This past week, especially today as we get nearer to Tesslee's birthday, I've begun reliving the days before we knew we had lost her. I remember the black dress I was wearing, and looking at my side profile of her in my belly and noticing that my stomach looked smaller to me. A mother knows. Every centimeter. I remember the lesson we had that week in Relief Society on Despair and Hope so perfectly. I remember the family celebration we went to and the three times I went there and back in the course of the the 3 hours. I remember the veggie plate and dip I was eating. It's strange how life slows down. I guess it's a blessing to cushion the blow of loss. I remember everything. The outfit I wore to Tesslee's dr appointment, the conversations in the waiting room. I remember it all. The memories aren't as crippling as they were last year. I'm actually beginning to be grateful they are burned into my memory. This year they are mostly just numbing with shards of pain here and there.
As I come up on her birthday this 2nd year, I am mind blown that it has been 2 years. It seems so fresh still, yet so distant at the same time. The 2nd year has definitely been harder than the first. I do have hope though that her birthday will be beautiful. Last year I was so afraid of it, but Tesslee made it a beautiful day for us, and so this year I expect nothing less from her. I'm sure she will come through. I'm praying she will come through and it will be a tender, special day.
I miss my baby girl so much. But I am recognizing more the longer it is that she has never really left. I feel her presence in our family and I hope that someday when we are reunited I will be able to look back and see that we were never really separated. That she was always with us. Always.
Saturday, March 8, 2014
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Memory of Vick
One of the last memories I have of Victor and me, is the Sunday before we lost him. We went to Mike's parents' mission homecoming sacrament meeting, and after, I dropped Mike and the kids off to visit with the family. I just wanted to go home. I did not feel like talking to any one. I dropped them off and decided to stop at Tesslee's grave on the way home. I sat there and cried while I traced the heart shape we placed in Tesslee's headstone that would represent our future rainbow baby aside all of our handprints. I traced the heart over and over with my finger as I sat in the snow and thought about moving forward with my now rainbow baby and letting Tesslee go. I felt peace, especially as I noticed that the heart was in the shape of a V for our Victor. I decided there that I would make the most of every minute of this pregnancy and I would move forward and be content letting go of Tesslee's unfinished pregnancy and carrying this new one.
I left and talked to Vick in the car the whole way home. I told him how much I loved him and we were in this together. I remember sitting at the light in Mike's old Caddilac waiting for it to turn green while I sat there and smiled and accepted that this little one and I were in this together and we had this special bond and would be close.
I love that memory.
I left and talked to Vick in the car the whole way home. I told him how much I loved him and we were in this together. I remember sitting at the light in Mike's old Caddilac waiting for it to turn green while I sat there and smiled and accepted that this little one and I were in this together and we had this special bond and would be close.
I love that memory.
Vick's Special Day
First, Can I just say how much I love the name Victor/Vick?! When we decided to name him that I remember how excited I was and clearly remember fast-forwarding in my head thru the pregnancy to the first series of doctor check-ups where you're waiting in the waiting room until the nurse calls your name and you struggle to carry the heavy car seat out of the waiting room. I remember imagining hearing my baby Vick's name being called over and over again. It's such a handsome name. I also recall thinking about filling out Vick's kindergarten registration packet and writing Victor Port Millward about 30 times and thinking that is one handsome name. And he can be called Vick or Victor. Just like Jeff or Jefferson and Cade or Caden. It just seemed perfect. I am still so in love with his name. It is crazy how many times this week I have heard or seen the name Victor. It sticks out in movie credits, on the street, in the store, on our cruise multiple times and every single time I smile and my heart skips a beat knowing that I have a son named Victor that I cannot wait to meet. He is amazing. I've felt him so strongly and I am just so proud of him.
Vick's birthday was really special. We celebrated it over the course of a few days. Mike had plans of working on Vick's actual bday, so we celebrated the first time a couple days earlier when Mike was home. We had Oreo Brownie Chocolate Pudding with a candle. I needed something extra chocolaty to get thru it. We went to his grave and sang Happy Birthday and all of us blew out his candles. The kids love being able to blow out Vick and Tesslee's candles. It was a nice, simple way to acknowledge the time our Baby Vick was with us. Mike had gone earlier in the week and put these petals on his grave. It was nice to see how he had arranged them. Vick's grave really needed some color and it made my heart so happy that Mike would go to our youngest baby's grave and do this on his own time.
On Wednesday, Vick's actual birthday began with my personal morning prayer and a good cry that was just what I needed to let my heart bleed out all the sadness. It felt so good to cry. I had been holding so much in for days and I just felt understood and free of the sadness after that. After a very normal day, we decided to go out as a family to a movie and get dessert after. I have this idea that I want Vick's day to be a family holiday every year. Just a fun day where we remember him and get to have fun together celebrating our family. Who couldn't use an extra reasons to celebrate, anyway?
We went to Kneader's for desserts. We chose our desserts and found a table. We need a big table, and the only one available was a couple of tables together with a bunch of chairs around them. We each took a chair. (One thing that is always hard on me for some reason is when we are all sitting around a table. When I can look around and see all our kids together laughing and interacting it is always tender for me, knowing we are really not ALL together.) Well, It was strange how we all sat. Jeff and Kilee sat together, and Cade and Ellee sat on the other side. I said to Mike how special it was to see that our kids come in pairs. We look on our other side and there are 2 empty chairs next to each other on the other side of Mike and I. I just smiled and we acknowledged the sight. It felt like Tesslee and Victor were with us as well, celebrating his birthday together with desserts. Its a sight I hope I always have in my mind. The 6 of us and the 2 empty (not so empty) chairs around the table. A beautiful memory to end the night with.
Happy Birthday my handsome Victor! I am so excited to one day celebrate your special days with you! And until then, we'll have a life time of celebrating and remembering how blessed we are to know of your existence in our family. We love you!
Vick's birthday was really special. We celebrated it over the course of a few days. Mike had plans of working on Vick's actual bday, so we celebrated the first time a couple days earlier when Mike was home. We had Oreo Brownie Chocolate Pudding with a candle. I needed something extra chocolaty to get thru it. We went to his grave and sang Happy Birthday and all of us blew out his candles. The kids love being able to blow out Vick and Tesslee's candles. It was a nice, simple way to acknowledge the time our Baby Vick was with us. Mike had gone earlier in the week and put these petals on his grave. It was nice to see how he had arranged them. Vick's grave really needed some color and it made my heart so happy that Mike would go to our youngest baby's grave and do this on his own time.
On Wednesday, Vick's actual birthday began with my personal morning prayer and a good cry that was just what I needed to let my heart bleed out all the sadness. It felt so good to cry. I had been holding so much in for days and I just felt understood and free of the sadness after that. After a very normal day, we decided to go out as a family to a movie and get dessert after. I have this idea that I want Vick's day to be a family holiday every year. Just a fun day where we remember him and get to have fun together celebrating our family. Who couldn't use an extra reasons to celebrate, anyway?
We went to Kneader's for desserts. We chose our desserts and found a table. We need a big table, and the only one available was a couple of tables together with a bunch of chairs around them. We each took a chair. (One thing that is always hard on me for some reason is when we are all sitting around a table. When I can look around and see all our kids together laughing and interacting it is always tender for me, knowing we are really not ALL together.) Well, It was strange how we all sat. Jeff and Kilee sat together, and Cade and Ellee sat on the other side. I said to Mike how special it was to see that our kids come in pairs. We look on our other side and there are 2 empty chairs next to each other on the other side of Mike and I. I just smiled and we acknowledged the sight. It felt like Tesslee and Victor were with us as well, celebrating his birthday together with desserts. Its a sight I hope I always have in my mind. The 6 of us and the 2 empty (not so empty) chairs around the table. A beautiful memory to end the night with.
Happy Birthday my handsome Victor! I am so excited to one day celebrate your special days with you! And until then, we'll have a life time of celebrating and remembering how blessed we are to know of your existence in our family. We love you!
Thursday, October 31, 2013
A Love Note to my Victor
On this night, last year, I found out I was pregnant with you, Victor. ♥ For the first few days, I battled such anxiety, grief and anger. My confidence in myself was shot. I was terrified that I was again on a pregnancy journey, and all I could think about was how desperately I missed Tesslee. I only wanted to finish the journey with her. It felt wrong to be moving onto carrying another child. I felt this rage unlike anything I'd felt before, that if I would be able to keep you, I wanted no visitors at the hospital, no pictures posted, no announcing, none of it. If Tesslee wasn't received that way, no one deserved to share in the joy of you, either. I also felt extreme guilt for having such strong emotions, knowing that your father and I had been hoping for you for such a long time.
