Tag Archives: baby loss

Consciously Becoming.

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Danielle before didn’t realize how terrible this world could be. Of course there were bad things to happen to her, but not to the magnitude of a child dying… to anyone she knew. She was carefree and loved adventure. If an opportunity arose where she could go somewhere, anywhere, she wouldn’t look back. Maybe she didn’t have her life figured out completely, but it was okay; she had the whole future.

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This was Danielle with Jensen, she felt like her life was starting to fall in place. She was happy and planned her future for her son. In this picture she was in Gettysburg and Jensen was just now moving. Which made her really sick, but she smiled with every movement. She planned on teaching him all she could about the world. There were times where she was scared because she didn’t know exactly what was going to happen, but she knew they would make it through. She was hopeful. Jensen made her feel like she had her place in the world. At the moment in the picture, she was on top of the world. Nothing could bring her down. Danielle was consciously becoming a mother each and everyday. Everything was right.

Then, it all changed when his heart stopped beating.

Danielle after Jensen is still a mother. I’m in survival mode every second of the day. Some days I don’t understand how I’m still alive and it doesn’t scare me to have those thoughts. I don’t want to welcome the upcoming days or listen to the clock ticking. Almost all of me is broken and then there’s a tiny bit of my taping myself back together. Most of the time I’m confused, but I’m working through it.

In this moment, I’m tired. I haven’t wanted to do anything all day, yet I had to. My heart feels like it’s beating really weak. I keep smelling Jensen’s candle, which makes me smile and want to cry at the same time. This is normal and how most things are for me lately. In my mind, I look like a Picasso painting. Some part of me wishes I could draw so I could show others how I think I am, but I can’t. My hair is fluffy from my shower and I honestly look like a new mom, without the baby physically here. I’m probably a mess to the outside observer, but like I said, I’m surviving.

Jensen’s death has changed me, not for better or worse. It just has. I can’t be carefree anymore, not that I haven’t tried. My natural ability to plan everything has just went out the window. I would say I don’t have any fear. It’s my belief that fear comes from being afraid to be harmed or killed. I just don’t find anything to be as scary as what’s happened to Jensen. My scariest day in my life has already happened, what could be worse? Here comes that bad karma my way.

It’s hard to imagine me being Danielle before Jensen now that he’s gone. There are times I wish I didn’t know this pain, but I wouldn’t give up not knowing Jensen for that. Maybe I wish I could have a little part of the carefree attitude back. What do I mean by that? I want to be able to go somewhere without fear of having an anxiety attack. It’d be nice to be able to accept any opportunity given to me without the fear of being judged or second guessing myself. Maybe that’s ignorance and maybe I want that innocence back. But I would still have it if Jensen never died.

With all this pain and heartbreak, I still love myself in a different way than I knew possible. I love my strength for being able to get up everyday, even when I don’t think I can. I love that my body was able to grow and nurture Jensen. I love seeing my feet when I look down because they remind me of his. I love that even through pain and heartache, I can still smile and even laugh. I love that I can allow myself to feel and grieve. I love that I’m not giving myself an endpoint to be done with this all. Most of all, I love being Jensen’s mom.

Through all my life experiences, I’m consciously becoming the person I’m supposed to be, even if I don’t know who she is.

Sounds, Seasons, & Scents.

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Fall reminds me of Jensen.

The smell of the crisp air and the leaves changing from green to red to orange. He kicked me for the first time last fall. I remember that quickening and fell more and more in love with him. When I would walk and have the leaves crunch under me, I’d always press on my belly so I could feel him more. Usually when I’d place my hand there he’d float by real quick. The doctor always had a hard time finding him because he would be rolling in there. But I was able to see and hear his heartbeat every few weeks. It was perfect. This time last year, I was blissfully happy with how the world was turning around me.

I’ll never forgot those moments in my life and the fall will always remind me of them.

This summer I felt him with the waves of the water. He’s in every movement with nature. From the gentle breeze of the wind to the wings of a bird flying around. I get lost in my thoughts when I’m outside, not listening to anything and thinking of him. It’s all the dreams I wish I would have had with him there; raking up all the leaves and having him jump in them, getting dirt everywhere, and being soaked from the rain. In those moments I’m out there, I can just let them flood into my mind.

