Tag Archives: baby loss

Eight Months.

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I’ve been fumbling with my words all day.

When I woke up this morning I wanted to do his eight month post. Actually, I set my alarm clock early just so I would have enough time without feeling rushed to do it. All I could think was ‘Jensen is eight months old today,’ but I couldn’t let myself just write that. So, I fed Leo and Poe first. Then I found myself starting one thing, than another, and another. All of the sudden, it’s four o’clock and the whole entire day has passed me.

Sometimes I feel like I’m stuck in denial still. My mind almost fully believes the past eight months has been a sick nightmare the universe has played on me. It believes all I need to do is walk into Jensen’s room and he’ll be napping in his crib so peacefully. I can so vividly see that moment when it plays out. There’s his toys in his basket and bottle on the coffee table. These scenes can play out for hours and there are times they do. It’s only when I walk into his empty room, I realize this silence and emptiness is my reality.

On each of his month days, I try to look at where I was in the previous few months. Around month three, I kept hearing that grief doesn’t get better or worse, it changes. There are times where I wish I could tell a newly bereaved mama that it’s going to get better and she’ll feel lighter at the point I am. Maybe I will one day? But, I can’t tell anyone I feel better. I smile and laugh more freely, but don’t feel guilty for doing so anymore. Crying in public doesn’t make me feel ashamed anymore. My biggest post lost fear isn’t being alone anymore. I don’t whisper the word stillbirth or about anything death related anymore. There isn’t any pressure to ‘get better’ anymore. I guess that means I am more comfortable with this type of motherhood.

If you can call those things ‘good’ then there’s also the bad. For me, this past month has brought a heavy onset of flashback and intense feelings. There isn’t much numbness left on most things. The numbness fading sucks. It’s like my life jacket has broken from the hard waves of grief and I have to learn how to keep swimming even when I’m tired. I’m also experiences heavy exhaustion and anxiety. Often I wonder if it’s because I’m in this part of my grief OR if it’s the upcoming holidays bothering me. Not even the holidays, but missing his first Christmas and making it as magical it could be for him. The more time has passed, the more I question and think about the what ifs. I think it’s because the physical reminders of Jensen on my body are going away.

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Speaking of the holidays and the what ifs of having Jensen, I kept looking at this ornament today. Although it may just look like a green and red J ornament to most people, they don’t know it’s back story. It’s Jensen’s first ornament. Last year, while he was learning how to kick really hard, I found two ‘J’ ornaments that I really loved. Mind you, this was after a full day of Christmas shopping. So, I picked up the first one and there was no reaction. When I picked this one up, Jensen gave me a huge kick and I knew this was the one. I can remember placing my hand on my belly and asking if he was sure. Of course then, he kept kicking until he wore himself out!

This year, it hangs perfectly on the Christmas tree. It’s the first one I see every morning when I walk out of my bedroom or into the house. The bright red J makes me smile and brings that memory to my mind. Jensen really loved Christmas time. I’m pretty sure it was the music and walking around everywhere. Last year was my favorite Christmas too. There was a mix of excitement and nervousness for the next Christmas. I can remember only wanting Jensen and his future being the best possible. There was never a doubt he wouldn’t be loved or cared for, but I worried that I wouldn’t be able to give him everything that he needed. I guess that’s what moms do though.

If I could tell a mom who’s just lost her baby one day or one month ago, I would tell her that she’s given her child everything she could. They were loved and cared for more than enough. I would tell her that even when all she can feel is anger and sadness, love will always be her constant.There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t tell Jensen I love him or acknowledge that feeling. Even when I’m shaking from all of the pain, it’s what grounds me. Love is the light Jensen leads me with each day. It wakens and warms me in the morning and brings me to a deep sleep every night.

I would also tell her, it’s okay to feel whatever you are feeling. The holidays are hard on top of how it’s already difficult to navigate through grief. Don’t be ashamed of your emotions, even if they are happy. You’re doing what’s best for you and that’s all you can ever ask from yourself.

Here we are month eight. I know you you’ll have a lot in store for me, just as it’s been since the month I found out I was pregnant with Jensen. As much as I’m terrified of you and what you hold, I’m going to survive you. I’m going to daydream about what he would be doing and make sure he can see his first Christmas in heaven. I’m going to do what I think Jensen would want me to do.

Happy eight months in heaven, Jensen Grey. Your blond curls must be so long by now. I can imagine you wanting to play in a winter wonderland, with Christmas lights all around. Your green and red J ornament sparkles in the tree next to me. Hopefully you have a matching one there with you. You are my light and hold all my love. I miss you. I love you.

