Tag Archives: grieving

Thirty-Six Weeks.

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My chest felt like it was caving in this morning.

‘Another Tuesday,’ I instantly thought after I realized the weight on my chest was the anxiety of the upcoming day. It’s brought me another full week of Jensen being gone and closer to me being here longer than he was, post loss. That’s a scary thought to have. Knowing my heart made it to this point, completely shattered, while his heart had stopped at this time. I wish I could hear that beautiful, strong heartbeat just one more time…

During my usual Tuesday breakdown, I kept saying over and over again how I couldn’t believe this was my life. I say it on a loop nowadays. On top of grief and the week changing, I’ve also been preparing for vacation. We leave early tomorrow morning. It’ll be a long journey, but I’ll be on the beach and relaxing as the waves drift me off to sleep. I can’t help thinking of whether or not Jensen would like the ocean. Or how he would show me his imagination when he built sand castles with a big moat around his carefully placed structures. In some ways I’ll be bringing him to the beach; as well as all his friends up in heaven. His name will be carefully written in the sand and the waves will crash to take a little part of him with them. Or that’s how I imagined it to help lift the heavy weight that is anxiety off of my chest.

After therapy and surviving that breakdown, I was hit with the snow. Today’s snow is the perfect consistency for making snowballs and snow angels. It’s fluffy and packs so very nicely. I was standing outside my car and just could see him picking the snow up. At that same spot, I marked right where he would be with the loops of his J and e’s.

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My snow angel, he’ll forever be.

Somehow by someway, it brings me a little peace to see where he’s marked at my feet. Really, anywhere I see something that reminds me of him lightens the anxiety by a little bit. That’s the amazing part of having victories in the small battles, even the quickest moment can bring you some happiness.A smile can form from tears. Even if that joy is fleeting, having a break from treading those waves is such a relief.

I’m hoping to be able to update you guys about my trip throughout the time I’m gone. If not on here, definitely through the Facebook page or the Instagram feed. The one part of the trip I’m REALLY looking forward to is writing all these beautiful baby names out. It’s honestly been a little mission for me that has got me by the last few weeks and from dipping out on the trip. I really do think Jensen would want me to go to enjoy myself and to mark another beach off his passport.

 

Happy thirty-six weeks in heaven, Jensen Grey. You’re my light that leads me through the darkness of grief. I’ll carry you in my heart forever and just know from sand to snow, you’ll always be with me. I miss you. I love you.

The Gift of Hope.

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All of Jensen’s Christmas presents should be bought by now. Even though I know I would keep finding more and more to get him.

The freshly, fallen snow should have fascinated him all throughout the weekend.

I should be watching him grow each day.

He should be here, but he’s not.

There are times during the day where I’m just grief-stricken and in utter disbelief of my life. In fact, all of these should moments are completely different that what I ever intended. I haven’t bought one Christmas present for anyone so far this year. The cold and snow are just annoyances to me. The only growth that surrounds me is my growing strength to face another day and soon, another year.

Quite frankly, I’ve been negative about all that’s happening around me. Frustration has taken root deep down. I know it’s just my mind trying to navigate grief throughout the holidays and it trying to conceive that Jensen isn’t here for his first earthly holidays. Each day I instantly think of all the ‘shoulds’ I thought I’d have. Reality has a funny way of telling me that they are not happening, but there are beautiful moments that happen because Jensen did live and is very loved.

As I’ve been writing this, I was sure I had introduced Jensen’s brick in Stow protected by the Angel of Hope. Turns out, I haven’t written about this beautiful memorial that was built by pure love. If I end up finding a post where I talk about the first event, I’ll hyperlink it here. Long story short, there is a book written called The Christmas Box by Richard Paul Evan which is about a mother’s grief of her child. The book was a really big hit among grieving parents who wanted to honor the story, their grief, and children, by bringing an Angel of Hope statue to their town. Eventually Stow, Ohio saved up and was able to also get an Angel of Hope to honor all children gone too soon. You can find out more on their website, here. On that link you can also buy a brick for the Stow location. If you’re not by me, there’s a ton of different amazing locations where the angel is. That list can be found, here.

Shortly after Jensen was born, I stumbled across the Angel of Hope. Since he was cremated, I don’t have a spot to go for him. I knew I wanted to though. Being able to buy a brick right in front of the statue was a way I could get out of my house and visit Jensen in a spot. I’m able to take flowers to lay on his brick and also on the base of the angel. I know I’ve just said this, but the location is breathtaking. It’s quiet and solemn. Every time I’ve been there I’ve just been able to let my tears flow. And, there’s something about seeing your child’s name that makes you pause.

Here is Jensen’s brick. Flowers from his mama and pennies from his grandpa.

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Well, yesterday we were invited to go to the Annual Candle Lighting Ceremony to honor Jensen and the rest of the children who do and don’t have bricks. It was so frigid outside. The snow slushed under my feet and I had to really watch that I didn’t fall. Once we made it to the group, I was just in awe. The amount of people there was so overwhelming and not in the way you’re thinking. My world really shakes when I know there’s so many other people feeling how I do. Obviously, everyone is in their different stages of healing, but to grieve a child through the holidays… there’s really no words of comfort.

