Tag Archives: Jensen Grey

Little Leo Comes Home.

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If you’ve been following along in our journey of life after loss, you’ll know at the two month mark we got a kitty, named Leo. He’s the most adorable, orange kitty cat that I’ve ever laid my eyes on. All my life I wanted a black cat named Poe and an orange one named Leo. In December of last year, we adopted Poe as Jensen’s kitty and he’s been our little trooper. He’s seen us at our best and our absolute worst. There were days when I was still pregnant that Jensen and Poe would cuddle with each other. He was super protective over me and Jensen while he grew. After Jensen was born, Poe knew. I was at a point where I needed something to hold and cuddle, but Poe was going through a weird phase. That’s where Leo came into our little family.

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Always right by my face.

The first night in the house, Leo slept right between Anthony and I. We soon found out he loved to be held and cuddled. He’s right there when I’m cooking and likes to be covered up by blankets. Yes, he’s spoiled. In his defense, I made him that way. I needed something to look after and care for physically. He would listen to me as I sung to him and told him stories about Jensen. My voice relaxes him and he’ll fall asleep as I hold him in my arms. My little Leo has helped me heal. He’ll always hold a part of my heart. (So does Poe, don’t get me wrong! He’s very much loved and cuddled when he pleases.)

Yesterday, Leo had to go to the vet. He had to get fixed, which is a normal and routine surgery that many animals get. Poe had it done as well as my parent’s pets growing up. It’s just how it goes. The night before, I noticed I was starting to get really upset. I kept telling myself everything would go smoothly, just as I always believed it would with Jensen.

Then loss and grief hit. What if Leo dies too?

Death takes over my head sometimes. It took my baby away and taunts me everyday with that fact. Leo can easily be taken too. I didn’t know how I would handle another loss. It would make me question ever getting close and having feelings to something ever again. Because life ends, but it shouldn’t end on my son who was supposed to be safe in my belly and my cat who would be doing a routine surgery. I was hurting and I couldn’t sleep, not that I do anyways.

So, yesterday morning rolls around and I have to force him in his carrier to take him. He meowed the whole time and gave me the saddest eyes. As I drove, he scratched the entire surface of the carrier to try to escape. With each of his meows I wondered if this was the last time I’d hear him. Would it be the last time he heard my voice calming him? This might sound dramatic, but we never know when the last time for any of us will be.

After dropping him off and having the girl there promise me she would call afterwards to let me know he was okay, I got in my car. The memories of leaving the hospital without Jensen came to me in full force. I was leaving empty-handed, full of worry, and not knowing what the future would be like. The silence in my car was broken by my sobs. I miss Jensen. This life is so hard after losing him. It’s not just losing him either; it’s the loss of the innocence I held in this world. Death took away my son from my belly, it would be easy for him to take away my cat laying on the table. Loss and love battled each other for who would win out. I remember through my tears and driving, I just prayed God and Jensen would watch over Leo and he would have a fast recovery.

When I walked into my house, Poe gave me the same look as he did after Jensen was born. He was looking for little Leo and didn’t understand. I would say yesterday was definitely hard for me. I kept wrestling with the idea that bad things happen to good people. Coming home to Poe was nice, but I knew Jensen should have been there too. He should be with me everyday. Then my kitty wasn’t here either. Life after loss hurts. Living with this pain everyday is tiring and it comes out of little things.

Later in the afternoon, the humane society called me. I was anxious to hear how surgery went and if he was recovering well. Well, it went so well that when he woke up he was being a sassy, little boy. He hissed at everyone and didn’t want to be around anyone else… but me. When I came and got him, he stopped hissing as I soothed him with my voice. We came home and I held him as he slept for the better part of the evening. Last night, he stayed in my arms, just purring away. He’s still a little sore today, but he’s recovering and letting Poe take care of him. I’m so thankful he was able to get through surgery and be his little ornery self afterwards.

It brings me delight to see him back home, but it also makes the hole I have in my heart for Jensen sting more. I can imagine how complete the house would feel if Jensen was laying with Poe, Leo, and I on the couch. My life will always have Jensen missing, but we’re learning how to live again.

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Happy to be home.

Stillbirth Remembrance Day.