I knew you could feel all of these emotions. Surely, rainbow babies come prepared to handle the grief they must bear along with their mother throughout pregnancy. Because of this, I became deeply attached to you. I remember each night lying in bed trying to send you peace and give you a break from the way I felt. I always felt you were a boy. I shared my deepest emotions with you, trying to envision a new pregnancy with a new baby, and attempting to restore hope that we would raise you. I was in tune with every single thing my body did and felt. At every tinge of pain I wondered what you were thinking and feeling. Were you dying or living? Growing? What about your umbilical cord? Would it nourish you or take your life? All that mattered was that I was carrying you, and it felt so good to have a sliver of thrill that another child was with us.
I love that a year out I am finally comfortable recording this. I can see the progress now. I cherish these feelings, the anger, the guilt, the love, they are all what forged our bond. When I relive them in my mind I feel close to that short time I was blessed to carry you. It's hard to believe one year has passed. For the next 13 days I am going to live my life to the fullest for you, my little Vick. I'm going to smile and remember the time we shared together.
All my love, Mom
I knew you could feel all of these emotions. Surely, rainbow babies come prepared to handle the grief they must bear along with their mother throughout pregnancy. Because of this, I became deeply attached to you. I remember each night lying in bed trying to send you peace and give you a break from the way I felt. I always felt you were a boy. I shared my deepest emotions with you, trying to envision a new pregnancy with a new baby, and attempting to restore hope that we would raise you. I was in tune with every single thing my body did and felt. At every tinge of pain I wondered what you were thinking and feeling. Were you dying or living? Growing? What about your umbilical cord? Would it nourish you or take your life? All that mattered was that I was carrying you, and it felt so good to have a sliver of thrill that another child was with us.
I love that a year out I am finally comfortable recording this. I can see the progress now. I cherish these feelings, the anger, the guilt, the love, they are all what forged our bond. When I relive them in my mind I feel close to that short time I was blessed to carry you. It's hard to believe one year has passed. For the next 13 days I am going to live my life to the fullest for you, my little Vick. I'm going to smile and remember the time we shared together.
All my love, Mom
Thursday, October 17, 2013
Tesslee's Gift Card
For Tesslee's first birthday, a bunch of my sisters and mother in-law gave me a gift card to a spa. It was such a kind gesture. It has also been difficult to think of ever using it. I have kept it in my journal now for 7 months, feeling like if I used it I was in some strange way cashing in on my daughter's death. Well, the opportunity arrived to use the gift card for a special occasion that is coming up. It finally felt right to use it, so I went to the spa and got a pedicure, all the time thinking that I was doing this in memory of my daughter and in some way she was treating me to a relaxing pedicure.
As I was enjoying my pedicure, one of Tesslee's songs came on: If I Die Young, by The Band Perry. This song has always been favorite, full of so much passion, but it wasn't until Tesslee died that I realized just how grief-filled the words were:
"Lord, make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors"
Those words capture me every time I hear them. They are even my ring tone.
I sat there in the chair, and this song came on and immediately I knew Tesslee was with me enjoying our pedicure together, although I could not see her. She knew how significant this milestone was for me in spending her first birthday gift. I had the chills. I knew it was a sign from her.
As I was driving home thinking about that special moment we had together, another song came on the radio, our song Let Her Go, which I wrote about in the previous blog. It was so deliberate, and so special to hear it tonight. I felt so loved and close to her that she would communicate with me this way letting me know she is aware of what I'm doing in her memory and that she is with me. That song ended, and I felt blessed to have heard those 2 beautiful songs on our birthday date. The very next song brought me to tears. It was the third song that I associate with Tesslee, A Thousand Years, by Christina Perri. This song was the first song that spoke to me when I finally began listening to the radio after Tesslee died. It touched my heart so deeply, as every agonizing day we were apart was also one step closer to the day I would see her again. That thought kept me going on the really bad days.
I have died every day
waiting for you
Darlin' don't be afraid
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I'll love you for a
Thousand more
Time stands still
beauty in all she is
I will be brave
I will not let anything
Take away
What's standing in front of me
Every breath,
Every hour has come to this
I have died every day
Waiting for you
Darlin' don't be afraid
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I'll love you for a
Thousand more
One step closer"
As I was enjoying my pedicure, one of Tesslee's songs came on: If I Die Young, by The Band Perry. This song has always been favorite, full of so much passion, but it wasn't until Tesslee died that I realized just how grief-filled the words were:
"Lord, make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors"
Those words capture me every time I hear them. They are even my ring tone.
I sat there in the chair, and this song came on and immediately I knew Tesslee was with me enjoying our pedicure together, although I could not see her. She knew how significant this milestone was for me in spending her first birthday gift. I had the chills. I knew it was a sign from her.
As I was driving home thinking about that special moment we had together, another song came on the radio, our song Let Her Go, which I wrote about in the previous blog. It was so deliberate, and so special to hear it tonight. I felt so loved and close to her that she would communicate with me this way letting me know she is aware of what I'm doing in her memory and that she is with me. That song ended, and I felt blessed to have heard those 2 beautiful songs on our birthday date. The very next song brought me to tears. It was the third song that I associate with Tesslee, A Thousand Years, by Christina Perri. This song was the first song that spoke to me when I finally began listening to the radio after Tesslee died. It touched my heart so deeply, as every agonizing day we were apart was also one step closer to the day I would see her again. That thought kept me going on the really bad days.
"Heart beats fast
Colors and promises
How to be brave
How can I love when I'm afraid
To fall...
Colors and promises
How to be brave
How can I love when I'm afraid
To fall...
One step closer
I have died every day
waiting for you
Darlin' don't be afraid
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I'll love you for a
Thousand more
Time stands still
beauty in all she is
I will be brave
I will not let anything
Take away
What's standing in front of me
Every breath,
Every hour has come to this
One step closer
I have died every day
Waiting for you
Darlin' don't be afraid
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I'll love you for a
Thousand more
And all along I believed
I would find you
Time has brought
Your heart to me
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I'll love you for a
Thousand more...
I would find you
Time has brought
Your heart to me
I have loved you for a
Thousand years
I'll love you for a
Thousand more...
One step closer"
- A Thousand Years, Christina Perri
I feel so loved and heart-warmed that Tesslee would give me these three songs as a sign tonight that she was there with me. What a beautiful angel I have been blessed with! The day I meet her in person will be one of the happiest days of my existence. And it was a really special thing to spend Tesslee's birthday gift while she was near. I had a hard time handing the gift card over. It had caused me a lot of anxiety the past months, and to part with it was strange. But it turned out to be such a beautiful gift and to be able to spend it with Tesslee was the greatest gift of all. ♥
Sunday, October 6, 2013
Letting Her Go
I was listening to the radio while we were waiting for my son's football game to start and the most beautiful song played. It hit me so hard that I scrambled for a pen. The lyrics were describing exactly how I feel lately about my Tesslee.
"Only need the light when its burning low
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow
Only know you love her when you let her go
Only know you're high when you're feeling low
Only hate the road when you're missing home
Only know you love her when you let her go
and you let her go." - Passenger
It stuck with me all day, and I felt almost this connection with Tesslee. It's like this understanding between us that this new threshold in my grief of moving forward and beginning to put the pieces of life back together may seem as though I'm moving on to most, but between Tesslee and I we both know this is only a new page in our book. I am beginning to let her go. I'm beginning to embrace this new me, this new life, and I'm going to be OK whether I believe it sometimes or not. This has not been an easy week. And it hurts when the ones you love the most can't understand where you are when you feel you need them the very most. But with or without them being able to understand, life has proven to go on and I am beginning to be strong enough to bear this burden. This song represents all these thoughts that have been weighing in my heart lately. And I know Tesslee knows them too as she's seen me struggle, change my focus and create a game plan to get myself through until we are reunited.
Tonight I looked up the info on this song. It was no surprise to me when I saw the release date. July 2012. The month that will always be tender for us, Tesslee's due date.
Sometimes angels guide us to things that give us a seal that it came from them. A little "Hi, Mom, I know you are struggling and it seems that no one can relate to the pain you feel in your heart, but I know you are hurting, and that you find comfort in music, and this song is for us and our relationship. I am with you still. Smile when you hear this song. It's our song."
Passenger- Let Her Go
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBumgq5yVrA
"Only need the light when its burning low
Only miss the sun when it starts to snow
Only know you love her when you let her go
Only know you're high when you're feeling low
Only hate the road when you're missing home
Only know you love her when you let her go
and you let her go." - Passenger
It stuck with me all day, and I felt almost this connection with Tesslee. It's like this understanding between us that this new threshold in my grief of moving forward and beginning to put the pieces of life back together may seem as though I'm moving on to most, but between Tesslee and I we both know this is only a new page in our book. I am beginning to let her go. I'm beginning to embrace this new me, this new life, and I'm going to be OK whether I believe it sometimes or not. This has not been an easy week. And it hurts when the ones you love the most can't understand where you are when you feel you need them the very most. But with or without them being able to understand, life has proven to go on and I am beginning to be strong enough to bear this burden. This song represents all these thoughts that have been weighing in my heart lately. And I know Tesslee knows them too as she's seen me struggle, change my focus and create a game plan to get myself through until we are reunited.