Dear BabiesRUs,

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Before my son’s arrival, I spent hours in your store making a registry. I test drove countless strollers and questioned all your associates about each car seat. A lot of the items I had registered, were bought and your associates were even so helpful with some of my returns. In the final weeks before my son was born, I opened a credit card and bought the last few things I thought I needed to make his arrival extra special. I had absolutely no complaints about your store or the service I received.

Honestly, I thought I had all the material items needed for when I would be bringing my son home. Until, I didn’t bring him home. He was stillborn at thirty-eight weeks and two days. Losing him is the hardest thing I go through every single day.

If I never saw another Babies-R-Us, it’d be too soon. The big bags you graciously provided us, were packed full of his stuff and stored away. Weeks went by and I didn’t think ever going back to your store.

That was how I thought it would go for me, but I started checking my email again. It was after Mother’s Day and I knew I had to start going through all of it again. BabiesRUs started fading from my teary eyes. After my breakdown and clearing them off, I went to the very bottom of the email and unsubscribed from your list. I felt like I had saved my future self so much heartache.

Turns out, I didn’t. Even after unsubscribing from your email list, there were still emails getting through. Multiple times a week I was still unsubscribing and just trying to send them all to the spam folder. I felt defeated each time it popped up, but I gave in. I just started automatically deleting them. Then the mailers came out and it was just all too much. My mom had to start getting my mail for me and throwing it away for me.

It all calmed down for a while, through September and October. I was BabiesRUs free and didn’t have to be triggered each time I opened my email or went to the post office. Honestly, I had forgotten about your store, unless I drove by. My mind didn’t even have time to prepare itself when the middle of November hit. My post office box was stuffed with ads and yours was the top one. The emails started again the very next day.

Again, I unsubscribed from your emails and even went to your website. I really tried my best. All I wanted to do was safe myself from a preventable trigger. That’s all I can do to help myself these days. But, it didn’t help. The very next day, I got another ‘great deal’ message. I’ve resorted back to just deleting them as they come in. Still to this day, I’m getting at least two notifications from you. I’m sure it’s so helpful for moms with their children. It gives them coupons and lets them know what’s new in your store. I get it. I really do. If my son was still here, I’d be using all those coupons. Yet, he’s not and I’ve done all I can not to see this information.

If by some miracle you see this letter, please make it easier for others to unsubscribe and completely be off your mailing services. There are some mothers that it actually hurts to see your emails. It brings them to their knees in grief and anger and disbelief that this is their life. That their child is still not in their arms.

Signed,

A Grieving Mother Trying to Survive the Holidays

Back to December.

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The month I’ve been actively avoiding has finally arrived and I’m terrified. I’ve honestly been putting off talking about how it’s here. It’s like if I don’t talk about it, then it’s not really here. It’s just hard. If December goes as quickly as November, I’ll be out of 2016. Out of the year Jensen was born in and into new waters. As hard as this past eight months has been, there was still so much love and happiness.

I just want to stay here forever, or at least on November thirtieth.

As we all know, December holds some pretty big events. We have Christmas, Advent, and the New Year. For me personally, I’m going on vacation, we found out big Jensen news this month, and it’s my first year decorating for the holidays. Jensen will also be apart of at least two Christmas ceremonies that I’m going to. They’ll definitely be sad, but I’m glad I can enjoy those events in remembering him with others. Most of all, it would be Jensen’s very first Christmas. There were so many things that I had planned for us and they just feel lost to me. Kind of like how I feel lost in December. The clash of grief and celebration should be ‘interesting’ to navigate. Such a horrible juxtaposition that no one should experience.

BUT, here I am. Although I’m doing this blindly, I am going to honor Jensen and this month in the best way I know possible. Starting with the Christmas tree.

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This month, I want to share certain ornaments on our tree and tell their meanings. There’s a lot of Jensen incorporated here, along with all Jensen’s friends gone too soon. I’m looking forward to telling you all about them.

I’m also planning something for my trip. We’re going to the beach in the middle of the month, but I want to bring Jensen and his friends with me. On Jensen’s Facebook page and probably on Instagram, I’m going to post to see if anyone would like to have their child’s name written on the beach. Hopefully I can get a lot of sunrise/sunset pictures to make it look beautiful! So, be on the lookout for that. I want to be able to just make an album on his page and tag people there. Or if you have loss mama friends, you can tag them on the post and on the picture when it’s up. Like I said before, I’ll talk about this more Monday or Tuesday.

