lot, or in the crowded aisle of a store...remember...when that sudden anger flairs its ugly head...or jealousy, remember we don't know anything about them. For all we know they've tried for years and years and had one loss or setback after another before getting to this hopefully happy point. We don't know. We've not been in their shoes. Give them space if you need to, and perhaps if you can manage, even say a little prayer for their baby, hoping that all is well and one more sister in this world won't have to know the pain and suffering we have.
REMEMBRANCES:
People do lots of different things to remember the precious children and babies they've lost. We do balloons.
Every year on the anniversary of their birth and death, we buy a balloon and write all over it with a permanent marker. We send up our messages of how much we miss them and Happy Birthday's and I love yous and all of that. My oldest daughter used to just draw smiley faces at first, but now she writes more. We don't direct or make her do anything. She can do as much or as little as she wants. My four year old is getting old enough now to understand something is going on, but she doesn't really get it yet. But that's ok. We all hold onto the ribbon at the same time and after one last round or goodbyes, we love yous, we miss yous (silent or otherwise) we let it go and watch the balloon sail upwards, up and up....floating off to Heaven to be caught in the hands of our precious ones so the message can be received. I know they see it. I like to imagine them there up in Heaven, all smiles and happy, running around with their decorated balloons.
At some point in time, I'd like to plant some sort of memorial garden too, but I am hesitant to do that just yet. I don't think I'd be very happy if we planted a garden (ie trees and flowers and shrubs) and then had to move. With my husband's job we sometimes move around and I know I would be very upset to leave something like that behind. I know I could do something in pots, but I have in mind something bigger, grander. Maybe one day it will all work out, but for now the balloons work and leave me feeling like I've done something special for them each year.
Monday, August 25, 2008
One step at a time
I recently started talking to a young lady who just experienced the loss of a baby. She was nearly 9 weeks along and while some people may not think that is very far, I believe it is. The loss was very real to her and her husband. They'd been trying to get pregnant for a year and a half. My heart goes out to her, I wish there was more I could do or say, but I know all too well how it is. I experienced a number of losses myself, including one early miscarriage at about 6 weeks. The one thing that sticks most in my mind is something my husband's aunt once told me. A loss is a loss is a loss.
My husband's aunt and uncle lost their eldest son in a car accident when he was nineteen. Needless to say they had a really hard time getting over that. And honestly, it is not something you ever really get over, but simply learn to deal with. At least that is how I see it. Anyway, at a loss group she was a part of, she was having a hard time with women who were there for their own needed support, women who had had a miscarriage. And it wasn't until someone said that a loss is a loss is a loss, she finally got it. Everyone's losses might be different than her own, but they are no less real and painful to those experiencing them.
I would have to agree there. When I lost my second and third child later, the loss affected me differently and I was mad when people so callously said things like, "Well, maybe this is God's way of taking care of things...' or "Maybe it's a blessing it happened now." Are you kidding me?! I often felt resentment for those who had lost an infant or child later on in life, people who sometimes viewed my loss as less than their own. I was sooooo mad! I wanted to scream at them, saying it wasn't fair, at least they had had time with their child. They had had the chance to see their beautiful eyes open and looking up at them. They had felt the unbelievable warmth of those tiny fingers wrapping around one of their own and squeezing. They had the experiences of their baby's coos and babbles, seen what color hair they had, experienced first teeth and feedings and diaper changes. They had seen their children grow. They had birthdays and Halloweens and Christmases and Easters and little league games or ballet classes. All things I NEVER had the chance to experience with my children. It was so unfair.
But then you get back to a loss is a loss is a loss. And just because someone's experience in losing a child is different than your own, it doesn't make it any less painful or real. Having children now 4 and 9, I can't imagine what it would be like to lose one of them and yes while I have experienced all those things I missed with my other three angels, I am still in no way ready to give them up or stomach their loss any more easily than I would have before. It is a different beast, but the pain is still the same.
