Tag Archives: infant loss

The Do’s and Don’ts of Supporting Loss Parents During Important Grief Dates.

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Jensen is turning one in eight days.

This is how I always pictured Jensen and I near his birthday…

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Encouraging him to keep putting one foot in front of the other. I never imagined he’d be teaching me how to do the same.

How time passed so quickly completely eludes me. It feels like just yesterday I saw him dancing across the ultrasound screen just five days before. In another sense, it feels like forever since I’ve been able to catch my breath. From the moment I found out his heart had stopped beating to this one right now, and all the moments for the rest of my life, I will never fully grasp that this is my reality. That I will forever be physically without Jensen. The fact that I have to face his big day is overwhelming.

but…

With almost a full year of grief under my belt, I have an understanding of what I need during these huge grief and trigger days. This list is compiled from what has helped me and my support group during the last year. It hasn’t been an easy process to find out what worked and what didn’t, but I am so thankful for my support circle that have been so willing to learn and swim through the waves with me. Although I can’t speak for every loss parent, these do’s and don’ts are with the bereaved hearts and their support in mind.

Do…

Offer support/ask how you can help.

Honestly, this one is a little tricky. Most of the time I don’t know what I want or need in terms of support. It’s frustrating because I know there has to be something. Whether that be someone to listen to me or to sit with, to actually helping with events or plans concerning that day. Big grief days are exhausting. On top of not knowing, (for me) reaching out seems difficult because I’m exhausted and deep down, I know this is the only way I can mother Jensen.

A big thing I’m going through with his birthday party is telling people I have everything planned. In my mind, that’s true. As of today, there is a lot I need help with and my family and friends have asked and I said no. Deep down though, I know those people want to help me and will if I ask. Like I said, this is in my experience, planning his birthday is how I’m able to parent Jensen and heal my heart.

Even if there isn’t any way you can help, just by asking if a person needs support or help, they know you’re there for them. You’ve opened up a doorway that will positively impact that next moment and interaction.

Listen to their stories, feelings, and emotions.

Even if it’s the same story you’ve heard a thousand times, this is all we have. It could be about the first kick or their birth story. Of course there’s sadness, confusion, and anger towards loss. On the other hand, there is so much beauty in their son or daughter’s life. Their lives, although short, were full of love and happiness. For most of us, having them grow and finding out we were parents was the best time of our lives.

This is another form of support. To me, it’s so important to be able to share Jensen’s story. and not just his death. In fact, his birthday will be a celebration of his life. There will be cake, laughter, and his lifetime of memories. Now, I’m not going to lie to you all, the day before will be a day of mourning. On each day, I hope and know that my support circle will be there to listen to it all.

Say their child’s name.

Always. Even if you’re miles away, write their child’s name down and send them a picture of it. This seems way simpler than the others, but it means the entire world to a loss parent. It lets us know that our child is not being forgotten. For me, it is one of the greatest gifts anyone can give.

Embrace their child(ren)’s life and memory.

Sort of like some of the previous ones, but it goes a little deeper. When you’re listening to their stories about being pregnant or other memories they have, tell them something you remember. Maybe it was the day they told you they were going to be parents or a memory you have of feeling the baby move. Don’t be shy to bring these moments up. We haven’t forgotten.

Also, if there’s something they want you to do, try your best to do it. Usually it won’t be anything too huge, but something like lighting a candle on their hard days. Do a random act of kindness in their child’s name. This embraces and keeps their memory alive.

Don’t…

Be afraid to ask questions.

This can be different for everyone depending on where they are in their journeys. It is hard to talk about certain parts, for both parties. But, if you want to see pictures of their child or know what time they were born, just ask. Don’t be afraid to ask about those memories. I know for a lot of moms (sorry dads) facts and moments are constantly playing through their minds. It helps get the information out and, again, it helps to know you want to be there to support us even through the messy part.

Personally, I’ve always been one to tell people to ask me questions. I would rather them know from me and the truth about it all. Like I said though, this is completely different for other loss parents.

Get angry if the plans for the day change.

If you get a text a few hours before you’re supposed to meet up for a lunch or self-care day on one of these grief days, don’t be mad. No one really knows how they’re going to be until the day comes. It could be they woke up that morning and the waves are crashing down. This isn’t anything personal against you, this is a way they’re helping their heart.

Downplay their pain, even when it makes you feel uncomfortable.

