Tag Archives: hopes

Space.

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Near the end of my pregnancy, I was in hardcore nesting mode. All of Jensen’s clothes were washing, the diaper bag in my car, his car seat set up, the house almost ready, and I counted how many packs of diapers we had over and over again. I had to know we were prepared for Jensen and his first nights at home would go perfectly. An unrealistic expectation, of course, but I had to be sure I thought everything was good enough for him. Even though the house wasn’t done, his nursery and where he would be was all set. My world was revolving around he would be, his space.

As all moms do, I put him before myself and didn’t really care how my space would be. If he was content, I would be happy with whatever. I put myself on the back burner, not that I would have changed a thing looking back. Even after Jensen was born, I was still obsessed with his space. I couldn’t comprehend his space having to change or how it would impact me. His nursery isn’t set up, the swing isn’t in the spot I knew it would go, and his pack-n-play isn’t peacefully sitting in my bedroom. It’s been a week and a half since we moved in and I’m still looking at all those places. All the places he needs to be.

It’s okay I can’t put those places where he should be out of my head, I’ve had to refocus on how he is incorporated in our home. His urn is always in the room I’m in. It might sound crazy to you, but I do move his urn around the house. I have an ultrasound picture on the wall right beside his footprints. His silver J will be hanging in my built in bookcase. Jensen’s bedroom still has his colors on the wall, navy blue and orange. I’ve planned on ordering more remembrance items to display in the house. Every item that I bought with him safely in my belly has a story. I’m still making space for him and probably always will.

Yet, this week I was motivated to make space for me. Space to collect my thoughts, journal, and remember him in. It might technically be classified as a space for him, but it’s intent is for me. In my Mothering Your Heart workshop, we’re focusing on space. Again, I am so thankful for the loss community to help me manage my grief and help me along through this process. It’s helped me realize everything I’m going through is ‘normal’ and okay how I process it. I think space is different for everyone. For me, I had to physically make space to feel like I was connecting to Jensen. My house is so new to me and there’s no where I can really retreat from everything. So I had a huge motivation factor to help push me make space for Danielle. After 38 weeks and 2 days of pregnancy and a little over two months of grief, this momma needed a place to tackle grief and honor her baby.

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That is my safe place. Yellows to brighten my day, words to help me think positive, and comfy seats to welcome my thoughts and emotions. All things to try to make each day a little more bearable. Safe from triggers, negative energy, and loss. It’s the one part of the house I didn’t have planned while Jensen was with me. That spot was supposed to house his pack-n-play. I wonder if he would like the yellow? Or would he be mad that I created this space for me? Sometimes I see it and feel guilty. I would never have bought this little space if he wasn’t here…

I second guess every move I make now that he’s not with me. Doing everything for him came so naturally. Now refocusing my attention on myself just feels wrong. My brain is at constant battle with itself. I don’t want to move forward, but I know the whole world keeps spinning. The whole world is trying to pull me along, but I want to stay stuck. Staying stuck thinking about my little Jensen is much more appealing than playing along with everyone else. I try to play along, then I retreat. I have to create this space for my reality. My two yellow chairs bring me comfort and give me the space I need to retreat from the world.

Jensen would have loved my space. He would be so happy I’m making space for myself and trying to care for my heart. I know he guided me to all the elements that occupy this little retreat.

Oh little love, how I wish I could still have you here. I’d much rather be creating space for the both of us, making sure everything was perfect for you.

Two Months.

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Sometimes there are no words to accurately put together a feeling. Sure, there are basic feelings: happy, sad, angry,  etc. Grief takes every emotion known to humans and mashes them all together with no rhyme or reason. Today is one of the days where I can’t even tell how I’m feeling. I’ve smiled and have been able to get some pictures hung up. Tears have also stained my cheeks. In the moment I feel my breakdown coming, I run to the shower. Somehow it feels like the water from the shower hides the tears.

This thought makes me laugh. The only person I’m trying to hide my tears from is myself.

If you haven’t guessed already, today Jensen is two months old. Sixty-one days have passed since he’s been born. At two months old, babies are into complex designs. Which means they are looking for detailed objects instead of plain. Their brains are wanting to process more. He’d be able to differentiate different voices, look at the details in my face, and I’d see his face light up when he sees something new. I would do anything to see that look. Just as I would do anything to have those sixty-one days with Jensen.