With all that said, it’s going to be a pretty busy month. As always I love to share with you guys and keep you updated on this journey of loss and love. I’d also love for you guys to share some of your special ornaments or even your Christmas trees with me. It’s so nice to see how other’s honor their babies through grieving while trying to ‘celebrate.’

Just a reminder to everyone who’s having a hard time with the upcoming holidays. You’re NOT alone. Grieving through the holidays is so difficult to process. On the outside it looks like everyone is so excited for the big day, but you feel its eternal doom.

Feel how you need to feel. Cry, in front of everyone if you need to. Decorate or don’t. Recognize Christmas or any holiday you observe, or just act like it doesn’t exist. Do what you need to do to survive the holidays. There’s no right or wrong way. Let your heart lead you. No matter what, you’re not letting yourself, your family/friends, or your child down. They’re so proud that you’re surviving and doing the best you can.

If at anytime you need support, feel free to message me to talk or anything at all. I’m here for you just as I know you’re here for me.

A Letter to My Heart Thirty-Four Weeks Post Loss.

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Dear Heart,

I felt you cracking even more as I woke up this morning with my cheeks already wet from crying in my sleep. Quite honestly, I was shocked that you could still be beating after thirty-four weeks of constant heartbreak. Maybe I should have listened to you the second I woke up, but I pushed you to keep going. You’ve surprised me for all this time and today I was going to take charge of my emotions. I made myself feel logically with my brain and ignore you.

Your beats quicken as I rushed around before I left. Tears were still falling down, but I still didn’t want to listen to you. Heart, sometimes feelings have to go to the back burner. My life needs to be compartmentalized to be semi-normal. It seemed like every song on the way to the gym were sad songs. I didn’t think I’d be able to make it there through my sobs. But I did. When I got there, all I did was take a deep breath and continuing pushing on. That’s what has gotten me this far.

While working out, I didn’t feel you beating harder or even quicker. It’s like you had given up on me, like I had you. Somehow we both kept beating on, like old friends talking through a disagreement.

During therapy was the first time all day I realized how hurt you were. Words didn’t seem to come out of my mouth, but tears continued to fall. I hadn’t looked in the mirror all day, but the look in my therapist’s eyes told me all I needed. It was a look I had seen every time someone saw me in the beginning. Your brokenness had carried through my eyes. It even carried through the words I managed to utter out. She helped me recognize you were hurting even when I tried to hide it.

I want to feel like we’re healing together, but the Jensen-sized hole in you is so apparent. On the outside, I’ve gotten better with living with that hole. It’s hard living without him, I know you feel it too. But even after knowing how broken you felt today, I still kept pushing you to the side.

At home, in our safe place, I kept busy. I mindlessly washed, folded and organized my clothes. Your beats quickened more as thoughts crept in my mind. Visions of me reorganizing Jensen’s clothes as he would be getting bigger now. I’d probably be frustrated with the weather changing back and forth, not knowing what I would need to dress him in for the next day. Usually you and I would let these visions play out, but I stopped it. The closet is now color coded in it’s appropriate spot. I thought this would help calm you, knowing that one more thing that had been weighing on my mind was done.

Night spread across the sky and I know we’d have to be settling down. I made dinner and took care of the cats. There was music on in the background, as there always is. I know we both cannot take the silence, even at day two hundred and thirty-eight. You even eased as we danced and though of his rhythmic kicks. I even smiled and my eyes were finally dry. Everything seemed to be going okay.

Until that song played. The one we listened to when we first found out Jensen was growing. It was long before we first heard his heartbeat and we hadn’t heard it since his heart had stopped.

| I want to tell you
How much I love you
I’m drowning in a sea of love |

I knew I had to listen to you then. I couldn’t do anything else but that. The sobs were uncontrollable and even though everything else felt number, the edges of your broken pieces plunged deeper in my soul. Screams were stuck in the back of my throat, but I couldn’t let them go.

The shower helped. It let me feel like I was drowning as I sat in there, letting the hot water sting my back. I hugged my knees and listened to you. Oh heart, I miss him too. There isn’t a second that goes by where I push thinking of him aside, even though you’re the one that doesn’t get my attention. I sat there feeling that hole that you constantly feel. It’s an abyss of emotions and pain and love that demands to be felt. When you dive into it, you have to wait till it spits you back out.

After it spit us both out, I had to take care of you first. You’ve called out to me all day and I’ve ignored you. I’m so sorry for that, heart. If you hadn’t kept beating strong through your brokenness, I wouldn’t be here. We would be talking about Jensen and sharing him to anyone that’ll listen. So, I did what I knew helped string together some of your broken pieces.