Grief and loss hurt like hell. There hasn’t been a moment of comfort I’ve had since April 4, 2016. Believe me, I know it’s hard to hear your loved one is hurting, but that’s why they’re talking about their grief. Please, please, please don’t downplay or cut someone off. They’re talking to you about the hardest and most tragic event that they will ever go through in their life. Opening up to another person about these raw feelings is extremely brave for a person to do. It is terrifying to start talking about emotional times to only be told that what their feeling isn’t really that intense.

We live in a society who do not really know how to grieve. I’m thankful that not every person in the world knows what it’s like to lose a child. But I am telling you, that releasing these emotions to the outside world is so healing. Yes, it’s uncomfortable. Imagine how that would be like every day.

Tell them that it’s time to stop grieving OR any hurtful comments.

Just please don’t do it.

Owning This Past Year of Motherhood.

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“What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done?”

With trying to meet new people I hear this question a lot. Most of the time I answer with studying abroad and traveling all by myself. Or buying a house and completely redoing it. Both have been pretty crazy for me to do. Traveling alone has taught me so much about myself and how I handle being lost in a completely different culture. My house, on the other hand, has taught me patience. With ripping from the ceiling to the floor down, then building it all back together taught me patience. Just these two experiences are life changing. They bring about crazy emotions and you do unexpected things you hadn’t planned on before.

This is a sufficient answer. Most people can relate and agree that they’re ‘crazy’ experiences a person can go through. But it wasn’t until the last time someone asked me that I realized I was completely lying each time I answered them. Every time those answers cross my lips, I know I’ve been through something ‘crazier.’ They’re just answers that make me feel like pre-loss, ‘normal’ Danielle.

I should probably clear this up here. Whenever I meet someone new, I’ll let them know about Jensen. But I’m very protective over him. I don’t just throw this whole grief journey at someone, that wouldn’t be fair at all. For the simplicity of conversation though, my go to answers are those two…

Until the last time I answered the question.

As soon as I said my normal response, I blurted out, ‘I just lied to you.’ Which I did. Those aren’t the craziest things I had ever done in my life. The whole last year of having Jensen safe with me for the month of March, the earth-shattering loss of him in April, and then this grief that will stay with me for the rest of my life just flooded my body. I felt like I was going to turn into a puddle and be soaked up by the earth.

Of course while all of that was happening inside of my head, they stood their, quizzically looking at me. I don’t know if they knew what was coming out of them, but I know they could feel my anxiety.

Then I just said it, the truth. The craziest thing I have ever done in my life was knowing I had to give birth to my son that had already passed, then leave him at the hospital while I was realized home. It was the next day when I had to go to the funeral home and plan what I wanted done with his little boy that I had grown and protected for thirty-eight weeks and two days. It was seeing his tiny, blue urn and its flickering flame on the table as the pastor prayed over his soul. Then it’s been every single day of living without him. I wake up each morning and wonder when this is madness is going to finally end.

This past year has been the craziest journey of my life.

From now on, I’m not going to lie when asked this question. I’m going to own this year, Jensen’s first year. My first year of motherhood.

I recognize the good and the bad in every aspect of this grief journey. Each month I go back through and see what challenges I’ve faced and even write down what made me smile. This month isn’t even over yet and I’m telling you it has been the hardest one I’ve faced. The lead up to Christmas and the New Year for me was rough, but nothing compared to this. His upcoming birthday is on my mind every second of the day. It’s the last time I felt him. It’ll be the last time I can say my son was alive last year. I don’t want to forget his weight in my stomach or how it felt when he would get comfortable.

I just wish I could go back.


Today marks fifty whole weeks since Jensen has been gone, but it also marks a special day: World Down Syndrome Day. In honor of today, Jensen bear and I have our crazy socks on and have been thinking of all what Down syndrome meant to me during Jensen’s diagnosis. I met so many amazing mothers and their children that didn’t make me afraid of what I thought my future was going to hold.

 

The Eclectic Pineapple.

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Fun fact, when I was pregnant I thought Jensen would grow up to be someone who builds and plans houses. Mostly because the majority of my pregnancy I was working getting my house completely done before he arrived. Each time I would use the hammer or paint, I could feel his kicks going in motion with the hammer and him stretching when I painted the wall.

Another fun fact, I bought my house only three months before I found out I was pregnant with Jensen. What I thought was going to be a home just for me, turned out to be a home for a small family. Originally Jensen’s room was going to be a guest bedroom that I had all planned out. Instead it became a blue and orange boys room that I absolutely love. His room is the only room in my entire house that has bright colors in it. The rest is very neutral with black, grey, and wood. No matter the room, I loved to decorate and make it feel comfy.