Music was always Jensen’s favorite thing. No matter the song, he’d literally dance away. His heaven is probably songs playing nonstop. There would be no silence or stillness around him, nothing like the way his body came into the earth like.

When I connect with him and his memory here, I listen to Of Monsters and Men. I’m sure when people are walking by my house they hear it playing loudly and me singing along. That’s what Jensen and I would listen to in the car, with the windows down. I felt they sounded like sweet lullabies to calm him. But when he wanted to dance, I’d put Usher on. He would move all around when he heard Usher. On the days where I can smile, I’ll put that on. It helps me enjoy it more when I can imagine Jensen’s spirit dancing all around me.

Pearls of Wisdom.

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Today marks two-hundred days since Jensen’s birth.

It’s a crazy feeling knowing how many days have passed and comparing it to how I felt when I was two-hundred days pregnant with him. I can remember it like yesterday, but it feels so long. From then to now, I’m a completely different person. Which is completely understandable and it’s okay to just be this person I’m becoming.

But that’s another topic coming up on Capture Your Grief.

There’s so many pearls of wisdom I’ve come to know. I find comfort in E.E. Cummings poems and works. I’m constantly reading Lexi Behrndt’s blog, Scribbles and Crumbs. Emily Long’s books are always at arm’s length away from me. Every morning I read posts from Still Mothers and Still Standing. Those are just a few that are popping in my mind right now. Yet, they all bring me wisdom and comfort, even in the smallest ways. They let me know I’m not alone and many words that I’ve read have expanded my mind. I wish I could go and thank every single person that shares their story. It’s so brave and helps so many.

The past week I’ve been rereading and reflecting on a lot of what I’ve written in the past two-hundred days. There are so many words I’ve written that I forgot about. Just like the quote in the picture above, ‘It’s okay to just be.’ That would be my advice to anyone that has lost a child. Just being is sometimes the best we can do. No matter what you have or need to be in that moment, as long as you’re being gentle with yourself and protecting your heart.

Tonight I have planned something special, just something small. I’m having a little fire and writing Jensen a letter from me. Then I’ll throw it in the fire and have the smoke deliver him my message of love. I’ll be the best mom I can today, that’s all I can do to just be.

Relationships.

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Today I’ve been reflecting on relationships that have begun and ended since losing Jensen; both so important to my grief journey and support system. There were moments today where all I wanted to focus on was what I don’t have and others where I could only think about what I’ve gained. They kept twisting and pulling at my heart. I had to take a break from these thoughts and started to do things to heal my heart. Then, I looked across the room and saw the relationship I’ve worked on every day since I could remember.

The relationship with myself.

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Picture from my lovely shoot on October 15th with Eloise’s mom, Abigail.

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Gratitude.

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Some days I can’t stand thinking I have gratitude for anything in this world after it took Jensen away. Maybe it’s clouded from the rain or the darkness that has settled in me this evening. Instead of delving into my thoughts, I want to make a list of all the reasons I’m grateful. My mind can’t go any deeper than that tonight.

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I’m grateful for you reading this and saying Jensen’s name quietly to yourself.

I’m grateful for my family and the support they give me.

I’m grateful for this path I’m on, even if I don’t understand it.

I’m grateful for my beliefs and how they keep me grounded.

I’m grateful for the loss community for never letting me feel alone.

I’m grateful for all the pictures of Jensen’s name I receive.

I’m grateful for noise, so the silence doesn’t pull me back.

I’m grateful for the rain as it waters Jensen’s tree.

I’m grateful for Leo and Poe, as they let me be the best cat mom to them.

I’m grateful for the happiness I once had.

I’m grateful for pain and it’s ability to push someone to their breaking point.

I’m grateful for my motherhood.

I’m grateful for the candle’s flame dancing just out of my reach.

I’m grateful for the first time I felt his kicks.

I’m grateful for every picture I have of him.

I’m grateful for his love of chocolate milk, that I still drink to bring back a part of him.

I’m grateful for the thirty-eight weeks and two days I carried him.

I’m grateful for the chubbiest cheeks I’ve ever seen.

I’m grateful for his button nose and pouty lips.

