Right Where I Am: 1 year, 4 months, 4 weeks

Today's post has been inspired by this blog post that I came across via Facebook - very briefly, it's about a project that tracks the course of one's grief essentially...

So where am I today, 1 year, 4 months, and 4 weeks into my grief journey and life without Hailey?

I don't think there's any easy or simple answer for that question. Sometimes I don't even know where I am or how to categorize it. Perhaps that's because every day is different, but generally speaking, I still miss her. I still grieve. And I try my best with God's help to carry on without her.

The ache from the hole in my heart that was left behind when she left us isn't as sharp or agonizing as it used to be or as frequent as it used to be... But the hole is still there; there's still an emptiness there... That brokenness that feels as though it's become a part of who I am is something God and I continue to work on together. I know only He and He alone can and will ever make me whole and fill me up completely, but it's a hard journey and not something that happens over night.

At this point into my grief journey, the rest of the world, family, and friends have moved on. That's one of the painful parts of grief, when you're left walking it on your own, but I'm learning to do that and I am thankful for the special few who do help me remember Hailey on her birthday or on a holiday or on any random day.

Today my feelings surrounding Hailey's life and death are intertwined with my feelings surrounding my current pregnancy (and today just happens to mark 2 months to my due date). It's a definite mixture of negative and positive emotions. The grief over losing Hailey has definitely made it hard to experience hopefulness, joy, and excitement over her brother growing inside me. And I've found this stage of my grief much more difficult than say last year at this time, probably because of everything this new pregnancy has stirred up...

In a nutshell, as I've said before, the grief isn't as 'bad' as it was initially following Hailey's death, but it's still there, and some days are 'bad.' I still miss her. I still cry over her. Some days when I'm alone with my thoughts and all is quiet, the void she left is very present and results in tears. Some days the tears want to come (and often do) from something random - whether it be  a commercial on TV, a random stranger's baby girl dressed in one of the outfits Hailey used to wear,  or decorations in a friend's nursery or baby shower invite that we'd used with Hailey. I still wonder what life would have been like with her. I still have a hard time answer questions like "How many kids do you have?" "Is this your first pregnancy?" and choosing to inform them that I had a daughter who passed away...

But like I used to write about (can't remember where or I'd link to it), I try to spend more of my time in the present than in the past filled with pain or in the future which fills me with worry and fear, but it's hard... Sometimes trying to be in the present makes me lose out on remembering Hailey like I sometimes want to (which is another difficult issue I'm having lately with my grief is how to do that) and makes me lose out on dreaming of a future with her brother... But most days it's all I can do to feel sane. And so perhaps I might characterize where I am on my grief journey by comparing it to being in a battle. I feel like I'm being pulled in multiple directions with multiple and often contrasting thoughts and feelings. One day is good. The next is bad. One day I feel at peace. The next I'm overwhelmed with anxiety and discontent. One day I laugh. The next I cry and don't want to leave my bed. I'm all over the place. In fact, some days the battles get pretty bad. I'm reminded of a quote from one of my favorite books, The Shack:

“…pain has a way of clipping our wings and keeping us from being able to fly…And if left unresolved for very long, you can almost forget that you were ever created to fly in the first place” (p. 97).

That quote absolutely resonates with me right now. I know some days I'm venturing into a dangerous place as a result of my grief. I'm trying to remember I'm created to fly, I'm created for a purpose, I'm created to dream, I'm part of a greater plan... Some days, it's just hard for my mind to convince my heart of that because I can't see beyond the pain.

But thankfully, on these days where I'm in the midst of the battle most of the time I'm trying too hard to analyze the battle and have my past and future figured out, and in these moments, God reminds me of the same thing he reminds the main character in The Shack:

“…you don’t need to have it all figured out. Just be with Me” (p. 178).

So that's where I am today, 1 year, 4 months, 4 weeks without Hailey. Sitting in a beautiful mess of grief trying to figure it all out which tends to create more mess, all the while trying to focus on God's truth and promises and knowing that I need to stop creating this mess and just be still and be with Him... (and if this post reads like a bit of a messy rambling, I think that's just reflective of where I am right now...)

2 New Grief 'Resources'

Today I added the following book and song to my lists of grief resources and wanted to share them in this post as well because they are both so moving.

Tear Soup by Pat Schwiebert and Chuck DeKlyen

I’m so thankful a friend told me about this book, which I read for the first time this week, almost a year and a half after losing Hailey. Tear Soup is a beautifully written and illustrated children’s book about grief and loss. While it appears as a children’s book, it’s really perfect for any age, child, teen, young adult, adult, the elderly, and it’s written in such a general but exact way that it fits anyone’s story of loss, whether it’s the loss of a child, parent, family member, pet, or the loss involved with divorce. This book is really one of the most moving books I’ve ever read about the process of grieving. I found myself easily relating to the story and feeling less alone in my own process of grieving. The final pages of the book offer advice for the various types of people experiencing various types of grief as well as list grief-related resources. This really is a must read for everyone – even if you are not the one experiencing the loss firsthand, but you know someone who is; this book is for you too.

"Lucy" by Skillet

A new Christian song about loss / grief, meant to be written in a vague way as to apply to various types of losses. I changed "Lucy" to "Hailey" in the lyrics below...
Hey Hailey, I remember your name
I left a dozen roses on your grave today
I'm in the grass on my knees, wipe the leaves away
I just came to talk for a while
I got some things I need to say

Now that it's over
I just wanna hold her
I'd give up all the world to see that little piece of heaven looking
back at me
Now that it's over
I just wanna hold her
I've gotta live with the choices I made
And I can't live with myself today

Hey Hailey, I remembered your birthday
They said it'd bring some closure to say your name
I know I'd do it all different if I had the chance
But all I got are these roses to give
And they can't help me make amends

Here we are
Now you're in my arms
I never wanted anything so bad
Here we are
For a brand new start
Living the life that we could've had

Me and Hailey walking hand in hand
Me and Hailey never wanna end
Just another moment in your eyes
I'll see you in another life
In heaven where we never say goodbye

Here we are, now you're in my arms
Here we are for a brand new start
Got to live with the choices I've made
And I can't live with myself today

Me and Hailey walking hand in hand
Me and Hailey never wanna end
Got to live with the choices I've made
And I can't live with myself today

Hey Hailey, I remember your name

Happy Babylost Mother's Day

Today, the first Sunday in May, May 1st, is recognized as International Babylost Mother's Day.

Personally, I appreciate that there is a special day set aside for mothers who have lost a child because most everyday I know that I personally don't feel recognized as being a mom and that is very difficult. However, while I appreciate having this separate day, I would much rather people remember and celebrate me on Mother's Day with the "regular" moms... Either way, today I am reminding myself that I am a mom. I am Hailey's mom. I will always be her mom and nothing will ever change that and nothing will ever change my love for her.

And today I am thinking of you out there who share the painful experience and identity of being a babylost mother. Today I lift you up in prayer to the Lord.

I pray that you would be recognized and celebrated today for being the special mother that you are.

I pray for you to allow God to be mending your broken heart as he's promised and wants to do.

I pray for you to find your wounds from grief healing.

I pray for love and peace to reign in your hearts today and every day.

I pray that you would know our Father's love as I do and the hope he offers to us.

I find no greater comfort in knowing that one day my baby and I will be together again, and until then, she is alive and well living in perfection experiencing a perfect love with our Father - and I hope you know this truth and find God's comfort in it too.

If you are reading this and you are not a babylost mother, but know one, please consider how you can encourage them today and lift them up in prayer.

[caption id="attachment_238" align="aligncenter" width="368" caption="My Miraculous Daughter"][/caption]

He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners,
to proclaim the year of the LORD’s favor
and the day of vengeance of our God,
to comfort all who mourn,
and provide for those who grieve in Zion—
to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair.
They will be called oaks of righteousness,
a planting of the LORD
for the display of his splendor.

They will rebuild the ancient ruins
and restore the places long devastated;
they will renew the ruined cities
that have been devastated for generations.

~Isaiah 61:1-4

Holidays are hard...

They say "it" gets easier with time; hence, the old saying "time heals all wounds." In my experience with the wounds that are left behind from burying your child, I can say that's both the truth and a lie, and the fact that it's both is a struggle.

