when someone you know has a loss

Today I want to write about my opinion of what you should say or do when someone you know experiences a loss similar to the one I have gone through.

- Tell them that you will be there.  That you will listen when they need to talk about it. You might not understand what they’re going through, that doesn’t matter, because you don’t need to say anything.  You just need to listen.  Let them talk about it.

-Encourage them in fact, to talk about it with someone.  If they don’t want to talk about it with you, don’t pressure them to.  But there are many ways to connect with other bereaved parents.  There are online forums and places to read things written by others who know exactly what they are going through.  Tell them to find those things, talk to those people, or to someone.  It can be so easy to feel so alone.  My personal favorites are the MISS Foundation and Still Standing Magazine, where they can find support for infertility, miscarriage, stillbirth, and child loss.

-Don’t say stupid things.  Don’t say they can "just have more kids".  Don’t say "everything happens for a reason".  For the love of God do not say “it just wasn’t the right time”.  Those things hurt.  They hurt.  They do not help.  THEY HURT.  Just say you will be there when they want to talk.  No generic expressions will help.  No “at least” sentences will help (at least it was an early loss, at least it was just the baby and not you too, none of that, don’t say that).  They only hurt.

-If you feel they are blaming themselves, assure them they didn’t do anything wrong.  Chances are they won’t listen, I still believe I am 100% responsible for what happened to Virginia.  Logically I know it was not my fault and I had no control…logically.  But it is still important to say it if they are blaming themselves.  If they have experienced such an awful loss they will feel like it is their fault…IT IS NOT.  Assure them they didn’t do anything wrong, that it was beyond their control and not their fault.  Personally I wouldn’t talk about putting blame on anyone, even doctors.  Because if someone says to me “the doctor should have done this differently” all I think is that it’s my fault because I should have gone to a different doctor.  All the "what ifs" are going to go through their head anyway, you don't need to put more there.  Some things we just cannot control, even though it is so hard to think about that.  

-Do not put a time limit on grieving.  There is no time limit.  Let them feel how they feel.

-Do not compare their loss to anything other than child loss.  Don't say it's like when your dog died.  I love my dogs like family, but someone losing a baby is not the same as losing anyone or anything else in any way.  It is child loss.  

-Remember their child.  This is most important to me.  Remember her, she is my beautiful daughter no matter how long she was on this earth.

I am not an expert on grieving in any way, I have only been on this journey for 6 months.  This is based solely on my personal experiences.  The most basic advice I have is just that if you don’t know what to say, just listen.  

fundraising soon!

Very soon, I am starting a fundraiser in honor of Virginia's birthday.

I decided pretty quickly that I had to do something for her birthday every year that would really celebrate her life.  I discovered I wanted to do a fundraiser every year.  So I kept my eyes open, and decided on fundraising for March of Dimes, and marching in the March for Babies in October.  I was going to wait to start taking donations until closer to her birthday, but I think I want to start it sooner.

I love the idea of fundraising for March of Dimes, because they fund research to prevent prematurity and stillbirth, and they help babies born prematurely to live.  They work in preventing death of babies, and that is incredibly important to me.  I feel like my particular calling has been to find a way for more research to be done.  It is most important to me that we find ways to prevent it from happening, better ways than what exist right now.

There are more and more moments these days that it dawns on me that all of this is real, she's really gone.  I'm starting to believe it.  I will never understand why, but she is.  And she deserves to be celebrated.  So, we are going to show just how much good she can do, and how much of a difference she can make.

6 months, 26 weeks, 182 days

I imagined six months after Virginia's birth would be very different than what it is.  Six months is a big time, a lot changes..solid food, lots of stuff.  Or at least that's what I planned.

I have done very well to not fall apart today, so far so good.  I worked all morning on creating pictures that illustrate things beautiful little Virginia has taught me.  I love her so much.  That project has kept me busy.  I love sharing her light.

So far, today has been okay.  Another day on this journey.

Virginia Jane, I love you.  I'll send you a thousand extra kisses today.


life lessons from virginia jane

a whole bunch of different thoughts

Part of my soul has been ripped from my body, and the whole world is just dim.