Even with everything that happened, his room is still my favorite to get decorations and furniture for. Besides that pesky futon…BUT I’m constantly on the search for buying things that make my home even more cozy for Jensen and I.

One day, while I was scrolling through social media, I saw these beautiful, bright, watercolor ultrasounds by The Eclectic Pineapple. The babies face profile was perfectly drawn and the pink background was spot on. Something that really stuck out to me was this print was done for one of my loss mom friends. She wrote how comforting and reassuring the shop owners, Abigail and Lana, were to her. In my mind, I knew if she felt comfortable sharing her daughter with them, I would feel comfortable sharing Jensen. I instantly knew I needed one for my home. It would be a fun way I could display one of his ultrasounds in one of his colors.

Of course I contacted them… and admittedly creeped on their Instagram and Facebook page.

I shared Jensen’s story with them and they were exactly how my friend described them. They treated Jensen’s ultrasound with respect and asked about him and me. Although I loved the profile ultrasounds they had done, the ultrasound that was calling out to be drawn is the one on top of this blog, and every blog. To top it off, I asked for the one watercolor they hadn’t done before: orange. Of course it would be me and Jensen to go against the flow right?

They assured me it would come out amazing and then started working hard on his print. When I got the message it was being mailed out to me, I was SO giddy. I had hoped and prayed it would be done before Jensen’s birthday so I could have it for his party.

Each day I went to the post office to check for it and Thursday it arrived. When I got in the car, I ripped it open and marveled with how they captured him in his ultrasound. I wanted to share it the moment I opened it with you all, but I knew I had to wait to frame it. In my mind, I thought of how perfectly it would go with a frame I saw at the store the other day. I went, bought it, and framed it as soon as I got home.

It’s even more perfect than I imagined…

I absolutely love how it’s him. His little, button nose is highlighted and honestly, those cheeks. One day when I share Jensen’s picture with you guys, you will fall in love with his cheeks. The bright orange is breathtaking and the detail in his face is exactly how it is in his ultrasound. Then the silver of his name just puts it over the top and makes it feel so personal. Honestly, I just love how it looks and it is perfect in his room. Jensen would love seeing himself like this.

The Eclectic Pineapple‘s shop has these watercolor prints and ultrasound canvases that are as breathtaking as Jensen’s. At this time, the girls are on vacation and so is their shop. I’m sure they’ll have their shop open soon, but their Instagram and Facebook page has a lot of their work and you can really tell how much care they put into all of their work. Thank you Lana and Abigail for Jensen’s beautiful watercolor, ultrasound print. I will forever cherish it in my heart and home.

How Guilt Can Manifest Over One Year.

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It was like any other typical appointment.

Of course at this time, I was going in twice a week for ultrasounds. During these appointments they monitored his movements and made sure he was practicing his breathing. I remember watching his heart rate, usually 132 beats per minute. Jensen would dance and wiggle around, letting me see his profile and front of his face. Usually he passed within five minutes. Sometimes it took him ten and a little coaxing from his mama. Every time he got a 100% and the doctor would tell me how good was doing. But this time was a little different.

Jensen had made big movements and his heart rate was great, but he didn’t practice his breathing. He had hiccups instead. So they couldn’t technically pass him on. I remember being tired from the baby shower and organizing the presents. He had moved all weekend and I made sure to put my feet up every night to relax. With all my protesting with seeing Jensen like he always had been, they still sent us for a Non-Stress Test or NST for short.

I had never had an NST before and I was angry. Honestly, I didn’t think Jensen was in danger and he had passed everything else. It was nice outside and I wanted to have a picnic and take bump pictures. Instead we went to the hospital into triage for them to hook me up. Not only did they hook my belly up to monitors, they tested my fluids and checked my blood pressure. The whole entire time I was pregnant my blood pressure was perfect except two times. This was one of them.

Like I said above, I was not especially happy about going to the hospital. It spiked my blood pressure and I, not Jensen, had to have extra monitoring.

NST ‘bump’ picture.

His heartbeat was monitored and the beeping calmed me. I saw every time he made a movement and he did end up practicing his breathing. When the resident doctor came in, I asked him questions about the Panorama test and asked about babies with Down syndrome. He ended up getting ultrasounds of Jensen that were taken at the hospital and looked them over with me. I got to show my baby off to another person, which made me smile. He kept telling me not to worry about Jensen. That he looked perfect and he’s passed all his tests but this last one and that I shouldn’t have even got sent to triage anyways. It made me feel better, which lowered my blood pressure.