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Truth be told, heart, I’m jealous of you at times. As much as Jensen loved the sound of my voice, your steady beating helped him fall asleep. You were the constant and comforting sound he heard at all times. I wish I could’ve sung to him twenty-four hours a day, but you cared for him in that way. You were one of the first and last things he ever heard. Sometimes I don’t care for you or listen enough to you enough as I should. We’re both learning this new life together.

I’m listening to you tonight, my steady companion.

All my love,

Danielle

Happy thirty-four weeks in heaven, my sweet love. I wish I could whisper in your ear how much I love you. With every beat of my heart, I miss you more than words could ever describe. You are the light in my life. You help me heal and are the one thing that makes my heart warm. I promise to take care of myself and be the best mommy I can be to you.

I miss you. I love you.

Avoiding Situations.

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Earlier this month, I talked about Reliving the Moment and how Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is common in moms who have experienced pregnancy/baby loss. In that post, I shared the four major symptoms of PTSD and my experience with the first one. Although right now my mind is blocking when I found out Jensen’s heart had stopped through the day he was born. Moments come flooding in my brain and I can only analyze those small bursts of time. Even though there’s no way to know when I’ll remember more about those two days, I find myself clinging on to the second symptom. For the ease of this conversation, here’s the list once more:

  1. Reliving the event.
  2. Avoiding situations that remind you of the event.
  3. Negative changes in beliefs and feelings.
  4. Feeling ‘keyed’ up or being on the lookout for danger.

When I first decided to talk about PTSD with you all, I didn’t even realize how much the holidays would go right along with the discussion. With Thanksgiving being my first, BIG holiday without Jensen, I didn’t know how I would handle the day or my emotions. Every day has been a test for me, but Thanksgiving and Christmas are really big days. They’re days where I’m supposed to be showing him off to the whole family and they let me know how big he’s getting. It’s the missing out on what his favorite holiday food would be, what his face would look like seeing the shiny ornaments on the tree, and so many countless things that these days bring with children…

As a loss mom, I have to weigh my emotions for family-get-togethers and other type of situations.

For the sake of not going on and on, I’m going to specifically talk about avoiding situations during this Thanksgiving. Maybe in the future I can touch on situations that directly remind me of the day Jensen was born. There’s so many ways this second symptom could go, but I think this is more relevant and timely for right now.

Going to Thanksgiving this year was hard. My family actually had two different ones, one that had all the kids and the other with just adults. Honestly, it was bittersweet to have. It’s nothing against my family, at all, but it sucks that Jensen wasn’t here. That he couldn’t be experiencing his first Thanksgiving with his whole family. I felt horrible, obviously I didn’t go to the first one. I avoided it, completely. There was no strength in me to go or even think about it. The whole night I would’ve pictured Jensen there and there and there. But like everyday since he’s been born, he isn’t physically here. There’s no silly smiles or trying to take all the food off the table. My brain puts it there, but it only makes his absence even more noticeable. I thought the second one would be better.

It wasn’t.

In the morning, I laid out my outfit and did everything I needed to around the house. As the clock kept getting closer to four, my anxiety kept getting stronger. Again, I felt myself wanting to avoid the situation and all the visions I thought I was going to have. Then when I told myself it was okay to have those thoughts, I was terrified to have everything come back to me. I didn’t want to go down the rabbit hole and that’s a really big possibility. My brain has been actively trying to remember those two days. I feel like if I give it a little room to explore my deep thoughts, it’ll play it all out. That scares me, especially because I don’t know if I’m ready for that.  So, logically what does a person do when they’re not ready to face something? They avoid it.

That’s what I did, for a few hours at least. Four came and went, and I still didn’t feel like leaving my bed. Jensen’s urn candle was on and I just kept watching it flicker, wondering what he would want me to do. I was still seeing him eating mashed potatoes and how he would look like at thirty-three weeks. Even sitting here in my room, I could see him dressed, ready to go, and watching me frantically get ready. I saw him in a denim shirt and khaki pants, with his white tennis shoes. Those images came so vividly even with me not at the dinner table. I avoided what I was afraid of for as long as I could. This type of situation of reliving the event, never goes away. I relive the days I was pregnant with Jensen, certain moments of his birth, and each day that he should be here.

When I got to my uncle’s house, I took a deep breath before I walked in. I kept playing with my Jensen bracelet as everyone greeted me. My arms felt empty, I kept thinking how I should be carrying him in his car seat. I’m not going to lie to you guys, it hurt. It felt like my chest was being crushed. This feeling overwhelms me and is usually present in my day-to-day life. Yet, I still made it to Thanksgiving dinner. A plate was given to me and I filled it up to eat. I sat, ate, and talked. There were moments I wanted to cry and there were moments I laughed. I kept wondering why I had avoided going over for those few hours and I wondered about my lifetime of avoiding these situations.

