Tag Archives: grieving

“Good Thing You Didn’t Get Attached” and Six Other Things I’ve Heard.

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 Grief weighs so heavily on me. Most days I do not feel like getting out of bed to participate in ‘real’ life. When I actually do have the courage to go out in the world, it never fails that I head something that makes me want to run and hide in bed. This list has been weighing on me for weeks, with the last on it just recently being said to me.

This list isn’t meant to stir up trouble or make anyone weary of saying anything about Jensen to me. Believe me, I love talking about Jensen and sharing his story with others. There’s 38 weeks of his life that I proudly talk about. I have so many ultrasound pictures I’ll show you. I will talk about grief and baby loss. These are just the topics that are going on in my head every second about Jensen and the past fourteen weeks.

Good thing you didn’t get attached.

He wasn’t a puppy. Jensen was my child. He was a sweet baby who has a family that loves him more than anything. I see the picture of his first shoes and just want to cry thinking that people didn’t think I was attached to him. Or I feel as if that he wore these shoes or I brought Jensen home with me, I would be worse off than I already am. I don’t know, I just can’t wrap my head around it. How could I not love him just because he was stillborn. He died and I’m still attached to him. I was ‘attached’ the second I saw the positive sign when I took the pregnancy test. I had 38 full weeks with Jensen and had a lifetime of, well, life planned for the both of us. Just because he died doesn’t mean he didn’t exist and my love for him just ended. He is and always will be my first-born son; I’ll always be attached to him. 

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Wordless Wednesdays.

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After every challenging day, there is a little peace. Wednesday’s have been my little peace for me the past few weeks. From now on, I’m going to dedicate the calmness of each Wednesday as Wordless Wednesday.

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Three Months.

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Today my son turns three months old.

I’ve been dreading this day. This whole holiday weekend has been so exhausting and has led up to this Tuesday. It seems unreal that I’m here right now. Somehow my body is still walking, breathing, and functioning. Most times it feels like my soul is going to lift right up from my body and just go. I’m not sure where my soul would go, I’d just want to be right there with Jensen’s.

This Tuesday is unlike all the other milestone Tuesdays and changing of the months. Today is just like the day Jensen was born: Tuesday, April 5. The combination of the days together hurts so much more. Not to mention we changed the calendar page, again. It all has flooded me this weekend. I was with family on Saturday, just like I was three months ago. Sunday was a lazy day with Anthony. Then Monday was full of pain and loathing for the next day to come. July is mirroring April. Heck, the weather is just like April.

Then I’m here, barely. My body is a zombie and my mind is just everywhere all at once; replaying three months ago and since then all at once. It hits me how much time has passed.

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The Nevers.

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Unexpected triggers are the worst. Sometimes the most innocent moments that I’ve encountered since Jensen’s birth have been the worst. Then others are literally so obvious, I don’t know how I get into the situation. No matter how innocent or obvious they are, each result in the same thought process. I like to refer to them as the Nevers.

Why the Nevers? Well, usually an obvious trigger involves a baby or child, but the innocent ones result in the Nevers. Never will I hear Jensen tell me he loves me. Never will I know the color of Jensen’s eyes. Never will I know his laugh. Never will I bake him a cake that he can smash into. Never will we have sleepovers for him. Never will I take pictures of his first day of school. Never will I know his favorite pie. Never, never, never, the list goes on and on.

And trust me, I’d never wish the Nevers on anyone.

Most of the time, I don’t try to dwell on the Nevers, but of course, there’s the triggers. My first ever trigger was leaving the hospital without Jensen. All of that. I could never leave the hospital with him. In the passing weeks, I found there were more triggers that stared the process. I avoid Lowe’s and Walmart. Pretty much everywhere there are newborns and kids. Not that I don’t love them and am so happy for their innocence and happiness they bring to this earth, but all of that was taken away the second his heart stopped beating. My first long time Never was setting up for my cousin’s graduation party. It really put everything in perspective. Yeah, I didn’t have Jensen here as a baby, but I’ll never get him as a child, teenager, and adult. I would never be able to plan any of his birthdays or school parties. I would never set up for his graduation and celebrate his accomplishments that will lead him into adulthood. Those Nevers sting and are hardest to break the cycle.

Of course I do whatever to avoid these triggers at all cost, most of the time it hurts others around me. I’m just trying to protect myself. Last night I was caught off guard. Anthony and I were in our safe place and enjoying a treat: Oreos and milk. I dropped my Oreo into my mug, looked down, and it hit.