Thinking about milestones during pregnancy always excited me. At my baby shower, I received the little month markers. They were shaped as ties. I looked at them and just knew Jensen would updating all our friends and family with these ties. It was another item that I had so many dreams about. Just a simple picture. All the pictures coming together to form a little story. The story of Jensen’s first year of milestones. I wish I could remember what color tie he would have on his picture for today. They’re packed away in the basement with all his other belongings.

Instead of going through ties, I’m going to go through a lot of candles. Actually I’ve went through two today. It’s one way I can connect to Jensen. The flame brings me peace and centers everything. I watch as the flame dances, it reminds me how Jensen would dance in my belly. Here is my photo for today…

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This is my calm space, his flame brings me so much comfort and love. The flames has been dancing all day. Poe and Leo leave his urn alone and have been cuddling with me all day. They must know I need comfort and to feel their warmth. I really want to just be holding Jensen, have him looking at my face, and taking in the complex details.

Usually I reflect on how I’ve processed my week on Tuesday, the actual weekday Jensen was born. It’s my therapy day and a way to track how I am. Today I find myself reflecting on the past month. It’s only my second month without Jensen. I laugh at myself when I say only since it feels like an eternity. This past month has been so much harder. The shock and disbelief of him not being here has gone away. I’ve turned to being angry and am in pain. I physically find it hard to breathe sometimes or catch my breath. Every little thing can set my anger off, which makes me want to distant myself from others. Being in a group of more than three people gives me anxiety. In the first month I found it to be okay since it was distracting me from Jensen’s absence. Now it’s just always there. I hate that I am pushing people away, but I cannot let myself be in a vulnerable situation.

As the day is coming to a close, I’m trying to prepare for month three. I’m anxious to see how I do with swimming. When I was pregnant I looked forward to having Jensen in the pool. He definitely would have been a little fishy. I want to purchase a new, comfy chair for my bedroom for reflections each day. It will be a place where I can just read, write, or think about Jensen. I’m trying to find new outlets for my grief and anger. There has to be something I can do to lessen the intense feelings of being mad. Even if it’s just going on a walk or creating something. By just preparing myself for the next month, I feel a little more at ease.

Month three is another month without Jensen physically here. It’s another month of missing my guy. I know it’ll be a lifetime of missing him. I hope to learn more about myself, continue to grow, and mother Jensen to the best of my ability. They’re probably celebrating his two month anniversary up in heaven. I hope he sees me trying my best and he’s still and always wrapped in the warmth of my love.

Jensen, Mommy loves you so very much. Continue dancing in the clouds and growing your angel wings.

Move-In.

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Almost one year ago, I bought my very first house. The three bedroom house needed a lot of work, but I was more than excited to do the complete tear down. I pictured where everything would go and what room would be what the very first second I walked in. It was going to be my very first house and all my own. This little three bedroom home would be the start of my future.

Three months after buying and tearing it mostly down, I found out Jensen was growing in my belly. My very first house all on my own became a house all about the baby. Every room I was imagining a lifetime of memories: first bath, first steps, first day of school. It was all unfolding. The back left bedroom would be the perfect nursery. It had a beautiful window that outlooked the backyard. It was nice, big, and full of personality. That would be my little baby’s room.

All during my pregnancy, we worked on the house. In my head it was closer and closer to the perfect family house. Our little guy loved to come work on the house. The sounds never made him upset. It was like he wanted the house to get done and he loved the work. I can remember being eight months pregnant working, not too hard, but trying to get everything perfect for him. Everyone was helping me out, not letting me lift things too heavy. I would tire easy, then his little kick would get me through the tiredness. He was just as excited to be in here. When Jensen was Jensen and not a little girl, the planning really started. We painted his room blue and orange on one wall and put wallpaper with squares up on the rest. I painted the closet grey. The curtains navy blue with orange accents everywhere. The grey crib with the bright orange and dark blue would welcome his sleep every night. It was unraveling so perfectly. Our little family home would soon have baby Jensen to house.

Then came the smack.

We didn’t get to bring Jensen home. His crib wouldn’t be welcoming his sleep every night. We wouldn’t be able to give him his first bath. His first steps wouldn’t happen here. The floor wouldn’t have little footprint smudges everywhere. All the hopes and dreams for the future ended all in that one second. My little, perfect family home of three became Anthony and I’s home filled with dreams of Jensen that would never happen.

