By Brian Henry
When we lost our daughter Caroline, we gained a world of perspective we never wanted.
Most people lead a life blissfully ignorant of pregnancy loss. Many of our friends and family had no idea what it was like to suffer this type of loss, so it stood to reason that they also had no idea how to react when it entered their lives.
Forgiving the ignorance of others isn't exactly the first thing you do after a loss.
In the days following Caroline's stillbirth, we expected everyone would understand right away what we needed - gentle words, limitless understanding, the ability to listen for hours on end as we cried our way through another difficult evening - and further, that they would instantaneously and successfully deliver the support we needed.
When those expectations weren't met, we were disappointed and angry. Everyone we came in contact with was summarily labeled according to their level of support - there were the rarified few that made it into the "very helpful" category, a few more that were "somewhat helpful" and then the majority who fell into the abyss known as "wow, couldn't have been less helpful, let's never call that person again."
Only in the years since our loss have we realized our expectations didn't match reality. We failed to understand what is possible emotionally from people who haven't had a loss, which made it more difficult for our recovery.
We should expect basic human reactions - "I'm sorry." "How sad." "I'm here to help." - but we found ourselves demanding even more. Only now, after suffering our own loss, meeting others who have suffered losses and educating our friends and family about pregnancy loss, do we truly understand, and forgive.
Forgiveness is a big word for us. We don't ask for it from each other very often, even though we should. And we don't give it out a lot to others, because we feel obligated to hold onto our angry feelings, take every slight, file it in our brain and recall it at a moment's notice.
We felt that if we did forgive, it would allow hurtful words or lack of support - unintentional though it may have been - to shape our view of ourselves and of our loss.
As we went along our own journey of recovery, we came to understand that forgiving people around us for not meeting our expectations (and forgiving ourselves for having those expectations in the first place), actually helped us to better appreciate what our friends and family could, and did, give to us.
It's a lesson we didn't want to learn, but now that we have, we hope we're better at forgiving those closest to us and helping others understand how they can better support families who have suffered such a devastating loss.
In what ways have you used forgiveness after your loss?
Moving Forward
by Share Pregnancy & Infant Loss Support, Inc. on 03/30/11
By Hannah Stone
As a three time survivor of pregnancy loss, I know all too well that the words "moving forward" do not equal "letting go."
Nearly 17 years after my first loss, I still feel the pain and grief. It's not quite as raw as it was all of those years ago but it's still there. I think about the son or daughter I never got to hold and I never had the opportunity to know. What would he or she look like? Would it be my green eyes that would stare back at me or would they be the brown eyes of my husband? Would he or she be panicking about SATs and college applications? I will never know the answer to these questions and I think that the unknown is what pains me the most as a grieving parent.
I lost my first pregnancy on March 1, 1994. It seems like a lifetime ago yet it seems like yesterday. I remember the day it happened...going to my obstetrician's office for a routine 12 week exam with my husband and telling her that I was nervous about seeing the heartbeat for the first time. I was naive, believing that what had happened to a few friends, wouldn't happen to me yet I wouldn't feel right until I saw that heartbeat. I never saw that heartbeat. Hearing the news that I had lost my baby broke my heart and in the months ahead, broke my spirit. On that day, I not only lost a pregnancy that was very much anticipated by my husband and myself (and our extended family members and friends) but I also lost my innocence. I learned on that day that life cannot be taken for granted and things can change in an instant...just like that.
On March 1 and on September 18, I remember the baby I never got to meet. Those two days represent when I lost the pregnancy and when the pregnancy was supposed to successful end birth. The pain lessens as each year goes by but I never forget and certainly, not on those two days or the days on the calendar that mark the losses of my other two pregnancies and the days of their due dates. I can talk about my losses and I am not as emotional as I was in the days and weeks and months following my losses but I still feel the grief. Time heals but it doesn't cure. From the moment you learn that you have lost your precious child, you are never the same person. I know I'm not.