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Dear Jensen;

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I love you.

I miss you.

It’s been twelve weeks today. I can remember having you in my belly for twelve whole weeks and thinking we were safe. All I want is you here with that safe feeling back. Here in my arms, growing out of your shoes and onesies. At twelve weeks old, you would have changed so much. I think you probably would have already needed a hair cut. I’m constantly imagining you and what we would be doing if you were here. Our lives would be so full and happy. I’m trying to get back to that now; it’s just hard to do without you here.

Jensen Grey, you’re the only thing that brings me my glimpse of happiness.

Eighty-four days full of love and loss, battling each other. Love usually wins out, but there’s days like today where all I can feel is that hole in my heart. I always feel myself longing for you, wishing I could go back in time when I know you were warm and hearing my voice. If it was four months ago, I would have just seen you dancing around in my belly the day before. Monday and Thursdays were my days to see you there. They were and will always be my favorite days. Just seeing you be the silly little boy you are. I loved how I could see your cute little nose and your face shape. They never could have shown me how cute and squeezable your chubby cheeks were though.

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That’s my favorite ultrasound picture of you; there’s that button nose. Here you can see your chubby cheeks, they make me smile. You are so adorable, sweet love. All your life and even to know, love has surrounded you. I know for a fact you still feel that love. You show me it every day, Jensen. The red and blue birds follow me wherever I go.

I could look at you all day and if you were here in my arms, that’s probably all I would get done doing. No one can explain what this feels like. I’m not talking about grief, Jensen, no one can explain what it’s like to see something they so beautifully creative. Never could I have ever imagined you would be as beautiful as you are. One day I’ll show you off to the world, but I like keeping your pictures to just me right now.

Right now I’m wondering what you’re doing, besides listening to me type this out loud. Are you playing with other babies? Are you being help by everyone that loves you so very much in heaven? Do you feel all my love going to you? Do you celebrate your weeks in heaven like I do here? Do you grow or will you wait for me to see you grow in heaven? Do you miss me? Am I being a good enough mother to you? I wonder all these things all the time.

Jensen, all I ever wanted was to be your mommy. You were my sweetest hello and the hardest goodbye. I’ll never let you go and I won’t let you be forgotten. I’ll drink chocolate milk every morning to remind me of you. Daddy will keep avoided going to Arby’s because we know you disliked it. We read to you each night, Goodnight Moon and Go Dog Go, both your favorites. My music is always on loud and I try to sing when I can, all because I knew it made you happy. I lay on my left side, your favorite. It’s all for you, Jensen. You are my little boy, my sweet love.

I miss you.

I love you, always remember.

Stan Hywet Hall & Gardens.

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Sometimes in the grief, I just want to scream and give up. It feels like there’s only glimpses of relief, only to be shut down again. Relief is a tricky word to use. I’m not devoid of all my pain and sorrow in the glimpses, just I can breathe.

There weren’t a lot of times this week where I could really breathe. Anthony started his new job this week and was gone for the majority of the day; leaving me with the cats, grief, and work. Being left alone during the raw moments of my sadness is scary. There’s nowhere to turn or no one to ground me when I want to rip my hair out. At his new job, Anthony can’t pick up his phone when I call sobbing; and this is only week one.

To celebrate his first week at his new job, and for me getting through the week in one piece and mentally okay, we decided to go on a little retreat. Well, more like Anthony bought tickets and I halfheartedly said I would go, scared to breakdown in front of everyone and afraid to disappoint him.

Retreat – a quiet or secluded place in which one can rest and relax.

Our secluded place was Stan Hywet Hall and Gardens in Akron, Ohio. Secluded because there were probably hundreds of people there and three weddings going on while we were there. Thankfully our tour only had two other people in it. Ironically, Anthony and I relax around the hustle and bustle of museums and history.

Quickly, Stan Hywet Hall and Gardens was the home of Mr and Mrs Seiberling and their six children. Mr Seiberling was the co-founder of The Goodyear Tire & Rubber Company. The tudor revival home has, around, 65,000 square feet, an indoor swimming pool, and a huge music hall. It’s absolutely stunning. They had a lot of money, stories, and love for their family. The estate echoed all of these when you walked into each room (well we only went through 30 of them), discovered each garden, and learned more and more about the couple. The Gate House on the property is also where Alcoholics Anonymous was created. Just a little Akron history for you all.