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Our first night, officially staying in the house was Tuesday night; Jensen’s eighth week in heaven. I was so excited to finally stay in this house that I’ve practically tore down and rebuilt. It was so relieving to see all the hard pay off. For it to finally mean something. For our future to be starting. I’d like to say blood, sweat, and tears built this house, which it did, but it was built on the foundation of love and dreams.

The house is filling up with furniture, wall decorations, and kitties. It’s still filled with love, hope, and dreams. Every wall is the color I wanted it to be. The floors are exactly what I pictured and the kitchen came out way better than I expected. All the decorations look exactly how I wanted to when they go up. Anthony and I smile at each other while the cats are running around. We’re trying to play ‘normal.’ An outsider looking in would believe this is the perfect little starter home for a young couple.

I guess our reality is hard for other’s to see. It’s hard to see a baby that isn’t here physically. They don’t see the little, blue urn with two silver birds on it and the candle that’s usually is burning. Our decorations with J’s, his name, and the ultrasound pictures would have people believe the baby is on the way. The boxes in the basement full of Jensen’s would let them wonder why we didn’t have them back in his nursery. No one wants to think of the bad.

In all honesty, I wish I could tell you my first night here at the house was great. I wish I could tell you it’s all that I imagine and that everything feels perfect. It’d all be a lie. That first night was so hard. I saw where Jensen should be every time I turned my head. This house has an emptiness that cannot be filled, not that I’d even want it to be filled by anything else. I couldn’t fall asleep, it felt like the first night after he’d been born. It was quiet even with the tick of the fan and the television on. I guess the first night here in the new house was a way I stepped into my new reality that I’ve been trying to fight back.

Move-in day is the next step in this horrible grief process. It’s apart of the acceptance step in the rational part of my brain. I see his nursery, still blue and orange with the playful wallpaper. The backyard that the window frames begs to be looked at by anyone that walks in the room. My memories from when Jensen was here floods me every time I walk in there. It’s the stillness of the room with the flood of internal emotions that takes me by surprise every time. Jensen’s room will always be that.

I was afraid I would resent this house and his room because he wasn’t here. It’s hard because he’s not here, but so is every single day. I pray every day for strength and courage to go on. This first night I prayed I would make it through even though it hurt so much to be here without him. I dreamed that night of Jensen and being in his room together. Jensen knew how much I loved this house. We built it together. In the midst of his absence, love is still shining through.

Love will keep me in this house. Love will keep me on my feet.

Treading.

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The waves of grief have been so hard ride.

There are no words to describe Jensen’s absence. It’s everywhere, at all times. Life without Jensen is painful and full of longing. The very air that used to bring me life, suffocates me. All my joys have become burdens. The burdens have become even worse. My thoughts are consumed by him and how he’s not here. Babies should never be taken from their mothers. A mother should never have to live without her child.

Yet, here I am. I’m in the after. I’m drowning in the waves of grief. Tears constantly fill my eyes and it’s hard to take breaths. I feel as if I’m spiraling down and down and down. When everyone is around, it feels like their words are in hyper speed flying right past me. It’s hard to look at those I love; I’ve changed. It reflects sorrowfully in their eyes.

I wish I could scream out to them, but I can’t. My words would break them. They can’t understand the words that I constantly keep pushing down more and more and more. Those words, their eyes would reflect something worse than sorrow. They wouldn’t know me, the words would show them how much I’ve really changed inside. All those thoughts and words are true. I am at battle with myself to show them how much I’ve changed or continue trying to imitate my ‘before’ self.

Oh my before self. The self I’ll never get back, not that I even want her back. Danielle before Jensen is different from the during Jensen and the after Jensen. I could go into an in depth self analysis of my three different selves for all of you, maybe I will in the future. Maybe when I can forgive this self or completely damage it. Whatever happens first. As for now Danielle after Jensen, well, I’m just trying to make it through each day.

I try to see all the good in life. I smile when I think and talk about Jensen, until I look and feel. Then it all hits again. He’s gone. What did I do wrong? Everyone tells me I didn’t cause this, but then what did? I’m struggling to fall asleep. I can’t wake up. I’m not hungry and drinking water feels strange. My body is going through the motions, but my brain is refusing to sense them. I snap at the ones around me. My head is constantly hurting. Wait, how am I still awake? I just want my baby. The reality I’m stuck with me right now is hard. Grief wrestles me down and I spend all my energy trying to face it. This can’t be me right now. I’m trying to have the mentality of Danielle during Jensen. I like her the best.

