Tag Archives: grief attack

Day of HOPE Prayer Flag Project 2017

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hope – a feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen

During pregnancy mothers and fathers hope for so many moments. They want to make sure everything goes smoothly and that they’re child has everything they would ever need. When a child dies, it feels like there is no more hope left. A person’s worst nightmare has happened. Nothing would ever feel as sweet as the before.

I have been in that place. Hope had been completely drained from my soul and darkness took its place. I’ve also survived life after loss for over sixteen months. Each day, I have felt the hope build back inside of me. Maybe it doesn’t feel as grand as it did before, but the promise of a new day to share Jensen’s story and for me to keep moving forward with his memory gives me hope. I have to celebrate the little victories. That’s what they would want me to do.

This day, the Day of Hope – They Prayer Flag Project, brings our community of bereaved parents together. It helps show all of us there is hope after loss. We are able to celebrate the lives of our children and share little parts of them. I cannot think of a more perfect way to spread hope.


Now, I’ve been extremely excited to share this year’s prayer flag with you all. My flag represents both Jensen and Huxley in different ways that I am happy to explain to you all.

Colors

There are three main colors: blue, orange, and grey. Of course, right? Blue and orange are forever Jensen’s colors. When I see them, I instantly smile and it brings me back to when I was pregnant and all the hope I had decorating and planning his nursery. The other color, grey, is his middle name. It felt like a strong color to use for the background. It’s what holds the flag together and his name felt so strong while we were choosing.

Buttons

When I was pregnant with Huxley, I started collecting buttons; a little fun fact. I had this craft I was so set on doing for him for his nursery. The mason chair in my closet is a quarter of the way full with different sizes and colors of buttons. When I was decided on how I was going to make this year’s prayer flag, I didn’t know what I was going to do. I went into the craft store and was lead straight to the button aisle. Then it all fit together.

Initials

Last year, Jensen’s flag had a huge J on it. I knew I wanted to include Jensen and Huxley’s initials somewhere this year. They seem like such simple letters, but for some of us, that’s all we have from our babies. I added them close to the heart because they’ll forever be in mine.

The Heart

I could go for the literal translation here and say I’m wearing my heart on my flag, but I promise there’s a little more meaning here. The heart is made of a ton of little buttons (sadly, I didn’t count them to give you an exact number), this resembles the pieces of my broken heart. In the same sense, they are all together, which resembles my healing process and the hope to keep waking up and doing my best every morning.

And yes, there is the literal translation of a heart representing love and my favorite poem from e.e. cummings.

Ribbons and Tassels

Mainly used for decorative purposes, I wanted to bridge a connection from last year’s flag to this year’s. Although I have grown tremendously since this day on year ago, I am still on the same journey of loss and love. What better way to represent this than some pretty ribbon and getting my aggression out by cutting fabric?


Thank you all for allowing me to share this year’s prayer flag with you. It has been such a healing activity and a great day to connect to other loss moms and dads. I hope you enjoyed my flag as much as I enjoyed making it and that you learned something more about Jensen and Huxley.

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My Answer to the Most Asked Question I Receive.

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Photo from sayinggoodbye.org. 

I want to write and share about my journey, where do I start?

Out of all the questions I get from other loss parents, this is the one that comes up most often.  As parents, we want our child’s name out there in the world and for them to be remembered. Sharing our experiences is a perfect way to do this.

Now, I’m not an expert, by any means. For me, I began blogging years ago. It was just me talking about my college years and what was going on in my life. Sometimes when I go back and read, I cringe at the topics that were so important then. Seriously, it was so bad, but it did teach me that sharing what is on my heart in mind was a good thing and how to work that particular blogging platform. When Jensen was born, I had so many words clogging my head that I knew I needed to get them out, so I turned to what was familiar.

But where to begin?

There’s a lot to say after loss, but I would suggest everyone to begin at one place: your story.

That might seem a little obvious, but reliving all those events is emotional. There are times I’ve told my story and I haven’t been able to get through without breaking down. It’s okay, this is ‘normal.’

Here’s the first time I shared Jensen’s story publicly: Jensen Grey’s Story.

Honestly, you can tell your pregnancy/birth story a million times and it will always be different. It seems like there are parts you remember that you didn’t before or a certain detail sticks out one time more than others. I’ve written Jensen’s story so many times and I always surprise myself with what comes out. This is a great way to introduce your baby and you as a parent to the entire world.