For most, it is a story.  It is a blog, a facebook page.  It is pictures of a beautiful child. 

But for me, it is my story.  It is my life.

Most of the time I don’t feel the gravity of what has happened.  The reality is too heavy.  Life must be lived moment to moment.  Because the reality that she is gone is too much.  It hurts in a way that is indescribable.

There are moments when it hits me though.  When I think, “Good God she isn’t coming back.”  When the thought comes that “My child is dead.”

Dead.

I have kissed her for the last time.

And OH my GOD she was perfect.  Soft, new, gorgeous, perfect.  And mine. 

I don’t know what color her eyes were.  That bothers me probably more than it should.  What matters is her incredible spirit.  But what color were her eyes?

I walk around, never focusing, and rarely believing anything is real.  It cannot be.  A child, born into a family who loved her more than anything, who would have given her everything, who never would have let anyone harm a hair on that wonderful head, that child cannot be taken from her parents, from her mother who is put to sleep to get her out and save her life, and her father who stood outside that room waiting for her.  She cannot be taken from them. 

I will wake up someday. 

I worked puzzles.  For weeks after the day she was born.  I couldn’t just sit around sobbing all the time.  So I worked puzzles.  And I read about other parents who lost their babies.  And I watched Parks and Rec, because somehow in those days it managed to make me laugh.  I watched them over and over.  It was the only thing that didn’t make it worse.

Now I am back at work.  And I see babies all the time.  And I hear people talk about them--about their babies, about other babies.  About what would look good on their daughter and if what’s her face had her baby yet.  It is everywhere.  Babies, and people talking about children.  And you don’t notice it until your child has been ripped away from you.

And why was she again?  Why?

What a gorgeous six month old she would be.  I don’t put pictures of her up because I am terrified someone will steal them.  Maybe that’s crazy, but I don’t care.  I know people do it, people who have never lost a child, but join support groups for God knows what reason, searching for love or attention I guess.  But if I ever found my child’s picture somewhere with someone else claiming to be her mother I would lose my shit.  She was absolutely stunning, and she would just be the prettiest six month old princess. 

Do people think someone “gets over” such a loss?  Does anyone think I feel better now?  I cry less.  I move more.  I still feel awful.  I still miss her every second. 

I will wake up someday.  Even if I don’t, even if this life is real or blah blah blah, I will be with her again.  That much I know. 

People always say the love for your child is amazing, that it is unbelievable how much you can love them.  And fuck is it true.  I cannot believe how much I love her.  I cannot believe that much love can exist in the world, let alone inside one person.  She is the love of my life. 

I don’t want to be bereaved mother anymore.  I just want to be mother.  I just want my daughter.  Here. 

I wonder sometimes what people see from the outside.  I’m such a mess on the inside.  I feel anger and sadness and so much love all at the same time constantly.  I can’t remember anything.  Half the time when I’m talking I’m not sure what the hell I’m saying.  The other day I just started talking in French and didn’t even know it.  John was like, “Did you just speak French?”  And I honestly didn’t realize it.  I just, am a mess.

But I am going to wake up.  And she’s just going to be here.  It has to happen that way.

Period.

"Today, you are really gone.

I miss you so much and my heart breaks.

It is not beautiful today.

It is not sweet sadness.

It is frantic, and felt through gritted teeth.

In moments, I want to cry out the worst words.

But, I do it silently, mouth open, no sound.

You can't hear me say those things.

I pray (scream) you are watching me.

Knowing how much I miss you.

If I knew all along you would die, 

I would be pregnant with you again.

Just to have those moments of holding you."

Catherine Bayly

(to linger on hot coals)

stages

I have now been through almost six months of being a grieving mother.  And I can say, the pain doesn't lesson.  You just change, and adapt to living with it.  It doesn't go away, but you get stronger.

There are a lot of stages I have been through since Virginia's death.  I'm sure there are many more I will go through, but here are some of the things that I have experienced.