When Jensen was here, I felt pure joy. My days were full of hopes, dreams, and baby kicks. I planned Jensen whole entire future from the second he was born to the day I died. I’m sure he would have rebelled and wanted to change it a smudge, but I know what’s best for him. All the bad ‘what ifs’ or ‘what could be’s’ didn’t even phase me. I would have Jensen, what more could I ever want? Danielle during Jensen was the highest, high in my whole entire life. Nothing could ever have brought me down.

Babies don’t die, until he did.

Then I fell and fell and fell from the greatest, tallest high in my life. I don’t remember the fall, just the smack. Reality hit. My baby, my Jensen died. All the nice phrases that I usually use to comfort myself seem silly at this moment. Well this week actually. Yes, I believe wholeheartedly Jensen is an angel in heaven. I know all he ever felt was love and warmth. He knew peace. He knows me. He is beautiful. He has this HUGE personality. He  is my everything. All those wonderful facts about my baby does not take away the moment his heart stopped beating. Nothing can take away that one single moment.

People always say to me, “I can never imagine what you’re going through.” and I believe them. I never want them to know this; no one should be without their child. People should not feel like they’re drowning in grief, this shouldn’t be the price of love. Love should always result in hugs and happiness. In this seven weeks and two days, I have said the one sentence no one imagines they could say. My child is dead.

Pause. Let that set in.

My child is dead.

Imagine saying that and it being the truth. Saying it out loud is even worse. It’s the worst sentence in the world. It’s the worst fact in my world. Thinking of that one phrase has allowed me to say that sentence. I can’t imagine going through this, but I am. I couldn’t imagine saying that sentence out loud. Even though it’s true. If you want to try to imagine what I’m going through, not that I want you to, try saying that sentence and feeling it. Imagine your whole world crashing around you. Imagine all your hopes and dreams gone, in an instant. I know you can’t. I wouldn’t have been either if you would have asked me seven weeks and four days ago. I feel almost cruel putting these words together. Then I remember these words that are just words for others, are my reality.

On goes this vicious cycle.

Jensen. Love. Happy. Smile. Smack. Pain. Anger. Sadness. Tears. Breathe. Say his name. Jensen. Love. Happy. Smile. Smack. Pain. Anger. Tears. Breathe. Say his name.

I’ll keep reading his name, telling his story, and talking about him. Please keep asking all about him. Ask about me, don’t be afraid of my process. One day the smack will ease. The pain will stay. The anger will lessen. The sadness won’t be as overwhelming. Tears will always come. This is the result of love. Jensen will always bring love, happiness, and smiles. My love is endless. My happiness will stay. Smiles will be longer. This process begins and ends with Jensen. He’s my whole world.

I’ll choose to tread. I won’t let these waves of grief drown me; no matter how hard they try to pull me down.

Forty-Seven Days.

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The day Jensen was born was beautiful. Our window revealed a cloudless sky with the sun shining bright. It was so bright and happy outside, I think God made the whole day beautiful because he was welcoming this pure soul. I remember just wanting to paint it black because it was so bright out. It would have been a day where Jensen and I would be sitting outside, watching everything go on around us. I’d probably would have been reading to him and telling him about all the things we were going to do when he got here.

That wasn’t the beautiful day I had though. I sat in the hospital, crying; trying to make sense of everything. I didn’t understand how the world could still be spinning when mine had just violently stopped. How couldn’t everyone feel my pain, it was radiating off of me. My baby was gone and he took a huge part of me with him. I was just a shell full of anger and sadness. How could the earth be so beautiful THAT day, when the most beautiful thing had left? Honestly, I was so angry it was nice outside. It was storming inside my hospital room. That window taunted me.

Today is one of those beautiful days. It reminds me of the day Jensen was born, but a little warmer outside. I keep taking in all the sounds: the birds are chirping, kids are playing, and my family is talking. I’m making no sounds. Here I am sitting outside, thinking about my Jensen. My thoughts always go to what we would be doing. I’d probably be doing what I wanted to the day he was born. Just sitting outside and reading to him. Taking all of his features in. A perfect day.