Of course, you don’t have to delve into certain areas of the story you don’t feel comfortable talking about. You may ease into the more you begin sharing. Just do whatever feels comfortable for you.

Let’s say you have your story ready to share, you go to click post, and then you freeze. Sometimes it just doesn’t feel right and you want to keep your child and their story to yourself. You might never get to a point where you’re comfortable to share, but you have their story all wrote out. It’s a huge accomplishment just to let some of the pressure out of your head. No one is pressuring you to tell your story and will be mad that you didn’t. Most people just want to support you.

If and when you do decide to share with the world, I’m happy for you.

Not only is writing healing for you, but it can help so many others through their journey. Your story is different from everyone else’s, but there will be similarities that help loss parents reach out and build connections. That’s what is so beautiful about this community.

It might be a one time post or it could grow into writing on a schedule. From there you can decide what to write about. Life after loss is a constant learning experience. Through it, your words may be able to give another a feeling of not being alone or some insight of what they can do if they find themselves in the same situation. No matter what, writing your story first will guide you in what you feel is best to do next.

Write your story. Share your child. Be proud of your motherhood (or fatherhood).

*If you have any other questions or would like to share your story, feel free to comment the link or write it out below.*

Another Lost Moment Death Stole Away. 

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I read my son a bedtime story last night.

This particular book I bought after he was gone, well this week last year actually. The sentence pulled at my heartstrings, such as many books I have read in the past…

“Yes, Edgar, I’ll always love you… evermore.”

He’d be sixteen and a half months old now. That seems unbelievable. His day and nighttime routine should be set in stone, which includes me reading to him. Instead of him trying to help me turn the pages, I read and the rest of the house was silent. Besides my voice, the only other noise in the house was the pages turning. You would think I would get used to stillness, but it still makes me uncomfortable. I think it always will.

When I was pregnant with Jensen, I read to him every night. Then I would journal and write a Bible verse. Even the first couple weeks after he was born, I would get out the books he’d kick to and whisper their words so he could hear and no one would think I was crazy. Reading every night turned to only a few times a week to just on big days, like Christmas or his birthday. It got too hard. That sounds like a really weak excuse, but it’s true and the truth is always difficult to swallow. Instead, I kept writing at night, which turned into nightly letter writing. One day my collection of notebooks will be bigger than the amount of books Jensen had in his little library.

After I got done reading to him, I cried on the floor. (I seem to be doing this a lot lately.)

Earlier yesterday, I kept feeling like this was all a dream. It felt like I couldn’t connect back to almost two years ago when I found out he was in my belly. Sometimes I forget how his kicks feel or what it was like being pregnant. When that happens, I have to focus really hard to get them back. But that’s terrifying to me. Those are the only moments I had with him and I won’t get anymore.

I don’t have the words to explain how the aftermath of pregnancy and infant loss feels. There have been days I just go sit in his room and say his name. He was real. The absolute worst happened. It stopped me from all the future moments with him. 

I didn’t just lose a baby, I lost every second I was meant to spend with him. A person died, not an idea of one. 

August not only brings my birthday, it’s when I had my positive pregnancy test. The first month of the rest of my life. I wonder if my brain has been protecting me lately by not letting pregnancy memories flood my consciousness. The cycle of Jensen events will be in full swing in only a few days. I can feel the anxiety slowly building, I wonder if I’m strong enough to hold it all.  

Somehow I know I will be; I have so far. I have surprised myself with being able to stand back up again. Through all the pain and heartbreak I have encountered, I’m still pushing on. Forever tied to Jensen and the love that surrounds him, but also to the lessons loss has taught me. 

“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”

The Great Gatsby

Five Tips on Making a Prayer Flag for Your Child. 

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The Day of Hope – Prayer Flag Project is coming up, in one week (August Nineteenth) to be exact!

This is my second year participating in the project. Last year was definitely a learning process for me in participating with the community and making something that reflected my grief, motherhood, and of course Jensen. I wrote a little post to introduce my flag and explain the meaning behind it, here. This year, I’ve been a little more relaxed with my flag. I had one design in mind, but when I went into the craft store, that idea went out the window and I came up with something so fitting. 