I’m grateful for his curly blond wisps.

I’m grateful for his memory and those who remember him with me.

I’m grateful for the courage he brought me.

I’m grateful for his signs.

I’m grateful for the love that constantly guides me in the right direction.

I’m grateful for being able to carry the most gentle soul and being able to learn all about him.

Most of all, I’m grateful for Jensen.

 

In the Making of Grief Rituals.

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Another day, another spin-off Capture Your Grief.

Day nineteen is all about Grief Rituals on big days and how they help. Since I’m just now starting to get to the anniversary dates of certain doctors appointments and finding out Jensen was boy, I’m still learning about the rituals I want to create. I’m thinking about maybe coming back to this after his first birthday and talking about what helped with the first year. For now, I’m still learning what I need to cope and heal with these rituals. Life after loss is a huge learning process, as I’ve said countless of times. Which is why I’m in the making of grief rituals.

Some of the big days, right now, that I have to ‘focus’ on are his monthday, Tuesdays, and some of the anniversaries I have hit. My birthday was a really huge trigger day for me since last year we found out he was in my belly. There were also a few dates in September that triggered me, like the day I first saw him, the fourteenth or one of my first appointments was the ninth. Those days were rough, but I can imagine from next month out I’ll be really focusing on grief rituals and what helps me get through the days.

There’s also days that I never knew would become apart of my rituals like remembrance walks, support groups, and ceremonies for all babies gone too soon. Two weekends ago we participated in our very first remembrance walk, which I blogged about here. It really helped being surrounded with other families going through loss for me, but also my family. They were able to see and know this pain is real for many others. Last night we were so fortunate to be apart of another local walk and that’s what I want to talk about today, our new rituals in the making.

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Toland-Herzig Funeral Home, in Dover, Ohio, had its nineteenth annual Walk to Remember for child loss of any age.  I was able to be involved in this walk by other loss moms letting me know they put it on. It begins with someone in the loss community telling their story and how they help others during this tragedy. Being able to get up in a room full of people, not to mention being – for the other two rooms to hear, is so courageous. I know how hard it is to talk about losing Jensen to small groups of people, but then adding public speaking on top of it… I’d probably have a heart attack.

We then were prayed over and headed outside for the candlelit walk. There was the huge circle in the parking lot and then everyone helped light each other’s candles. It was beautiful and symbolic for me. Being able to help someone with their candle and passing light and love to the other person is up lifting. It’s sad to see how many people are in the circle effected by the loss of a child in some way or another, but how beautiful is it to be so supported.

Not to mention, my flame danced the whole way just as they do in my home. Jensen’s way of letting me know he’s close.

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When we got to Warther’s Museum, we were led to this beautifully lit gazebo. Unfortunately every picture I got of it was so blurry, so I can’t share how breathtaking it looked. Music was being played and we all huddled around, listening and remembering. I’m sure it only lasted moments, but besides the music playing, it was quiet. Not the quiet that I cannot stand when I’m home, but one that settles the soul.

There was another gentleman that shared his experience in hospice and read a poem. Then we were all asked to come to the microphone, share our name, number of walks, and who we were walking to remember. It’s different to actually hear family members share their experiences with the walk and about their loved ones. You can hear the emotions in their voice and their strength as they say their names so proudly. They said, this part of the night was the easiest and hardest… and it was. It’s a big mix of it. Easy as in listening and supporting the person as they share their deepest grief. Hard as in building up the courage to speak in front of everyone and letting that acceptance of your child’s death hit again.

Not that it ever goes away.

I was nervous, but happy to share a small part of our story. There is so much strength in just sharing him with the world and not feel judged. To say Jensen’s name makes me beam with pride. I hate death, but love my son more than anything else in this universe. That’s what makes a parent’s grief so complex.

After everyone who wanted to share finished, we started our journey back. Jensen’s candle extinguished in the moments after saying his name. Just as if he was telling me thank you and I love you. Many times I write to Jensen that I hope he is swaddled in love and warmth in heaven and last night, I felt that same way. With the circle of support, walking with the light of his love in front of me, and saying his name for the world to hear, I knew as we got in the car to leave, this would become one of my grief rituals.