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I know he’s here with me, I just wish it could be in my arms. Sundays are family days and I’m missing the most important part of my family. I’m stuck here in the after, wishing I could be in the before with him. It makes me feel better to look at the clouds. I know Jensen is dancing with them. He sends me the birds and I swear he runs around with Finnick. Jensen’s spirit is always playful and peaceful at the same time. He makes himself known.

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I’ve been reading You Are Not Alone: Love Letters From Loss Mom to Loss Mom by Emily Long, a lot lately. The book is a huge group of letters from mothers that are on this journey of grief with me. I read them when I need support. Which is like more times than I can count on my fingers each day. It just allows me to feel everything. Cry with other moms, think about Jensen, and just feel. This book has been such a blessing to me. 

Although each letter is different, they all have some of the same themes. Three of them have been able to keep me from breaking down every second of the day.

  1. Love.
  2. It’s not my fault.
  3. It’s okay to feel however I need to feel.

Today I’ve needed all three of these themes. It’s a day that reminds me so much of April 5, 2016, the day my baby became an angel. Beautiful days like today we’re supposed to be happy and I feel about a thousand different emotions. I keep telling myself and reading that it’s okay not to feel just happy.

It’s been forty-seven days since this journey has started and it’s okay I still am the girl that wants to paint all the windows black. It’s okay to be content sitting outside, listening to the birds chirp. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be happy the sun is providing me warmth.It’s okay to laugh at the dog running on the pool. It’s okay to feel all this love between Jensen and I.

It’s okay to just be.

In my forty-seven days, I’ve learned to just take everything as it comes.

Grandma’s Belated Birthday.

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For as long as I can remember, I have loved birthdays.

My favorite birthday in the whole entire world was when I turned twenty-two and the day I found out I was going to have my little Jensen. We went to the Steelers game and talked about our new secret. Anthony and I laughed and smiled, came up with Jensen’s name, and fully jumped into the idea of our new life. All I wished for was a happy little baby and for our little family to have a bright and happy future.

My least favorite birthday I’ve celebrated was my dad’s last birthday. I know that sounds horrible; it was nine days after Jensen was born so silently into this world. How could I be happy for a birthday? Someone else being able to be another year older, when I was angry Jensen couldn’t be another second older. It was a hard day, but my dad is such a trooper to understand my sadness on his day.

Then yesterday came, May Nineteenth. It’s one of my favorite person’s birthday: my beautiful mother’s. I woke up crying, it was going to be a bad day. A day where I know Jensen would have brought so many smiles to his family, especially his grandma. It hurt all throughout the day. Her smile brightened up the room when I walked in with her big gift bag. She showed me her roses my dad bought her. When she opened her present and read her card signed from Jensen and I, I knew she sensed my sadness. Her smile faded to a frown as she looked to my face. As she came over for what I thought was a thank you hug, became a comforting one.  She’s such a strong mom and grandma.

That moment made me remember the day I told my mom she was going to be a grandma. I was so afraid to tell her. She was asking me every single day if I was going to have a baby, but I just kept telling her not to worry about me and that I would tell her. I finally broke down on September 17 and sent her the ultrasound picture via text. Yes I know, how silly to tell someone they are going to be a grandma.

Then she said the best thing: “This baby is such a happy surprise. You will be a great mother.”

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This is my mom’s favorite picture of our family. She has it on her phone and I gifted it to her in a frame for Christmas from Jensen and I. We have it up in our bookcase. Our happiness from the before shines down on us everyday. I love the before, I loved the during, and I love how strong we are growing.

Although a day late (online), Happy Birthday to my beautiful mother. I know how vibrant I usually am on days like yesterday, I just wish my little love was here to celebrate with us. He always loved hearing your voice.

I know Jensen smiles down on you every single day.

A Beautiful Meeting.

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Grief is a lifelong journey and each days brings the good and the bad. Today was hard, but full of good. On the eve of Jensen being gone for six weeks, I felt an immense amount of sadness. It’s also a day I’ve been looking forward to for a little over a week. Today I met two beautiful souls.