I’m not going to share the whole flag and it’s meaning until next week, but I wanted to show some snippets of the flag while I was creating today. Also, I wanted to give you all some tips if you’ve saw the project, but have been weary of committing. Hopefully this can inspire you to be apart of this great project and day. 


Check Out CarlyMarie’s Page for Information 

CarlyMarie is a beautiful loss mom who has been in the community for ten years now. She does all sorts of projects through the year to helped bereaved parents with their grief and honoring all our children. This page is going to give you the complete background of what the project stands for and how it came to creation. It also gives you a great starting place when it comes to purchasing items for your flag. Such as, the dimensions of the fabric you’ll use and videos of how others have made prayer flags. 

Also, it includes event links and social media hashtags to connect you more to the community and see what everyone else made. 

Get Creative 

The possibilities are endless when it comes to creating a prayer flag for your child. Whatever you can think of, you can create. I know it. 

Last year, Jensen’s ‘J’ initial was the highlight of the flag. Incorporating their name or their initials is a perfect way to add a big touch of them. I also used his colors, blue and orange to focus on. These colors were used in his nursery and for my baby shower. You could possibly use a color you identify your child with or any theme. Another item I incorporated last year was flowers. I always picture Jensen sending me flowers and it was so peaceful adding them. If you get signs from your child, such as feathers or butterflies, add them. This is the fun part of seeing how all our babies are different. 

This year, I’m mainly using his colors and buttons… so excited to share what everything means next week. 


Don’t Overthink Your Design 

I was guilty of this last year. Sometimes (most of the time) I can be a perfectionist; I’m a Virgo, enough said. 

You know your child better than everyone else. Whatever you choose to add to your flag will be perfect no matter what. Everyone is in different stages of their grief too, which will be apparent in each and every project. Listen to that creative voice in your head and jump in. 

Here’s something else not to worry about, if you don’t find an item that you had pictured in your mind, don’t compromise, but don’t let it drag you down. You will be surprised of what you can create. For me, it’s always way better when it’s done than what I had originally planned. 

Have Fun 

The hard fact is we never wanted to be in this position of making a prayer flag for our child. There are hundreds of things we should be doing for them instead. Sometimes projects like these can be overwhelming depending on where you are in you’re journey. Believe me, I understand. 

I urge you to try it though. 

It is so heartwarming to be making something for them. This is one way we can still parent them and show our love. Working with your hands is so healing and, for me, it’s fun to actually hold items that remind me of Jensen. I put on some Jensen jams and rocked away with my glue gun in hand. Try to smile and even have fun while creating. 

Embrace the Community Cheering You On

Whether you decide to share you flag publicly or keep it private, we’re all here for you, always. There are times when we don’t feel confident in what we’re doing, especially after loss. There are people, like me, that are here to encourage you to keep going and just to listen. 

As I mentioned above, there’s usually an event page on Facebook that participants can share their flags with each other. It is such a supportive space to share and hear others stories. I would recommend joining in on this; when I find the event page, I will definitely post on Jensen’s Page. Another social media platform I recommend for the Day of Hope and just with grief in general is Instagram. Last year there were hundreds of moms (and dads) posting their flags and everyone had such kind words.  

Just some ending reminders… 

  • The Day of Hope – Prayer Flag Project is on August 19th. 
  • If you want to know more information, check out the event page, here.
  • There’s still time to participate and make a beautiful prayer flag. 
  • Check out some inspiration on social media. 
  • You got this!

Grief Stares Back. 

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I broke down in the shower this afternoon. 

There wasn’t any specific trigger, besides just missing him. No one has said his name out loud to me, there hasn’t really been a reason for everyone to mention him today. I was just standing there, letting the hot water pound on my back. Then I realized how long I’d stood there. This wouldn’t have happened if he was still here. 

That’s when I lost it. 

It’s these moments in grieving that people don’t see. Where I’m sitting on the shower floor and I  can’t differentiate the water from my tears. No one sees me trying to stand up and wishing I never had to. Then when there’s enough courage to stand, I feel like there’s so much weight on my shoulders. The tears didn’t do anything but put sadness more in my head. All I keep repeating in my head is why. 

Somehow I get up and look at my mirror. Instead of just wiping off the steam, I write his name. I take it in and say it out loud. 