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Healing Therapies.

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Breathe in, one, two, three, four.

Breathe out, one, two, three, four.

I remember when deep breathing and counting were going to help heal the supposed worst pain of my life: giving birth. Even during my labor with Jensen, I don’t think I needed anyone counting for me. The contractions didn’t hurt, but I wanted some normalcy while I delivered him so silently. After he came into the world my body started healing, but emotionally, I didn’t even know how to begin healing. I was in pain and my brain instantly went into shock trying to protect the influx of emotions. During that time, I had to focus on healing my body by sleeping and trying to eat. That was the best I could do.

When I had to focus on emotional healing, I was lost. I felt alone and didn’t even know where to start. For the first few weeks, I just sat and stared into the nothingness. Everything felt numb and black. Even now, I can’t recall those moments or it just spirals out of control. The second week I looked in Jensen’s hospital bag. A brochure fell into my lap about online and in-person support groups. From there, I found You’re Not Alone – Love Letters from Loss Mom to Loss Mom, so many blogs journeying through others’ losses, and support near me. I read and read through so many pages, learning about how other’s heal. I realized how much reading through their words had helped me.

Then I decided to write Jensen’s story and share.

It felt so healing to write his name. To let the whole entire world know about him and his impact on my life. I needed to share the good, the bad, and the ugly. There would be a lot of ugly, but love always paved the way for the good. Six months later, it’s one healing therapy that I do every single day.  Usually with hot tea in my mug and candles lit throughout the whole house. Sometimes I want to share with the world and others, I keep it between Jensen and I. I haven’t missed a day of writing since that two-week mark. Getting all my emotions out on paper, or laptop, has let me sort through it everything.

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As much as I wish writing could just heal me and I’d be perfectly back to normal, that’s not how grief works.

Talk therapy has done so much good for me.

One of the hardest things I’ve done post loss was making an appointment to a therapist. I did not want to ‘be weak’ and talk to a counselor. The first time seeing her, I was terrified. Then being able to say his name, talk about how I was feeling out loud, and not feel judged was healing. It encouraged me to go to my first in-person support group, then the second. I spend a lot of time with talk therapy, six times a month to be exact. Sometimes, like this month, I’ve gone to other groups or events where I could talk more about Jensen. It’s been one of the most healing therapies I’ve done in my life after loss. This journey is so lonely and knowing there’s so many people to support me is, well, bittersweet. It breaks my heart knowing these amazing, strong women have felt this way and are able to channel that to help me and so many other moms going through loss. Reaching out and letting others know you need help, is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but it’s helped.

There’s no rulebook on what to do after your child dies. That’s what makes finding these healing therapies so individual and hard for people to narrow down. I believe it’s trial and error. What works for me, might not work for the next person and that absolutely fine. I will say, if you are a support person reading this and wondering how to help your loved one, the most healing therapy someone can help with is saying their child’s name. It’ll open the line of communication between you two and might help find what the other person needs to heal.

I’d also like to say one more thing, losing a child takes a lifetime of healing. Please be patient with them or yourself and never feel like they or you need to put your grief on a timeline. Loss moms and dads are trying to figure out their new normal and how to move forward with their life. Be gentle with our hearts, we’re doing our best to find our healing therapies.

Even if it begins with breathing in and out.

Sacred Space.

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Space seems so scary sometimes.

In the early weeks, it felt like all I had was space suffocating me; the space Jensen was supposed to occupy. Especially when he was first-born and I only had his nursery items and all his clothes. I didn’t have any remembrance items, besides what the hospital gave me, but I couldn’t even look at his prints at first. When I moved into my house, I kept seeing where I planned on having his pack-n-play and swing. The walls were empty and all I could imagine is what his newborn pictures would look like. It was hard in those beginning weeks of creating a home that I imagined my son growing up in, without him. Then I put his big silver J up that was supposed to be in his room.

Seeing his J everyday made me smile and feel like he was where he was supposed to be. From then came his pictures, the Painted Name Project print, and the most perfect footprints all over the walls. Everywhere I look there are pieces of Jensen that belong. I turned my whole house into my sacred space. I’ve added in silver birds and elephants to represent me sending messages to Jensen and how I’m not alone in this grief. My house makes me feel safe and comfortable. Even though he’s not here, he fills our home and that couldn’t make me happier.