Losing a child brings a lifetime of hurting, dreaming, and avoiding. But with every step and day we continue on, we heal just a little bit at a time. I know how stressful the holidays are and how the PTSD can really hit. Even though I went to Thanksgiving dinner and have certain plans for December, it’s perfectly okay to avoid these days. Grieving is a learning process that we have to figure out each day. If one day you’re ready to face these challenges head on, do it. If the very next day, you just want to stay in bed and avoid everything, you have every right to do so.

You are not alone. These feelings are not strange or weird. Be gentle on your heart. I know how hard this is, just like I know you’re doing your very best.

 

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A little side note to this post…

I’d like to let everyone know that Poe made it home on Sunday. He’s lost a few pounds, but he’s safe and has no injuries. I am so thankful for my community, the positive thoughts that were coming my way, and that Jensen lead Poe back to his home.

 

Thirty-Three Weeks.

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There’s a point in everyone’s’ life where they have to decide what direction they want to go in. As much as everyone wants to keep moving forward, there’s always turns in the road. Whether you can ease into them or they’re sharp, you have to make that turn. Then there’s other times when you get lost, and have to turn around. It feels like your backtracking and nowhere near the right path.

Today it doesn’t even feel like I’m on the road. It feels like I’m pulled over and trying to figure out where I’m going  with a huge map on my hood. But at the moment, the map is incomplete.

I haven’t posted it on here, but this weekend Poe, my black cat, got outside and hasn’t come home. It’s triggered a lot of those beginning feelings of guilt, of losing Jensen and now Poe. I keep questioning what more I could have done and why does this season of grief keep getting darker? Sometimes I don’t feel like I deserve anything or that I’m the common denominator in all the negative things that have happened this past thirty-three weeks.

That probably sounds dramatic, but this day last year was completely opposite to today.

On this day last year, I was eagerly waiting for tomorrow. It would be the day I would find out Jensen was a little boy. I was so excited and it would paint a clearer picture of how the rest of our lives would go. As I look back now, I’m so jealous of me then. The road in front of me had unexpected turns, but I felt like I was going forward. There was no looking back. The little life inside of me kept encouraging me to go full speed ahead.

Since Jensen’s been born, I’ve kept saying over and over how love leads the way. Even when today makes me feel completely void of happiness and consumed with the frigid air, love touches and warms me. When I wonder why I should keep going on, I think of Jensen. I take a minute to breathe and look at this face. In it (when everyone would see his chubby cheeks, mama’s nose, and his little pout) I see my world. Even when it breaks me to know he was taken away from me, this motherly instinct keeps telling me to get back in the car and just drive.

To follow Jensen through all the turns and seasons.

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Taken by Mariah’s mama, Nicole, in Las Vegas.

For thirty-eight weeks, the roads on the map of my life were highlighted, then one day it all went black. With each step I take, the world around me becomes lit up again. I’m rediscovering and making a new map everyday. Love is my compass, even though sometimes it spins and spins and spins. There are streets without names, but I know I can always find my way back by looking for Jensen. It’s so hard to feel lost and wondering where the road is going to lead, but I’m still following it.

I’m still surviving. I’m still breathing. I’m still doing the very best I can.

Happy thirty-three weeks in heaven, Jensen. I hope you’re watching over Poe and making sure he’s safe wherever he is. Guide him, as you guide me, back home. Thank you for teaching me love and knowing it’s okay to pull over when I feel lost. You are my favorite person in all the universe. I miss you. I love you.

 

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Blank Insides.

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I’ve been a little MIA this week with writing. If you’ve followed along with my journey, I moved into my house exactly eight weeks after Jensen was born and posted about those challenges here. I purchased the house a few months before I got pregnant and it was a complete fixer-upper. We rushed to finish it before he arrived, which we probably wouldn’t have even if he was born at forty weeks. Anyways, the whole pregnancy I designed his nursery, the living room he’d take his first steps, and the mudroom where I’d be able to watch him from the backdoor window.

Well this week, I’ve been working on getting everything organized and decorated in my home office. It’s been a BIG task for me. There’s so many work papers, supplies, and moving all the furniture  that I’ve done mostly by myself (My mom has been a huge help for me!). During this time, I’ve found old pictures and notes I wrote to myself during high school. It’s been fun to go through and try to remember those moments. I’ve had bad memory loss since Jensen was born, so it made the gears turn in my head. Which is both good in bad. When some good flashbacks come, the bad also slide in there. I’ve been handling it quite well actually.