For the first few weeks after her death, I wore the same clothes everyday.  It was the first two months actually.  The same pink hoodie, and the same black sweatpants.  Everyday.  When I had to go out (and I didn't go anywhere unless I HAD to) I put on some jeans and then right back to those sweatpants.  John would leave for work in the morning and I would be sitting in a chair in our living room and he would come home from work to me sitting in the same chair.  I couldn't move.

When we made the trip to NC for her memorial, I refused to pack that hoodie or those sweatpants, so I could make myself at least get dressed everyday.  And it has gotten better since then.  Now I am working again, so I don't sit in that same chair all the time.  And even on days off I clean or something.  I frequently want to just stay in bed all day, and just never leave, but I get up, I get dressed, and I keep going.  I made it through my sweatpants stage.

The other big stage would have to be eating, or lack there of.  I have written about this in other blogs I believe, but I had a serious lack of appetite for a long long time.  I lost a lot of weight, and I lived off of forcing myself to drink protein shakes.  It started to get dangerous, and I was not healthy.  So I slowly worked up to eating twice a day.  And now, I eat almost normally.  I made it through my not eating stage.

I know I once wrote on here about not painting my nails or wearing earrings.  After I wrote that, I started to get brave about trying those things out.  I paint my nails colors that make me think of her.  I wear little angel earrings, and some days I just go for it and wear one of my old pairs.  Something about doing those things used to make me feel so bad, like doing them was admitting I was okay with her death by doing something I would normally do.  But I don't have that fear or anxiety as strongly about it now.  I made it through (some of) my irrational avoidance of anything normal stage.

For a while, I couldn't sleep in our bedroom.  Her crib was set up in there, and looking at it being empty was too much, and I wasn't ready at first to move it out of ours and into her room.  But it wasn't just the crib.  Something about being in our bed made me think more about being pregnant than being anywhere else.  I remembered feeling her move and kick, and lying in bed thinking of her and our life together.  When I laid down in that bed without her, I would just sob and sob until John just said "Let's just go sleep downstairs baby."  It happened a few times, we would try to move back up there.  It took a few weeks.  We had to move her crib, and eventually I could sleep up there.  And now I can even sleep up there alone if John isn't ready for bed when I am.  I made it through the not being able to even lay in our bed stage.

Then there is the strangest thing that has happened, and it isn't really something that is over, I'm not sure it ever will be.  My memory is all sorts of messed up, but for me that isn't too weird, because I have always had a bad memory, and I believe my memory is so bad now because I can't focus on anything completely.  But it has also changed in really odd ways.  Like I can't remember how to spell.  And I make grammatical mistakes I have never made in my life.  Numbers get all mixed up, and I'll say things sometimes and the words coming out just don't sound right, and I'm not sure that what I'm thinking is what is actually being said out loud.  It is weird.  It is really weird.  But I know memory is affected by grieving, so perhaps I am not the only one affected in such strange ways.

Nevertheless, continuing memory loss aside, I have made it through all of those things.  Through six months of bereavement.  And it is not the end, there is no end.  But I have been to some very dark places, and made it through.  I would have to say I have gotten stronger, because there is no way I could have gotten this far without getting stronger and learning to carry grief, but I absolutely cannot take the glory.  It all belongs to her, because if not for love between mother and child I would still be sitting in a chair eating nothing all day.  She is my strength, my light, my love, my everything.

tattoos!

On Sunday I got a memorial tattoo for beautiful Virginia.  It is amazing.

We decided to get the design from her urn, John wants to do it on his leg, but he can't just yet.  So we went to San Diego Sunday to get mine done on my arm.  I am sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo glad we did.

Now, I have this way to visibly carry her always on the outside, and not just the inside.  It says her name, so when someone sees it and asks who she is, I have the chance to talk about my beautiful daughter.  It is a lovely memorial to her, it's absolutely gorgeous.

It's also my first tattoo.  I've thought about it thoroughly for the past (almost) six months, and the artist we had do it has done some of my husband's work, one of his favorite pieces in fact, so we knew he would do a great job.  I would definitely suggest getting a memorial tattoo, but I would not suggest doing it without really thinking it through and knowing who is doing it.

That being said, I really love it, and I am so happy about having it.