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The space that felt so daunting in the beginning brings me so much solace now. It’s what I search for when the waves of grief are pulling me down and what I look at when they have subsided.  His candles are always on, like a lighthouse, leading me to the shore.

I wouldn’t call my home a shrine to him. My house is exactly how it would be if Jensen were here, minus the amount of toys. Although there will never be any pictures that show him growing from the day he was born, I see the progression of his life when he was here and the impact of his life since he’s been gone. My sacred space is all about him, just like it would have been if he was sleeping in my arms now.

This space that seemed so scary in the beginning has become a place I can call home.

Beliefs & Spirituality.

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I just want to start off saying, this topic brings a lot of emotions when talked about. There have been centuries of wars started over religion and differences in beliefs. This post was not written to harm others or to push what I believe on anyone. I’m not like that and I value differences in opinion. It’s fascinating to hear what other’s think about the world and their spirituality. There’s no right or wrong in what you believe.

Beliefs, spirituality, and faith are as individual as each person or their journey in life. For me, it’s something that’s constantly changed as I’ve experienced different situations or learned more information. When we were young, we didn’t go to church or were pushed to believe in a certain thing. I mean, we celebrated all the holidays and learned about Jesus, but we were able to explore it all in our own time. That meant learning about any religion I could find and even more ideas about the afterlife. Like I said, I found it all so fascinating,

To put it bluntly, I believe in God and the afterlife. Yet, there’s so much more to what I believe than just that.

Before I get into the details, I want to make something clear. I do not find it comforting for people to tell me Jensen is in a ‘better place.’ There’s no better place for him than in my arms. It’s not comforting to know that God needed another angel and He somehow chose Jensen. More than anything else, it angers me and it’s not fair that he died. Believe me, I know he’s a special boy, but his innocent soul deserved to live so much longer. If you hear me talking about him being in heaven or being an angel, it’s because I can. That sounds ridiculous, I know. BUT, until you’ve walked in my shoes and experienced losing my son, you don’t understand what is comforting to me. It’s okay if I say those things because sometimes that’s the only thing keeping me being here. Knowing he’s protecting me and will be there when I die. As I said, faith and this journey is individual.

Now I’ll get back to the prompt.

Yes, I believe in God, but that doesn’t mean I’m angry with Him and it doesn’t mean that my faith wasn’t shattered. Most days, I’m still so mad and don’t understand why this is happening to me. I find comfort in a lot of verses, not all of them. One of my favorites is below, Jessica, from Lettered Hope, made this for me. It comforts me to pray and put my worries on God. If I say I’m praying for you and/or your angel, I don’t mean it in a bad way. It’s what helps me make sense of this loss. I believe God hears me and tells the children in heaven that they’re being thought of. Then I think they can just hear me too. I remember not praying for a few weeks after Jensen died because I was so angry, which was weird because I did a lot of work in the bible when I was pregnant. It was Jensen and I’s routine every night to pray. I can remember screaming till my throat would bleed asking Him why. Why Jensen? I know there’s not a reason for his death and I won’t know until I’m dead. There’s nothing good that can come as a result of Jensen not being here, but I’m being lead into healing through knowing I will be with him again.

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After losing Jensen, I understand how people don’t believe in God, or well any higher power. It’s not fair, especially when we’re led to believe that He put this pain on us. I get it and your beliefs are justified, just as mine are to my understanding of this.

Another belief I have, is in spirit communities; I’ll try not to go too deep into this, unless you’d like to know. When I talk about this, I literally feel crazy. I believe that everyone has a soul and that our souls are connected with those that mean the most to us. Some know this as soul mates, but I believe in a soul community. These souls stay around each other for all eternity and come back here to earth and find each other again. This can be from partners to children to friends, but we’re constantly searching for one another. I think Jensen and I’s souls have been connected for a long time. As any mother, I had a bond with him when I was pregnant, but I get a lot of signs that I know are from him. In my letters to him, I’ve said that we’re two souls who search for each other, but are continuously just out of our reach. Maybe this goes along with not only wanting to see him again, but one day seeing him grow? Who knows, I’m still working on this belief.