Tonight I looked up the info on this song. It was no surprise to me when I saw the release date. July 2012. The month that will always be tender for us, Tesslee's due date.
Sometimes angels guide us to things that give us a seal that it came from them. A little "Hi, Mom, I know you are struggling and it seems that no one can relate to the pain you feel in your heart, but I know you are hurting, and that you find comfort in music, and this song is for us and our relationship. I am with you still. Smile when you hear this song. It's our song."
Passenger- Let Her Go
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RBumgq5yVrA
Wednesday, October 2, 2013
PTSD
I have really struggled to gain control over the PTSD. A few days ago our community experienced a devastating loss of a child the same age as my oldest son. It is so tragic. Knowing my experience after losing my babies, my heart has gone numb the last few days as I've mourned in my heart for the loss of this family's son. My son's football team has chosen to dedicate the rest of the season to their peer. They have each put his name on their helmet. It is very touching and raw at the same time. What a difficult road lies ahead for the family and all who knew him. It has thrown me back a few steps in my healing process.
I woke up last night in a sweat and panic. I dreamed all my kids were dying one at a time. One stepped out of our car and was immediately hit by an oncoming car as I watched. I was then at the gas station filling up my car (we were sitting on top of the car, ???) and another child slid off the car and down a cliff. My husband reached to grab him and also slid off. They were all just gone, each right before my eyes in ways I had no control of. I'm very thankful to have just visited with my bishop and have some new ways of regaining control over what trauma has left me with.
I sat up, took some deep breaths and tried to clear my mind and slow my racing heart down. All I could see were pictures of my kids replaying their deaths over and over. I stopped those thoughts right there. Done. Redirected them. I am here in my bedroom at home. My children are with me. They are alive. We are ok. We are safe. The images again tried to take control. I stopped them. told myself it was only a dream. I am here. We are safe. My children are alive. I can do this. This is reality. Only peace. Peace.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. The courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
I can change my thought process. I am in control. I am strong-willed. I have experienced pain beyond comprehension and am healing. I can do this. I can choose what I think about. I can choose what I want my heart to feel. I know what Tesslee and Victor are doing and they are fulfilling their plans. I am happy they are there. I have celestial children. They are happy. I choose to be happy.
I will beat PTSD.
I woke up last night in a sweat and panic. I dreamed all my kids were dying one at a time. One stepped out of our car and was immediately hit by an oncoming car as I watched. I was then at the gas station filling up my car (we were sitting on top of the car, ???) and another child slid off the car and down a cliff. My husband reached to grab him and also slid off. They were all just gone, each right before my eyes in ways I had no control of. I'm very thankful to have just visited with my bishop and have some new ways of regaining control over what trauma has left me with.
I sat up, took some deep breaths and tried to clear my mind and slow my racing heart down. All I could see were pictures of my kids replaying their deaths over and over. I stopped those thoughts right there. Done. Redirected them. I am here in my bedroom at home. My children are with me. They are alive. We are ok. We are safe. The images again tried to take control. I stopped them. told myself it was only a dream. I am here. We are safe. My children are alive. I can do this. This is reality. Only peace. Peace.
God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change. The courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
I can change my thought process. I am in control. I am strong-willed. I have experienced pain beyond comprehension and am healing. I can do this. I can choose what I think about. I can choose what I want my heart to feel. I know what Tesslee and Victor are doing and they are fulfilling their plans. I am happy they are there. I have celestial children. They are happy. I choose to be happy.
I will beat PTSD.
Angel Dream
A couple weeks ago I had the most vivid, beautiful dream that has stayed with me clearly, without fading. I can still see it as it was in my mind many days ago.
We were all missing Tesslee so greatly, and had her casket in our possession. It was in real time so it had been 18 months that we had said goodbye to her. We couldn't bear it any longer. I opened her casket as the family stood around me. (And this was no gory thing. In our minds this was such an exciting moment to see with our own eyes our beautiful baby who had been preserved in memory only for so long. We were all fully expecting to see bones and ashes.) To my surprise when I peered into the casket there was a beautiful, blonde haired toddler laying perfectly preserved. We were shocked. We then had a conversation asking How could she be so large if she was dead? She HAD to be alive! She was alive! Just then she "awoke" and sat up. Her beautiful clear blue eyes are still etched in my mind. I cannot describe the beauty. She stared at me and smiled, and took my breath away. She didn't speak, just spoke with her eyes the same way her expression spoke to me as I held her little body in the hospital. No words were even needed. It was the most beautiful surreal moment. I took in every curl of her golden yellow locks, and every second as her eyes were fixed on me, and every ounce of her beautiful smile.
This dream has given me so much hope, hope I have lost track of for a long time. That sacred, amazing day when I am reunited with my daughter and can experience babyhood as a mother again will be my greatest joy. My heart does flips trying to comprehend the joy I will feel.
Wishing for another night with my baby girl in my dreams. I live for those moments.
We were all missing Tesslee so greatly, and had her casket in our possession. It was in real time so it had been 18 months that we had said goodbye to her. We couldn't bear it any longer. I opened her casket as the family stood around me. (And this was no gory thing. In our minds this was such an exciting moment to see with our own eyes our beautiful baby who had been preserved in memory only for so long. We were all fully expecting to see bones and ashes.) To my surprise when I peered into the casket there was a beautiful, blonde haired toddler laying perfectly preserved. We were shocked. We then had a conversation asking How could she be so large if she was dead? She HAD to be alive! She was alive! Just then she "awoke" and sat up. Her beautiful clear blue eyes are still etched in my mind. I cannot describe the beauty. She stared at me and smiled, and took my breath away. She didn't speak, just spoke with her eyes the same way her expression spoke to me as I held her little body in the hospital. No words were even needed. It was the most beautiful surreal moment. I took in every curl of her golden yellow locks, and every second as her eyes were fixed on me, and every ounce of her beautiful smile.
This dream has given me so much hope, hope I have lost track of for a long time. That sacred, amazing day when I am reunited with my daughter and can experience babyhood as a mother again will be my greatest joy. My heart does flips trying to comprehend the joy I will feel.
Wishing for another night with my baby girl in my dreams. I live for those moments.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Taking Down the Crib
So yesterday, I did something I haven't been ready to do before. It's strange to reminisce upon all the emotions connected to this event that I've felt over the last year and a half. Before I got home from the hospital after having Tesslee, Mike did a sweep of our house, hiding things that might be triggers, and mentioned thinking about taking down the crib and changing table that was waiting in our room. I'm glad he didn't touch them, though. I wasn't ready for that yet. That was Tesslee's sacred space in our house that was reserved for her. It's been in my room ever since, and then for a brief time I also moved forward and pictured Vick laying in it. People have asked me if it's hard to see that every time I walk in my room to see that, but for the most part it hasn't been. I've needed it there.
I can tell I'm healing because yesterday we took down the crib. It was hard!!!!!!!!!! It hurt so much! I was grumpy all day and night. I was so mad that my childbearing ended that way. I'm jealous of the women who never have to know this pain. Why do I? It should not exist. I'm also jealous of all the women out there who end their childbearing raising their babies and saying goodbye to each stage the way it should be done. The women who are allowed to say goodbye to that stage the way they imagined. I'm mad at myself for not savoring every single minute of Ellee's babyhood and hanging onto the lasts. I'm really struggling with this. I packed everything up. I didn't want to see anything. I gave away the baby books, the baby toys, the clothes, broke down the crib and changing table and let my heart bleed for my babies who wouldn't use them.
I took Jeff to football practice and sat and sewed a Keepsake Envelope just to keep my hands moving. When that level of emotional pain surfaces I have to zone in on something and keep my hands busy or it hurts too much. I pricked my finger with the needle and noticed how good it felt to feel sharp, surface pain. It was a really hard day!!! This falls into the category of unspeakable pains there are no words for.
I'm glad I am moving forward . I'm glad I have healed enough to be able to take down the crib and rid my house of baby items. It feels good. And it is proof before my eyes of my slow but sure healing. It shows I have entered a new stage of the grief process: Acceptance. I am still lingering in the anger phase with some things, but it feels good to enter something new.