The truth of it:

The more time that passes, the less frequent and intense the pain of losing her is. The more time that passes between the agonizing, gut-wrenching, sobbing, empty moments, the more room there is for healing and joy to occur. God lifts me out of the moments when I'm in those pits of grief and allows his healing and gifts and wisdom and so on to be imparted on me.  As the truly hard times become fewer and farther between, I find myself not only experiencing healing and some joy here and there, but also completely immersed in the current happenings of life going on around me (ike moving, developing new friendships, working on Hailey's Hope, family visits, this new pregnancy, and so on). So yes, in this sense, maybe my grief or going on without Hailey is getting "easier" as time goes on.

But it's also a lie:

God and time have healed my wounds, to some extent, and the grief I felt in the initial time of losing her has subsided, for the most part. However, those wounds aren't entirely healed and will never be entirely healed this side of heaven. And while the tears and episodes of grief are less, there are certain aspects of life that are becoming harder. There are too many to list in one post, but the one I am currently dealing with the most right now is that as I continue on with my life without Hailey and as time passes and so on, I feel like she's going further and further away from me. I almost feel like she's disappearing from my life... and I don't want her to.

I know she is in heaven, but I don't want that to mean that who she was here on earth has to disappear or that she can't have a current place in my life. I want who she is to always be a part of me and my life and my family... I always want it to be known that I have a daughter whose name is Hailey... But, like I said, I feel like she's disappearing and like my bond with her is disappearing. Instead of feeling like Hailey's mom, there are many times lately that I feel like we're a young Army couple expecting our first baby. There's no evidence of our first child. A deeper analysis of who we are would eventually tell someone otherwise, but in my day to day activities, I feel like it's hard to keep Hailey with me...

A lot of this "disappearing" feeling is happening because of outward circumstances like the nature of our lives that I mentioned because of our recent move, but it's also happening inside of me... like I'm thinking of her less and less so much so that I'm forgetting her...

Let me try another way of explaining something that I'm beginning to think is perhaps inexplicable.

Lately, it's rare for my thoughts to land on Hailey. Sure I've been keeping plenty busy this week of working on Hailey's Hope, and you'd think that would be enough, that I must be thinking of her while I work on it, but I don't really. I think about the project or task at hand related to Hailey's Hope. I think about the babies and families I'm wanting to help. But am I thinking about my daughter? Not really...

Recently I've been looking forward to my brother and his family coming to visit us this Easter weekend. One of the reasons I'm so excited for the visit is that they have never visited us in our home as a family before. I can't wait to show them our home and to spend time with them because that in itself is so rare! With it being Easter weekend, I've enjoyed planning all the things we're going to do: church on Sunday, cooking an Easter brunch and a traditional Easter dinner, and thinking of all the fun things I can plan to do with my nephew who is two and a half. We have sidewalk chalk and bubbles he can play with. I bought him an Easter basket of goodies teaching him the beginnings of why we celebrate Easter plus the fun stuff like a kite we can fly together. We're going to color Easter eggs and go on an Easter egg hunt. I can't wait to celebrate and do all of these fun Easter activities with my nephew. In a sense, I'm hoping to recreate all of the fun things I remember about my Easters growing up.

So as I was going about my daily activities yesterday with my mind occasionally dreaming of the fun Easter weekend ahead and making sure I have all of the necessary supplies to make it happen, I was taking a break to check Facebook. That's when I stumbled upon a blog post from a fellow baby lost mother about how the holidays are hard and are still hard even though it's been a few years since her daughter passed away. Her post was about how she's going to have two Easter baskets for her kids this year. One for her new son and one for her daughter who passed away. She even detailed what she was putting in her basket for her daughter... bubbles to blow at her grave-site, colorful spring pinwheels to decorate her grave or memorial garden, and so on...

I read the entire post and just sat there, almost in shock, at myself. It felt like it was the first time I'd thought about Hailey and Easter. But it wasn't good.  I'd forgotten about Hailey. I hadn't given a thought to how Hailey could be included in my Easter celebrations.

And then I started to wonder if I was so excited to be planning and doing all of these fun things for my nephew's Easter was because I was replacing her with him... like I was living my dreams of what I would do as Hailey's mom by doing them for my nephew... ? Or even if I wasn't, and I'd be doing this things as his aunt anyway, just thinking about how I can't do them for Hailey was enough to hurt...

In thinking further, I guess I've inadvertently adapted to living without her as though her being in heaven means she can no longer be included in my current life. I never wanted to live like that... but at some point I began to.

And that's when I started to feel like she's really disappearing from my life...

The house she came home to as a newborn and her bedroom are no longer a part of our lives because we moved. Her things are boxed away or put in memory boxes that are kept in closets and our attic. Not having hung all of our pictures from the move, there were only a couple of pictures of her throughout the house. I'd made decorating efforts of having butterflies (our symbol for her) in the yard and inside the house... But they're butterflies and can be thought of only as butterflies and it can be forgotten that they're there to represent her. And the people who met her and knew her are few and far between and are not with us where we currently live. And so, I feel like the "evidence" in our lives that we had a daughter is slowly disappearing as are my thoughts about her...

Not too long ago I wrote a post about wanting a memorial garden for Hailey but my struggles with that... I think that was the beginning of this larger issue I didn't realize I was having.

It's really bothering me lately that we don't live near her grave. Initially, with the whole forgetting about Hailey this Easter, I guess I had thought of her. While out shopping at Walmart for some items for the Easter baskets I've been putting together, I walked by a display of memorial flowers. I saw a pretty one that was in the shape of a cross with purple flowers. I thought to myself that it would be beautiful to put that by Hailey's grave for Easter, and then the realization that I have no way of doing that set in. I thought of buying it and shipping it to someone back home and having them place it there, but gave up on that... even if I could make it work, it wouldn't be the same as me doing it myself and visiting her myself...

More and more I find myself just wanting to go sit by her. On holidays, I want to be able to visit her and decorate her grave. But I can't do those things because we live so far away... And simply put and understated, that makes me sad.

I know some of you reading this might not understand, especially if you believe and know the same as I do, that she is in heaven not needing any of this "stuff." My husband tries to comfort me with these reminders a lot... But really, as much as this is about her, it isn't... It's about me. What about me? I'm her mother, and I'm still here. Even though she's gone, who I am wants to be a mother to her and do motherly things... and if that means decorating her grave on Easter instead of taking her Easter egg hunting because she's gone, that's what it means... But I can't even do that.

And so today has been a reminder of how hard the holidays can be without her and how the "holiday blues" tend to hit fast and hard. They come unexpectedly even though I should learn to expect them. In a way, I welcome the sadness that came with today and these thoughts I just wrote about... only because it makes me really think of her... and sometimes it feels good to miss her like this... it's a reminder of the reality of what she once was/is to me.

However, sometime I hope I learn how to be the mother I want to be to her. Sometime I will write about the memorial garden I made for her, sometime I will write about the time I visited her grave and decorates it for some occasion, sometime I will write about how I thought of this wonderful way of including Hailey in our Easter celebration... Maybe not this year, but sometime... Sometime I'll learn to walk in these shoes of being a babylost mother...

Flowers in Her Memory, My Struggle

“If a rainbow makes a sound, or a flower as it grows, that was the sound of her laughter” (The Shack, p. 154).

I have to say... I'm a bit down today.

I'm having a day of the motherly guilt that only a mother of a deceased baby can have...

The day didn't start out this way.

The day started out full of promises of a good day. An open schedule, blue skies, sunshine. The perfect day for me to begin planning where to plant all the flower bulbs I ordered from our Hailey's Hope fundraiser, which I received in the mail yesterday.

Envisioning where I'd plant the dahlias and peony and what they'd look like at full bloom later this summer was delightful. (Have I mentioned that I am a girl who loves flowers?).

I found special excitement in dreaming up the perfect location for the "Butterfly Flower Mixture" I ordered, which was done so specifically in memory of Hailey.

(One of the reasons I chose to do a flower fundraiser was because I loved the idea of something beautiful blooming in remembrance of her, in having something I'd randomly look at or walk by and immediately think of her, and for all the same reasons bereaved parents create memorial gardens for their deceased children. Not only was I looking forward to having beautiful flowers to look at and think of  my daughter, and maybe even have a way to share her with others, but I was looking forward to having them attract beautiful butterflies, which also remind me of her.)

Then I began to think of how lovely it would be to do my own memorial garden for Hailey in our backyard. That's when things turned downward...

Even though this is the first time we own our home and have our own backyard to do whatever we want with... I can't shake the temporariness of our home. The memorial garden that I would dream of and work long and hard on would only last us as long as our current duty station. In a few years when we have to move, I'd have to leave it... How would I feel leaving Hailey's memorial garden to a stranger who wouldn't understand it and would most likely tear it up? How could I leave another reminder of her?

