Ten Weeks.

Posted on June 15, 2016 by danielleridgway

Everyone hates Mondays. It’s the start of the week and we all have to go back to work. The day drags and usually everything goes wrong. Ten weeks and one day ago, I had the worst Monday in the whole entire world. For some reason though, every Monday since, I wish the calendar stopped turning. Jensen was born on a Tuesday, ten weeks ago to be exact.

On Monday nights, I watch the minutes pass by until it hits midnight. It’s silly, I know the day is going to change, but I want the Groundhog Day time repeat to happen. My mind cannot comprehend that another week has passed since he’s been gone. I don’t understand how I haven’t lost my mind or how my body hasn’t just stopped working. How is my heart still beating when I’ve had death inside me? Death stole my Tuesdays, as well as the fifths of every month, all April, and especially Jensen’s birthday. When I think about it, it stole away everyday…

In the past (roughly) forty-eight weeks, my mind and body have been focused on one special, little boy. It’s gone from nurturing to caring to grieving, all in a relatively short amount of time. Even in the ten weeks Jensen has been gone, all my thoughts are on him. There’s not a second that goes by that he’s not in my brain. This whole time I’ve put him first, not that it was even hard to do. He’s my child for goodness sakes.

Today, I was told one thing and asked another that completely challenged me.

The first, “Jensen is taken care of.” This was not said in a malicious way, nor did I take it that way. But let me tell you, it shook me to my core. My mind cannot accept he is taken care of without me. It hurts when I think that his needs are met in heaven and I’m not there to provide them. He is taken care of. I swear, I’m just sitting here taking that in again. The pause just filled with tears and trying to understand that. Jensen is in heaven and there’s nothing I can do about it. He is there and he is content. Besides having him here physically, what more could I want?

The second, a question. “How do you see yourself?” Broken. Depressed. Missing. Sad. Insecure. Questioning. Shaking. Tears. Stressed. I’m sure I could go on and I did when I was asked. It was after I described all my emotions and feelings that I realized I haven’t really looked at myself in a mirror since the day I found out Jensen’s heart stopped beating. Right now I’m remembering looking in the mirror soon after he was born, maybe three days later. It was the first time I was alone and I was going to take a shower until I looked at myself. I remember looking at my stomach, still swollen, but not Jensen’s bump. At that time I was still in shock, so I pressed where his butt usually sat. It was empty, my whole body was empty. I looked at my face, staring into my eyes. Emptiness turned into hatred. How could my body do this to me, to my baby? I’ll never, ever forget that moment. It took everything out of me not to break that mirror. Not to shatter the person looking back at me.

I went a little off from the question asked to me today, but it all connects. The past, almost, ten weeks from the mirror moment that’s the only image I’ve had of myself. Danielle post Jensen was this empty girl filling with hatred to herself, but so full on her love for her son. It still holds true to now, especially when I think back to that moment. It saddens me. I struggle to find love for myself, the only person that is accountable for getting up every single day. The person who through this huge loss, radiates love to someone so far away. I’m the reflection in the mirror, maybe I needed to shatter the mirror because I’m broken inside.

All these conflicting, pent up emotions about Jensen and myself came out today. Of course my emotions for Jensen are shown everyday, but I push down any about myself. I felt everything, like I felt I needed to do. Instead of looking in the mirror, I took pictures of myself. Mind you, this is the first time I’ve really looked at myself for the past ten weeks. When I have put makeup on to meet people, it’s been without the mirror. Who knew selfies could be some sort of therapy for me during this time.

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If I was an artist, I’d name it after how I describe my three selves: Danielle after Jensen.

What do I see? My beautiful mother-son necklace from Mother’s Day. Under eye circles. Unkept hair. No smile. The eyes that have seen too much for one person to have ever seen. My literal safety blanket. I see sadness. I see someone who doesn’t sleep at night.I see the glassy eyes, tears always on the ready. When I’m sitting here looking at myself, the only trace of happiness I see is my necklace. It scares me looking at myself and it deeply saddens me. On the other side, I don’t feel anger or hatred. I don’t see a body or face that would purposely let her son go. It’s not a face that would accept death.

As this tenth week of grief begins, I’m learning that I have to reaccept and love myself. I’m Jensen’s biggest advocate and living for the both of us. It’s impossible to keep hating myself and denying myself basic needs while endlessly devoting my love. It keeps coming back to love. Love for Jensen. His love for me. The thing is, Jensen’s cared for in heaven. His soul thrives in the next life. He’ll wait for me, but in that time whatever he wants he has. Me on the other hand, I have to set reminders when to eat. My needs are instantly met like his. I’m constantly mothering my son, who’s not here on this earth. Yet, I’ve completely forgotten about myself.