I'm glad I was strong enough to have meaningless conversations and smile and carry on while my heart was bleeding. But at some point I would love to stop secretly lying. I would love to be understood! I would love to feel comfortable enough with anyone that I could tell them exactly what my heart is feeling and know they won't be freaked out or judge me for something they don't understand. And....I would've loved for my youngest two to have used the crib that was waiting patiently for them for so long.
Or would I have? If I had my babies with me I would've never known this pain or exactly how to truly savor those moments.
I can tell I'm healing because yesterday we took down the crib. It was hard!!!!!!!!!! It hurt so much! I was grumpy all day and night. I was so mad that my childbearing ended that way. I'm jealous of the women who never have to know this pain. Why do I? It should not exist. I'm also jealous of all the women out there who end their childbearing raising their babies and saying goodbye to each stage the way it should be done. The women who are allowed to say goodbye to that stage the way they imagined. I'm mad at myself for not savoring every single minute of Ellee's babyhood and hanging onto the lasts. I'm really struggling with this. I packed everything up. I didn't want to see anything. I gave away the baby books, the baby toys, the clothes, broke down the crib and changing table and let my heart bleed for my babies who wouldn't use them.
I took Jeff to football practice and sat and sewed a Keepsake Envelope just to keep my hands moving. When that level of emotional pain surfaces I have to zone in on something and keep my hands busy or it hurts too much. I pricked my finger with the needle and noticed how good it felt to feel sharp, surface pain. It was a really hard day!!! This falls into the category of unspeakable pains there are no words for.
I'm glad I am moving forward . I'm glad I have healed enough to be able to take down the crib and rid my house of baby items. It feels good. And it is proof before my eyes of my slow but sure healing. It shows I have entered a new stage of the grief process: Acceptance. I am still lingering in the anger phase with some things, but it feels good to enter something new.
I'm glad I was strong enough to have meaningless conversations and smile and carry on while my heart was bleeding. But at some point I would love to stop secretly lying. I would love to be understood! I would love to feel comfortable enough with anyone that I could tell them exactly what my heart is feeling and know they won't be freaked out or judge me for something they don't understand. And....I would've loved for my youngest two to have used the crib that was waiting patiently for them for so long.
Or would I have? If I had my babies with me I would've never known this pain or exactly how to truly savor those moments.
Friday, August 30, 2013
Progress
I love seeing my six represented together. This picture speaks my heart tonight. My kids are my love and my life. They take up most of my time each day as I serve them. My heart has two holes I'm learning to live with. But I'm not sad tonight, just living and breathing, and thinking about my children. There is not a moment Vick and Tess are not in my thoughts. And this week has been a week of healing. I've done things I can't believe I did. And I'm healing...on my terms. I wish people could understand that. They can't rush my healing. It has its own time frame and process that even I don't know. But each day my heart heals a tiny bit, and as long as I'm not feeling pressure to do something I'm not ready for, I gather enough strength to take the next step forward. It's a long journey, and I've got some raw spots I need to continue to protect. But its happening. I'm putting away my desire for another baby, I am a student with a new beginning. I cannot change what has happened, and now I'm going to move forward and accomplish some other dreams I've had. I'm giving myself permission to do that. This wasn't the way I dreamed it would be. Now I'm going to move forward with my life as it is. It feels good to make that decision. Its been looming over me for months. I don't know if it's really my decision or not, but I'm attempting to take control of something that I can: my future. Here's to my six children and my dream of becoming a teacher.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
Hope
I love this picture. When I see it I feel that flutter of hope that takes me into the future to the day my hubby and I will raise our angel children. I can't even imagine how joyous that day will be when we can cuddle our babies in our arms and watch them grow. The day I hear Tesslee cry and see her beautiful eyes staring into mine will be one of the happiest day of my future. When I feel my Victor kicking in my womb there will be no words that describe my joy and my love. To experience pregnancy again only this time in a perfect world where there is no death and no fear of loss, only guarantees of raising my children I've waited for and loved so long will be ultimate happiness. I love all that this picture means to me.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
How I Am
It's been a while since I've checked in. Well, it's true about the second year being harder. The past few weeks have proven so. I wish they hadn't, I didn't need any proof. I didn't know there was pain like this. And speaking of it makes my heart wince and go numb. It needs a break. But one thing I've learned is even though I don't think I can take another breath, or live another minute in such a raw emotional state, I can. I prove that to myself every day, sometimes every minute. It's both deeply depressing and hopeful at the same time. Depressing that I have a long long long time to miss my babies, a life time to live without them. Yet also hopeful to feel that I have hurt this much and continue to live. It proves that I am getting stronger everyday, strong enough to bear this immense burden. Strong enough to fake it every day and carry on conversations with people when my head is not in it. Strong enough to raise my other children and begin to see that life has beautiful moments still. I hate that I get to bear this, but what choice do I have? I think of my angels, I would do anything for them, so yes, if it means be the one who goes through this, then I would do it for them.
Lately I have been lonely as ever. In many ways I've had to shut down. I left most of my support groups, I stopped visiting the graves, I stopped wearing my angels' birthstones, I guess I hoped that it would all go away if I ignored it. It hasn't. In some ways it feels refreshing, and in some ways it kills me. I am searching for ME. I miss the innocence and care free nature of the old me. And I'm still discovering who this new me is. I guess I'm mourning not only my children, but the loss of innocence. I continually remember thoughts and memories I had before I knew death. When I see that I lived 30 years and brought 4 live babies home without understanding life the way I now do, I really struggle being angry at myself. Sever resentment. I wouldn't give my new insight away for anything, but sometimes I'm so jealous when I see other people living in that blissful ignorance. I long to live life carefree and ignorant to the fact that babies- what are supposed to be the most joyous event of one's life, could be the most devastating. I wish I didn't have to check multiple times a night to see if my children are still alive. I wish I didn't constantly tell myself when I send my kids off somewhere that this might be the last time I ever see them. I hate living like I'm bracing myself for being blindsided.
God gave me the gift both times of knowing my babies were going (or already gone) before it was actually certain. I kept getting this recurring thought that Tesslee was dead, even though it wasn't something I would accept... That night laying in bed, knowing she was dead, but feeling her kick all night long, there is no describing that pain, wishing so desperately for your child to be alive that your body wills itself to create the sensation of the baby kicks you knew and loved... and missed so deeply. And even though I saw Vick on the screen and my Dr. told me everything looked fine, not to give up hope, I already knew somehow that he would slip away. I cannot even imagine getting that news without the spiritual prompting to prepare me for it. I hope that the burden of carrying babies you will not get to raise in this life is worthy of some unfathomable reward in the next life. I've kind of resorted to thinking anything that will make me feel better in the moment to relieve some of the pain. So far it works temporarily. I like the thought of having some amazing reward for enduring this. Then I think of the Millenium and that I will be able to finish carrying them and raise them perfectly in a perfect world, that is reward itself.
Sometimes I don't think I can go on. Some nights it is too much and I get down on my knees and sob and just feel the excruciating pain and let it all flow out through my tears. I wish it could be taken away. I've had plenty of people tell me that if I would only allow the Savior to carry the burden for me then it would be easier. But they don't know. They don't know that sometimes the trial is to feel the pain, to endure the pain, to know what it is like to suffer like this. That is how compassion and empathy are developed. My heart is ripped out at the indescribable pain of child loss in any of its forms. My heart hurts desperately for the parents who are not able to conceive, and the families who suffer through infertility and secondary infertility. And I ache so deeply for the single adults who long for the dream they have of getting married and having children of their own. I'm working on finding a way to balance grief and life. The scale has been tipped, and is very wobbly right now. I hope that someday I will figure out how to successfully live the role of mom of 6: 4 here and 2 in Heaven. It's so hard.
Lately I have been lonely as ever. In many ways I've had to shut down. I left most of my support groups, I stopped visiting the graves, I stopped wearing my angels' birthstones, I guess I hoped that it would all go away if I ignored it. It hasn't. In some ways it feels refreshing, and in some ways it kills me. I am searching for ME. I miss the innocence and care free nature of the old me. And I'm still discovering who this new me is. I guess I'm mourning not only my children, but the loss of innocence. I continually remember thoughts and memories I had before I knew death. When I see that I lived 30 years and brought 4 live babies home without understanding life the way I now do, I really struggle being angry at myself. Sever resentment. I wouldn't give my new insight away for anything, but sometimes I'm so jealous when I see other people living in that blissful ignorance. I long to live life carefree and ignorant to the fact that babies- what are supposed to be the most joyous event of one's life, could be the most devastating. I wish I didn't have to check multiple times a night to see if my children are still alive. I wish I didn't constantly tell myself when I send my kids off somewhere that this might be the last time I ever see them. I hate living like I'm bracing myself for being blindsided.