I would love to have a memorial garden for her that I could plant these flower bulbs in and add beautiful garden decorations of butterflies and stones and what not.... but I want it to be permanent... I don't want it to be temporary. I don't want to have to re-create one in each place we move.

As I was thinking of all this, I also happened to be doing my weekly/ monthly updates of the blogs I started following when we lost Hailey. This made me think of something else that made my downward path complete.

I came across one whose most recent post was about the Cherry Blossom tree they had planted in memory of their daughter whom they lost 3 years ago. They planted the tree soon after she passed away. When they look at the tree, it's 3 years old, as old as their daughter would have been. They have something to forever look at that marks the beginning of their daughter's life and simultaneously their life without her.

I had attempted doing something similar in my own way last summer. Knowing we'd be moving every few years because of the Army, I thought of keeping a potted flowering plant in memory of Hailey. I bought an Azalea, which I wrote about in my post "Pink Azaleas for Hailey." It was beautiful.



The tricky part was choosing to keep it potted instead of planting it and combining that with my lack of a green thumb. Could I keep it alive? Well I did. I was pleasantly surprised that it was making the move with us to Tennessee at the end of January. It didn't look the best, but it had a few green leaves and buds on the ends and in searching online, it was determined that it was still alive and would begin growing more buds and eventually bloom as time continued on...

And somewhere in time, in the midst of moving from AL to TN, the winter, the chaos of our lives that came with our move, the plant began to die. I blame it on my lack of a green thumb, not understanding how much light to give it or where to place it in or out of the house or how much water to give it, etc., but perhaps it was neglect. I should have read more about it, understood how to take care of it better, paid more attention to it, but I didn't...

Only a few weeks ago did I come to accept that Hailey's Azalea plant was dead. And perhaps I am to blame.



Today, I was reminded of that, which is why I feel a heavy sadness over it and a little bit of mother's guilt. I'm sure you can imagine the thoughts that run through my head every time I lay eyes on sad looking thing ... or maybe you can't. It begins a little something like this:

My daughter's dead, and now I've killed the plant that I bought to live on in memory of her.

In killing her remembrance plant, I've killed the hope of having planted something in her memory when she died and cherishing it for years to come... It's just not the same to go out and plant something now. I don't want to look at it in the future and think something like, "Hailey had been gone for 15 months when I planted this in her memory. That was 5 years ago. I want to think, "I planted this when Hailey passed away. That was 5 years ago. It's lived a year for each year she's been gone." Now I can't do that.

But I need to do something, and as I've learned, things don't work out perfectly, so you have to make the most of what you've been given. Perhaps I can tweak my 'dream' a little bit and change it to planting something in her memory every year since she's passed. I don't really know... But I will still plant all of my flower bulbs in our yard here in Tennessee, even if I do have to leave them. At least while I'm here, I can look at them and think of her...

Somehow this feels like another reminder of the frailty of life, the cycle of life and death, that nothing lasts forever (except God's love)... But all I want is a reminder of life, of Hailey, in something blooming and beautiful, that will last here on earth while I'm here...

 

May flowers always line your path and sunshine light your day. May songbirds serenade you every step along the way. May a rainbow run beside you in a sky that's always blue. And may happiness fill your heart each day your whole life through. ~Irish Blessing

Sometimes the tears win...

I haven't written about Hailey much and that's for several reasons. But obviously, just because I'm not writing, doesn't mean I'm not thinking of her and missing her and loving her everyday. And the same goes for our baby boy we have on the way. There's not a minute that doesn't go by that I don't think of him without thinking of her and vice versa.

Building our family has been a struggle for us. The joys of our first baby were met with the tragedy of her death. The joys of our second baby on the way are being met with fears and worries. Some days I feel as though I'm conquering the struggles I've faced and am facing while other days I feel like they're conquering me.

And most of this has been an internal struggle. Some of it has been shared with my husband. Most of it has been kept from others. And almost all of the time it's kept from new people who I meet, but not tonight.

I'm sure what happened tonight was an accumulation of things. Last week we had prenatal appointment with our midwife. This week, after learning we are having a boy, I moved all the boxes labeled "Nursery - Girl" out of the nursery to be moved into the attic. It felt like I was moving a little piece of Hailey out of our home. I don't know what we're going to do with those boxes. Some day I will need to sort through them more. Anyway, yesterday I went on the bump.com only to find it had Hailey's information saved. It was telling me how many days before she turned 2, what she should be doing at this age, what she should be eating, and so on. Lots of reminders of Hailey's absence.

And then today, we went to a new Bible study where I met new people. When my husband was telling them about Hailey and our baby on the way, I burst into tears.

Literally burst. I had no idea it was going to hit. I really didn't think I was going to cry because I'm usually controlled in front of others and rarely cry, like I've mentioned before. But not tonight. Tonight a part of me tried to put up my usual wall and it was just not tall enough for my grief and my fears and my emotions. Tears let loose and flowed freely, but against my will. And I have to say I was completely embarrassed by myself. What a first impression to make...

But a part of me knows I'm being too hard on myself. I mean I lost my daughter not even a year and a half ago and here I am with a new pregnancy that comes with it's own worries not to mention I'm an Army wife facing struggles of moving, having a husband possibly deploying, etc. I doubt anyone there thought anything bad about me; yet, I remain embarrassed. I hope my reaction doesn't keep them from talking to me about Hailey in the future, because that's the last thing I want...

I'm not sure why I'm putting all this on a blog for everyone to read. Maybe it's because I hope you all will reassure me and tell me I shouldn't feel embarrassed or maybe it's just because this is an honest look at my life and what I deal with, whether you can see it like people could see tonight or whether you can't because I'm keeping it inside... This is my life. It just happens to be an emotional mess at some times. I'm a mother of a baby past and a baby future. I'm a grieving mother who's expecting another baby and there just happens to be a lot of sadness, fear, worry, doubt, and so on that I feel (and I'm sure pregnancy hormones are just exaggerating it all).

I find myself on Facebook a lot looking at my profile picture, which is of me and Hailey, and all I think about is how I wish I could have a picture of both my babies and me together. I wish I could have one of me holding Hailey, while her brother is growing in my belly... But I can't. I have to choose to have one of me and Hailey or one of me with her brother in my belly... And that leads to thoughts, that I know I'm not alone in, of how my family picture will always be incomplete.  It's little things like this, that make up my life now, things that most people probably never even think about. I guess maybe that's why I'm writing... to enlighten people a little? I don't know... Or maybe I'm just writing because writing is a little like therapy to me, or maybe it's all of the above.

Either way, since I am writing and you are reading this, could I ask you to keep me in your prayers? Prayers for continued healing with my grief over Hailey, including comfort, peace, and strength. Prayers for my health and the health of our baby on the way as well as prayers for me to find more time being hopeful and joyful and less time worrying and being full of fears and doubts.

Thank you in advance.

"Lord make me a rainbow, I’ll shine down on my mother
She'll know I’m safe with you when she stands under my colors, oh and
Life ain't always what you think it ought to be..." ~The Band Perry, "If I Die Young"

Ashamed and Hiding My Grief

Before I start to write what I actually want this blog post to be about, I need to preface it by sharing some information about what's been going on in our lives this past week (in a sense, this might become 2 posts in 1). Last weekend we learned that Josh's grandpa, Opa, had a bad fall and as a result was in the hospital. After a couple of days in the hospital, Opa passed away. This past week I was supposed to be down in Alabama celebrating my husband's graduation from flight school where I was going to go to "Family Day," take some pictures inside of a Black Hawk (the helicopter he flies), pin his wings on him, and have lots of photo ops with him in his dress blues. However, at the news of Opa's passing, plans changed obviously, as family comes first. So instead, this week we drove up to IL to be with family and attend his grandpa's funeral service.

Ironically, we found ourselves doing the same thing we were going a little over a year ago at this time. This year we were going home because Opa passed away. Last year we were going home because Hailey passed away. This year we drove through a snowstorm making our way home. Last year we drove through a snowstorm making our way home. And, both services just happened to be at the same funeral home. A little over a year later, and I felt like I was almost reliving what we had done a year ago with Hailey. I knew that this week was going to be a hard one.

And now for what this post is really about...