In all, that day, we were there for around four hours. It was a long one, but I felt reassured because I knew the both of us were great.

I was so exhausted that night. When we went back, I remember thinking about the next few weeks. Jensen was due on April 17. My doctor wanted me to be induced at thirty-seven weeks and I though he was trying to scare me with the NST to be able to get induced then. I was adamant that Jensen would come whenever he needed to. “He’ll come when he’s ready,” I would tell the doctor. There wasn’t any reason to take him out early…

Today I woke up and remembered that appointment and the thoughts I had after it was all done. It stung. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I would have just complied and been induced at thirty-seven weeks. My mind told me after he was born that he would have lived if I would have just listened, but my stubbornness killed him. Those thoughts haunted me in those early weeks. Honestly, they subsided, until I woke up and theese flashbacks came.

Guilt.

It’s the one thing I’ve been afraid of with his birthday coming up. Would the memories and flashback show me something I missed? Something that would have saved him? If I would have just been scared enough and let them induce me, would he still be alive? Instead of writing this now, would I be chasing him around the house?

Let me tell you, these thoughts crush my chest and take my breath. I would have and would do anything to have saved him, to have him right here with me.

I hate feeling like I failed him.

The Baby Shower.

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I woke up early that morning.

The rush of excitement to see my friends, family, and all the planning of the past few weeks filled me. Of course there were still more things to do, like the set up and making sure all the food got there. Then there was getting ready and making sure I put my feet up before I’d be on them all day. While I was constantly going over this checklist in my head, Jensen’s assuring ‘Go Mom!’ kicks made me smile.

When I stood up from my bed, I swore Jensen had dropped even lower. His weight gradually had been getting lower and lower over the past few weeks, but today he was the lowest. I waddled down the steps and we all started moving everything to the car. There was all the decorations and the table clothes that needed setting up before anything else, which was perfectly fine with me. As usual, I had to wait until after ten to get something to eat. Mr. I-don’t-like-mornings still hadn’t let me eat breakfast like I normally did before I was pregnant.

The boxes of my mental checklist were being marked quickly. On days like these, the hustle and bustle makes time go fast. Before I knew it, the guests were arriving.

I greeted people as they came. The first thing they probably noticed was my huge belly and my white slippers because no shoes would fit right. It seemed like the whole room filled up in under twenty minutes. Everyone was talking and laughing. Jensen kicked when he heard different people’s voices. I imagined this was how it was going to be from now on. His presence in the world brought happiness already and it would continue doing so when he would be in my arms.

My mom told me to go in the back while they played their first game, so I could eat. I can remember eating and a little one came up to me and asked what Jensen was doing in my belly. I smiled and told her he had been sleeping because we had a busy day. She touched my belly and asked if he was right there. Then he kicked. He was going to be friendly and love to interact with his cousins and friends.

After I was done eating, I remember walking out the door and seeing the huge, blue, ‘BOY’ balloons with the presents on the one side and diapers on the other table. I felt so blessed that Jensen and I were loved by so many.

The games had finished and everyone was eating. It was the perfect time to start opening gifts. I opened clothes, diapers, car seats, gift cards, pacifiers, books, stuff animals, bath needs, towels, and anything else you can think of. It was all there. We only needed to get a stroller which would be covered with all the gift cards. Everything was set for his big arrival now. All I had to do was get everything washed, unpacked, and assembled. Those things and of course waiting.

When everyone was getting ready to leave, I hugged them all and felt Jensen moving around. It was a tight squeeze so I felt him pretty frequently. In between every goodbye, I laid my hands where I knew his put was and then would trace down where his back was. He liked when I did that. He would move to follow my hand. Now looking back, a lot of those goodbyes were the last ones he had. They departed from us happy and thinking our future would be bright.

No one ever expected the worse was about to happen in a few short weeks.

My family helped take all the presents back to my house. We had to put them in the closet/laundry room because we still had to figure out everything with his room. I remember we went through each outfit and every book. In my mind, I had to organize everything so it would be easier for us to put away. Diapers in one corner, the bathing stuff in the other, and everything else had its place too. The clothes came with us so they could be washed.

Then we went home. Happy with how they day played out. I spent the evening reading the ‘Wishes for Baby’ and ‘Advice to Mom’ cards. Each out loud so Jensen would most definitely hear. I put them back in my purse so I could read throughout my appointments and ultrasounds, or whenever I felt like I needed to see them.