God gave me the gift both times of knowing my babies were going (or already gone) before it was actually certain. I kept getting this recurring thought that Tesslee was dead, even though it wasn't something I would accept... That night laying in bed, knowing she was dead, but feeling her kick all night long, there is no describing that pain, wishing so desperately for your child to be alive that your body wills itself to create the sensation of the baby kicks you knew and loved... and missed so deeply. And even though I saw Vick on the screen and my Dr. told me everything looked fine, not to give up hope, I already knew somehow that he would slip away. I cannot even imagine getting that news without the spiritual prompting to prepare me for it. I hope that the burden of carrying babies you will not get to raise in this life is worthy of some unfathomable reward in the next life. I've kind of resorted to thinking anything that will make me feel better in the moment to relieve some of the pain. So far it works temporarily. I like the thought of having some amazing reward for enduring this. Then I think of the Millenium and that I will be able to finish carrying them and raise them perfectly in a perfect world, that is reward itself.
Sometimes I don't think I can go on. Some nights it is too much and I get down on my knees and sob and just feel the excruciating pain and let it all flow out through my tears. I wish it could be taken away. I've had plenty of people tell me that if I would only allow the Savior to carry the burden for me then it would be easier. But they don't know. They don't know that sometimes the trial is to feel the pain, to endure the pain, to know what it is like to suffer like this. That is how compassion and empathy are developed. My heart is ripped out at the indescribable pain of child loss in any of its forms. My heart hurts desperately for the parents who are not able to conceive, and the families who suffer through infertility and secondary infertility. And I ache so deeply for the single adults who long for the dream they have of getting married and having children of their own. I'm working on finding a way to balance grief and life. The scale has been tipped, and is very wobbly right now. I hope that someday I will figure out how to successfully live the role of mom of 6: 4 here and 2 in Heaven. It's so hard.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
A Piece of Heaven
I've had some wonderful experiences while learning how to search records, find people and prepare their names for temple work. The veil has been so thin and I have felt guided and led to specific information that would lead me to more, and then more, as I piece together my family's history. Last night was one of those moments I will always hold so dear to my heart.
I had a special moment with Vick as I felt him clearly beside me, guiding my thought process and leading me to finding three babies, all of whom had passed away before they could ever be recorded in a census record. I sat at my computer and sobbed while feeling Vick's message of love for me, and feeling the overwhelming love a mother who had been separated from her children through death felt as her forgotten babies were entered into the temple system. I cannot describe how it felt to be giving these special ones in my family tree this gift. Although I don't know much about them, I have pieced enough together through their records that I feel as though I know them and their children personally. I've gotten so emotional as I've found the death records of some of their children that never made it to adulthood, particularly the infants. That's what keeps me glued to this, understanding the anguish it is, and understanding the need a mother has of seeing and being with her lost child again someday. I realized last night that as difficult as this is to bear, my experience is being used as a tool to search out and ease the burdens of others who have been waiting for hundreds years to have the saving ordinances performed so they can be with their families forever. And while I am serving them, I feel so close to my own children there. They are with me. They are guiding me. The heavy pain in my heart vanishes when they are with me. It's not babies I am missing. It's them, their spirits.
Last night when he was with me, I felt so peaceful and completely alright as I could feel first hand and be a part of what he is doing. He is my child with a different mission. It is such a strange feeling to feel proud of my child, and at the same time can sense that my "child" is far ahead of me on every level.
It was a very special moment while feeling Vick next to me and experiencing the warmth of his spirit, when Ellee came in to get a drink and have a kiss and a hug. She was standing next to where I felt Vick was and it was special to "see" my youngest living child, and also "feel" my youngest spirit child (who is not so young) at the same time -one of those moments I will cherish forever.
I'll do anything I can to feel close to my Heavenly children. I wish I could be in their presence continually. I feel very blessed to have the knowledge of the gospel and to have been able to share in the blessings of the temples while here on the earth. I want to do everything I can to help my ancestors receive the same opportunities, with the Heavenly help of my Vick and my Tesslee.
I had a special moment with Vick as I felt him clearly beside me, guiding my thought process and leading me to finding three babies, all of whom had passed away before they could ever be recorded in a census record. I sat at my computer and sobbed while feeling Vick's message of love for me, and feeling the overwhelming love a mother who had been separated from her children through death felt as her forgotten babies were entered into the temple system. I cannot describe how it felt to be giving these special ones in my family tree this gift. Although I don't know much about them, I have pieced enough together through their records that I feel as though I know them and their children personally. I've gotten so emotional as I've found the death records of some of their children that never made it to adulthood, particularly the infants. That's what keeps me glued to this, understanding the anguish it is, and understanding the need a mother has of seeing and being with her lost child again someday. I realized last night that as difficult as this is to bear, my experience is being used as a tool to search out and ease the burdens of others who have been waiting for hundreds years to have the saving ordinances performed so they can be with their families forever. And while I am serving them, I feel so close to my own children there. They are with me. They are guiding me. The heavy pain in my heart vanishes when they are with me. It's not babies I am missing. It's them, their spirits.
Last night when he was with me, I felt so peaceful and completely alright as I could feel first hand and be a part of what he is doing. He is my child with a different mission. It is such a strange feeling to feel proud of my child, and at the same time can sense that my "child" is far ahead of me on every level.
It was a very special moment while feeling Vick next to me and experiencing the warmth of his spirit, when Ellee came in to get a drink and have a kiss and a hug. She was standing next to where I felt Vick was and it was special to "see" my youngest living child, and also "feel" my youngest spirit child (who is not so young) at the same time -one of those moments I will cherish forever.
I'll do anything I can to feel close to my Heavenly children. I wish I could be in their presence continually. I feel very blessed to have the knowledge of the gospel and to have been able to share in the blessings of the temples while here on the earth. I want to do everything I can to help my ancestors receive the same opportunities, with the Heavenly help of my Vick and my Tesslee.
Saturday, June 29, 2013
Baby's Resting Place
Look how beautiful my Vick Baby's grave is.
This is my Heaven spot.
♥ you forever Victor.
Friday, June 21, 2013
The Tabloids
I hate the tabloids!!! I've done my best to avoid them for over a year now. They are excruciating the way they depict and portray pregnancy and childbirth. Today I returned home from shopping, emotionally irritated and angry. Everywhere my eyes were I saw some kind of report on a celebrity giving birth. One of the accounts said "delivery room drama" and I just wanted to shake whoever wrote that and scream, "Drama? Is the baby living? Then where's the drama!!!?"
It was horrifying having to divide time in the delivery room between welcoming Tesslee into this world, taking all of her beauty and birth in and having to let go, say goodbye and make arrangements for her body, simultaneously. There are no words that begin to express how horrifying it was and continues to be.
I am releasing this bitterness into the universe. I am done with it and moving on with my evening.
It was horrifying having to divide time in the delivery room between welcoming Tesslee into this world, taking all of her beauty and birth in and having to let go, say goodbye and make arrangements for her body, simultaneously. There are no words that begin to express how horrifying it was and continues to be.
I am releasing this bitterness into the universe. I am done with it and moving on with my evening.
Monday, June 17, 2013
Thoughts
It always feels like someone is missing. I feel like I live in a foggy version of reality. It hurts my heart that the people who know my family naturally see nothing different than what they have ever known. Four kids. And those that don't know our family see four kids, but they don't know our story. Every scenerio that plays out haunts me... When I'm sitting in church with four kids beside me, my family is much larger than represented. Sometimes I purposely leave extra spaces on our bench for Vick and Tess , just trying to visualize how it SHOULD look. When I set the table for dinner, I have to really think. All these different numbers are swimming around in my head. 4 kids here... 5 that I have pictures with... 6 that are mine forever, 5 plates to set out if Mike is working, 6 if he's home, and 8 if we were blessed enough to be all together. It's so confusing and heart-tugging. Tonight 2 things pricked me really hard and are eating away at me, though I didn't have the energy to mention it t the time. At our dinner gathering I was asked to gather my kids for prayer, and all I wanted to scream was IF ONLY I COULD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU DON"T KNOW HOW CRAPPY IT IS TO NOT BE ABLE TO GATHER MY KIDS!!!!!!!!
The other thing was a question to a quiz we played about our fathers for Father's Day. The question was, "What was the day and time you became a father?" And the correct answer was supposed to be the birthday and time of your oldest child. I had to bite my tongue, but I held it as I listened to excruciating statements contemplating this. I did hear someone mention conception, which I was happy was represented, but in the end the right answer was the child's birthday. I know with all my heart that I became a mother the moment my first child was conceived, the very moment my womb carried life. That made me a mother. Not when my healthy, full term child cried for the first time. I was never forced to think about that until Tesslee's heart was silenced. I realize that my family has never been forced to view life in this way, but I was Tesslee's mother for every second she was alive. And I carried my precious Victor for the 6 weeks he was given here on earth. It was at his conception that I became a mother for the 6th time. Its weird to be blogging over this type of stuff at 1:00 am, but I feel caught in a strange world where I see everything differently, but must continue on in the old world with these trivial mundane things that torture my heart when I hear them. I cannot believe how much my losses have changed me, altered me to the core. Its overwhelming for my emotions.