When we a lit our candles, it was just a wave of light that warmed me even through the freezing weather. I always say Jensen is my light and constantly have candles burning in my house. Every time I see flames, I feel his presence. We felt it so much last night, that my dad’s cup lit on fire and he had to throw it down. Laughter is sometimes much-needed in these moments. To be able to smile through the tears and not knowing what to say really shows something.

Of course the parents who put on the ceremony were able to share and talk. One thing really stood out to me. They lit five different candles and one of them was lit for the love parents have for their children, even through death. He said, something to the effect of, look how much each and every single person there loves the child they are there for. That even through the freezing cold temperature, we stand there to show our love. To show that no matter has happened, this love is so strong. It’s unbreakable. My first thought while standing there was, I would stand out here every night if that’s what Jensen needed. Then I thought, I would do anything for Jensen. There is literally nothing that would stand in my way if it was something I had to do for him.

You can’t see this, but I’m sitting here just crying and having to keep pausing to wipe my eyes so I can see. It is crazy for me to think what I would do for him even though he’s not here. It’s like I challenge myself to an even more outrageous act and there’s not even a second of doubt that I wouldn’t do it. Often I wonder how that would be if he was actually here. Would it be more or less? Or would it just be different? Most times I think it would just be different…

Back to where we were originally.

All those ‘shoulds’ are never going to go away. Even when Jensen is supposed my age now, I’ll try to imagine what challenges he would be facing and how it would be so fulfilling to see him overcome them. It’s hard for me to think of what I’ll actually be doing in twenty-three years, but it’ll never be what it should have been. No matter, with each candle I light, whether it be in ceremonies like last night or in the comfort of my home, I do it as a promise. A promise of love and to keep doing everything in my power to show him that. Right now, that’s to get keep living and doing the best I can.

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Dearest Angel of Hope, keep Jensen and all the children taken to soon safe in your reach. I look to you for hope, love, and the will to keep pushing on from day to day, month to month, and year to year.

Just wanted to add, I will be going on vacation this week. If you haven’t put your child’s name on this post, please do before I close the comments on Tuesday. In case you didn’t hear, I will be going to Punta Cana this week and offered to write baby names on the beach. I already have a lot of names which is heartbreaking, but I’m happy to help and to remember Jensen and all his friends. After I get back, I will be posting an album of all the pictures Jensen’s Facebook page.

Pressed Love.

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Sometimes the smallest moment can calm the busiest of days.

Today has been high-paced. With only four days to go until I leave, I’ve rushed around my house cleaning and organizing. I’ve been wanting everything just right so I can relax when I get back. To be honest, I got a little off track today. Instead of doing what I had on my list, my books were staring at me. If I had opened them up, all the words written inside of them would have told me to find the right place for them. So embarked my work for today.

I can remember every book I’ve ever bought and read. Usually I can tell you right where they are, but Jensen’s baby books took me by surprise. I had forgotten they were in my bookcase. They’ve just morphed into my normal everyday. Instantly, I put them in his room. Where they should always be, being read and looked through. Surprisingly, I didn’t get triggered seeing them or putting them away in his room. Felt almost like a normal thing to do; picking up Jensen’s things and putting them away. My whole body tensed up when I saw them, but my mind was okay with his books. They still needed to be in their rightful spots.

After getting one of my bookcases done, I had to start on the other one. There were books I read during my pregnancy and that I’ve looked through during my grief. It’s crazy to see how you grow up through certain things, especially with books. Interests change and inside them are underlined or highlighted sentences. I would open them up and flip through just to see what jumped out at me.

That’s when Jensen gave me a moment to slow down my busy day.

Out of a huge, Andy Warhol book fell my little surprise: two perfectly pressed flowers, one orange and one blue. Immediately I knew what they were. They were from the random acts of kindness I did in Jensen’s name over the summer. I didn’t remember pressing any of them, but they instantly brought me to tears. In my mind, I knew it was Jensen picking his mom flowers and bringing them to me. He was telling me to slow down. That it would all get done in time, but to make sure I took time to care for my heart. They not only fell into my hands, but also in my heart. I decided to stop organizing and cleaning for the day and focus on the peacefulness of the snow falling.

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I made Jensen’s favorite drink, just heated up a bit, and framed his gift to me. To me these pressed flowers aren’t just from a bouquet from a random act of kindness, they’re flowers picked from heaven given to me by my angel. He somehow brought me what I had always imagined him doing, just in the middle of winter and through the only ways he knew how. This is what love looks like framed.

The past few days I’ve wanted to share another ornament with you all. As you all know, I haven’t done an amazing job sharing them. I thought this was the perfect one to show today. The little angel in the picture is from Emilia’s mom, Jillian. This little angel shines so bright on the tree. The gold snowflake shimmers and is constantly catching my eye. When I was making hot chocolate, I kept thinking of Jensen. How he shines his light so brightly leading me to what’s best for my day. It was also the first ornament I’ve received from another loss mama. Knowing Jensen was being thought about and how Jillian wanted to comfort me, really warmed my heart. I think of Jensen, Emilia and all their friends watching over us. Some even sending their gifts of pressed love to their parents.

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.

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.