The week before last, I happened to come across another WordPress blog which brought me to an Etsy shop: BurdenBearingBaskets. I feel in love with the beautiful writing and this wonderful idea to show others that you’re thinking about them while their grieving. I looked at their items and had to show everyone around me. The idea of sending a person that’s grieving a basket to let them know you’re thinking about them just seemed so perfect. Then I saw the owners of the shop were in North Canton. Being me, I had to reach out. Something was telling me I had to tell these owners Jensen and I’s story. This is how I met Jessica and Melissa.

Thankfully, they didn’t think I was too crazy and responded to my message. They heard Jensen and I’s story and offered to meet in person since we were so close. Of course I was thrilled. I was looking forward to exchanging stories about ourselves and our babies, and to tell them again how amazing I think their Etsy shop is. Today is the day we decided on meeting. I’m so thankful for this day.

Our meeting was filled with stories, tears, laughs, and genuinely a good time. We were able to share so many things and didn’t have to explain what it all meant, we just knew. Their stories touched my heart and it takes people with the biggest hearts to help others. They truly are beautiful souls. I’ll always cherish our conversation. I know we met in the worst circumstances, but I’m blessed we did. It’s times like this where I really believe God sends people to us. He sees our journey through grief and shows us support is always near.

They also surprised me with some gifts from their shop. I’d like to share with all of you because they’re so beautiful. Just seeing Jensen’s name wrote out so perfectly makes me smile. He’ll never be forgotten and I’ll always be so thankful for meeting Jessica and Melissa and the wonderful gifts.

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All together.

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The most beautiful handkerchief in the whole entire world.

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I’m seriously so in love with every single item. I have them all out in front of me still and tears just keep falling. I see Jensen’s name wrote and know he’s just smiling down. I feel this sense of peace after meeting and talking to Jessica and Melissa. God gets us through these horrible tragedies and sends us beautiful people and signs from above. His love for us is the reason I’m able to have this deep love for Jensen. My little love was such a beautiful gift, he just had to go back a little sooner than I’d ever have anticipated.

Please, please, please go check out Jessica and Melissa’s Etsy shop BurdenBearingBaskets. The items are made with so much love and care, it shines through when you look at them.

I’d also, again, would like to thank Jessica and Melissa so much for everything. You two have touched my heart and made it lighter. I know this journey of grief is hard, but you girls have brought me so much strength, joy, and light today and every time I see these perfect presents.

Reassuring Kicks.

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Jensen loved going out in public. When I would walk through places with a bunch of people, he would kick to every different voice. Then he’d fall asleep within fifteen minutes because he was my lazy, little boy. Every time I went out though, he would perk up and listen. We went to the doctors a lot. He’d get bored of their same voices; I think he knew I was annoyed of the doctors and all their bad news. He always tried to cheer me up though; he may have been a lazy butt, but he knew his kicks made his momma feel better.

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I always thought this was his “silly” face ultrasound or like he was super excited the camera was on him. He would be giving me the thumbs up today. Such a happy, little baby.

Today I needed his kicks to make me feel better. I ventured of into the “real world,” more like the comfort of my house. It’s been a day I’ve dreaded for a week: my ‘six’ week postpartum exam. I didn’t think I could take putting myself in a vulnerable situation. What if she said his death was my fault? What if she said I did something wrong? What if she told me I was a bad mom? What if she discarded his life? What if I couldn’t breath because I had a panic attack?  All the “what ifs” were adding up and they were dangerous.

I’m sure if Jensen was here, I wouldn’t have dreaded it so much. I’d just be excited to know I was healthy and show off my beautiful boy to everyone in the office. Believe me, I would do anything to be showing him off to everyone if I could. If only I had his kicks to reassure me. Well, now it would have been his little looks towards me. His little blond hair so very different from my dark, brown hair.

Instead I sat in the exam room, telling the doctor my story and crying until my eyes hurt. Not only going through all the details of my pregnancy, but the end. How his heart stopped beating, why it stopped beating, and the silence of birth. I’m sure she’s seen new moms cry happy tears during their six week appointment, I would give anything for that to be me. When she told me I was healthy and all healed up, it didn’t even phase me. So what my body is okay? I might look okay, but I’m in pain every single second of the day. How can I not be in pain? She just said it herself, my baby died. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but when it does it’s all of the sudden.