His name deserves to be said. It’s such a strong, sounding name. He fit it perfectly. Then I look at it all written out.  I take in the curves in each of his letter, then savor this moment. The calm in the storm. 

As it slowly evaporates, I’m faced with myself: a bereaved mother. My eyes are all puffy and there’s some mascara left under my eyes, even with the heavy stream of water I just was under. I wish I could smash it to pieces and never have to look at myself after a breakdown again. It’s painful to see myself in such distress. I feel it constantly, but rarely see it staring back at me. 

This is grief. 

The Curiosity of Dreams.  

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I had a dream.

Honestly, I was afraid to tell a lot of people because I didn’t want anyone to think I was crazier than I already am. It was two nights ago and although it was comforting for me, I tried not to look at it as a sign. In it, I dreamed about a man who told me Jensen was happy, always with me, and loved laying in bed when I was there. The man was so real and sure of what he was saying, I have never met him before, but I trusted him. When I woke, I remembered every detail of what I dreamed, the room I was in when he told me, what he looked like, and most of all his words.

As I laid in bed thinking of what had just happened, I finally decided to check my phone to see what was going on in the world. I saw that I was tagged in an Instagram post and checked it out.


@thefivefacetsofhealing

Now, I try not to go looking for every sign I think I get, but this was too coincidental.

They are never far from you, no matter where you go. 

The man in my dream had told me Jensen was always close. I always knew he was near, but it was just some sort of validation I needed this month. Maybe another birthday gift from beyond. I went along with the rest of the day and didn’t really think about it more, until this morning.

Last night, one of my best friends and I went out to celebrate and just be in the moment. As I have said, it’s my birthday month and it’s just nice to go out and savor the night for what it is. She ended up sleeping over since we got back so late. This morning, she wanted to tell me about her dream. She kept saying it felt so real, like it happened just as we were talking.

In her dream, she dreamt we were having a sleepover with her daughter. It came to the part of the night where we were laying in bed and we started taking pictures. Her daughter was on her and we were smiling and laughing. After we were done taking pictures, she flipped through to see them and noticed another smiling face laying between us. She saw Jensen and instantly knew it was him. He looked to be around sixteen months old, just enjoying the sleepover like we did. It was him laying in bed with us, like the man said he liked to do.

I got cold chills. The man’s voice repeated what he said in my mind. My second validation that Jensen was letting me know he’s happy with his smiles and was laying there with us.

Jensen always seems to let me know he’s okay; this month especially. I feel like he’s been cheering me on and wanting me to have the best birthday I can possibly have. Sometimes I think the signs he brings me makes me insane, but I know deep down he wants to me to know.

Our children gone too soon can reach out in amazing ways.

If You Were Here Today, You’d Be Sixteen Months Old. 

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The fifth of every month weighs heavy on my heart, this month is no different. 

I didn’t know if I wanted to write today, maybe this would be the first fifth I didn’t write on. For the whole morning and most of this afternoon, I laid on the couch crying. Sixteen months. Time hasn’t soften the loss of you like everyone thinks. In fact, it’s done quite the opposite. I hate that there’s this distance between the last time I felt him, not knowing when I’ll finally see him again. 

Those thoughts are haunting. They take me to a place I don’t like to travel often. I get lost in them, trying to figure it all out and wonder where I go from here. 

As I sat there, I didn’t want to write and tell you all this. I want everyone to know this hurts and it’s not how it should be. 

If he was here today, I’d make him funfetti cupcakes to celebrate another month of growing. He’d have blue frosting all over his face and just laugh. People would think I was crazy for celebrating each month and maybe we wouldn’t if I didn’t know what losing him was like. I do now and if I had that knowledge, we would celebrate. 

It’s a dreary day, but no rain, so we would have went to the zoo to walk around. He would know what sounds the animals made and mimic them. I can imagine him pointing then making their noise, then look back at me with that look. The look that only children give their parents. A look I so desperately wish I could’ve got from him. 

I would buy him an animal book to read for bedtime. He already has so many books as is, his collection would have only grown in sixteen months. That book would be read at bedtime, after our nighttime routine. On the drive home and listen to music he’d dance in his car seat to, until he fell asleep. Then I could shut the music off and listen to him breathe as I drove. That would be my most favorite noise in the world. 