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Jensen has taught me so much in the time he was with me and after. He taught me a new kind of love and appreciation for life. My time with him brought me so many smiles and tears. I learned Jensen would much rather have a gallon of chocolate milk instead of water. He most definitely would have been a night owl who slept all day. His stubbornness even inside my belly made me laugh. I could go on and on about all the things I learned about him and how it effected me to this day. Even though he didn’t take a breath on this earth, he still lived. My little guy was a person who had his own emotions and personality. He’s the amazing, little baby that I would never been able to dream up. Jensen is my son, my first-born boy.

His death taught me others.

In fact, I learned that September sixth is Stillbirth Remembrance Day. That’s today, which falls on his twenty-second week. If you hadn’t noticed, a lot of important dates fall on Tuesdays this year. Honestly, before Jensen’s heart stopped beating, I didn’t realize what a stillbirth was. I mean, some part of my brain knew babies died and they were still. History documents so many women and families having multiple stillbirths, but that was way in the past. In my mind, it didn’t happen with all this technology we had or in this time. A baby’s heart just didn’t stop beating. No matter all these horrible things that can happen during pregnancy would never happen to me and my baby. Until it did.

Those words still ring in my ear, “I’m sorry there’s no heartbeat, you need to go to the hospital.”

Then the, “Do you understand what this means?”

I wish I could go back to this moment and scream at the doctor. No. I didn’t understand what that meant. How could he die? I just saw him dancing around on the screen four days before. He was just moving the previous day. It hit me as we drove over to the hospital that I’d have to go through labor and birth my son. Just as we practiced, but he wouldn’t be there. Instead of the screams, there would be nothing but silence. Some part of me believed the ultrasound machine was lying. That he would come out screaming and just faked everyone out. He didn’t, the room was silent.

Our time at the doctor’s office and the hospital still hasn’t come back to me; well not fully. I do remember being home the week after his funeral and it was the first time I looked up stillbirth on Google. What I found was so surprising. One in one-hundred and sixty pregnancies end in stillbirth. That’s a huge number of babies dying everyday. It’s another mom and dad losing their child. Another childhood that won’t be lived. A mom who feels like she’s unable to grieve the loose of her child because stillbirth is so taboo. Death is so taboo, yet it happens to so many babies before they’re even born. Yet, we’re told to ‘get over it’ and ‘just have another one.’ Jensen was not a statistic. I’m not a statistic. We are both human beings. Our lives have a purpose and we’re not defined by death. This happened to me and my family, but we’re not just this number in a study.

On this Stillbirth Remembrance Day, I remember Jensen and all his friends in heaven, just as I do everyday. Our angels are not just a number in a scientific study. Their lives are so meaningful and our motherhood is real. Don’t ever forget.

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I made this for Jensen. The modern wreath and his name are written in his colors, navy blue and orange. Triangles represent the shapes that flooded his nursery. He is remembered and honored everyday. My son will never be a statistic. His life will always be celebrated. I love seeing Jensen’s name and today I want to reach out to all my angel mom friends and ask if you’d like me to do a wreath for your angel. To see their names and remember they are not a statistic. My heart goes out to you mommas on Stillbirth Remembrance Day and everyday.

*Edit: currently not making name wreaths due to my schedule.*

Five Months.

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I usually don’t talk about Jensen’s big hands, just his perfect feet. Sometimes I don’t have the words to describe each of his features, in my mind they’re each just so perfect that there are no words to encapsulate him. This past week, I dove into Jensen’s drawer and looked over his hospital folder. These big, bear hands just reached for me to look more closely. I never realized how ginormous they were until the last time I saw them. We also printed off a few of his pictures to hang around the house and the one that sits next to Anthony really shocked me. His hands looked bigger than they do on his prints. They’re chubby and really long actually. You can’t see that in the prints, so you’ll just have to trust me. Those hands would definitely be bigger than mine. I hope he’d give better high-fives than me too.

Five whole months. He would’ve been using his hands so much by now. Holding his bottle, gripping my fingers hard, and probably flailing them around. I’m sure they’d be right by his face all the time, just like he had them during all the ultrasounds. He would for sure be a thumb sucker, but that’s okay. I can just imagine how he would have grown by now and I would be seeing this beautiful boy with his hand in his mouth and slobber everywhere. Then when he’d get our attention he’d just give us this ornery, big, gummy smile with his hand still stuck in there. I can just picture it…

Honestly, I didn’t imagine me being able to make it to the five month mark without Jensen with me. Sometimes I think my heart is so broken that it’s going to stop too. Kind of like how older couples die just months between each other. I feel like that’s going to be me. Everyday I’m amazed that I wake up, feel it beating, and can get out of bed. The pain of outliving my child stings with every breath I take. I try to fill the house with him each day so I have a reason to smile. Most times I wish I could just stay on my couch curled up in my blanket with all my candles on and just be. Not doing anything, but being warm and present. Those days are necessary most of the time, but I have to get up. I have to work and try to keep living the fullest life I can.