I am continuing to see that while I want to say I'm handling my grief over losing Hailey well, I'm really not. Every now and then a little light is brought to the situation and my eyes are opened to what I'm really doing. I see that I'm closing myself off, I'm not giving myself permission to grieve and feel the way I feel, I'm not communicating my grief or the related sadness that I feel with anyone, when I feel like crying, I don't allow it. I'm not sure why I've become this way. I know I've written about this a little not too long ago, but I guess I feel like I don't want to burden others with my grief, and I don't want to share it with anyone because no one understands. Not to mention, it's been a little over a year since Hailey died, and for some reason I feel like I shouldn't grieve and feel like I do anymore because of that.

This week I continued that path of trying to bury my grief deep inside and try to 'handle' it on my own, and it was probably the worst thing I could have done for myself.

If you've been following my blog for awhile, you know that one of the greatest struggles I've had since losing Hailey is handling being around other mothers with their children. I desperately want to overcome this struggle. It's something that I really hate about myself and that I beat myself up over, especially now, a year later. I want so badly to be around other mothers and their babies and feel nothing but happy for them and to share in their joy, but I can't. Even now, over a year later, I can't. And I hate that I can't. Instead, I look at mothers with their babies and look at them with sorrow feeling my broken heart intensified. I see the mothers and the babies and feel a deep ache of missing Hailey. I see a mother holding her baby in her arms, and all I can think about is how I want to be her. I want to hold my baby in my arms again. It's not even so much that I want to trade places with them or that I'm jealous of what they have because it reminds me of what I lost, but it's that I want to be sharing that moment with them. I want to be there as a mother with her child too. I want to have everyone ooh and ahh over my baby too. I want everyone to know that I was once a mother too. I'm tired of everyone I meet assuming this pregnancy is my first, that I never had a daughter.

People think being a mother is one of the hardest jobs there is. And it's true, I know. But I almost think being a mother of child who is dead is the hardest. How can anyone do it?

So anyway, the past year I've avoided and been in a lot of situations where I've been around mothers and their babies. I'd made a lot of progress and had been doing better at being around them and not feeling so much of my grief. But it's still hard.

I was recently in a situation where I was with all mothers and their young children. I was the only one without a child there. It wasn't that bad, but every moment I thought about Hailey and how I wished she were there with me... how I wished I was part of what they all were. And it made me wonder, will I always feel this way? Whenever I'm in a room with mothers and their children, will I always think of how my child isn't there? Will it always awaken the void that's in my life? I'm starting to think this is something that will be there forever; something that I need to learn how to get used to and stop feeling sorry for myself that things are the way they are. But even though that situation was hard, I felt 'okay.' Again, just feeling like this is something I need to get used to.

However, there was another situation I was recently in where I pushed myself too far. The day before Opa's funeral service this week, we went and visited some dear friends and their new baby girl. Before going, I had some reservations, but didn't communicate them with my husband. I feared the grief and sorrow it might stir up for me, especially considering the timing, with the whole trip being reminiscent of coming home because of our daughter's death and with preparing to face the death of another loved one the next day. But I didn't say anything about it. It was an example of me trying to bury my true feelings because I was ashamed of them. I feared that being in the situation with their new baby would trigger feelings of my loss and create that deeply unbearable ache of missing my own baby. But I wanted to pretend like I was no longer 'that' person in my grief. Like I said before, I so desperately wanted to be 'okay' and joyous at meeting their baby girl. And after all, it's been a year, I shouldn't feel this way anymore... So we went.

At first it was okay, and it was like all the other moments I've spent with new families since my own was broken... I do okay but think of Hailey the entire time. The moment grew harder for me when I learned that she was 5 weeks old. All I could think about was our daughter died when she was 5 weeks old. Their daughter is reaching milestones that Hailey never reached. Their daughter weighed 10 lbs, Hailey weighed 5 lbs. My grief started to hit pretty hard, but I did my best to push it aside and not let it show, because after all, even I didn't want to acknowledge that it was there. And then the moment became the hardest it could have been for me; when our friend asked me if I wanted to hold the baby before we left. I felt frozen. I was hoping to not have to be confronted with that option at all. But there I was, confronted with my grief. My own struggle that no one else knew was even going on. I looked into our friend's eyes, smiling, but hesitating, hoping she or someone would notice my look or hesitation and give me an out, but it didn't happen. I couldn't say no. What kind of person would I have been if I said no? I wanted to be the person who said yes. I didn't want to be the person, a year later, who still can't hold a baby without feeling overwhelmed by grief.

It was the first time around other people where I actually thought I might cry, but I didn't let myself, and I reluctantly said, "Sure." And before I knew it, I was holding a 5 week old little girl in my arms. Even now, I have no idea how I managed not to cry. This was the first time I'd held a baby since I'd held my own. And not only was this the first time I'd held another baby, the baby just happened to be a girl and as old as my little girl had been when she died.

After we left their house, we immediately went to be with my husband's family, so I really had no time to address my emotions, which was good for the side of me that always wanted to bury my true feelings away. But that night, in bed, the tears came. I couldn't force them away. And in the release of one single tear, everything inside of me broke down. All the walls I've built inside of myself that gave me the facade of being 'okay' in my grief broke down. Like I've shared before, for some reason I don't even like to cry in front of my husband anymore, and so I ran to the bathroom and broke down. I hadn't felt that kind of grief in a long time. It was the kind that was so painful it literally felt unbearable, like I wanted to rip my chest open, like I felt a million pounds of weight were crushing down on me. I cried and cried until I had such a bad headache I couldn't cry one more tear. The next morning, the morning of Opa's funeral service, I woke up crying. This time, I opened up to my husband.

I have to say I know our friends meant no harm in asking me to hold their little girl. And I really hope that if they read this post they won't feel guilty or bad or anything about what happened. It's my own fault. I should have been honest with what I was feeling and not ashamed of it. As much as I wanted it, I wasn't ready to hold another baby yet, and I should have just politely passed on the opportunity to hold their little girl. A part of me that hoped that taking the step of holding a baby would somehow magically help me overcome some of my grief and those types of situations, but it didn't. It was too soon and it did more harm than good for me. And one of the reasons it's so hard in these situations, is because I don't want the people who are involved to take anything personal or to take anything as me not loving them or their children or thinking I'm not happy for them. I am happy for them. I love them and their little girl. Unfortunately, I'm still in a place where my grief interferes with how I want things to be. But again, it's a struggle because I'm not sure anyone understands.

And that's actually another struggle. At some point, I need to come to terms with the fact that no one will ever understand what I went through and what I go through on a day to day basis, and I need to not be angry that they don't understand. I also need to realize if I want any kind of understanding  from others, I need to be more open with what it is that I'm feeling and going through.

All in all, I learned a lot about myself this week. I learned I need to communicate better and more often. I learned that just because one year has passed that things don't suddenly become easier or better with my grief. I learned that trying to bury things inside and build walls and try to carry this burden of my grief by myself is an absolutely terrible idea. I need to get over feeling guilty and ashamed with how I feel and allow others to have the chance to understand, love, and even help me with what it is that I'm going through. I fear in doing so that I'll become the burden of others, but I know deep down this isn't true. God designed us to rejoice together and mourn together, and I not only need to release my burdens and struggles to him, but I need to share them with others too.

And that's why I wrote this blog post. It wasn't easy for me to write and share, but as silly as it is, writing about how I feel is therapeutic for me. It's another way of being honest with myself and how I feel. It's an easy way for me to open up and not keep things to myself.

1-11-11, Happy Birthday Dad

As most of you know, last year I lost my dad to cancer. He died two weeks after Hailey died. I don't write much about my dad specifically on my blog; in part it's because trying to grieve my daughter and my dad at the same time was nearly impossible, and so it pains me to say that I had to put grieving my dad to the back burner while I focused on grieving Hailey. I just couldn't grieve both at the same time; it felt impossible. The other reason why I don't write much about my dad is because things have turned some what complicated and 'ugly' between 'family' in the aftermath of my dad's death, and I didn't want to write about all the added pain and stress going on for reasons that in my mind shouldn't have been going on.

But despite all that, today it's time for me to write about my dad. Today, on 1-11-11 (those magical numbers everyone seems captivated by for some reason or an0ther), my dad would have turned 61 years old.