Maybe we’d stop by grandma and grandpa’s house to show him our adventures to the zoo. Who knows, maybe they would have been the ones to take us, but we would all be together. A family should always stay close. 

When we got home, we would be together. He would tear through the house and want another cupcake that I would probably give him. Sixteen months is something to celebrate. After his face was all blue again, it’d be time for a bath. All his favorite toys would be brought in to help him get clean. He’d get dried off in his little robe, then into his pajamas. Slowly, he’d grow more and more tired until it was time to read the animal book we got earlier that day. With each word, his blinks would get longer until dreamland welcomed him. I’d lay him in his crib, shut off the light, and tiptoe quietly out of his room. 

As I would prepare for bed, I would get ready for the next day. There would be no worries, no death, no grief. Just him and our life. 

That’s how this day should be as he turned another month older. 

This post was inspired by the ’30 Day Writing Challenge For Stillbirth Mothers‘ day five prompt. 

The One Thing I Wanted to Teach You. 

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I wanted to teach you everything.

How to walk, talk, read, count, ride your bike, drive a car, talk to girls, and everything else in between. In a lifetime, you would have learned so much from me, maybe even a few things I didn’t want you to like biting nails and the occasional bad word. Seeing you soak up all the information you possibly could, would give me such joy. 

When you were in my belly, I thought about this often; the basic things to teach you. I did this by reading to you and making sure I was constantly talking out loud. Yet, I daydreamed of you holding my hand as you stumbled across our living room floor and how you wouldn’t quit talking once you found your voice. Honestly, I thought we would have so much more time. I didn’t expect you to be gone before I got to do any of these. 

As I look back on the sixteen months without you, I realized what the most important thing I could teach you…

There is no greater force to know and feel than love. 

Of course you would have known how loved you were. You knew that from the thirty-eight weeks you were safely tucked inside my belly. All you ever felt was love. But, this is something different though. I would want to teach you how it feels to be loved by someone who means the world to you. That no matter what the circumstance you’re in, that love will be your saving grace and nothing could ever take that away. 

It took me twenty-two years to completely grasp how it felt. My parents always loved me like that, but you, my sweet son, opened my eyes and showed me what I was blinded to my whole life. 

You taught me the very thing I wanted to teach you. 

I’m sorry I didn’t get to teach you this and all the other things too. In your short life, you already had so much wisdom that I couldn’t possibly understand. For that, I thank you. 

This post was inspired by the ’30 Day Writing Challenge For Stillbirth Mothers‘ day nine prompt. 

Five Reasons I Deserve to be His Mom.

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My parent’s TWENTY-FIFTH wedding anniversary is this November. There’s not too many people who can say they have been married for that long and I am so proud that they’re mine.

In honor of them, I’m planning on submitting their love story to the anniversary part of our local newspaper. Today, I made the effort on gathering pictures to choose to submit and answering the questions that they provide. They were all pretty basic ones and, admittedly I should have prepared myself before reading. There was the question, ‘how many grandchildren?’ My heart skipped a beat. I was staring at my mom and didn’t know what to put.

Yes, he deserved to be on there, but did she want him included. Should there be a little asterisk by his name? I just asked her because I needed to hear her say she wanted him on there, apart of their life story. ‘Of course,’ she proclaimed, like it was even a part to question.

I was happy to hear her say that and knew deep down she would, but what made me question what to put? His name deserves to be said and known, just as my mother deserves to be known as his grandmother. Why do I question why I deserve being his mother to the outside world?

A few days ago I read about a ‘30 Day Writing Challenge for Stillbirth Mothers.‘ I skimmed each prompt to think about if I wanted to join along, but didn’t know if I wanted to commit. When I got to the last one, it felt like the world stopped: 5 Reasons Why I Deserve To Be Your Mother. It’s been in my mind since and today’s newspaper/anniversary dilemma really made me consider why.

He is mine.

Obviously, right?

Half of every cell in his body was made of me. I read him a bedtime story every night and watched his personality grow, stubborn like me. When I look at myself in the mirror or down at my feet, I see him.

Carried his whole life.

For thirty-eight weeks and two days, he was surrounded by love and warmth. That’s his whole entire life.