My mind often ponders on the nature of these two incredible spirits. They are celestial beings. I like to think that Victor is this incredible spirit who had some very important work to do, and that he could only be spared for a blink of time because of his greatness.. That's how I choose to consider miscarriage. One day I hope my children's short lives make perfect sense. Until then, I will think what I will to make the separation the least painful as possible.
The other thing was a question to a quiz we played about our fathers for Father's Day. The question was, "What was the day and time you became a father?" And the correct answer was supposed to be the birthday and time of your oldest child. I had to bite my tongue, but I held it as I listened to excruciating statements contemplating this. I did hear someone mention conception, which I was happy was represented, but in the end the right answer was the child's birthday. I know with all my heart that I became a mother the moment my first child was conceived, the very moment my womb carried life. That made me a mother. Not when my healthy, full term child cried for the first time. I was never forced to think about that until Tesslee's heart was silenced. I realize that my family has never been forced to view life in this way, but I was Tesslee's mother for every second she was alive. And I carried my precious Victor for the 6 weeks he was given here on earth. It was at his conception that I became a mother for the 6th time. Its weird to be blogging over this type of stuff at 1:00 am, but I feel caught in a strange world where I see everything differently, but must continue on in the old world with these trivial mundane things that torture my heart when I hear them. I cannot believe how much my losses have changed me, altered me to the core. Its overwhelming for my emotions.
My mind often ponders on the nature of these two incredible spirits. They are celestial beings. I like to think that Victor is this incredible spirit who had some very important work to do, and that he could only be spared for a blink of time because of his greatness.. That's how I choose to consider miscarriage. One day I hope my children's short lives make perfect sense. Until then, I will think what I will to make the separation the least painful as possible.
Saturday, June 8, 2013
To Be Understood
I have never felt so alone, so abandoned by my family- those who mean the most to me, those I care the most about, those who wish they could make it all better but can't, those who don't understand because they have never been there. Of course, I would also hate if any of them were there and understood this.
It is so lonely here. I put a smile on for my kids, for the neighbors, for the scouts and parents, but I am weary of it. I just long to be understood that I am not ok, that I think about my babies all the time, they are always on my mind, both of them. As I interact with my kids (dress them, feed them, play with them) I see my two on the other side and long to have these experiences with them. I hug my husband knowing that by hugging him I am also hugging a literal, tangible piece of my babies. My heart hurts for them deeply, and deeply is not the word. There is no word that describes it. I came across a picture of Tesslee's urn. I miss it so much. The beautiful white marble was so smooth and comforting to hold. I miss having her remains in my possession. It is a good thing she is buried.
It's hard to not be understood, or to feel like I can't respond honestly because if I did it would scare them. It's hard to be hurting this much and the ones I love most don't ask how I'm doing, either because they are oblivious to my pain, or they don't know what to say so they don't bring it up at all. Either way, it hurts and I am lonely. I came across this quote that describes exactly how I feel. It's nice to have a familiar friend in words. I wish that everyone would read this just to have a better idea of how a mom feels everyday her child is not in her arms.
I long to be understood, to have a friend who understands exactly why I am hurting, the conflict inside, the daily struggles, someone who knows my deep love for my babies, both of them, who I cannot fool with my smile. Someone who knows that I am not ok even though I say that I am. Someone who remembers on their own that we should be meeting our little Vick in 3 more weeks without me having to look desperate and bring it up so people will remember. Someone who understands my pain.
“The gap between those who have lost children and those who have not is profoundly difficult to bridge. No one, whose children are well and intact can be expected to understand what parents who have lost children have absorbed and what they bear. Our children come to us through every blade of grass, every crack in the sidewalk, every bowl of breakfast cereal. We seek contact with their atoms, their hairbrush, their toothbrush, their clothing. We reach for what was integrally woven into the fabric of our lives, now torn and shredded. A black hole has been blown through our souls and, indeed, it often does not allow the light to escape. It is a difficult place. For us to enter there is to be cut deeply, and torn anew, each time we go there, by the jagged edges of our loss. Yet we return, again and again, for that is where our children now reside. This will be so for years to come and it will change us profoundly. At some point in the distant future, the edges of that hole will have tempered and softened but the empty space will remain – a life sentence. Our friends will change through this. There is no avoiding it. We grieve for our children, in part, through talking about them and our feelings for having lost them. Some go there with us, others cannot and through their denial and a further measure, however unwittingly, to an already heavy burden. Assuming that we may be feeling “better” six months later is simply “to not get it.” The excruciating and isolating reality that bereaved parents feel is hermetically sealed from the nature of any other human experience. Thus it is a trap – those whose compassion and insight we most need are those for whom we abhor the experience that would allow them that sensitivity and capacity. And yet, somehow there are those, each in their own fashion, who have found a way to reach us and stay, to our comfort. They have understood, again each in their own way, that our children remain our children through our memory of them. Their memory is sustained through speaking about them and our feelings about their death. Deny this and you deny their life. Deny their life and you no longer have a place in ours. We recognize that we have moved to an emotional place where it is often very difficult to reach us. Our attempts to be normal are painful and the day-to-day carries a silent, screaming anguish that companies us, sometimes from moment to moment. Were we to give it its own voice we fear we would become truly unreachable, and so we remain “strong” for a host of reasons even as the strength saps our energy and drains our will. Were we to act out our true feelings we would be impossible to be with. We resent having to act normal, yet we dare not do otherwise. People who understand this dynamic are our gold standard. Working our way through this over the years will change us as does every experience – and extreme experience changes one extremely. We know we will have recovered when, as we have read, it is no longer so painful to be normal. We do not know who we will be at that point or who will still be with us. We have read that the gap is so difficult that, often, bereaved parents must attempt to reach out to friends and relatives or risk losing them. This is our attempt. For those untarnished by such events, who wish to know in some way what they, thankfully, do not know, read this. It may provide a window that is helpful for both sides of the gap.” { …Author Unknown… }
It is so lonely here. I put a smile on for my kids, for the neighbors, for the scouts and parents, but I am weary of it. I just long to be understood that I am not ok, that I think about my babies all the time, they are always on my mind, both of them. As I interact with my kids (dress them, feed them, play with them) I see my two on the other side and long to have these experiences with them. I hug my husband knowing that by hugging him I am also hugging a literal, tangible piece of my babies. My heart hurts for them deeply, and deeply is not the word. There is no word that describes it. I came across a picture of Tesslee's urn. I miss it so much. The beautiful white marble was so smooth and comforting to hold. I miss having her remains in my possession. It is a good thing she is buried.
It's hard to not be understood, or to feel like I can't respond honestly because if I did it would scare them. It's hard to be hurting this much and the ones I love most don't ask how I'm doing, either because they are oblivious to my pain, or they don't know what to say so they don't bring it up at all. Either way, it hurts and I am lonely. I came across this quote that describes exactly how I feel. It's nice to have a familiar friend in words. I wish that everyone would read this just to have a better idea of how a mom feels everyday her child is not in her arms.
I long to be understood, to have a friend who understands exactly why I am hurting, the conflict inside, the daily struggles, someone who knows my deep love for my babies, both of them, who I cannot fool with my smile. Someone who knows that I am not ok even though I say that I am. Someone who remembers on their own that we should be meeting our little Vick in 3 more weeks without me having to look desperate and bring it up so people will remember. Someone who understands my pain.