I look and see my picture, challenging myself to view myself as another person. What do I see then? I see a mother who’s lost their child. I see someone’s girlfriend. I see a daughter. I see a sister. I see someone who has experienced a lifetime in a short amount of time. I see strength. I see love.

Jensen, my love for you continues each and every second of the day. I’m trying to let that love spill over onto me, just as you would want it to. Each day of my life I honor and remember you. You are my sunshine and send the birds that wake me each morning. I’ll be better for the both of us. Ten weeks in heaven for you, Baby J. I know you spent it dancing in the clouds.

Dreams.

Posted on June 13, 2016 by danielleridgway

There are two things I know to be true for tomorrow. First, it will be a beautiful day. June is in full swing with the warm, summer weather. A great day to be outside and swimming in the pool. It’s the kind of day I would wish and wish for in past summers. Second, storm clouds will be following me the entire day. Tomorrow marks ten weeks without Jensen.

In times like these, our memory and brains are always searching for a relatable situation to help guide us along. Honestly, there is nothing like having a child die. All the BIG, “life-changing” emotions and situations that have effected me in my life, tended to fizzle out. I have been excited to go to new places, sad during certain events, and really angry. In time, all those intense emotions just where there then left definitely after ten weeks. During the past ten weeks, my emotions and thoughts have not lessened. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

Each day that passes is hard. The initial shock of everything that happened has wore off and all those emotions have surfaced. It doesn’t feel like I should be moving forward without Jensen. Last week, I couldn’t stop crying. Getting out of bed every single morning felt like it was all I could do. There was a time I looked to the backseat where Jensen’s car seat should have been. When I turned around, I imagined Jensen sitting there so contently with a pacifier in his mouth and a big, grey sunhat on his head. In this image, he was content with just being in the car with us. Everywhere I look, the images happen. Instead of having a storm following me tomorrow, I should be playing with him and celebrating him being ten weeks old.

I don’t think this type of grief will ever really go away. How can losing a child not effect the rest of your life? I’ve read it can take around five years to really be able to consistently have good days. Like, returning to normal but not. Believe me, you can’t return to normal after losing your precious child. I believe a new normal will re-emerge, where there’s more good days than bad. Where not all my thoughts are consumed by loss. I know I’ll think of Jensen every single day for the rest of my life. The difference is, I’ll be able to separate all the good things I love about Jensen from death’s ugly grip.

After a week full of tears, today has been peaceful. Probably the calm before the storm, but that’s just the way I think now. It started off so beautifully. Anthony made me breakfast in bed; eggs, bacon, toast, and coffee. The look on his face, he was so proud of himself. I hope my smile was a big enough “thank you” to him. It was one of the moments I always pictured Jensen helping him with. My boys. I picture Jensen with a big smile, trying to carry the red tray and Anthony right behind him making sure he doesn’t spill it everywhere. The both of them just trying to start my day off beautifully. Big smiles would fill the room.

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Obviously this morning I instantly was thinking of that dream I have. I was surprised grief didn’t set in, instead I was able to live in the calm before the storm. Our end tables got stained, I cleaned the house, and only cried one time. A semi decent day without the waves of grief crashing down. This type day hasn’t really happened since Jensen’s been born. There’s been fleeting moments, but not a whole day (knock on wood). I felt like I needed to honor Jensen today in acting out a dream I wanted with him. A simple, little dream really. I picked flowers, lilies, from outside and put them in a vase. Little boys always try and give their mommas flowers. I needed more Jensen today and bringing the beauty of the flowers inside helped with that.

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I believe Jensen gave me this beautiful day. Him and his dad must have teamed up to make me smile and feel comfortable today. Maybe it’s because I’ve allowed myself a good day. Grief is hard, hard work. Living day to day with this heavy loss tugs on my soul. Today wasn’t about Jensen’s death, it reminded me of Jensen’s life. It was warm, beautiful, and made me smile. It started and it will end with thoughts of my little man.

Jensen, thank you for giving me this day. I know you see my hard days and only wish I had good ones. My heart is so heavy, but continues to love you so very much. I hope as you turn ten weeks old in heaven, they hold you while they dance and sing you the sweetest lullabies. I hope you smile and are warm. Jensen Grey, I hope you’re swaddled with our love and hear every word I whisper to you.