I can’t complain, my new doctor was amazing. She spent two hours in the exam room listening and answering my “what ifs.” I didn’t do anything wrong and I could not have done anything to prevent this tragedy. She kept telling me how I was a wonderful mom, hearing her call me a mom as much as she did made me feel better. We talked about Jensen and how important he is. Jensen’s life is important and it always will be. He was my child during my pregnancy, birth, and the rest of my life. Not even death can take that away.

Grief sucks. Grief makes me focus on the bad and doubt myself. It tries to steer me away from thinking of all my happy thoughts I had with Jensen and makes me focus on the silence. I’d never wish this grief or loss on anyone. Everyone should have their baby to show off every time they go into public. Yes, it was a bad day of grief. The type of day where I couldn’t catch my breath. Even when I heard ‘good’ news, I couldn’t find the strength to smile.

Jensen would have made me smile. He would’ve loved her asking all about him while he was safe in my belly. I know he would move his head to make sure he could hear her and of course me. He would always move his head when I would talk to him. His kicks would be consistent for about five minutes, until he got bored with all the medical talk.

Jensen would have made today so amazing.

1 in 160.

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Today is the final day of this journey. It also marks five weeks since Jensen has been gone. Five long weeks since I’ve been without my beautiful boy. In those five weeks, my love has grown so much. It’s a complicated love; a mother’s love without here child physically here. Instead of nurturing him, I’ve been finding ways to nurture my grief. One day at a time, I’ll continue to survive. I’ll continue to tell Jensen and I’s story. I’ll always love him.

Instead of a prompt, we were asked to join to celebrate on the Still Mothers Facebook page. Their website provides a multitude resources for bereaved mothers that do not have living children. They provide support and guide mothers into life after miscarriage, still birth, infant and child loss. It’s just one of the many great sources I have found in the past five weeks.

I wanted to take this final day and share some of the information I have found and websites that have helped me tremendously.

Here is Day Ten…

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Facts:

1 in 4 pregnancies end with a baby dying.

1 in 160 pregnancies end in stillbirth.

1 in 100 babies die from recurrent miscarriages.

1 in 4 babies die after birth.

Jensen and I are the 1 in 160 pregnancies ending in stillbirth.

He was 38 weeks and 1 day. I had an ultrasound 4 days beforehand and everything looked perfectly. Jensen was kicking and moving the 1 day beforehand. He did nothing wrong. I went to every appointment, ate what I was supposed to, took my prenatal everyday, never took any type of medicine during pregnancy, got enough sleep, drank water, didn’t lift anything, and the list goes on and on. We did everything right; it ended wrong.

I’m sure the stats for infant and child loss could go on and on. I’m unaware of those statistics. I don’t mean to scare anyone or upset anyone with those numbers. They are the truth. I didn’t know those numbers while I was pregnant, I don’t even know if that would have changed anything. I never thought this would be my life.

For the past week, you’ve followed along and know mostly where I am. You know my love for Jensen, my feelings, and how thankful I am for the support I’ve gotten. Most people see those numbers I listed above just as numbers, I see them for what they really are. I am the one and I’ve met so many other “ones.” I see them as the beautiful mothers to perfect angels.

I’d also like to share some of the websites and other sources that have helped me. It’s a nice source for bereaved mothers and everyone.

  • Faces of Loss  is a website where women can submit their stories and support others. The stories can range from early miscarriage to infant loss. It’s a way to really connect with others and read their stories in detail. People can comment on each story, anonymously or not, to comfort and let mothers know they’re not alone. I actually submitted Jensen and I’s story and it was recently posted. If you’d like to read it you can here.
  • The Carly Marie Project has been a great resource for me. I’ve read through her website, watched her videos, and saw her amazing art; she is a beautiful soul. She posted a meditation video on her Facebook that I’ve watched over and over. Plus, she wrote Jensen’s name in the sand on Mother’s Day that brought me into tears.
  • Molly Bears is an organization that allows bereaved parents to fill their empty arms. They take the weight of a baby and make a teddy bear that weight. It allows a parent to remember what their child’s weight felt like. Their story is beautiful and they have helped so many families.
  • BurdenBearingBaskets although I did not receive a basket, I love the idea of helping another bereaved family through this Etsy shop. Jessica and Melissa provide a personalized basket to help a parent navigate their grief. The contents in the basket are beautiful and the shop owners are wonderful to talk with. I’d definitely recommend checking their shop.
  • Still Standing Magazine the sister site to Still Mothers. They also provide so many resources and support outlets. On Mother’s Day, they posted all throughout the day to reach out to bereaved mothers. It was nice just to watch videos, listen, and reach out when I was in the low of the day.
  • I also would recommend support groups online and in person. I have been trying to be as active as I can be in the online groups. There are local ones and national ones that will welcome you. This month I am going to my first group support in person. I’ll have to write afterwards, but they have been so supportive when I asked information about their groups through email. If you’re in Ohio, I’d love to share some of the local groups and in person groups with you.