I feel very fortunate and blessed to be able to talk about my losses now. But more than that, I am grateful for the chance to help someone else through their own grief, even if it only makes one moment of one day a little better. You have to take it one day at a time while you are in the midst of that darkness and heartbreak. One step at a time. One wobbly foot placed before the other. Take heart in the knowledge there is hope to be found and there can be peace afterwards, though pretty much all of that is up to you.
Losing my three has made me a better person in the end I think. I truly appreciate all the love and support of friends and family in my life. I live each day a little fuller (usually anyway) and I am so thankful for what I do have. My husband and children are blessings to me, even those I've lost. Through them I've been able to help and comfort others and for me, that is the greatest way to honor their memories. If by having had my three, and lost them, I am able to better relate to others and most importantly give them some small measure of hope, it was worth it. They are worth it. My children and my experiences aren't something to be swept under a rug, no matter how pretty or expensive. I wear the experience like a badge of honor, forever emblazoned upon my chest, upon my heart.
And if anyone out there reads this and needs to talk, please don't hesitate to let me know. It's hard, it's painful, it sucks. But at the end of the day, you can also find much to be thankful for if you open your eyes and truly look around yourself.
My husband's aunt and uncle lost their eldest son in a car accident when he was nineteen. Needless to say they had a really hard time getting over that. And honestly, it is not something you ever really get over, but simply learn to deal with. At least that is how I see it. Anyway, at a loss group she was a part of, she was having a hard time with women who were there for their own needed support, women who had had a miscarriage. And it wasn't until someone said that a loss is a loss is a loss, she finally got it. Everyone's losses might be different than her own, but they are no less real and painful to those experiencing them.
I would have to agree there. When I lost my second and third child later, the loss affected me differently and I was mad when people so callously said things like, "Well, maybe this is God's way of taking care of things...' or "Maybe it's a blessing it happened now." Are you kidding me?! I often felt resentment for those who had lost an infant or child later on in life, people who sometimes viewed my loss as less than their own. I was sooooo mad! I wanted to scream at them, saying it wasn't fair, at least they had had time with their child. They had had the chance to see their beautiful eyes open and looking up at them. They had felt the unbelievable warmth of those tiny fingers wrapping around one of their own and squeezing. They had the experiences of their baby's coos and babbles, seen what color hair they had, experienced first teeth and feedings and diaper changes. They had seen their children grow. They had birthdays and Halloweens and Christmases and Easters and little league games or ballet classes. All things I NEVER had the chance to experience with my children. It was so unfair.
But then you get back to a loss is a loss is a loss. And just because someone's experience in losing a child is different than your own, it doesn't make it any less painful or real. Having children now 4 and 9, I can't imagine what it would be like to lose one of them and yes while I have experienced all those things I missed with my other three angels, I am still in no way ready to give them up or stomach their loss any more easily than I would have before. It is a different beast, but the pain is still the same.
I feel very fortunate and blessed to be able to talk about my losses now. But more than that, I am grateful for the chance to help someone else through their own grief, even if it only makes one moment of one day a little better. You have to take it one day at a time while you are in the midst of that darkness and heartbreak. One step at a time. One wobbly foot placed before the other. Take heart in the knowledge there is hope to be found and there can be peace afterwards, though pretty much all of that is up to you.
Losing my three has made me a better person in the end I think. I truly appreciate all the love and support of friends and family in my life. I live each day a little fuller (usually anyway) and I am so thankful for what I do have. My husband and children are blessings to me, even those I've lost. Through them I've been able to help and comfort others and for me, that is the greatest way to honor their memories. If by having had my three, and lost them, I am able to better relate to others and most importantly give them some small measure of hope, it was worth it. They are worth it. My children and my experiences aren't something to be swept under a rug, no matter how pretty or expensive. I wear the experience like a badge of honor, forever emblazoned upon my chest, upon my heart.
And if anyone out there reads this and needs to talk, please don't hesitate to let me know. It's hard, it's painful, it sucks. But at the end of the day, you can also find much to be thankful for if you open your eyes and truly look around yourself.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