“The gap between those who have lost children and those who have not is profoundly difficult to bridge. No one, whose children are well and intact can be expected to understand what parents who have lost children have absorbed and what they bear. Our children come to us through every blade of grass, every crack in the sidewalk, every bowl of breakfast cereal. We seek contact with their atoms, their hairbrush, their toothbrush, their clothing. We reach for what was integrally woven into the fabric of our lives, now torn and shredded. A black hole has been blown through our souls and, indeed, it often does not allow the light to escape. It is a difficult place. For us to enter there is to be cut deeply, and torn anew, each time we go there, by the jagged edges of our loss. Yet we return, again and again, for that is where our children now reside. This will be so for years to come and it will change us profoundly. At some point in the distant future, the edges of that hole will have tempered and softened but the empty space will remain – a life sentence. Our friends will change through this. There is no avoiding it. We grieve for our children, in part, through talking about them and our feelings for having lost them. Some go there with us, others cannot and through their denial and a further measure, however unwittingly, to an already heavy burden. Assuming that we may be feeling “better” six months later is simply “to not get it.” The excruciating and isolating reality that bereaved parents feel is hermetically sealed from the nature of any other human experience. Thus it is a trap – those whose compassion and insight we most need are those for whom we abhor the experience that would allow them that sensitivity and capacity. And yet, somehow there are those, each in their own fashion, who have found a way to reach us and stay, to our comfort. They have understood, again each in their own way, that our children remain our children through our memory of them. Their memory is sustained through speaking about them and our feelings about their death. Deny this and you deny their life. Deny their life and you no longer have a place in ours. We recognize that we have moved to an emotional place where it is often very difficult to reach us. Our attempts to be normal are painful and the day-to-day carries a silent, screaming anguish that companies us, sometimes from moment to moment. Were we to give it its own voice we fear we would become truly unreachable, and so we remain “strong” for a host of reasons even as the strength saps our energy and drains our will. Were we to act out our true feelings we would be impossible to be with. We resent having to act normal, yet we dare not do otherwise. People who understand this dynamic are our gold standard. Working our way through this over the years will change us as does every experience – and extreme experience changes one extremely. We know we will have recovered when, as we have read, it is no longer so painful to be normal. We do not know who we will be at that point or who will still be with us. We have read that the gap is so difficult that, often, bereaved parents must attempt to reach out to friends and relatives or risk losing them. This is our attempt. For those untarnished by such events, who wish to know in some way what they, thankfully, do not know, read this. It may provide a window that is helpful for both sides of the gap.” { …Author Unknown… }
Friday, May 31, 2013
Journal Entry 1/6/13
I had a really emotional day today! I felt in control and on a spiritual high all week and then got to church and the first testimony was a man who testified of the happiness on the other side of the veil and that his only living brother just passed away and how he was so happy for the reunion his family on the other side had. Holy cow, the tears just kept flowing. And of course I would be on the front row right in front of the bishopric! Mike sent Kilee up twice to get me tissues. They were like great alligator tears. I don't know why it affected me so much, it was like the word funeral was a trigger word and that started the tears flowing.
I could not even believe how many babies were crying today! It was out of control and frankly I was getting so irritated. Wherever I would change my seat to, a parent would come and rock their baby right behind me. Every time! I was really feeling bitter.
During Relief Society I was sooo tempted to walk out. The lesson was on drawing to the Savior during our trials. You would think I would feel the spirit and get a lot out of it, but it swung the total opposite. Instead, I began to feel really bitter inside. I hated that all these women got up to share their testimonies and of course brought their babies up with them, the women I was pregnant with. It was so hard to see!!! The teacher was planning on sharing a mormon message I've seen that has circulated lately, (it didn't work so she just told about it) how a woman was having a hard challenge, a divorce, and while cuddling and calming a baby she thought about Baby Jesus, and it brought her so much peace to hold the baby. I am sad to say that it totally turned me off! Anything that insinuates that a baby brings peace, just brings with it so much bitterness to me. Even if its Baby Jesus. I hate admitting it but that's how it is. I am just all the way broken around babies and want nothing to do with them, how does that ever get fixed? I thought I was moving in the right direction when I finally got pregnant with my Vick, but that just complicated all these emotions when I lost him, too.
I really have found a lot of help in books and prayer, and dreams I've had lately, I think I've made a lot of progress, but then here it goes again, I feel like its 3 steps forward and 2 steps back. Its so frustrating to not know how to fix myself, or to feel like I'm making progress, but then not want to hurry too fast because I feel like I'm running faster than I can. Grief and trauma are so frustrating and difficult to meddle through, especially when surrounded by people who have not experienced either. I have a hard time taking advice from people who have never been there. But the weird thing is, I'm also stuck in this spiritual high, because at the same time, I feel like I am still at peace with everything. How can I be at peace when I want to run out of RS? So confusing!!!
I woke up from a nap today listing in my mind all the things I can relate to now having experienced my losses. I think it might have been heavenly help sent to me to ease some of my burden:
miscarriage
stillbirth
loss
child loss in general
cremating a loved one
burial of a loved one
secondary infertility
learning to brush off insensitive comments and ignorance
loneliness of people not being able to understand
grief, bitterness, anger, rage, love, peace, acceptance
how to support someone who grieves
compassion
sensitivity to the spirit
the Atonement and needing it to function
awareness of the greatest pain I know- emotional pain
the sanctity of life, even at its simplest forms
It helps me to look at this list and see that I am a different person than I was almost a year ago. I hate that I've gone through this (!!!!), but I can relate to people on a whole other level than I ever could before.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Just Plain Angry
I've noticed the closer I get to Vick's due date, the harder it's been. I have so many times throughout the day that I want to drop what I'm doing and post my feelings, but it has to wait for one reason or another, and by the time the kids are all tucked into bed and the house is quiet, I don't even want to revisit the strong emotions I had.
Lately, it's been the whole fairness issue that's been hard to grasp.I've really struggled with why God has allowed two of my babies to die and then not let me be able to conceive. It's strange to me that I am at peace with Tesslee passing. My inner battle and struggle with God has been that Vick passed away. I was so leaning on him to heal me. I loved him so much and had so much hope for him that he was the rainbow that would fix everything. I loved him every single bit as much as I loved Tesslee or any of my children. It's hard to comprehend how I can love something so much that was only with us for such a short time. I can't explain it, but I guess that's what a mother's love is. Right from the very start. I would've given my life for him without giving a second thought. I feel 2 very large holes in our family.
Its hard to see people get pregnant who were not trying or did not plan on another baby. Very hard. I am still trying to figure my feelings out here. It hurts so deep that my arms are still empty as 2 babies have slipped from them and some people's arms are fuller than they had intended. It is an indescribable pain. I know I have to be stronger in my mind and not let it wander to what other people's lives look like, but sometimes I just do.
I hate that my family cannot understand me. I feel so alone walking this path. Its true that it gets harder the second year because most of them are sick of asking how I'm doing, they want the old me back and are frustrated so they don't ask anymore. They just ignore and wait for it all to go away. It hurts. It hurts to be in excruciating pain and not have the ones I love the most acknowledge that I'm hurting. And how can they? None have walked the path I have. None have buried their babies so how would they understand? How could they? I keep reminding myself of that. It's just lonely. I'm so grateful I have Mike. When he holds me it temporarily takes the pain away. He's so patient. I love him so much.
I'm going through a stage where I know I cannot handle much more pain emotionally, but I have no desire to get help from God. I know that sounds so bad, but I am very mad at Him for putting me through this. My grief counselor told me to be mad. To be mad as long as I need to to work through my anger, not side step it. She told me that "God can take it." I like hearing that because sometimes I feel guilty being mad and not wanting to come to Him when I know He offers peace, but I can't deny my feelings of anger towrd Him. My whole life is seriously in conflict right now. I want a baby, but I don't think I could take care of one. I have lost confidence in myself that I can carry a baby to term, or keep a baby from dying, which I know is ridiculous since I've done it 4 times. It's hard when your babies die without you being able to do a thing for them or control the situation so they don't die. i have realized a loss of control in my life. It's hard to get used to. I'm conflicted that I am happy for my very pregnant sister and that her baby is healthy, but I don't want to even think about it because it stabs my heart that my Vick isn't in my womb anymore and I won't be bringing him home soon as well. I am coming around to being able to see my nieces who are Tesslee's age, but it still pricks my heart at each bit of info I overhear about what stages they are in. Sometimes it is excruciating to hear what they are eating, or how much they are sleeping now and all the little things that I would (should) be doing with Tesslee too. It is hard to breathe when I hear these things.
I'm getting rid of all the baby things I used for Kilee and Ellee that I have been hanging onto for Tesslee. It was so hard to go through the clothes. They are so tiny. And so ready to be used. So cute. It brought up all my thoughts of Tesslee wearing Ellee's old clothes. But I need to get rid of them. We don't have room for them anymore. It might feel good to let go. I don't know if I will actually be able to take them away. But for right now they are bagged up in my living room. I just wish Tesslee could've wore those clothes.
I am so nervous for a family camping trip that is scheduled in July. I hate July so much. All the family and all the babies will be there for the first time all together, except mine. Now if Vick was still alive I would not even be attending (same scenario as last year with Tesslee) but unfortunately I am attending. No baby is arriving anymore (again) and to imagine all the other babies toddling around playing with each other and to see the moms chatting away about their babies like all moms do will tear what's left of my heart out. The worst thing I am embracing myself for will be the comment that someone says, "Hey, look. It's all the babies together finally." That will kill me inside. The final blow as I realize my babies have been forgotten, not on purpose, but just because they. don't. realize....... I guess it's ok, I'm used to that. I have grown accustomed to the pain over the last year, but just to have it culminating like that just makes me so nervous. Anticipating the pain makes me reluctant to go. And there I am conflicted again because I love my family so much. Each one of them. I have the very best SIL's ever. And I could not love my siblings any more than I do. So why do I have to have this conflict where I love so deeply?