BUT, as I just said, with the good comes the bad.

Today, I hit a box that was filled around my final weeks of pregnancy. Only, I didn’t know it had all of these memories piled in it. At first, it was certain clothes I wore during that time. Then the movies and TV shows I had watched in the last two months. All made me smile because those were happy items that I shared with Jensen. They helped me with my swollen feet and I can remember the shirts I wore to rub my belly and talking to him. Seeing these made my heart flutter, but I had to keep pushing through. This room would never get done with this box unpacked.

I had this mentality until I pulled the next thing out.

It was a tiny, black box with a clear cover over it. Being a stationary lover, I knew it was a box of cards. I thought I had organized all of my cards and put them away. When I opened it up, cards fell out onto the floor. As I began to reach down to pick them up, I froze when I saw what they were.

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Unwritten, baby shower thank you cards.

I bought them only twenty-days before Jensen’s silent arrival and hadn’t had time to write them out for the baby shower guests. Those final weeks were full of preparing and organizing diapers, lotion, and clothes from my shower. I figured I’d add a picture of Jensen and his details when he was born to send them out to everyone.

These were supposed to be happy cards filled with love and good news. Jensen and I were supposed to be using all those beautiful gifts and showing off his cute outfits to everyone.

Just as those cards remained unwritten, those gifts are still being unused.

Triggers aren’t always seeing happy, healthy babies with their moms or a glowing pregnant woman when you’re out and about. They can come in a small, black box of unwritten thank you cards in the comforts of home. Both take your breath away, they unsettle your very soul.

Hemingway once wrote this six-letter story:

“For sale: baby shoes, never worn.”

People say it’s the saddest sentence they’ve ever read. I agree, it’s sad and it is hell to live through. Today, I can tell you that saddest words are the ones that were never written. The thank you’s that were never sent out.

Their blank insides will forever haunt me.

So, Are You Back to Normal Yet?

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It’s been thirty-two weeks today and I often wonder if this question will ever lessen its sting.

Truthfully, no in the normal most people know and quite frankly I don’t want that back.

I’m never going to be back to the ‘normal’ many of my friends and family knew me as before. Like any major trauma, losing Jensen has irrevocably changed my whole being and outlook on life. It’s hard to grasp that I’ll never be the same girl who was carefree and never thought any bad ‘things’ could happen to her. The girl who breezed through life and could let things roll of her shoulders is gone. That playful spirit was taken when I hit rock bottom, when those five, haunting words were spoken to me. So, no, I’ll never be her again, never the old-me of normal.

With that all being said, I never want that normal back without Jensen. Of course if he was here, there would different changes in my life, but not this. I wish I didn’t know child loss or this type of depression or this anxiety, but it’s my reality. Even though I focus on the struggle while I write, there’s so many other traits that make this new Danielle’s normal beautiful. Although I wish those things weren’t apart of my life, I also know admirable things about myself now. I know this type of love for a little human, who through all the tears makes me smile. I know strength, even when I feel weak. I know how painfully beautiful it is when the world crumbles around you. I know how perseverance feels, when I’m picking up all those crumbs. I know the deep pulling of sadness and how sweet happiness can feel when it comes. I know how precious life is. I know I can look at myself and see the body that created life. And I know that even death could never break the bond of mother and child.

Normal is different now. It sucks to that my new normal isn’t normal for everyone else. I can understand why that’s so hard to understand on the outside. Before, I wouldn’t be able to get it either. I wouldn’t understand seeing loss posts everyday or why I continue to write about Jensen, grief, and loss in general. Honestly, I’d probably think I was going crazy beforehand, but this is real.

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This is Danielle now. She is a mother to Jensen. She is grieving. Her heart is heavy and her mind is weary. This is her new normal. This is her screaming out and healing in the best way she knows. It’s her wanting to tell you all about Jensen and all the goodness in his life. She can smile through the pain. She can see the world and feel happiness and sadness both at the same time. Danielle carries her son in her heart and wants to share their story. This is not typically normal Danielle,  this is her trying her best to live after loss.

I challenge you to ask this question differently. Instead of asking if I’ve regained my normalcy, ask me how my new normal is going.

To my Jensen, happy thirty-second week in heaven. It’s another beautiful Tuesday you’ve sent me. I’m so proud of you and am so grateful for all the signs you continually send me. I will always carry you in my heart, untill I can have you in my arms. I miss you. I love you.