Last year we were able to celebrate my dad's 60th birthday. However, it was no celebration for me at the time. We had buried Hailey on January 9, 2010, two days before his birthday. Her memorial service was the first time I'd seen my dad in a month, and his cancer had clearly taken its toll on him. When I saw him and embraced him at her service, I think I cried more for how he appeared and for his declining health than I did over sorrow for Hailey at that moment. He was so skeletal and sick looking. He could barely walk on his own. It was devastating to see him like that. The next day, January 10, 2010, we attended my dad's surprise 60th birthday party. I have to say to this day I don't completely agree with the decision to still have the party given the fact that my dad had just buried his granddaughter the day before (and what our entire family was going through with losing Hailey) not to mention how poor his health was. It was extremely difficult for me to be at that party for my dad. But I went because I loved him, and deep down I wanted to celebrate the 60 years God had given him on this earth. However, we all knew that my dad wasn't going to make it much longer. He was clearly losing his battle with cancer. So needless to say, his last birthday with us was a difficult one.

Not many people know this, but I often dream of my dad. I dream of him more than I do Hailey. Most of my dreams deal with my dad's appearance... perhaps they're my subconscious trying to come to terms with the healthy dad I knew in contrast to the final images of my dad sick and dying that haunt me. I hate thinking about his cancer, his declining health, his sick appearance, and so on... I hate it because it's hard and painful to helplessly watch someone you love go through that.

I like to remember my dad when he was healthy, in his pre-cancer days. I like to remember the cliched 'good times' with him. I like to remember who he was. I like to remember our relationship and all the life lessons he taught me. One of the greatest blessings I have now that my dad is gone are the letters, cards, notes, and emails he wrote me over the course of my life. Whenever I read his words, I can hear his voice, and it feels like he's still here with me. I absolutely loved my dad and loved our relationship. He was my father, my friend, and my mentor. I have no regrets about our relationship so when I reflect back on his life and my time with him, all I can do is smile and feel happy. I am so very grateful for that.

But my dad wasn't a perfect person. None of us are. And like many of us, he experienced a lot of great things in life and a lot of hardships in his life. As some of you know, he was a tremendous athlete. Out of high school the Chicago White Sox tried to recruit him, but my dad felt he needed a college education, so he turned them down. After college, the San Fransisco 49ers drafted my dad. He was their kicker back in the 70s, only for a few years. But even though it was short time, he remained a fabulous athlete breaking records and making it to the Pro Bowl. My dad only played in the NFL for a few years because his career was cut short by a terrible car accident that severely injured him. My dad never liked to talk about it much, and I don't blame him. I can't imagine what it would have been like to have had such a promising career in the NFL ahead of him only to have it cut short by a car accident.

There was also a time in my childhood where my relationship with my dad was strained. As a child I might have even said I hated him at one point. When I was in third or fourth grade, my parents divorced. I learned, which was actually all too soon as a child, that one of the main reasons for the divorce was my dad's infidelity, and he married the other woman very quickly after the divorce. I hated every time he made me meet her. I hated that he wanted me to be in their wedding. I was very angry with him for leaving us, and I blamed him for ruining our family. It took me a few years, thanks to becoming maturer with age, to forgive my dad. I also have to say, I do remember that it seemed like my dad came to visit me more and spent more time with me after the divorce than before. My dad never stopped making an effort to maintain and better our relationship. He never stopped showing me he loved me.

As the years went on, and I went through junior high, high school, and college, my relationship with my dad just got better and better. We developed a special bond over our relationships with God and going to church together. My dad was always there when I needed him. Even as I moved away from home to go to college and got married making it more difficult for us to see each other and spend time together, my dad and I emailed back and forth daily, and I could always count on his weekly call.

I don't remember my dad as an NFL player. I don't remember my dad as a cheater or someone who broke up our family. I don't remember hims as a great coach or teacher. I don't remember him for the various reasons others do.

I remember my dad as someone who never stopped living life and who never stopped encouraging others to live their lives. I remember my dad as someone who I share my odd sense of humor with and who always told me that I needed to 'lighten up.' To this day, actually especially this year, I hear his voice telling me that a lot. My nature tends to lean towards the pessimistic, Eeyore, serious side, and I really do need his reminders for me to 'lighten up.' I remember my dad for his humor and laughter and his desire to make the lives of those he interacted with full of the same. He always sent the silliest emails, made the funniest pictures with photos and clip art and editing and what not, and always signed his name with a little smiley face resembling him - with a few spare hairs on top and a mustache. I'll never forget the time in college when I went to observe him teaching a driver's ed class. He greeted every student at the door and as soon as the bell rang the classroom filled with the music of the Sesame Street theme song as his Power Point presentation outlining the day's lesson appeared on the screen. He had the attention of all the students in his class and had them laughing over his cheesy sense of humor.

I remember my dad as someone who taught me what was important in life. He believed you needed to have fun and enjoy what you were doing; when it stops being fun, there's something wrong. I remember my dad as someone who was humble. He never bragged about himself or liked to be in the lime light. He had lots of reasons to celebrate himself and his life, but he really never did in that sort of way. I remember my dad as someone who understood what it meant to be kind to strangers. I'm sure he entertained many angels in his time here on earth. There's not a time being out with him in public dealing with people that I don't remember him showing the people he interacted with kindness. He treated people like people and knew the importance of doing that. He disliked how much society had lost that and got caught up in other things. I remember my dad as someone who worked hard but knew how to take time to retreat and enjoy life. He loved being up at our cabin in Northern Wisconsin and loved fishing (his 'vacare deo,' vacation with God). I remember my dad for always watching out for me. He did this often when it came to driving (perhaps because of his experiences with car accidents and his career as a driver's ed teacher) so I could always count on his fatherly warning and advice every time I got in my car to travel somewhere.

I remember all the wonderful memories and times spent with my dad.... from fishing with him growing up, to him teaching me to drive on his lap on the empty roads up north, to him being at every sporting event or extracurricular activity I was ever in, to going to work with him on bring your daughter to work day, to going to Illini football games with him, to dancing with him at my wedding, to him making the difficult journey to meet and hold Hailey... and many many many more memories...

And as you can see... I could probably go on and on about my dad, all the wonderful things I love about him, all the things that live on with me now that he's gone, including all the memories. These are the things I remember about my dad and celebrate about him, especially on his birthday today.

I will never be able to say it enough. He was the best dad I ever could have asked for, and I am ever grateful to God for blessing us with such an amazing relationship. Both my dad and I are unique people that many people, including family, don't always understand, but my dad and I always got each other because of that. We knew each other like no one else could. And I am so thankful that we both knew how much we loved each other and how proud we were of each other. I love(d) my dad more than anyone will ever know, and I miss him more than anyone can ever understand.

I know many of you reading this never met or knew my dad. But I hope that after reading this, a part of who he is will go forth with you. If there's anything I'd want you to take away from all my ramblings about my dad, it would be some of the same lessons his life taught me: love others, be kind to strangers, enjoy your life, find reason to laugh today no matter what's going on in your life, don't work too hard, don't harbor negative feelings, and don't miss out on the important things in life.

And I can't help but sharing some of his 'instructions for life' he shared with so many people and printed out for my brother and I (and I'm sure many others):

-Give people more than they expect and do it cheerfully

-Don't believe all you hear, spend all you have, or sleep all you want

-When you say "I love you," mean it

-Never laugh at anyone's dreams

-Talk slow but think quick

-Don't judge people by their relatives

-When you lose, don't lose the lesson

-Spend some time alone

-Trust in God but lock your car

I'm thankful that my dad learned right along with me that God is good and God is real, and because of that, it's my hope that when I get to Heaven, Hailey will be in my dad's arms, and they'll both be leading me to Jesus...

"I love you dad! Thanks for being the best dad a girl could ask for and for all the words and memories I have to remember you by! Happy Birthday! Miss you so much!"

Hailey's with God, God's hand is on my heart

I didn't think I'd be able to write today, but here I am.

Today I mourn over my daughter's death one year ago, but I mourn more for our lives here without her. I realized that this week I've focused almost too much on this side of losing her. It reminded of the truth found in one of the quotes I highlighted when reading the book The Shack: “When all you can see is your pain, perhaps then you lose sight of [God]” (p. 96).

Thankfully, the comforting words of family and friends have served as a reminder of something my heart almost seemed to forget over these past few days... A year ago today wasn't just the last day of my daughter's life. Today doesn't just mean that I spent one year without her. Today is also the one year anniversary of Jesus welcoming Hailey into his arms. And so today I rejoice in the ultimate truth and comfort that Hailey is truly at home in the place we're all designed for, living in perfection with our Lord.