I can't believe I wrote all that. I guess I needed to get that out. I just hope that I can get to a place where I feel the need to come to my Savior and let him carry me. I need it so bad right now. I need rest. I need peace. If I can just get myself there to Him...
Lately, it's been the whole fairness issue that's been hard to grasp.I've really struggled with why God has allowed two of my babies to die and then not let me be able to conceive. It's strange to me that I am at peace with Tesslee passing. My inner battle and struggle with God has been that Vick passed away. I was so leaning on him to heal me. I loved him so much and had so much hope for him that he was the rainbow that would fix everything. I loved him every single bit as much as I loved Tesslee or any of my children. It's hard to comprehend how I can love something so much that was only with us for such a short time. I can't explain it, but I guess that's what a mother's love is. Right from the very start. I would've given my life for him without giving a second thought. I feel 2 very large holes in our family.
Its hard to see people get pregnant who were not trying or did not plan on another baby. Very hard. I am still trying to figure my feelings out here. It hurts so deep that my arms are still empty as 2 babies have slipped from them and some people's arms are fuller than they had intended. It is an indescribable pain. I know I have to be stronger in my mind and not let it wander to what other people's lives look like, but sometimes I just do.
I hate that my family cannot understand me. I feel so alone walking this path. Its true that it gets harder the second year because most of them are sick of asking how I'm doing, they want the old me back and are frustrated so they don't ask anymore. They just ignore and wait for it all to go away. It hurts. It hurts to be in excruciating pain and not have the ones I love the most acknowledge that I'm hurting. And how can they? None have walked the path I have. None have buried their babies so how would they understand? How could they? I keep reminding myself of that. It's just lonely. I'm so grateful I have Mike. When he holds me it temporarily takes the pain away. He's so patient. I love him so much.
I'm going through a stage where I know I cannot handle much more pain emotionally, but I have no desire to get help from God. I know that sounds so bad, but I am very mad at Him for putting me through this. My grief counselor told me to be mad. To be mad as long as I need to to work through my anger, not side step it. She told me that "God can take it." I like hearing that because sometimes I feel guilty being mad and not wanting to come to Him when I know He offers peace, but I can't deny my feelings of anger towrd Him. My whole life is seriously in conflict right now. I want a baby, but I don't think I could take care of one. I have lost confidence in myself that I can carry a baby to term, or keep a baby from dying, which I know is ridiculous since I've done it 4 times. It's hard when your babies die without you being able to do a thing for them or control the situation so they don't die. i have realized a loss of control in my life. It's hard to get used to. I'm conflicted that I am happy for my very pregnant sister and that her baby is healthy, but I don't want to even think about it because it stabs my heart that my Vick isn't in my womb anymore and I won't be bringing him home soon as well. I am coming around to being able to see my nieces who are Tesslee's age, but it still pricks my heart at each bit of info I overhear about what stages they are in. Sometimes it is excruciating to hear what they are eating, or how much they are sleeping now and all the little things that I would (should) be doing with Tesslee too. It is hard to breathe when I hear these things.
I'm getting rid of all the baby things I used for Kilee and Ellee that I have been hanging onto for Tesslee. It was so hard to go through the clothes. They are so tiny. And so ready to be used. So cute. It brought up all my thoughts of Tesslee wearing Ellee's old clothes. But I need to get rid of them. We don't have room for them anymore. It might feel good to let go. I don't know if I will actually be able to take them away. But for right now they are bagged up in my living room. I just wish Tesslee could've wore those clothes.
I am so nervous for a family camping trip that is scheduled in July. I hate July so much. All the family and all the babies will be there for the first time all together, except mine. Now if Vick was still alive I would not even be attending (same scenario as last year with Tesslee) but unfortunately I am attending. No baby is arriving anymore (again) and to imagine all the other babies toddling around playing with each other and to see the moms chatting away about their babies like all moms do will tear what's left of my heart out. The worst thing I am embracing myself for will be the comment that someone says, "Hey, look. It's all the babies together finally." That will kill me inside. The final blow as I realize my babies have been forgotten, not on purpose, but just because they. don't. realize....... I guess it's ok, I'm used to that. I have grown accustomed to the pain over the last year, but just to have it culminating like that just makes me so nervous. Anticipating the pain makes me reluctant to go. And there I am conflicted again because I love my family so much. Each one of them. I have the very best SIL's ever. And I could not love my siblings any more than I do. So why do I have to have this conflict where I love so deeply?
I can't believe I wrote all that. I guess I needed to get that out. I just hope that I can get to a place where I feel the need to come to my Savior and let him carry me. I need it so bad right now. I need rest. I need peace. If I can just get myself there to Him...
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Family History
I had such an interesting day. It was Stake Conference, and every talk was centered around searching out names from our own family lines and preparing/taking those names to the temple. I cried through a lot of it, as my thoughts revisited some special experiences I had about 6 months ago with Tesslee, who was drawing me to our family history lines.
As a way to cope and feel close to Tesslee, I began exploring our family trees, where we discovered the name "Vickers" on Mike's side. The name went back in various forms (Vickers, Vickars, Vicker) for many generations, used in both middle and last names. Mike instantly loved the name, and that's ultimately how we settled on naming our little Vick. I miscarried him shortly after we decided on this name. Mike still refers to him as Vickers, and the name Vickers will be included on a small headstone we will someday place over his grave.
Stake Conference touched my heart so deeply, and I felt that after having a few months off to grieve Vick, it was time to pick up where we had left off 6 months ago and, with my angels, do some family history. It is interesting to note that the opening and closing songs for Stake Conference were the same songs we sang at Tesslee's funeral: I Love To See The Temple and Families Can Be Together Forever, in that order. The kids and I all made note of it as we stood up and sang them. It seemed like a sign from Tesslee that it was indeed what she was guiding me to.
I sat down tonight after the kids were in bed, and after finishing a school assignment, and just wondered where I should even begin. I had no idea where to start! A thought quickly entered my mind to pull up the Vickers line. I went there and followed it back as far as it would go. Then it just stopped. I wonder who the next Vickers is in that line. They are in the early 1600's. I am so curious about them and the people who are my angel son's namesake! This is going to be my new project. I'm going to help the Vickers line received their temple ordinances. And I'm going to do it in memory of my son. I hope I can feel him near and can build a relationship with him while I work to find these ancestors of ours that have been waiting hundreds of years for this. A blessing I received years ago mentioned that I will have a relationship with each one of my children. I've thought a lot about that as two of them are angels. I already have a treasured relationship with Tesslee. I've often wondered how I can continue my relationship with Vick. I've spent many nights lately crying to my Heavenly Father regarding him. This may just be an answer to my prayers. I'm so excited to begin!
As a way to cope and feel close to Tesslee, I began exploring our family trees, where we discovered the name "Vickers" on Mike's side. The name went back in various forms (Vickers, Vickars, Vicker) for many generations, used in both middle and last names. Mike instantly loved the name, and that's ultimately how we settled on naming our little Vick. I miscarried him shortly after we decided on this name. Mike still refers to him as Vickers, and the name Vickers will be included on a small headstone we will someday place over his grave.
Stake Conference touched my heart so deeply, and I felt that after having a few months off to grieve Vick, it was time to pick up where we had left off 6 months ago and, with my angels, do some family history. It is interesting to note that the opening and closing songs for Stake Conference were the same songs we sang at Tesslee's funeral: I Love To See The Temple and Families Can Be Together Forever, in that order. The kids and I all made note of it as we stood up and sang them. It seemed like a sign from Tesslee that it was indeed what she was guiding me to.
I sat down tonight after the kids were in bed, and after finishing a school assignment, and just wondered where I should even begin. I had no idea where to start! A thought quickly entered my mind to pull up the Vickers line. I went there and followed it back as far as it would go. Then it just stopped. I wonder who the next Vickers is in that line. They are in the early 1600's. I am so curious about them and the people who are my angel son's namesake! This is going to be my new project. I'm going to help the Vickers line received their temple ordinances. And I'm going to do it in memory of my son. I hope I can feel him near and can build a relationship with him while I work to find these ancestors of ours that have been waiting hundreds of years for this. A blessing I received years ago mentioned that I will have a relationship with each one of my children. I've thought a lot about that as two of them are angels. I already have a treasured relationship with Tesslee. I've often wondered how I can continue my relationship with Vick. I've spent many nights lately crying to my Heavenly Father regarding him. This may just be an answer to my prayers. I'm so excited to begin!
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