Tag Archives: Still Mothers

Stan Hywet Hall & Gardens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Eleven Weeks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Father’s Day.

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Three months ago I was planning Mother’s and Father’s Day gifts; Father’s Day more in particular. I imagined getting baby and navy blue paint to put on Jensen’s feet and showcase them in crafts for Anthony and my dad. A canvas and a mug for them both, with touches of Jensen everywhere. Of course they would get a picture of them and Jensen in a frame, I would fill all our walls up with Jensen’s face. We would get fun little first Father’s Day cards for Anthony and a grandpa card for my dad. It would be the first of many perfect Father’s Days for our little family.

Instead, I broke down at Hallmark. Well actually my breakdown started in Hallmark, then I ran to the bathroom in the mall to really get into it. I felt pretty pathetic sobbing in the stall, everyone in there had to hear me. At first I was okay. The cute cards got to me a little bit, but I was focused on the ‘adult’ looking cards for my dad and Anthony. Then it all happened too fast for me to comprehend at that time… Little kids came running in, right in front of me, picking out the cute cards I had my eyes one. They excitedly picked out their favorite cards having their mom read them out loud to them. Their smiles lit up the room. Except for the spot I was standing. I stood their paralyzed with my tears building up. Somehow I kept it composed long enough to buy my cards and run.

I’ll remember to just DIY my cards for the next occasion or order them online.

But this post isn’t about me, nor is this whole day. It’s about the two amazing fathers I was blessed with in my life: my dad and Anthony.

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My dad, my superhero.

This is my favorite picture of my dad. I know you can’t see his face and I know I have a thousand pictures of him and I together, but this is the one. My dad has always been my biggest cheerleader, my protector, and the best guy I know. Everyone says that about their dad, but it’s true for me. Even when I’m so mad at him I can’t even look his direction, I still know I would be able to go talk to him about anything. He’s the first person I call when something truly does not go right because he makes it better. My childhood was a dream and it’s because I had him, well mom helped too.

I can just remember when I was first pregnant how scared I was to tell him. For some reason I thought he would be disappointed or mad. I remember puking up water on the stairs before I told them and he came along to help clean it up. He never asked me if I was or pushed me to tell him. When I did tell him, he just smiled and said, “I’ve known all along.” He was there to find out Jensen was a boy and was always wanting to know how my appointments went. When we found out Jensen would most likely have Down syndrome, he told me Jensen was loved no matter what. The moment Jensen was born, he was in the room. He talked to Jensen and held him. He cries with me and listens. Jensen is so lucky to have him as his grandpa. We even got him a #1 Grandpa grill spatula.

There’s no rulebook on what to do when your daughter’s son is stillborn or what to do when your grandson is stillborn. My dad has had a tough role to play since Jensen has been born: grieving his grandson and watching his daughter crumble to pieces. Through it all he’s been so gentle, patient, and kind. He’s handled losing Jensen with such grace that I don’t think I’ll ever have.

I’m so blessed to have the dad that I do.

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A+D=J

On our way up to stay with Anthony on New Years Eve, I cried. It was funny, Jensen was kicking and dancing away all day. I remember feeling every kick and just crying for some reason. Halfway up, I called Anthony and just kept saying I didn’t want this year to end. It was such a great year; I graduated, I met Anthony, I bought a house, I got pregnant, and he was my Jensen. Anthony listened, as he always does, and just reminded me we were going to meet the best part of our future. Our Jensen was to be born in April and that I should be happy because we were going to have so many good parts of 2016. He calmed me down, made me laugh, and we took this picture.

Let me tell you, Anthony is my rock. On day one when we found out about our little Bebe, he was scared, but excited. Through all the good news and the bad, the multitude of appointments, and all my pregnancy hormones, Anthony was right beside me. He read Goodnight Moon and Go Dog Go to Jensen and made sure I took my prenatal vitamins every day. When we got bad news, he told me it would be okay and Jensen was still our perfect boy. We went to baby class together, did the baby shower registry, and planned every last detail. I tried my best to prepare him for our little bundle, but I could never have prepared him for Jensen’s passing. Nor could I have prepared him for this grief that is so woven into our every day lives.

Anthony’s first Father’s Day is without Jensen physically here. It hurts me. We shouldn’t have to spend tomorrow without Jensen, he should be almost three months old. I know he would have been the best daddy in the whole entire world and at the same time, he is.

There’s a difference in parenting when you’re a bereaved parent. We can’t physically hold Jensen or feed him, but we parent him in all other sense of the meaning. Anthony loves Jensen, cares about his legacy, and still does everything he can for him. Sometimes my grief and I take over our relationship, but he’s right here to help. As I’ve said before and will always say, Antony is my rock. I know Jensen is so proud of his daddy. He showed it every time he would hear Anthony’s voice and feel his presence.  As much as I know how proud Jensen is of Anthony, I know the love between them is so strong and so endless.

My two boys. My perfect little family.

Related to Father’s Day, I submitted to Still Mothers a post I wrote about Anthony and his grief. I’d love, if you haven’t, for you all to go read it. I’d really like to say it was an honor to have them publish it on their site and let my family’s story be seen by so many other people. The post, in short, is really about a bereaved father’s grief and how society really needs to take in account that these dads really are hurting too. That not only a mother has lost a child, but the dad too. Click here if you want to check it out.

I’d like to wish all the fathers out their a Happy Father’s Day, especially my dad and Anthony. All you guys out there fathering your own, not your own, or just being that father figure in another’s life has so much impact on this world. To all the bereaved fathers out there, I see you. I see your grief and I want you to know you are as much as a father as any other father. You love and care for child while they’re waiting for you in heaven. You are not forgotten nor should you ever be overlooked. Your child loves you, that you should never forget. If you know a bereaved father, tell them Happy Father’s Day. That will mean more to him than anything on this day.

Space.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Move-In.

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

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

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

Then came the smack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Treading.

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The waves of grief have been so hard ride.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Babies don’t die, until he did.

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

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

Pause. Let that set in.

My child is dead.

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

On goes this vicious cycle.

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

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

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

Reassuring Kicks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jensen would have made today so amazing.

1 in 160.

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

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

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

Here is Day Ten…

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Facts:

1 in 4 pregnancies end with a baby dying.

1 in 160 pregnancies end in stillbirth.

1 in 100 babies die from recurrent miscarriages.

1 in 4 babies die after birth.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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