I was going to be a great mom.

That thought played in my head over and over. I was nervous, but I saw how much he was loved and I knew everything would work out just fine.

As quickly as the day went by, sleep welcomed me. Jensen and I had our nightly routine of reading a book and him kicking me until I laid on my left side. I’d be seeing him the next day and letting the ultrasound technician know how the shower went.

I dreamt of what he would look like that night. We were in the hospital room and I was holding him. He was snuggled so close to me and I was humming a lullaby in his ear. His body was warm and his hair smelled like a new baby.

Everything was perfect that day.

Planning a First Birthday Party Without Your One Year Old.

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I’ve started preparing for Jensen’s first birthday party. For the past couple weeks I’ve picked up pages and stickers for his scrapbook and other little things here and there. It’s been keeping my mind busy with what I need to do. If I sit for too long lately the memories flood my whole entire body. Even though I had a little feeling that I would be getting flashbacks, I didn’t realize I wouldn’t just have the visions. I’m feeling all the emotions I did, but with no numbness or shock. It knocks me on the ground and completely exhausts me, but I have to keep going.

I have to mother Jensen the only way I can before his first birthday.

To do that and to check the boxes on my list, I had to make some purchases last weekend. At that time, I wanted to kind of wanted to keep everything a surprise for the day after his birthday post. That was until yesterday after picking up one of my purchases from the post office. I realized that planning a first birthday without having your one year old was another part of this crazy, grief journey. Planning a child’s first birthday that they won’t physically be at is something a parent shouldn’t do. Anyways, one of the items I purchased, a cake topper, was waiting for its pick up. As usual, I was excited to open up my mail and really picture what Jensen’s cake was going to look like. So, I ripped it open and looked over each letter. It was absolutely perfect and just what I had imagined in my head.

Then the tears started.

Cake topper from The Blushing Script.

My baby’s turning one. My grief will enter the second year.

This cake topper is the first thing I have of Jensen’s that says ‘one.’ It tangibly marks his age, something that I have been avoiding since he’s been born. I haven’t gotten out his clothes to measure how big he would be and I don’t have the stickers that would mark his months, but this. This was the first. I kept tracing the word with tears falling down my face; they soon turned into uncontrollable sobs.

My brain split and played two different thoughts in my head at the same time.

First, the excitement I had this time last year. I was getting the finishing touches of Jensen’s baby shower done. His baby shower was one of my favorite days ever. We were surrounded by loved ones who were so excited to welcome Jensen in our world. I can remember every detail of the day and I can remember the planning. Planning is one thing I really love to do. I painted, designed the invitations, and looked up fun games that I thought everyone would want to participate in. It was only the start of parties I’d plan for Jensen. I remember telling my mom how this time of year, every year, would be planning for his birthday party. Which leads to the simultaneous second thought.

How his birthday should have been. As I kept touching the cake topper, I imagined seeing the glow of the candle glowing back. His eyes would see the flame and the shadow it left behind. Even before that, he would have a nice picture taken with his first birthday cake and it would be right there. I shouldn’t say nice, I have a feeling he would try to eat the icing before I could get a good picture. Jensen would have smashed that cake up and I would have wanted to preserve his topper so I could have it in his scrapbook. It’s honestly one of the smallest parts of planning his party, but it means so much.

Everything means ‘so much’ when Jensen is involved. 

I’ve heard the first birthday party is more for the mom than the baby. Of course the baby wouldn’t remember his or her party being so young, but the mom does. It’s a way to show her hard work in the past year and nine months (or so) with her child. I’m taking this to heart. Obviously Jensen can’t be here for his party. I know that. This is for me to celebrate his life. I’m doing what I need to feel like a semi-normal mom to my son. It’s not going to be exactly how I would have planned it if he was here, but a lot of it is going to be the same. This day isn’t to celebrate his death, it’s to celebrate his life, just like all birthdays.

It’s also to celebrate the good in the past year.

Even with his physical absence, Jensen has brought me so many wonderful days and the largest smiles. His life has given me a bigger purpose and to strive to be the best mom and person I can be; with substitute teaching and starting Grey Woods Design. This past year, even though it’s the hardest, was his first year. He’s allowed me to meet so many new friends. People I would have never have met or known, but who have enriched my life in ways I could never thank them enough. I’ve learned what this crazy thing called love is really about and that’s something to celebrate.

Jensen’s life is meaningful. He will always be remembered and loved. I will celebrate all of his birthdays with him. And in just twenty-five days he’ll be a one year old.