I'm reminded of the wonderful comfort I found in the lyrics of the song we played at Hailey's memorial service, the song that's kind of become our anthem, and again of the book The Shack which profoundly impacted me during my second reading of it in light of Hailey's death. I rejoice in the truths of the lyrics from Steven Curtis Chapman who shares in the experience of losing a daughter... I rejoice that one day I will join her Heaven and she'll take my hand and lead me to You and we'll both run into Your arms. I also rejoice in trying to imagine what Hailey and my Lord might be doing at this very moment in heaven, and I picture a similar scene as described in The Shack when a dad is given a glimpse of his daughter in heaven: “It was Jesus playing in the middle of his children. Without hesitation, [his daughter] leaped into his arms. He swung her around twice before putting her back on her feet, and then, everyone laughed before hunting for smooth stones to skip across the surface of the lake. The voicing of their joy was a symphony to [her dad's] ears, and as he watched, his tears flowed freely” (p. 168). And so do mine right now... in a way that only a believer whose lost her child can...

And so today, I felt the need to write and let you all know that the pain and sorrow of Hailey's death are there of course, but God's light and joy keep shining through in so many different ways.

I've cried a few short times so far today... But the tears are not so much out of agony and the unbearable pain of missing her as they've been most of the week. Today they are mostly out of that indescribable joy Jesus allows me to find in the what seems to be the worst experience of my life. And I have to tell you all, today has probably been the best day of my week so far. But I will also admit that the worst time was almost going to bed last night. Had I not had my husband and my other best friend, our dog, there in bed with me there's no doubt that I would have been a grieving, weeping, sobbing mess. But thankfully God has blessed me with a lot of love and comfort in them.

Anyway, let me tell you why last night was harder than today... Because I thought back to one year ago last night. It was the last time I saw my daughter, held my daughter, kissed my daughter, told her I loved her. And my mother guilt hit hard. A year ago last night, I selfishly went into our guest room so that I could get a good night of uninterrupted sleep. Because of that, I didn't spend the last night of my daughter's life with her. I spent it sleeping soundly in another room. By the time I woke up, she had already gone. So the memories and the guilt surrounding the last night I spent with her were perhaps the hardest...

But today, thankfully, God's hand is clearly on my heart helping me through this. There is no explanation for the way I feel today other than His mighty power in my life. And it's all because of prayer. My prayer, your prayer, the prayers of everyone who loves and supports us. So if you've prayed for us, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. God's listening and working in me.

My heart also doesn't hurt so much today because of the different ways everyone is showing their support to us. And my tears today have also been a result of my gratitude and joy for that support. Whether it's a kind word, a memory, encouragement, a text message, an email... or even something as wonderful as what my cousin is doing in Hailey's memory. It's all moved me, and it's all helping me get through today.

Quickly, I just want to share with you what my cousin Katey shared with me today, "Honoring Hailey's Life." I won't comment too much on it, I'll let you read it for yourself. But I will say, she is definitely one of the people who moved me to tears, happy tears, and what she shared is a huge blessing to me today because there's nothing more wonderful to me than hearing and knowing that Hailey's life mattered and is still positively affecting the lives of others. She even reminded me, Hailey's own mom, to remember how Hailey changed me as a person and how Hailey makes me want to be a better person. It was another reminder that I needed.

Perhaps today you could be inspired by Hailey and by my cousin Katey. Perhaps you could do something to carry on Hailey's memory? Say a prayer, light a candle tonight, say her name out loud to someone, share her story, share about Hailey's Hope, do an act of kindness for someone, live your best life today, if you have children, pour out your love even more on them today, or if you know someone else who has suffered a loss, think of what you can do for them today.

I feel good enough today that I decided I'd actually like to release a pink balloon for Hailey. The day is beautiful for it, and God's creation seems to be smiling at us through the sunshine and blue skies.

In closing, I'll wrap up today's post by sharing some more of Hailey with you, the photo slideshow Hailey's daddy put together for her memorial service: Hailey – Memorial Service Video

Thank you all for your love and support and helping carry some of my grief with me.

Jan. 6th, A Year Without Her

“A powerful life embraces pain, brokenness and weakness and understands that perfection is for Heaven, not Earth.” Mary Southerland

This Thursday marks the one year anniversary of my daughter's death, and I'm writing about it today because I don't think I'll be able to on Thursday. We don't have any planned for that day... I wish I did, but I just haven't had the heart to figure anything out and most things I've thought of just don't feel right... Maybe in the coming years we'll commemorate the day with something special, a balloon release, a butterfly release, something... But not this year.

I wasn't sure what to expect this week to be like, and trust me, I've had plenty of time trying to imagine it. Of course I'd always assumed January 6th would be a hard and sad day, but part of me was hopeful that it wouldn't be because somehow the tears have slowed to a stop and most of the time I'm able to look back on everything in a positive light, focusing on the joys and blessings. However, in all honesty, Thursday is going to be a very hard and sad day. I know this because this week (and it's only Tuesday) has already been hard for me, something I wasn't necessarily expecting. I expected a hard day on Thursday, not a hard week.

I'm usually able to have selective remembering with Hailey, which enables me to focus on the joys and blessings like I was saying. But really, I think sometimes that's a fault of mine. I'm worried I'm hiding all the negatives and pain away deep inside of me somewhere, which I know isn't good.

This week I've realized more so than ever before that at some point I stopped giving myself permission to grieve. I don't give myself permission to be as sad as I know I truly feel sometimes. I don't give myself permission to cry in public, in front of family, in front of friends, in front of my husband even. And really, I don't give myself permission to cry even when I'm alone anymore. I don't allow myself to feel 'weak.' I'm not sure why. I know sometimes my lack of tears is because of God's comfort and peace, but sometimes, as I'm recently admitting to myself, I just don't allow myself to cry. ... I think part of it's been that I know it's okay to feel sorrow and anger towards my loss, but I also know how those things can go out of control and lead to destruction and problems. So I think it's out of a fear that my grief will get out of control and I will no longer be living as someone who knows Christ. I know it's okay to weep and grieve, many people written about in the Bible do so, Jesus himself wept... But I also know, it's not good for us to stay in that state...

Do not mourn like those that have no hope. ~1 Thes. 4:13

But anyway, I began this week not giving myself permission to grieve and feel. I felt myself bottling it all up and hiding it inside of myself, and I right away I knew that doing so was going to destroy me. I needed to give myself permission to cry and release my feelings. So I did. Alone in the house, in the shower, I let myself grieve and feel my raw emotions. I let it all out. And while my grief obviously hurts, it felt good letting it go. Because in not allowing myself to cry and grieve, I realized I was holding onto it all and it was burdensome.

“It is some relief to weep; grief is satisfied and carried off by tears.” Ovid

So yes, this week is very hard for me. I can't help but remember and feel it all. My mind goes over all the details and feelings of January 6th last year and the days immediately following... Experiencing the death of your child is probably one of the worst things in the world. But the thing is, it isn't just a one time thing, it's having to experience it over and over again in your memory. It's heart breaking, over and over again. So often I try to forget and ignore all the memories and things that bring me pain, which I'm realizing is not the best thing to do...

I didn't write about this on Hailey's birthday because I was trying to focus my mind on the joys and blessings of my daughter (and trying to ignore the pain). In doing so, I buried a lot of painful memories and emotions from that day that wanted to come forth. In all honesty, Hailey's birthday was a hard day for me to remember. I want to say that without a doubt that the birth of my daughter and meeting her and holding her for the first time was the best day of my life...But, honestly, it wasn't. All the wonder and joy in it was tainted with unimaginable pain, and really, it was an awful day.

The days of her birth and death are two of the hardest days for me to remember. As the anniversary of her death approaches, I can't help but remember the pain and emotions I felt the day of her birth...

We went into the hospital and I went into labor fully expecting to have it all end with holding a healthy baby girl in our arms. We went into the hospital with our nursery at home decorated and full of all the goodies we'd need for her first year expecting to bring her home in a couple of days. We went in with hopes and dreams of a future of raising our daughter. We went in like most other people ... If you're a parent, perhaps you can at least understand this part of it.

My labor and experience of giving birth was pretty much terrible and painful and was close to worst case scenario in my mind. But even then, I was ready for it all to be worth it when I would gaze into my baby's little eyes and hold her in my arms afterward... But that never happened. It was all like a bad dream to me. Due to exhaustion from lack of sleep and the physical demands of labor and my IV meds lingering, my mind couldn't grasp the reality of everything that was happening around me after I gave birth. I knew something was wrong because Hailey wasn't placed on my chest, no one was answering me, and my husband's eyes were welling up with tears.