Each day, I felt him get bigger and his kicks become stronger. As he grew, so did my belly. I have the stretch marks to show for him and I deserve to have them. No, I don’t have Jensen to show off, but I’ll forever have the time he was with me marked on myself for as long as I live.

I’ll always cherish his life and being pregnant with him, it’s his gift to me.

Love.

Love never dies and everyone deserves to be loved.

As much as I loved him, he loved me too. I’ll never forget hearing his heart beat for the first time as mine skipped. It was magical. Although, I’ll never hear him say ‘I love you’ or know what he loved about me most, I imagine he felt the same way about hearing the rhythmic drumming of my heart as he fell asleep.

This love has never ceased, his death didn’t stop the way I felt. It’s the one thing that has kept me afloat when all I could feel is grief taking me under.

Surviving loss.

On ‘good’ days, I feel like a warrior. I’m this all-powerful mother, that has faced her darkest days and still can find the light in life. Then there are the other days where I feel the only thing I can do is breathe.

I don’t deserve losing Jensen. No one deserves living life without their child. Yet, surviving life after loss makes me realize how much I thrived during my time with Jensen. I deserve to survive, just as I deserve him and being apart of his life.

I am deserving.

Loss can make a person feel like they’re a failure. It makes you question everything about yourself and what you did. In the early days, I would think he was taken away because I didn’t deserve him. That somehow getting pregnant with him was this huge, cosmic mistake and him dying and the pain I felt is what I really deserved.

This isn’t true.

It isn’t true for anyone of us who have experienced loss. We deserve our little ones, just as they deserved us. Each and every one of us are parents and death cannot take away that title. We have lived through the absolute worst tragedy anyone can and, although we don’t deserve living without them, we earned the right to love and honor our children.

That’s why he’ll always be included in our family, hopefully in my parent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary write-up.

I deserve to be Jensen’s mom, now and forever.

How does a person eat an elephant? 

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I vividly remember being asked this question while planning Jensen’s funeral. Flabbergasted, I sat there and stared at the pastor who I had only met that day. He was looking at me, not with pity or sadness, but in a way where he really wanted me to learn from this moment. 

‘One bite at a time.’

Then he explained his story, it’s not mine to tell completely, but what I can say is he’s experienced child loss and being a widower. His words, at that time, felt like a lot to carry. I was in so much pain and didn’t understand how people can carry this grief for so long. It’s overwhelming to think of living the rest of your life with such a tremendous loss. 

Just as it would be if someone placed this huge elephant in front of you to eat. 

A grieving person doesn’t have to take their whole life at once, just one day (sometimes moments) at a time. Maybe some bites are easier than those others, but it’s still a lot. Grief is heavy, it always will. 

Then when we look up to see how far we’ve come, we really do see healing. Even in the worst days, I can see how I’ve healed. In the beginning I thought healing was bad. I didn’t want to feel anything else but the pain that drowned me. If I didn’t that way it  would make it seem like his loss didn’t matter. Of course we know this isn’t true. That elephant is always there. 

Sometimes, I wish I could go thank him for the elephant inquiry. It’s one constant question I’ve asked myself during this time. When he first said it, I didn’t get it. I mean how could I when just two days before I found out my son had died. He knew I couldn’t possibly grasp in the meaning in that moment. Maybe we never truly understand, but through life after loss we can continue learning about our grieving process and how to live our best for those who have gone. 

One. Day. At. A. Time. 

Never all at once. 

I was made aware of one part of my healing today. Last year, I posted this. It was a time where I was terrified for time to pass, I still don’t like it very much, but I know it’s the way of the world. Yesterday, I was relieved July was going to be over; it was a painful month for me. Then this morning when I woke up, my body welcomed August. 

Jensen met me in my dreams last night and was playing with balloons. It’s my birthday month, I’ll be twenty-four on the twenty-third. I think he wants me to celebrate me this month, hence the balloons. So, that’s what I’m going to do. 

There will be a few people sharing Jensen and I’s story this month and my first article on Still Standing will be out. I’m planning on writing frequently, since it’s my go to self care. With that, I’m going to do something special for myself each and every day this month. Maybe I’ll make a list and share it on here to give all you amazing moms (and dads) some self care inspiration.  We deserve it so much and our children think so too. 

Hello August, I’m going to take you on one bite at a time through grieving, loving, and celebrate.