What It Feels Like Not to ‘Claim’ My Son.

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There hasn’t been a moment during this loss journey where I haven’t claimed Jensen. When the moment is right during certain conversations, I talk about him. I would never force conversation on a person, but if there’s a chance, I seize it. Some part of me knows that it probably makes others uncomfortable. He’s my son, so I don’t find it weird or strange to talk about. I’ve had strangers and students I sub ask if I have any kids or remark about my Jensen tattoos and ask. Each time, I beam with pride while I show him off.

That’s the way I wanted it to be when I was pregnant and it’s not going to change because he died.

But, life screws everything up.

Here’s another secret for you all… I’ve been dreading getting my taxes done. 2016 was a roller coaster ride that I’m okay being done with now. Yes, it’ll always be Jensen’s year, but I’ve finally found peace with it being over. Too bad I have to comply with the government to not go to jail over this ‘tax’ matter. (Please read that with sarcasm, I’ve always done my taxes and I think I’m a pretty good citizen). Well, technically, I called because my mom put the number in my phone and pressed send…

Long phone call short, I gave her my name and got a date for an appointment, then she started asking the typical questions you need for your taxes. I knew it was coming and I knew the answer I had to give.

“And do you have any kids?”

The question vibrated in my ears and throughout my body. I swear it felt like a five-minute pause before the biggest betrayal tore past my teeth.

“No.” Not in the eyes of the government for me to claim him. 

I can’t claim the baby I grew in my belly for thirty-eight weeks and two days. The baby that was loved and nurtured for his whole life. Who had a name and a birthday. The one that I labored and birthed, knowing what the future held. My whole pregnancy and his life cannot be claimed. Which is the reason why I never got a birth certificate for Jensen and the reason when they ask if I have kids, I have to say no. His life is just a blink to them. They don’t understand how hard it is to lie to the tax people when you say you don’t have any children.

Obviously, I could tell them I have a son, but he was stillborn. Then I would have to hear he doesn’t count and that’s not true. He counts to me and to so many other people. The fact is, I don’t want the money you get for having a child or whatever. I want the satisfaction of the government opening its eyes to the fact stillbirth happens. That these children are real and they matter. That this 1 in 160 statistic in the United States is absolutely too high and unless there is conversation about this, it will stay right there.

Some might think I’m being dramatic here, but it is as simple as ‘claiming’ my son on my taxes. Just as it’s simple as giving him a birth certificate. It’s breaking the silence and letting people know I gave birth to this child. It shouldn’t matter if he had passed, I’m still a mom and he’s still my son. We should be recognized for that from the government.

Jensen counts. I’ll always claim him. That lie I told the tax lady felt like a huge injustice to his memory and everything I stand for.

I know she heard that silence and my resistance to answer. Who wouldn’t? When I hung up and went back home, I cried… and then cried some more. I kept telling Jensen I was sorry. That he’ll always be my son, but with things like this I’m not allowed to claim you. I have to follow their rules, but I want to change them. One day, I hope a bereaved mom will be able to confidently say how many children she has. She’ll be able to tell them that her child has passed, but they still count and the other person will agree.

Because our babies do count and they always will.

After everything that happened last night, the ways of the world offered me a way to put Jensen’s name back out there. When my therapy was done, I went to Lowe’s to get some more sawtooth hangers for the Etsy shop. (Which thank you all for your support with it!). While checking out, the cashier asked me if I’d like to make a donation for a child to go to summer camp. Of course I said yes and I got this four leaf clover to write the donor’s name on…

I know one little boy who would have loved to help others out.

Happy forty-eight weeks in heaven, Jensen. Your impact on the world is noticed and you matter. I can’t imagine never having you here with me. There isn’t a moment where I’m not thinking of you. I miss you. I love you.

Eleven Months.

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Here’s a little secret about me that I don’t think I’ve shared with you all. Usually I don’t share because it makes me feel like a crazy person. Heck, I know grieving does a lot to a person, but I feel like this throws it over the edge.

I put on children’s shows and movies so Jensen can watch while I’m doing things around the house or when I leave. Last night and today has been all about the Magic School Bus.

Normally, I always have music or the television going because I can’t stand the silence. Then one day (it started around the holidays) I put on a cartoon because I wasn’t really watching, but I thought if Jensen was here and I needed to do dishes, this is what I would put on. For the past three or four months, this is become a part of my normal routine. If someone randomly stops over, I rush to the remote to turn it off so they don’t realize that I just have talking animals on.