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The Promise of September.

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It’s been a weird day.

September is here. I keep seeing post full of excitement for fall, the weather getting cooler, and everything pumpkin. The kids are back walking past my house every afternoon. I always loved the idea of being close to the school, now it’s torture. Leaves on the trees are slowly turning and will soon fall to the ground. There’s promises of change surrounds me from every direction. It pressures me to feel it, but everything in my body is telling me to run back to April. Run away from Jensen being five months old here in a few short days. The promise of change scares the living hell out of me.

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It’s crazy to be at a point where I remember being pregnant last year and can compare it with now. I guess what I say it like that it doesn’t make sense. It’s easy to compare the physical aspect of my life from last year to now. I was pregnant and happy that Jensen was here and now he’s not. The ‘interesting’ comparison is the train of thoughts. Last year I was constantly thinking for the future and what was best for the little life growing inside me, now I’m thinking of the past. What could I have done better? Why didn’t I take more pictures? I do a good job of making myself feel guilty…

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Twenty-One Weeks.

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All day I went back and forth on if I wanted to write today. After yesterday’s fairly ‘good’ day, nighttime was a completely different story. I couldn’t sleep, stop crying, or thinking. My empty arms ached all night. Tears soaked his nightly letter and my eyes burned from them. Thoughts of the happy moments of Jensen being here and his death wrestled in my mind. This morning didn’t fare any better. It hit me that when I woke up, it’d be the next week without him. My face was all stuffy and my eyes bloodshot red. I swear my hair was sticking straight up and to the sides. The dark blue underneath my eyes weren’t as surprising. I looked sad and it didn’t even reflect how horrible I felt on the inside.

When I looked in the mirror, I saw the reflection of a bereaved mother.

This momma had to face another week without her son. Twenty-one to be exact, so three days shy of one-hundred and fifty days without him, here with me. I swear each day and week gets harder and harder. We’re coming up on five months in less than a week, the month is changing, and fall is quickly approaching. Change. It sucks when I’m still here experiencing what would have been brand new to Jensen. I can’t see the beauty in the leaves changing or really appreciate the weather getting cooler. All the things I was excited for when he was still with me is just gone.

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Why We Need To Talk About ‘Good’ Days After Loss.

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If you would have told me twenty weeks ago that I would be able to smile again, I would have rolled my eyes at you. I would promise you that a smile would never cross my face again because how could I smile after my baby died? When I thought of smiling, I thought of the pure happiness from before Jensen was born. A smile that filled my whole entire face and came from the soul. I’m not sure I’ll ever have one of those smiles again in the after, but I have smiled. My post-loss smiles are broken, but they come and go.

My good day today falls on the day Jensen’s heart stopped. I never really pay attention to Mondays because I was so numb that day. Now I won’t let myself just focus on his death, but I mourn alone on Mondays. Tuesdays represent the last physical connection, which is harder for me. But alas, I’ve finally had a good Monday. Even on the Monday before the month changes! There’s been multiple reasons to smile today. I’m still gushing over the sunset that reminded her of Jensen, shared with me on Saturday. Yesterday while swimming, I found a little feather from Jensen. Today I got to see Jensen’s name (three times!) from two other people. One on a beach in Canada and two others from the Painted Name Project. I looked through all his pictures and hospital memories today too. All these moments are happy moments that stemmed from Jensen and his time here. It hit me after all these good things that these good days, with tears, don’t get shared enough.

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Up until a few weeks ago, I felt guilty over smiling. Heck, I felt guilty for having a ‘good’ day. Before I go any further I’ll explain what a ‘good’ day looks like. A good day after loss is different from before loss. It’s when you can breathe without feeling like you’re drowning. Where you can leave the comfort and safety of your home and not be overcome by triggers. Tears still come during these days, but they don’t stall everything else. You can live in the moment, still thinking about your angel, but able to do things for them and yourself. Good days are still hard right now, but they’re crucial during grief. But when it hits you that you’re having a good day and you find yourself smiling; the guilt rushes over. Especially on that first good day.