The last thing I want to touch on is heaven. I really believe there is a home for us after we die. Maybe we go there to rejuvenate for another life or we stay there forever, both comfort me equally. I think heaven is different for everyone. Sort of like everyone has their own house and inside is what makes their soul happy. It could maybe even be your house transported into heaven, which I wouldn’t be disappointed about! Sometimes I think my heaven will be walking right into my front door and picking Jensen up from his crib. Then just holding him and studying every detail of that moment. We’d never run out of diapers and food. My heaven is just us together in his nursery, watching whatever’s going on outside his window. Hopefully my other family would be there and so would Leo and Poe. But as I said, everyone’s heaven is different.

I often think about Jensen’s heaven. Maybe his is with me and that’s why I always have so many signs. I think he’s with my grandma being held, I have a feeling that would be apart of hers. Maybe he’s growing or waiting for me to get there so I can see that. I hope I can revert back to twenty-two and we can grow together.

Jensen will always be my heaven and I have faith that he’ll be eagerly waiting for his mother’s embrace.

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Dear World,

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I always believed in the beauty that surrounded me. The crisp, fresh air would fill my lungs as I drew a deep breath. Colorful flowers would beckon me to stop and smell them; I would pick a bundle and put a few in my hair. Each time I would step outside and enjoy the splendor that is this world, I thought I  knew my place. Even when I didn’t understand why something was happening, I could get lost in the stars. My hands would run through the grass calling out for me to just lay there and feel grounded.

When I learned Jensen was growing inside of my belly, I couldn’t wait to introduce him to you. There are so many opportunities you offer to each of us. In my dreams, I imagined him falling in love with all of your wonders and wanting to explore new places. Maybe I could even show him what you have done to comfort me. I’d see him play on your beaches and make sand castles. Our backyard would be full of mud pies and lullabies. He would be a fearless little boy and I hoped he would find his place here, just as I thought I had.

He’d grow up picking the flowers in a garden we’d make together, bundling them so he could give them to me. So proud that he had discovered a different part of you and bringing that beauty in our home.

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Deep down, I knew there was an innate darkness you had in your trenches. I didn’t think I would ever meet that part of you, until I did. You and my body were two of the only things I trusted with him. On that windy, spring day you flipped upside down letting darkness blanket over all the beauty I once found solace in.

You’re still upside down and I don’t know how to trust you anymore.

Bringing a child into this world is supposed to be the most natural act a person can do. There is nothing natural about him dying before he could leave my womb and discover you. Instead of him picking me flowers and discovering each constellation in the sky, his absence has brought me an eerie darkness. For awhile, that’s all you let me see and feel. You turned so cold, unlike anything I had experienced, especially after the warm nine months I carried him.

There were parts of me that came unearthed too. This overwhelming anxiety and depression that has made itself home in my body. A sense of dread each time the phone rang, wondering what other horror had escaped your trenches. The feeling of no fear, even when it was presented. There was hatred and a bunch of it towards myself and everyone and thing that was in close proximity. I felt betrayed by myself. All deviant feelings that I didn’t know existed were flooding me.

Since I never had you turn your back on me before, I shut you out. I didn’t believe there would ever be beauty in you again. How could there be?

Then I saw him with you.

You let him paint the sky with blues and oranges. He draws me to the prettiest flowers, that only little boys would choose. I feel his warmth as the sun creeps through my curtains and wakes me in the morning. The birds sing with him as I open the windows to welcome you in. He’s the shooting star that I make a wish on. You haven’t broken your promise to him and I. I see him discovering you in ways I could never imagine. Even though I can’t see his imagination spreading across his face, I feel his excitement as the seasons change. He has found his place in the world when he’s not sleeping in the clouds.

Oh world, I’m so angry with the darkness you’ve given to me. Most days I wish I could just get a tall enough latter to join him in the clouds, but I know that’s impossible. So, I live for the moments where I see his light. Somehow when I can’t see this, I remember he is doing all what I ever wanted him to do. He’s exploring the parts of you I’ll never see, until I’m free from this darkness and hold you have on me.

Love,

Danielle
Jensen’s Mom