Six Ways to Honor Your Child this Thanksgiving.

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As Thanksgiving quickly approaches, there are a lot of anxious and sad feelings for loss parents. Many of us feel there isn’t much to be thankful for after losing our children. This results to a lot of people not participating in any previous holiday traditions and making their own. No matter what a person chooses, their decision should be welcomed with love and acceptance.

Although this is just a short list, I hope that it will allow me to feel Jensen’s presence and maybe help another mom and dad cope on Thanksgiving.

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Thanksgiving Day Craft or Graphic

When I was pregnant, I pinned a lot of crafts to do with Jensen on all of his first holidays. For Thanksgiving, I always planned on getting his footprint and making it into a turkey. It makes me sad that I can’t get Jensen’s seven month footprint for this craft, but I’m thankful to have his footprint from when he was born on my laptop. As much as I love free graphics offered in online support groups, I wanted it to be a little more personal. I was able to make a turkey with Jensen’s footprint using PowerPoint and some help from this website. It’s really adorable and I can’t wait to share it on Thanksgiving! (Maybe I’ll post a little sooner so you all can see.) Although you’ll see it then, it’s a clipart turkey with Jensen’s feet as feathers. Really personal and really cute. It’s important to me to still do all the crafts and things I had planned for his first year. Also, it’s a fun way to be creative and take your mind of things for a little bit. I’ll be looking forward to using that feature on PowerPoint to do more crafts for some upcoming holidays as well.

You could also do this craft with printing out their handprints or footprints and drawing/gluing feathers on the paper. There are no right or wrong ways with crafts and there are a ton of ideas on Pinterest.

Donate Food to a Local Food Bank or Food Drive in You Child’s Name

I imagined Jensen being a little gentleman and wanting to help. As I’ve said many times, I wanted him to volunteer his time and be able to help others in need. To honor a value I wanted to instill in my son, I’m going to donate food to the local boy scout food drive in his name, which is actually going on a few days before Thanksgiving. There are a lot of different food drivers going on this time of year and local food banks are always in need of food. So many people are not fortunate enough to be able to eat on Thanksgiving Day and how special would it be to give back in our child’s name. It brings happiness to the receiver, you, and your child’s memory. No matter how big or small your donation is, you’re able to help out at least one person. If you’d like to be able to include your child’s story, you can always add a graphic you did for Thanksgiving and put your story on the back. It’s just another way to talk about stillbirth, miscarriage, infant loss, and child loss in general.

Make Child’s Favorite Food for Thanksgiving Dinner

Thinking ahead to actually getting ready on Thanksgiving brings me a lot of anxiety. I’m not even sure if I’ll be brave enough to go to dinner. To bring Jensen in on the meal, I think it’d be really interesting to make one of his favorite foods. Whether that being macaroni and cheese or just drinking chocolate milk with dinner. It brings Jensen to the table and probably a lot of laughs with the crazy cravings a lot of us have during pregnancy. If you’ve lost an older child, you can make their favorite and talk about the times you made it for them. This idea can be carried out whether you’re going to a big family dinner or just having a small dinner with you and your partner (or for me, Leo and Poe). Also, it brings comfort. Speaking from my experience, whenever I’m feeling a little down I go and make chocolate milk. It reminds me of Jensen kicking and ends up making me smile. I feel like having that little part will bring that experience to everyone else as well.

I can imagine everyone drinking chocolate milk out of wine glasses during my family dinner. It’d definitely be a light moment.

Set an Empty Place Setting

My family doesn’t really have a formal Thanksgiving dinner, but I really like this idea. It actually shows to the people around us what we’re seeing in our minds. I know for me, I always am imagining what Jensen would be doing and although he’d probably just eat off my plate, he would still be there and eating with us all. This is very symbolic and I think like the previous idea, would be able to bring your child into everyone’s hearts that day. I know this one is kind of sad to think about that missing place setting, but it’s just another idea I liked and have heard about before. It’s really hard because it makes it ‘more real’ for everyone else. Just the image of loss is hard to grasp, but I think it would promote family members being supportive. This could also be a plate for all family members that are gone in case there are others that are grieving on this holiday.

Family Picture Including Your Child

Years ago, my family took a big family picture. Since then, there’s been more people to come into the family and obviously we’ve all grown. It’s nice to document those days, especially when everyone’s all together. After child loss, it’s hard to gather everyone when, again, we know there’s a huge part of our family missing. Our child can’t physically be there and have their picture taken, so it’s difficult for a loss mom and dad to want to take these pictures. But, I think it’s important to have them. If this is an option for you family, include your child in the ways you can. Whether it be their Molly bear, a framed picture, or any other remembrance item, include them in this. They’re present right there and I know it’s not the same as them being there, but they’re being remembered in that moment. It’s also another way to open conversation about how you’re doing on your grief journey and to talk about our children. We want them to be included on these big holidays and this one way to document it.