Some days I wonder if my not fully being in the moment because of my meds and what not was a little blessing because it kept me from the raw reality and pain that things were seriously wrong. It really felt like a bad nightmare that I couldn't understand. I was so tired and out of it... I just couldn't understand. For the next two hours, I remained in bed with my eyes closed as the world whirled by around me. I didn't feel any sadness yet...I didn't cry yet... I just remember feeling things weren't right, and I just couldn't understand it.  Part of it was probably me being in shock. The world remained unreal to me, as I saw her for the first time, looking nothing like a newborn baby should as she was wrapped in so much stuff with so many wires and things hooked up to her... That night I spent alone without my husband and daughter as they traveled to another hospital...And I still don't think I felt much sadness yet.

Things didn't start to set in until the next morning. But even then, reality was hard to grasp as I felt my body functioning without my knowledge, in some kind of survival mode.... The first time I think I really felt sad was leaving the hospital... being wheeled out in a wheelchair from the maternity ward without my baby... empty arms...And the pain came and it came hard and hasn't really stopped although a year later, it sure has been healed and slowed.

But really, this is a confession that the birth of my daughter was awful. Labor was difficult and painful, and then everything went wrong when she was born, and then soon after we learned she was going to die. We never expected or imagined anything like this happening to us in a million years... We were like so many other parents who go into the hospital ready to give birth to their son or daughter... But for some reason, we were unlike so many other parents. Our experience didn't end well. And I feel awful in saying the birth of my daughter was awful. What kind of mother says that? But I have to be honest. It was awful. It was a nightmare. But I don't want you to be mistaken. My daughter, she was not awful. And because of her, not what was happening to her or what was wrong with her, but because of her, there are positives in that day... and those are usually what I focus on. But today, I can't keep running from the complete picture that involves the pain. I need to address it. Even if it is just me typing it on my blog.

And in continuing with my trend of giving myself permission to be honest, all those past familiar, haunting thoughts of why me, why did this happen to my baby, why were we robbed of a moment that was supposed to be one of the happiest moment of our lives, why did we have to bury our baby, what makes one set of parents deserving of the blessing of a perfect, healthy baby and another set the pain of giving birth to a baby that was destined to die, and so on... are also creeping back into my life. Not to the extent that they've been there before... But they're coming to surface again. And it's a continual struggle to keep them in check.

(And I just have to say, for the first time, in many months, my tears are back, and I'm crying as I write this.)

I'm sure many of you reading this are wondering, Why do I even remember those awful moments? Why am I even writing about the pain? Doesn't it just make it all worse?

I don't know if I can explain it accurately. Like I've been saying, I need to give myself permission to be honest and real with my grief, and I need to release it. So I'm releasing my emotions in tears and my thoughts by writing these words.  Some days the healing God has given me is unbelievable, and I am in a very good, genuinely happy place, but that doesn't mean that life isn't hard, that there's no more sorrow, etc. The reality is, my baby died and that's part of who I am now; there is pain in that, and there always will be. And I know it's okay to cry and be sad. But I realized, like I've been mentioning, at some point I stopped giving myself permission to feel, to cry, to be honest, to show weakness. I think part of me did it for everyone around me. Everyone has moved on from Hailey's death... They don't want to see me hurting anymore... I don't want them to worry about me... And I don't want to always shout out how sad I am inside because frankly, people just will never care about it as much as I want or need them to... But how can I blame them... They could never possibly understand, and I can't be upset with them for moving on with their lives and not thinking of asking us how we're doing or mentioning Hailey anymore... She wasn't their baby, their daughter, and most of our friends and family never even met her...

All in all, this week is a hard week. Thursday will be a very hard day filled with tears I'm sure. The facts are this: a year ago my baby died, along with her my hopes and dreams and parts of my future and who I am died, and not a day goes by that I don't miss her and long to have her back that I don't imagine what could have been but isn't. No matter how much time passes, a year, five years, ten years, twenty-five years... those facts will always remain even as the world goes on, life continues, and people just think this is part of our past that no longer affects us... Because of all that, I will always have a hole in my heart, something I'm missing, something I'm aching for...  But thankfully, I'm not hopeless. And I know God will continue healing me, but that still doesn't change the facts. I'm a mother without a child struggling to live the life of a childless mother in a world that doesn't understand.

(And on a somewhat random side note, have any of you heard about the new movie with Nicole Kidman, Rabbit Hole, that's coming out soon? Ugh... It's been making little appearances in my life this week. It's a movie about parents who are dealing with the death of their child. I just get this huge sinking feeling and my heart break feels fresh every time it's brought to my attention. This is one movie I don't think I'll ever be able to go see. Why? Because I live it, and I don't need to see someone acting it out. And honestly, I hate thinking about the audience watching it. The obliviously, ignorant audience safe in their seats and in their little bubbles of their lives who will experience this acted grief as 'entertainment' and 'fiction' that they can forget about when they leave the theater when it's my painful reality that I will live with for the rest of my life...But anyway... trying not to get upset about it...)

Okay I clearly need to wrap this post up. Please, if you are a believer in Christ, be praying for my husband and I (and the rest of our family) as we remember Hailey this week and grieve. And for those of you who have already been so kind enough as to share comforting words with me already this week, thank you so much, you have no idea how much you mean to me and are helping me through this week.

“Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.” Romans 12:15

~

Hailey Marie, My sweetie pie, I can't believe it's been almost a year since we last saw each other. I miss you to pieces. I love you more.  God knows how much I love you, and I just pray you know my love for you. I long for the day when we're reunited. Love you forever and always, Your momma

This is one of the last pictures we took of Hailey, the day before she passed away, January 5, 2010.

Christmas Vacation

Well blogging world, sorry for the lack of posts, but due to the busyness of the season, traveling, buying a home, temporarily moving into that home,  a nasty case of the flu or food poisoning, and traveling to visit family in Illinois, I haven't had much time to write - and in a nutshell that's pretty much what I've been up to: being busy, traveling, being sick, and now visiting family. But this post is less about those things and more about what this Christmas has been like without Hailey so far.

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Last year at this time we had Hailey with us but were so busy taking care of her and not getting out of the house much, that we didn't buy Hailey a Christmas stocking, and I'm not sure honestly if I would have known whether to get one for her or not considering.... But this year I made a decision that every Christmas Hailey will have a stocking that hangs with the rest of our family's. About a month or so ago I found a pretty pink baby stocking at a store and bought it for her. I wanted to have it hanging up this Christmas, but, unfortunately, due to some lack of communication and the craziness of all our travels, we left her stocking back in Alabama...

While I knew I wanted to have a stocking hanging for Hailey every Christmas, I was still a little unsure about it... How sad it would look sitting there empty... A sad reminder she's not here. But after talking with some other moms who've lost their babies and some wonderful suggestions for this dilemma, we came up with some great ideas of little gifts we could fill her stocking with each year. Some of my favorite ideas are to place bulbs or flower seeds in her stocking each Christmas to plant in a garden in her memory each year in the spring and another idea was to buy a collectible item each year in memory of her. For us, butterflies have become quite significant and are now wonderful reminders of our little girl, so some years we might buy some sort of butterfly gift to put in her stocking.

After realizing we'd left Hailey's stocking back in Alabama, we still wanted to start the tradition of buying a gift in memory of her each Christmas to feel like she's still a part of Christmas with us. So while waiting for our table at Cracker Barrel the other night, I stumbled upon the most beautiful wire and stone sculpture of a butterfly. It's designed to hang on a vase or something similar. The one we picked out has a rainbow of colors, and I think it's just perfect... So no stocking hanging for Hailey this year, but we do have a butterfly on the mantle next to ours.

So far the Christmas season without Hailey has been better than I'd expected as I'd mentioned before. I think it's because I know the hope and joy in the meaning behind the season and can truly find joy and celebration and reason to rejoice this season - because it's all about the birth of my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ who'd I'd be lost and hopeless without and how I know Hailey is with in Heaven. So in that respect, my faith allows me to find the positive in this season, but of course, it's still hard without her.