After our tour, we retreated to the gardens. The smell of roses and running water was constant everywhere you walked. It was such a hot day, but with the shade and water, it really didn’t feel as miserable as it should have. I personally loved the English Garden. It reminded me of a secret garden where Mrs Seiberling came to relax and get away from it all. It was truly a retreat. At the other side of the reflection pool was a women and cherubs. Little angels were all over the estate. It was lovely.

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Inked.

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Being a mother is forever and mothering Jensen while he’s in heaven is no different. We are connected till the end of time. He is made of me and I forever have him in my heart.

When I was pregnant, I knew I wanted to do a motherhood tattoo honoring Jensen and our journey together. I had ones with dates picked out and initials. After he was born, I knew my tattoos for him would be a little different. I want to get his footprint on my foot; so he’s always walking with me. It’s such a lovely idea and I have to walk to the steps he’s never going to take. On the day we went to the tattoo parlor, I knew I couldn’t get a foot tattoo. I like the water and we were going on the lake for Father’s Day. I did not want to get an infection or the tattoo to get gross. So I decided to get something else that meant so much to me.

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The Celtic knot for motherhood with baby Jensen’s birthdate. It represents the unbreakable bond that a mother and child will always have. There’s no separation between the two. For me, I loved how it looks like the child is in the mom, just like Jensen will always be with me. Then his birthdate; the most complicated day. A day so full of love and heartbreak. It signifies how my little love came so silently in this world, the end of his BIG, short life.

My perfect tattoo for my perfect little boy.

The Elements.

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Grief is usually described in two ways: a crazy line graph or the waves of an ocean. At first I tended to relate more to the scribbled mess of the graph. It was black and white, had the path going everywhere, and there was always an endpoint. I used to be comforted by that end point, it represented no more pain. As if all of this anger, sadness, deep grief would just stop at the end of the line.  I was naive and have never faced grief before. I would never have thought pain and loss could be described by the beautiful, calming ocean.

It only took me a month to realize pairing the ocean and grief together is pretty spot on.

At first, I was dropped right in the middle of the biggest ocean ever. It was calm while I was still shocked and realizing the depth of where I was. I don’t think anyone can explain those first few weeks of shock, especially in stillbirth. My body still felt wonky and I really believed I could still feel Jensen kicking around. I was completely numb to everything. Then it seemed like the ripples that started when I was first dropped in, came back with the biggest wave I’ve ever saw. It put me down and I couldn’t breathe for a very long time. I was getting tossed and turned. Every time I felt like I was reaching the air, I actually was flipped around. Nothing seemed normal. I wouldn’t cry for an hour, then my email would ding and it was a baby email. Then tears and not breathing and screaming, all at once. From the end of that first month to even now, I am constantly being thrown from wave to wave. There have been days where it’s calm, but there’s always rippled. At times, I can even feel the warmth of the sun.

The comfort of the end point in the line is nonexistent with the waves of ocean and grief. Yeah, I know that the shoreline would be the endpoint, but have you ever just floated in the ocean? If you’re not continuously paddling, you get pushed back. Grief is no different. I have to constantly battle all my emotions at all times. Even when I feel like I have no strength to keep paddling, I have to tread or I’ll be pulled way under. Of course I slip up. Sometimes I feel like I could be touching the ocean floor. The breakdowns, in public or in private, let me feel all that I felt when I was in shock. I flashback to not hearing his heartbeat, the stillness in the room when he was born. That’s what happens when you slip under. Maybe driftwood comes every few days to help give me something to hold on to. A good memory. A happy ultrasound picture. My driftwood is Jensen and his love. Sometimes it can just be the cat laying on me. The calm waters on the driftwood, those warm, happy moments are all I look forward to right now. They help me gain strength for the next wave that I know will be coming. There’s no shoreline in my viewpoint right now, just the oncoming of waves and the relief of the breaks.

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Even though I’ve only been kayaking twice, I’ve found so much peace. Obviously I can relate grief to the waves of the ocean, but I relate the calmness of it with Jensen. That’s what going on the lake is like for me right now. I hear him in the wind and feel him on the gentle ripples of the other boats going past me. He’s dancing there in the cloud. The trees rustle giving me the background noise I have to hear. You can’t see it in that image, but the sun is swaddling me with warmth and it’s love. It’s the same kind of feeling I pray Jensen has every second in heaven. In this picture I am at peace. The rest of the world is silent in that moment, but I can hear him in the elements.