Plus, I love showing off Jensen bear. It would be the first time my family will feel Jensen’s weight. It’s special to be able to share that with everyone.

Start an “I’m Thankful For…” Conversation

Another challenging moment for loss parents on this THANKSgiving, is what we’re thankful for. Yes, I’m so thankful for Jensen and the thirty-eight weeks and two days I had with him, but he died. I mean there’s really no other way to explain. Other than the time and memories I have with him, I haven’t been thankful for much else this year. There’s little things like bluebirds and dancing flames, but it’s hard. I’ve heard it doesn’t really easier during the holidays years out as well. Yet, this is a moment we can honor them. Say out loud we’re thankful for our child and death cannot spoil everything. Death cannot take away the time we had with them and I’m thankful for that. Going along with the theme, this is a way to talk about our child without adding death and grief in, which lets our support people know we still are happy to talk about them. That it’s okay to talk about our children and there’s way more to their lives than death. It could be another way of talking about the community and the others ways you’re honoring your child during the holiday season. I think our families might surprise us and let us know that they’re thankful for our babies too.

I hope you’re able to use some of these ideas or come up with new traditions this Thanksgiving. If you do, please share with me. I’m always looking for ways to honor Jensen and survive the holidays without him.

I’d also just want to let you all know, if you’re feeling overwhelmed and need support this coming week (and anytime really!), that I’m here for you. We’re a strong community that are always supporting each other. Especially when we need it the most.

As much as I’m thankful for Jensen, I’m thankful for all of you too.

Saved by a Bluebird.

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A bluebird saved me this week.

Which makes me smile because I can just imagine a huge bluebird holding me while it’s flying to safety. The moment was as dramatic as that image, but you get the point.

For the past two days, I’ve started writing at least twenty posts. All which were quickly deleted in the first two or three sentences. Nothing I write doesn’t seem worthy to share this week. These words that I write yell out for support, but another part of me doesn’t want them to be unanswered if I reach out. This self-doubt stems from the weeks after losing Jensen. Doubting everything I did during my time with him and how my emotions were making me feel crazy. I remember asking him for a sign to let me know he was okay and always with me. Then I saw the red and blue bird.

I still felt crazy in grief, but it did let me know he was close.

November has put this craziness and loneliness in my mind again. My whole body seems to be sinking in itself. Thankfully Jensen bear’s weight draws me to the outside world. There’s been moments this week I’ve wanted to throw out my phone, get sleeping pills, and just sleep for days. I kept asking why again. I’ve questioned if Jensen knows I love him. I pleaded to him to give me a sign because I needed it so bad. Thinking back now, it seems selfish because I usually get little signs during the day. But I needed that familiar sign to save me from myself. To save me from doubt and questioning my whole entire existence.

That’s when the bluebird came.

It was hopping from limb to limb outside the mud room window. This bluebird’s blue was almost shiny and the sun kept hitting it just right. My eyes were completely drawn to it and as much as I wanted to get a picture of this  bird, it only stayed for a minute. There would have been no way for me to run and grab my phone to capture him. That’s how I knew it was sign. It made me stop everything I was doing and the sun reflected on its shiny wings.

This was Jensen’s ‘I love you, Mommy,’ from heaven.

When I realized yesterday was November eleventh, so 11-11, it was even more special. This is going to make me sound even more crazy, but when I was asking him for a sign it was 11:11pm on the tenth. Then there was my sign the next day. I can remember feeling him last year during this time, fluttering happily away. One year later, he came fluttering to me again. Maybe his spirit was carried on the bird like I had imagined me being in the beginning of this post.

I like that thought.

Maybe one day we can fly together. He’ll have to show me how and probably give me the courage to do it, but I’d fly with him.

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There’s days like these I wish I could go give everyone feeling this self-doubt and loneliness the biggest hug I can. I’d want them to know they’re not alone. Even if they don’t feel like they’re important or what they say doesn’t matter, they should know it does. This week on the internet has been rough and there’s a lot of people who need support for what’s going on with them. Grief doesn’t give days off, ever. There are times it’s lighter, but it’s always present. Believe me, I know how heavy it is and if you’re feeling it as you’re reading this, I’m walking with you.

You are important.

You are loved.

You have so much to give to this world.

I hope a bluebird can come save you too.