It’s silly, but it helps.

The most common statement I hear loss moms say is they wish they know what their child would be doing at a certain age or during the day. Obviously, we all could imagine it. A Google search would tell me what Jensen would be learning and trying right now, but of course it’s not the same. Each child is an individual and has his or her own likes and dislikes, as well as a developmental schedule. So Jensen could be walking from chair to table back to chair or he could be looking at me like there’s no way in heck that I’m going to walk without your help. I don’t know that fact because he’s not here. But I can imagine and picture what he would be doing.

This is why I have children’s cartoons on. It would be something I could control with him and it brings something tangible I can have right now.

As I’m defending myself, I’m feeling like I’m an even bigger loon than before…

Anyways, in the past eleven months, I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that there is a lot of things that happen out of our control. Jensen dying was a horrible tragedy that no one could have prevented. That doesn’t mean I’ve come to terms with him dying or that it gives his death a reason. It doesn’t and it never will. Grief isn’t controllable. Trust me on that, I’ve tried to fight against it and it doesn’t help anyone. People’s idiotic comments are going to happen, unfortunately. Time isn’t stopping and it definitely doesn’t heal all wounds. There things (and more) are all out of our hands.

Yet, there’s another side to this ‘it happens out of our control’ fact; there are things we can control.

I can say his name, loudly and proudly, with no one holding me back. We control how we rise after the fall. I can continue breaking the silence around miscarriage, stillbirth, and child loss at any age just by continuing to share my experiences. When I hear inconsiderate comments, I know that another person doesn’t have this understanding. Although I might be angry with their comment, I’m the only person who dictates my reaction and feelings. (Admittedly I’m still working on this, but I know I can eventually be good at this.) With that, when grief has me down, I can choose to work with it to help be gentle on my heart. I can not be mad at myself or judge my actions while I’m grieving. And I can watch the Magic School Bus and picture Jensen chasing the cats around my living room.

This is my journey and yours is yours.

There is no right or wrong to this life we never imagined living. All we can do is be gentle on ourselves and support one another.

That’s what the last eleven months has taught me.

As I said in my last post, I’ve been vividly remembering this time last year and wanted to share this bump picture with you. He was so heavy in the last month. I can remember literally holding my belly and him with my arms while I walked. He was head down and always laid on my right side, butt right below my hips. I miss his weight and feeling him get comfortable. Sometimes at my expense, but I didn’t mind. There is never enough seconds you can spend with your child.

How I wish I just had one more.

Happy eleven months in heaven, baby Jensen. I wish you were physically here with me watching Magic School Bus and cuddled on my chest. We would have the curtains open and getting all the vitamin D our bodies needed. Of course you’d want to play and I would love to be chasing you around the house. Learning what you want to rip apart first. I wish I had the rest of my days with you. Keep sending me love and strength to keep going. I’m taking each of my steps for and with you. I miss you. I love you.

The Reason I Keep Going When I Know It’s “Not Going to Get Better.”

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This was Jensen one year ago today.

I was getting ready for my baby shower and asked the ultrasound technician to try to get as many pictures of him as she could. Jensen was posing on this day. He let her take pictures of his face, after he played hard to get and covered it with his hand. She kept trying to trick him so she could get a profile shot, but he wouldn’t cooperate.

That doesn’t sound like he was like me at all.

In a really nice, motherly voice I asked Jensen to please let mommy see the side of his face so all his family could see when they came to celebrate him. Within five seconds he rolled and let her take that picture. Then another one and another one. He stroked his hand on his chin and put his fingers in his mouth. I saw my son, so lively and with so much personality.

I’ll never forget this day. 

He was alive and growing perfectly. I was happy. Life was good.

I knew that in the next two months my life would be forever changed, but had no idea it would in the way it did. There was no sign he was going to be born silently. Jensen hit all his milestones and was monitored twice a week. All these precautions and the worst still happened. The doctors and books I read never prepared me for this type of motherhood. I was thrust into this dark and isolating world where babies die and moms had to live without them.

Somehow death stole my son and I’m never going to stop feeling that pain. I had thirty-eight weeks and two days with Jensen. This might sound like a short amount of time, but this was Jensen’s forever. It was my son’s whole life. That fact doesn’t get easier with each day that passes. There’s not a cure-all or replacement for a baby dying, nor will there ever be. It’s the reasons why I’ll never be move on from my son or this grief journey.

I’ll never have my Jensen back.

Death will have always entered my body and not have taken me.

The memory of that silent delivery room will not fade away.