Then it all spirals down again. Grief hits harder and it pulls you under. You feel like a horrible person for being able to enjoy a day when you know your baby isn’t here and will never be here. There’s guilt in feeling like you haven’t fully mourned your child on that day. There’s distrust in good feelings and emotions. A part of you doesn’t ever want to feel happy again because how can you when they’re not in your arms? How can a mother feel anything but the pain that comes after hearing your baby’s heart isn’t beating? It hurts and you breakdown. The first good day for me ended up in tears. So technically it was half a good day. It was a learning moment in grief and I learned it was okay to have a good day.

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Jensen’s Certificate of Life.

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Yesterday was such a whirlwind of emotions for me. I’m thankful for all the support and love that poured in. My family helped me have the the best birthday I could have considering I was so upset I couldn’t be celebrating with Jensen. I’ll admit, I cried a few times, but I survived one of the first big anniversaries of his life. Being yesterday was also the day we found out we were pregnant and it was his twentieth week in heaven. I never like to wish time away, but I’m glad yesterday is over. Thanks to each and everyone of you who sent over birthday hopes and wishes. I was so happy to share a piece of Jensen yesterday. His feet are just so perfect and one day we’ll be able to share all of him with you.

Besides everything that came with yesterday, I’ve had a lot on my mind about the events and differences after a stillbirth happens. For one, we never received a birth certificate or any document that says Jensen lived. We have his fetal death certificate that they gave us right after we picked up his ashes. I was really bothered we never received anything to say that Jensen was here in the eyes of the government. Maybe that’s silly of me, but he did exist and he lived 38 weeks. In Ohio, you can actually get a Certificate of Stillbirth. The parents have to apply for it through the Office of Vital Statistics and send it in. I can’t speak for every state or country since I haven’t researched it, but it gave me another sense of closure to have something from the government stating his name and birthdate. It didn’t say anything about death though, which is so nice to have something office not talk about his death. His name and birthdate was also filed away so they recognize he was alive and born. If you can get one where you live, I’d really recommend doing it. It didn’t take too long to fill out the form, send it out, then receive the documents.

If you have been through that process, I’d love for you to share your experiences so others could read from different parts in the world.

Anyways, my friend, Melissa, and I were talking about how we never got a document that celebrated our angels’ lives. It really bothered both of us how there’s no standard papers for stillbirth or miscarriage. We both agreed how we thought their lives, no matter how long they were with us, should be on a certificate and shown off. So, Melissa ended up coming up with a way to celebrate and honor her son, Lachlan, by making certificates of life. She wanted to really embrace what made our babies special and acknowledge their length and weight and what time they were born. Just because our babies were stillborn, our birth experience matters and is important to us. All those little details are so unique to each and every baby, that they should be celebrated. Of course when she told me she was going to start making one, I wanted one for Jensen. Today I received it!

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The Importance of the Loss Community.

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During the car ride home after Jensen had been born, I felt completely alone. My mom and dad had no idea what I was going through or even what to say. Not only did I know anyone who went through a stillbirth, but feeling the emptiness that Jensen had filled just the day before hurt so much. I know Mom and Dad were talking on the car ride home, I sat there not hearing a word they were saying and completely silent. My thoughts were so jumbled. It would feel so real when I got home without Jensen. Where would I go from that point? Is this whole experience even normal? Am I normal? Am I alone in all of this? These thoughts came and went constantly for the first few weeks.

After Jensen’s obituary, that I still have not allowed myself to read, was in the newspaper, I got one of the most important messages in my life. A girl, I knew back from high school, reached out and opened up about her experience with loss. She introduced me to a local loss group and told me I wasn’t alone. I saw that there were so many people in my small area that are on this journey with me. It was my first experience with this community and I can never thank her enough for the introduction.

Honestly, at first I felt so naive to think that I was the only person to go through this loss, then the pain of knowing so many others have kept me up all night. Well I wasn’t sleeping at all, but that first night I kept thinking, “How can this world hold so much pain?” I held on to that question through Jensen’s funeral and till about his first month in heaven. I didn’t even have the strength to look and see everyone’s story after that first experience of feeling everything so deeply. It wasn’t until Anthony went back to work and my first therapy session, that I actually saw the importance of the loss community.

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