Forgive Them, For They Know Not What They Say (Or Do)
by Share Pregnancy & Infant Loss Support, Inc. on 03/17/11
What About the Children?
by Share Pregnancy & Infant Loss Support, Inc. on 03/01/11
By Maureen Day I have only a few memories of my sister, Patti; really just glimpses that I recall... jumping rope in the kitchen and getting in trouble, laughing on the couch, seeing her sick lying on my mom and dad's bed. Then, she was gone. I was only 4 years old when she died at the age of eight, unexpectedly from Reye Syndrome - sudden brain damage occurring from the use of aspirin to treat chicken pox. I didn't understand any of this, of course, at the time. I only knew she was gone and so were her pictures and that every time I said her name, my mom would cry and my older brother would get very angry with me. So, I quickly learned and followed along. I was afraid to ever have a friend named Patti, not wanting to speak her name but kept my angel sister close to my heart and would talk to her at night. As I grew, sometimes I would secretly whisper to my mom asking about her when no one was around. She always cried and I always felt so badly about that, but my desire to know compelled me to choose hurting my mother rather than go on pretending. It became our secret and she would tell me small, beautiful details about her. Like how much my older sister loved me and had fun playing with me. And the time she dreamed about her...she had her blonde hair all in curls just like my mom always liked to fix it, and she walked in the back door, came directly over to my mom and without a word, gently kissed her cheek. She believed this was Patti's way of saying good-bye. We rarely spoke of her, but when we did it was so healing and just felt so right inside even though I was convinced what I was doing was so wrong. To avoid the pain I believed I was inflicting on my mother, I would sneak around and ask neighbors what happened, rummage through her bottom dresser drawer and find pictures of her and sweet little notes and drawings she had made that my mom had tucked away. I just needed to know as much as I could. Eight years ago I lost my baby, Katie, at 11 weeks. I was devastated and surprised at just how deep was my pain and sense of loss. I felt compelled to do something with my experience and try to help others who were grieving in the same way. But it wasn't until I attended a class called Children & Grief that I had a personal epiphany, a revelation connecting so many dots in my life. I learned that if you're old enough to love, you're old enough to grieve. It was explained that at the age of four children process through repetition - which was why I kept asking over and over again about my sister. And as children develop and death can be more clearly understood, they need honest explanations so their minds don't just fill in the blanks, which can be scarier than the reality. And at each stage of development, children need to be allowed to grieve all over again. Denying grief and loss only postpones, never eliminates. The only way to move through it is to acknowledge, talk, cry, and FEEL every emotion that comes along on the grief journey. Having a support system, opportunities to share and express grief, a stable environment, information about death, and encouragement to just be a "kid" will allow children to mourn in a healthy way. My parents were wonderful, loving people and I don't blame them in any way. They did the best they knew to do and times were different then in the way people dealt with death. But as a child of loss in an environment that did not allow for healthy grieving, without even realizing it, I had been prepared for being a parent experiencing loss. Somehow I instinctively knew that I NEEDED to acknowledge my baby, talk about her, keep her part of our family, express my love for her, and openly grieve her loss. I am so thankful for my sister Patti and the lessons her young life taught me that will last me and allow me to serve others for the rest of my life. How do you share the memory of your baby with his/her siblings?
Enjoying the Small Things
by Share Pregnancy & Infant Loss Support, Inc. on 03/01/11
I regularly read a blog called Enjoying the Small Things. It is written by a gal who lives in southern Florida with her husband and two young daughters, one of who has special needs. This blog writer has a really great way with words as well as a sunny outlook on life, and she often writes posts about the "small things" she stops to take notice of in her daily life. I've been reading her blog for nearly a year, and many times, she has inspired me to do the same...to stop and notice the seemingly insignificant details and events of life, take note of them, and most of all, remember and write about them. And that's what this post is about...enjoying the small things because often, when you are grieving, small things may be the only things you have to hold onto and get you through each day. While it has been many years since I lived through my own losses, I do often encounter situations that remind of when I was, and I try to relate the things I write on this blog to those who are new to this heartbreaking journey.