I can’t forget feeling the painful emptiness that took over my stomach in the days following his birth.

My physical body may have healed, but inside will always feel like a fresh wound.

Time doesn’t solve these problems.

I know that. I’m not okay with the fact and I don’t want to accept any of this, but I’m here living this life. There are times I want to quit. Just clock out forever because what makes me so special to live and Jensen not? On average, I ask myself that around 50 times a day and my answer is always the same.

You can’t quit on Jensen. You can’t let him see you fail. You have to take the steps he’s never going to take. You are his mom. You feel so very deeply because you loved him so much. You have to keep going. 

The eleventh month mark is in just a few short days. I don’t know what this last month of the year is going to hold for me. It’s been an intense lead up to this point of time and I’m guessing it’s not going to be the best month.

There is a lot going on in my head. The memories of this month last year have become very tangible again, which I wasn’t expecting. Like today, it’s hard to remember and almost feel that pure bliss I felt on this day, exactly, last year. My mind is going to revisit a lot of days this month, especially in the weekend that led to Jensen’s birth last year.

Hopefully I’ll be able to put them to words. Not only will it help me try to calm myself and figure the thoughts out, I think it’s going to be beneficial for others to be in this loop. I have a feeling I’ll discover more. About what? I don’t know. But it’ll be here in writing.

Grey Woods Design.

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Tuesdays are always emotional days for me.

I’ve talked and wrote about them extensively throughout the past forty-seven of them. On the day he was born, I knew I’d always have trouble tackling them. It was the day my life had changed on. They’ve transformed into a day I’m forced to begin my grief week again, instead of being happy Jensen’s getting bigger and learning how to do more.

There hasn’t been one that I haven’t cried or been so angry about all the weeks that have passed. Some have brought me smiles as I remember the moments I had with Jensen and all the love he still brings me. If there’s one thing that’s for sure, it’s been a year full of eventful Tuesdays.

Including this very special one.

On the Valentine’s Day post, I shared a picture of Jensen bear and the love wood slice. Although starting an Etsy shop had been on my mind for a few months before that, I wanted to see if anyone would actually be interested in what I was creating. Honestly, I didn’t think anyone would. Grief has a great way of making people’s confidence go down the drain… and all parts of the self, but I’m not getting into that today.

Since that post, I’ve been trying to make some more things that my heart was telling me. I pulled out two pieces of wood that I’ve had my eye on for a while and then ideas started pouring out. Some that I haven’t even posted yet. Once I was pleased with what I made, I took pictures, uploaded them here, and started the process of making listings on Etsy. As anything, I’ve written and reread through everything to make sure it was as perfect as it can get.

I thought, as a pretty sentimental person, that I would  open shop on a Tuesday; I thought it’d be good to have another positive one in the books.

Everyone, I want to introduce you to my Etsy shop, Grey Woods Design:

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This little shop’s purpose is to help me be able to create through my grief and keep my mind busy when I’m home alone. More important, it’s going to be my labor of love. I am hoping it’ll give me some kind of spark in a way that I’m able to mother this concept I have imagined then created. I’m very anxious about how the shop is going to go, but I am SO excited to get my first order and help others remember and honor their child. Of course, this is for living children as well. But, it’s another way I can share a part of Jensen and I’s story and breaking the silence around baby loss.

One more thing I’d like to share with you all is why I named the shop what I did.

Grey. Obviously for Mr. Jensen Grey. I wanted and had to include my baby in this little business. Seeing a part of his name on there makes me feel like his legacy is continuing in a different way. It honestly makes me instantly smile when I see the color grey or the word. Just was the perfect part to add there.

Woods. All but one listing on the Etsy shop is made from wood. I wanted to be able to have that connection there. It’s also used because my life sort of revolved around wood products with my job, my house, and nature. Which, nature has always been a connection to Jensen and so it fit.

Design. I think this is pretty self-explanatory.

That’s the quick description of how I came up with the name. I absolutely love it. It is a perfect tribute to Jensen, but also to my creativity and lifestyle. Starting this venture (like I said before) is terrifying, but, like in all things I do, I hope it will be able to help someone and make them smile. That’s really what helps me heal. Knowing that Jensen and I can make a positive impact in someone else’s life is such a gift to this pained mama.

I hope you all are able to check Grey Woods Design out and let me know what you think. It’s always such a stabilizing thought knowing I have your support in this grief journey. Lately it’s been really rough and I’ve been quiet, but I’m still taking those steps with Jensen right there with me.