As I look back on the ten days, I’m so thankful I found this program. I have met so many beautiful women and have been able to express my grief without any judgement. I’m so happy Jensen and I’s story has made an impact and helped other people. It means so much that his name is remembered and said by so many. He is the reason why I go on as strongly as I do. He is the reason why I’m a mother.

Although I might not be posting every single day in the near future, I plan on writing frequently. I created this blog to share Jensen and I’s story and I feel that I have so much more to share. It humbles me to see all of you read our story and be so supportive.

Mother’s Day.

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I’ll admit it; today was hard. I woke up with a hole in my stomach. It’s an emptiness that can never be filled. My heart hurt. I swear it was racing and barley beating at the same time. Grief was the first to welcome me to my first Mother’s Day.

For most of the day I was on the couch, my face swollen, and cheeks stained with tears. I ached for Jensen. All I wanted was to be holding him, kissing his cheeks, studying every facial expression. But there I sat with empty arms, a mother without her child on Mother’s Day. That’s the reality in this tragedy.

The day could’ve easily drowned me with grief. Thankfully I have a wonderful support system who helped pamper me to the best of their ability.

Which leads to Day Eight in this journey.

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If it wasn’t for Anthony, holding me as I cried, I wouldn’t have been pampered for Mother’s Day. Instead of letting me lay in bed all day, Anthony got me out of bed and brought me cupcake pancakes from IHOP. It was absolutely delicious. Jensen had so many pancakes during his time here. He would’ve loved to try the cupcake ones.

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Not only did Anthony pamper me with good food, he did what he always planned to do with Jensen: pick out perfect flowers for Mommy. I know it hurt to go get them without Jensen. Bereaved Dads ache and grieve just like moms. They had dreams and hopes for their baby too. I think Jensen would have been happy with the flowers his dad picked though. He also gave me a beautiful bracelet I designed after Jensen passed. It has his name and birthstone on it. Whenever I need strength, all I have to do is look at my wrist and see my angel is right with me.

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When Anthony left to see his mom and then his grandma, I was alone. The most dreaded thing after a loss. My grief struck hard again and I found myself having a breakdown on the couch. I wept and wept, until I knew I had to get it all out. I journaled and got the worst part out. I looked at Jensen’s urn and thought, “He doesn’t want to see me cry. Jensen needs his mom to be strong.” I took a breath and was channeling his love. Thankfully I calmed down enough. I re-watched Carly Marie’s video of her writing all the angel babies’ names in the sand. I’m so blessed she chose to write Jensen’s name in the sand. I saw the loopy J and the peaceful ocean behind his name. It relaxes me knowing he will always be remembered and I have support from women around the world.

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We ended the night at my parent’s house. They have been there to pick me up, wipe my tears, and listen. My mom and dad pamper me even on the days where i’m not “supposed to be pampered.” They made my favorite dinner, steak and potatoes. We talked about Jensen and how much we love him. They listened to me and I’m so thankful for that. Jensen has the best grandparents and uncle the world could give him. He’s one lucky little boy.

They also gave me my first Mother’s Day present from them. It’s a beautiful necklace of a mother holding her child. The stones on the necklace are Jensen’s birthstones. Although my arms are empty, I hold him in my heart. I know Jensen would have loved this present as well.

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Now the last minutes of Mother’s Day are slipping away from us. I survived, as I keep doing each and every day. Jensen watches and guides me every second of my days. He’s the reason I get up in the morning. He’s the reason I smile. He’s the reason why I feel all this love. He’s the reason why I’m a mother. He’s my angel forever. I love you Jensen.

I want to say Happy Mother’s Day to all the mothers out there. You are so loved.

I’d also like to thank everyone who texted me throughout the day. As I said yesterday, you don’t know the impact it had on me. Knowing you were thinking about Jensen, Anthony, and I means the world.