I paddle to shore and my moment of peace ends. Getting, literally, grounded is like getting swallowed by the waves. On this day, I pick daisies and see a blue dragonfly. Blue, like Jensen’s colors, leading me to the flowers I pick. Here I am, picking flowers with Jensen again, trying to tread in the waves. The sun, wind, lake, clouds, and trees all still singing to me. I guess I pick what Jensen wanted me to, the blue dragonfly hovers right in front of my face then flies back to the waves.

We leave all these elements that remind me of Jensen; the waves of grief growing as we drive away.
*Originally posted on Still Mothers on July 18, 2016*

Eleven Weeks.

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Einstein theorized the relativity of time. Now I’m not a scientist or have ever claimed to be one, but I think I could explain it in simple words. Time changes speed from different reference points in ones life. Maybe that’s even confusing. An example might be better, Jensen was born eleven weeks ago; it feels like yesterday and forever ago at the same time. Even thinking back to Sunday, Father’s Day, it feels like Jensen’s birth happened after Sunday. Tuesdays always bring me back to the day he was born, but time is relative. My ‘reference point’ or thought process today is all about Jensen… but then it hits me, it’s really been that long since we were last together.

Either Einstein is crazy with all his theories or grief is just making my mind clouded with the thought of his theories.

Eleven weeks. Instead of celebrating with Jensen today, I’ve been to therapy and will being going to a support group tonight. I’m trying with all my might to be focused on me today.  This isn’t fair. He should be growing bigger and his blond hair becoming more and more wild. He’d be growing out of his 0-3 month clothes, but believe me, he’d have plenty of clothes to grow into. I want to touch his button nose and kiss his cheeks. Instead of this quiet house, I should hear his coos and even his cries. I would do anything for a loud, messy house.

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Another one of my favorite ultrasounds. I can see his lips and his hand, always by his face. His cute little heart-shaped face like his momma. Jensen was such a lively baby and would only cooperate if I talked nicely to him. It was so funny, the ultrasound techs would tell me he was stubborn and wouldn’t let them get the ‘right’ picture. I would just say, Jensen please do what they want you to do. Then he would. Sometimes he’d cover his face with his hand and move it to where the ultrasound wand was, so ornery. Twice a week I would waddle to and from my car to go look at my sweet boy. I probably looked crazy, even then, I would just always be talking to him alone and in public. He’d always let me know he was listening.

I’m so thankful to have all of his ultrasounds. They make me smile. This is how I’ll always remember him and our time together; him dancing in my belly and sticking his tongue out at me. He would practice his breathing and just shake his body. When I look at even one of his ultrasounds, I am pulled back to every single time I went to one. Each time he grew so much bigger, even in three days. I love feeling him grow and learning his likes and dislikes at such an early age. Yes even as a little baby in my belly, he let me know. I guess he’s more like me than I ever thought.

Those thirty-eight weeks was the best time of my life.

Here’s a secret and I don’t even know if I should share it. We got Jensen’s hospital pictures close to two weeks ago. I wish I could say that I’ve studied all of them, have my favorite one, and am in the process of printing them out so I can have his little face in my house. But that would be a lie; they sit in his drawer untouched. Do you know how horrible it is to not be able to look at your child’s pictures? They’ve been so beautifully explained to me and every part of me wants to study every part of those seventy images. I just can’t.

They’re so different from his ultrasound pictures. My lively, little boy isn’t in those pictures. What if they don’t bring me my big smile like his other photos? What if I can only see death? What kind of mother would I be if I had negative feelings towards looking at these seventy images? Death, so ugly. I just want to see my little love’s face. It’s not fair that the only time I can look at him is in his pictures. People have thousands of pictures of their babies, I have seventy pictures. I’ll never get anymore. Maybe the pain in that truth hurts more than just seeing death. I’m not sure.

It shouldn’t have to be a thought in my mind.

Death shouldn’t have crept in my body and took my son.

Jensen, I hope in this eleven weeks you’ve felt comforted by my love. I hope you see all that we do for you and know you will never be forgotten. You will always be my sweet, little love and the joy of my life. The thirty-eight weeks we had together were my favorite in my life. Your life was short, but so big. I love you and I miss you. You’ve made this world a much better place.