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Today Josh and I were able to go visit Hailey's grave together. It's the first time he's been there since last January, and he hadn't yet seen her gravestone in person. It's hard to describe what it's like to go to your child's grave. Part excitement at seeing her and being near to her. Part sorrow... for the obvious reasons. I have to say, it felt somewhat peaceful and maybe even a bit magical (for lack of a better word) there when we went this evening. It was around sunset, a little glow of light to light our way, a serene blanket of white snow covering the ground. As I approached her grave, I smiled at seeing the fresh footprints in the snow of someone who had recently been there to visit her. Her Grandma Sue had bought her Christmas flowers and they laid in front of her gravestone. Then my eyes focused on a little yellow toy plow sitting next to them. I knew immediately it was from my brother, her Uncle Matt (who drives a snowplow for the village). I hadn't expected to see that token and gift there from him. It almost made me cry, but I didn't. Honestly, I didn't let myself, although I easily could have.  We didn't stay long; we had somewhere to be. And if it wasn't so frigidly cold, I could stay at her grave forever....just feeling close to her in the only way I can physically feel close to her. You might think it strange, maybe even a bit morbid, but a part of me longed to just lie down on the ground and hug it as though I was hugging her....

****

As the time draws closer to being gathered together with families and parties and actual Christmas day, etc., things are getting harder. Mostly because I sit back and watch everyone with their families, their children, their babies, their joys...and miss mine. They seem complete, and I feel incomplete. I smile in celebrating for many of the same reasons they are, yet behind my smile is the hole in my heart... the constant knowing and living without my baby who I can't help but have that feeling like she should be here... even though I know that's not what God intended.

And so some of you may wonder (and I'm sorry that some of you know), what's it like to spend your first Christmas without your baby...

I sit in front of the fireplace and look at the stockings representing our family members....and can't help but focus on the emptiness, the spot that's missing hers.

I buy toys and wrap presents for our nephew... and can't help but miss not being able to do the same for my daughter.

I go to church services and Christmas parties and celebrate the birth of Jesus and being with family... and can't help feeling the part of me that's missing that becomes all to apparent as I watch families smiling and laughing together longing to be them, not understanding why I can't be a part of that 'world.'

Parents buy gifts, wrap presents, play Santa, give kisses and cuddles, and millions of other little things with their children this Christmas...and I sit back and watch the world go on around me oblivious to the fact that I'll be going to the store to buy a present for my daughter, but it will be one she'll never get. It'll be one she'll have resting on her grave....there as an attempt at expressing our love for her and our only way to say "Merry Christmas" to her.

And so this Christmas, I'm finding peace and joy and hope because of Jesus and the reason we're celebrating, but I also silently live inside of myself grieving, missing my daughter.

If not for Hailey, I wouldn't go back

This week I've found myself looking at pictures from a year ago. Pictures of Hailey and us in the NICU and at The Children's Hospital. Each day I find a picture taken exactly one year ago from whatever day it is that I'm looking. Today I'm looking at pictures from December 8, 2009. They are pictures of us celebrating Hailey's 1 week birthday.

I've anticipated this Christmas season to be a difficult one because of not having Hailey (and my dad) with us. I especially thought this time of year might be extra hard because Hailey's birthday and the day she passed away surround Christmas.

However, as I'm in the midst of the Christmas season now, my grief and my feelings don't seem all that different than they normally are... My sorrows haven't increased or strengthened as I thought they might. In fact, I find myself enjoying and taking much pleasure in the season.

With the almost record low temperatures here in Alabama, the cold weather has led us to enjoy several nights snuggled up in warm blankets with a fire burning in the fireplace and sipping on cups of hot cocoa and tea. I've enjoyed watching the twinkling Christmas lights on the neighbors' houses, the snow falling today (!), Christmas shopping, the few festive decorations we have up, listening to Christmas songs whenever I can, watching Christmas movies on TV, and baking Christmas cookies. I'm looking forward to spending this Christmas with both of our families and some friends back in Illinois. I'm looking forward to continued Christmas traditions with them, family parties, gift-giving, Christmas eve service at church, playing in 'real' snow, and everything else that comes along with us spending Christmas with our families like we used to.

Right now I feel like I am truly enjoying myself this Christmas season. Of course I miss Hailey and wish she were with us, and I'm sure as it gets closer to Christmas day, it may become harder.

But the strange thing is, and I never thought I'd say it, but I almost want to say I prefer this Christmas season to last. The only thing good about last Christmas was that Hailey was with us. As I look back at all the pictures from last year and think about what I was doing a year ago, the only thing I miss is Hailey. Other than that, I don't miss anything, and I wouldn't want to go back.

A year ago, I was celebrating my daughter living to be a week old and trying to soak up every moment with her... that was the good side of things... But there was a bad side too. Last year at this time I also felt over whelming grief already. The stress of having my baby in the hospital for a week was almost unbearable. Life was at its hardest for me. I smiled in attempts to live in the moment and make the best of the situation...but the tears still flowed constantly in private.

While we were blessed enough to bring Hailey home with us and spend Christmas with her, it wasn't the Christmas I wanted. We were still wondering at which moment she might pass. Things were stressful taking care of her at times, with inconsolable cries, feedings tubes, being confined to one room of the house because of her oxygen, still grieving....all the while I was trying to be cheerful with the limited family we had visiting.... There was constant sorrow, worries, stress, anxiety, dread, and so on. Of course I focused on all the reasons we had to celebrate, but at the same time there were so many reasons not to feel like celebrating because my baby was going to die and it was just a matter of time. For those reasons, this Christmas season is much better. I don't miss those feelings. I don't miss the 'bad' side.

That may make me sound selfish, but I hope not. Perhaps you can only understand if you've been in my shoes. I can't emphasize how much I miss Hailey and loved that a year ago I was able to hold my baby girl in my arms, kiss her, smell her, take care of, love her... But at the same time, I don't want to go back to that situation. I would go back to her in a heart beat, but not the situation we were in a year ago - if that makes sense.

I guess if you were to ask me to choose which Christmas season is better, this or last... I might say I prefer this Christmas because I'm not constantly living in stress or crying everyday. I am at peace knowing Hailey is living in peace in heaven and huge burdens have been lifted from my life allowing me to be more easily at peace here, a peace I didn't quite have last year... But last Christmas season will always be cherished because its the only time of my life that I was able to share with Hailey, to actually be with my daughter. I wouldn't want to go back to it all...but I would again for Hailey.

Anyway, this year, this month, is better than I'd imagined, and I'm very thankful for that. I'm thankful I can find joy in the little things that I love about Christmas time. I'm thankful we'll be able to be with our families in Illinois for Christmas. I'm most thankful for the peace God's giving me. Of course it hurts not having Hailey here, but God is helping me deal with it.

I just pray the rest of this season continues this way. Sometimes I feel like when I write about how 'well' I'm doing with my grief (thanks to God), family and friends show their support less and assume everything's fine... But please, family and friends, don't stop showing your support, sympathy, love, for us, for Hailey... God uses you to help me, help us, and we will never stop needing support and love and knowing you care about Hailey too.

And if you haven't read the poem on Facebook, I'm going to put it here too. Do you want to know what I was experiencing a year ago at this time? Read this poem written by another Project Sweet Peas leader. (I apologize for the spaced out formatting, I couldn't fix it.)

A Parent’s Tunnel

By: Kate Crawford

Shut your eyes

Now, imagine the happiest moment of your life

You are about to meet your baby

A baby you have waited for

For 9 long months

A baby you planned your future around

Everything is perfect

And here he comes

You cry

You are elated

But, wait . . . the baby . . .

The baby isn’t crying

The nurses are running

You ask quietly,

“What’s wrong?”

No one answers you

You can’t see your baby

There are too many people

The whisk your baby out of the room

You scream

“What is wrong with my baby?”

Finally an answer

One you are unprepared for

“We have to take your baby to the NICU.”

You stop listening

You can’t breathe

You can’t think

You cry, but it’s no longer because you are happy

You haven’t seen the sun

The dark room is all you know

The days run together

You are tired

But you can’t sleep, because you can’t leave your baby’s side

You are alone

Isolated

You haven’t even eaten

You forget

You can’t leave

You haven’t showered

But, you don’t care

He’s hooked to wires, tubes, IV’s and catheters

Everything beeps in alarms

Every beep makes your heart stop

Your baby is sick

Your perfect is gone

Your future, shattered

You sit

You stare

You watch your baby fight to stay alive

The nurses come

The nurses go

The names change

You can’t keep it straight

The diagnosis

You can’t even pronounce

Medicines you’ve never heard of

But the knowledge makes you feel bonded to your baby

You know nothing of the outside world

Your baby is all you know

Your strength

You don’t care about anything

But your baby

This is the life of a parent in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. They have tunnel vision, and at the end is a healthy baby with a happily ever after. Sometimes, they reach the end of that tunnel with their baby, sometimes they never see their happy ever after.