Two Months.

Posted on June 6, 2016 by danielleridgway

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…

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.

Posted on June 2, 2016 by danielleridgway

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.

A Beautiful Meeting.

Posted on May 17, 2016 by danielleridgway

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.

Posted on May 13, 2016 by danielleridgway

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.

Posted on May 10, 2016 by danielleridgway

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…

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.

#ShareYourMotherHeart

Posted on May 10, 2016 by danielleridgway

I never imagined myself writing about grief; especially the grief for my son, my precious Jensen. A mother should never lose her child, but here I am writing. I carried him for ten months, I should be cleaning off spit up in my hair. I should be doing nightly feedings. My baby boy should be here with me.

Yet, I am here. I have not woken up from my nightmare and I never will.

I decided to join the Share Your Mother Heart group in efforts to focus in on my grief around Mother’s Day. Honestly, I wasn’t prepared. How could I even fathom that my son wouldn’t be here for my first Mother’s Day?

Which brings us into Day Nine of this writing journey…

Before Jensen passed, I would have never known the community I have found so much support in. I admit, I would never choose to be apart of this community. It breaks my heart knowing all these wonderful, beautiful mothers have lost their babies. We grieve so deeply for our children, we search for answers, and we question ourselves. Even though we’re all going through this tragedy, we rally and support each other.

I can’t say enough about the support I have from other bereaved mothers. Besides writing and feeling my love for Jensen all this week, I was able to share my story and hear their stories. Listening was just as therapeutic as writing. I wish I could give every single mother a hug and tell her she’s doing great. I wish I could cry with her while we spoke of our angels. Support is the main part of this project and I’m so thankful you were all there for me.

I hope you all feel more than comfortable to contact me after this ten day journey is over. I hope you feel comfortable telling me anything on your mind. I hope you want to tell me more and more about your baby. I hope when I feel like I can’t move off the couch from this grief, you are there for me. This is what communities are all about.

Lastly, thank you all for Sharing Your Mother Heart with me. Each of your stories are different, but just as important. You are heard. Your baby is remembered. You are a wonderful mother.

For my family and friends that have followed along through my journey, I thank you all for your support. Seeing your ‘likes,’ messages, and comments help me out more than you know. This Mother’s Day was so hard for me to get through and you followed me through that journey. I know you could never imagine going through this and that’s okay. I never would want you to. If you do and I don’t know your story, please feel free to share with me.

You each heard baby Jensen’s story and for that I am forever grateful.

Mother’s Day.

Posted on May 9, 2016 by danielleridgway

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Advice from a Bereaved Mother.

Posted on May 7, 2016 by danielleridgway

I dreamt Jensen and being his mother for months. Every night I would dream of our long future together. I was so ready to learn everything I could about him and being the perfect mom for my son. All I wanted was to embrace my motherhood and look at Jensen with joy every second I could.

Even though my sweet baby boy isn’t with my physically, I feel him with me everyday. I had to change my motherhood due to our tragedy. This past week seven days, I’ve made similarities and differences between what I dreamt and now; the before and after. I don’t claim to know everything, especially about being a mom. Although I’d like to give advice or reminders about being a mom to others.

Which leads us to Day Seven’s prompt…

For Mothers with living children or are pregnant:

Don’t wish time away.
Always tell your child/ren you love them.
Live and cherish every moment like it could be the last.
When your child/ren does something that upset you, remember how lucky you are that you have them and that they’re safe.
Hug them an extra second longer.
Be a proud of the babies you have. They are perfect in every single way.
Be proud of yourself. You are a beautiful mother.

For Bereaved Mothers:

Your child/ren loves you more than words can describe.
You are not at fault.
Honor and remember your babies as much as you can.
It’s okay to have a good day. You deserve it.
Reach out for support, there’s others that want to support you.
Be proud of the babies you have. They are perfect in every single way.
Be proud of yourself. You are a beautiful mother.

To all types of moms, remember to wish each other a Happy Mother’s Day. All mothers need to be recognized, three small words could change one’s day around.

I wish every mother a Happy Mother’s Day. If you’re lucky enough to enjoy your day with your baby, soak up every single second. If your angel is in heaven, protect your heart. Do what you feel is okay for the day. Your baby is with you. They want you to know how much you’re loved.

For me, I’ll be spending time with my loved ones; thinking and talking all about my Jensen Grey.

What words of kindness would you provide?

Grey Skies & Rainbow Highs

the stories and adventures of our little family: full of love and loss.

Tag Archives: Mother Heart