Recently, St. Louis was hit with a doozy of an ice storm. We don't normally get a whole lot of snow in St. Louis. We tend to get smallish snow storms that result in a few inches, and we are more likely to get freezing rain and sleet. This winter, however, has been a difficult one, with several snow storms along with the ice storm last week. It's no secret to those who know me that winter is my least favorite season...the cold goes right through me, driving on snowy, icy roads scare me, and the storms frequently shut our community down. I could happily live on the beach and not care if I never laid my eyes on another snow flake. This winter though, I decided to make the best of our many snow days and try to appreciate the beauty that winter can hold. I resolved to try to look beyond the sloppy, slushy roads and notice the sun sparkling on the snow-covered branches of trees and bushes. I even went out in my yard at 5 AM on Christmas morning in my pajamas and boots to take pictures after looking out the window and noticing how stunning the Christmas lights looked blanketed with snow. It has not made me any more fond of winter, but I do feel as if the frosty, dreary weather hasn't gotten me down as much as it normally does.
Last week after the ice storm, at the end of my first day back at work, I took a longer, more scenic route on my way home, a road that winds along the Missouri River bottom. I often do this, even though it lengthens my ride home. Driving along the river road is more relaxing and has much better views than taking the highway and sitting in traffic; it helps me "destress" a bit on my way home. On this particular day, it was breathtaking. I have no other way to describe it. I was so very cold, but the sun was peeking through the clouds and shimmering on the ice-covered trees and the tall grasses that border the road. It was one of the most picturesque winter scenes I have ever seen--everything was coated with what looked like sparkling glass. I had my camera with me, and I pulled over on the side of the road, climbed over a snow bank, and tried to capture the magnificence of this winter landscape.
My photographs did not come close to capturing what I hoped they would, but the next day, I stopped again to take some pictures of Old Man Winter in all his icy glory--this time of the river where it flows through the downtown area of my city. Again, I thought in amazement how beautiful it all was...the barren, brown trees against the pale blue sky...the large chunks of ice floating lazily down the river...the stark contrast of the black wrought iron fence against the whiteness of the snow...I was freezing, yet I stood for a few minutes admiring the harsh beauty.
So back to the reason for this post...enjoying the small things. Sometimes, in the midst of grief just as in the midst of frigid, icy winter, it can take a great deal of effort to appreciate or find even the most minuscule things to enjoy. Yet if you do make the effort, you will probably find small yet lovely things all around you. And noticing them can make the difference between a day that you just muddle through waiting for things to get better and a day that you can look back on when it ends and know that you made the best of whatever it held. Often, it does seem as if things will never get better, which makes noticing and enjoying small things all that much more important. And while you will still be grieving and deeply missing your baby, you may find that focusing on the little details may bring you some peace and maybe even a moment or two of joy, in spite of your sadness.
You may be thinking right now that there is absolutely nothing in your life any longer that will bring you joy. In fact, you may be thinking right at this moment that you will never enjoy anything or laugh or even smile ever again because it is not uncommon to feel that way after your baby dies. And while I know it is hard to do, try to trust me when I say that you will slowly begin to feel better, to smile and laugh again, even if in the beginning it is only because of small things.
I challenge you to take a few moments each day to seek out something that will bring you some happiness, make you smile or make you feel grateful. Whether it is cuddling with a pet, going for coffee with a friend, noticing an early spring breeze blowing through your open window, taking a slower paced route home from work or simply looking at something you see every day with "new" eyes, it can help heal your broken heart to focus on something pleasant each day, even if it is only for a few moments. I think you will find that as the days go by, it will become like second nature for you to look for these small things to enjoy. You may find that you begin to notice little "gifts" each day that you might not have noticed if you were not actively seeking them out. It can also be helpful to write these things down each day in a journal; you will then have a permanent record of how far you have come months or years down the road.
If you would like to share, I’d love to hear about what small things you are enjoying right now.
Daniel, Jo Jo, Joseph & Zachary
by Share Pregnancy & Infant Loss Support, Inc. on 02/15/11
The death of my first child, Daniel Joseph, had to be the most horrific experience of my life. In 2007, my life was wonderful. I had just gotten married; I had a great job, and was expecting my first child. Then at the end of August I found myself in the middle of my worst nightmare. One minute changed my life forever. I found out that my son had Hydrops and the doctors told me that he had a 1% chance of living. Sadly, on September 18, 2007, he was stillborn at 29 weeks.
I was numb. We had just finished the nursery and the invites had already gone out for my baby shower before we had found out any of this terrible news. I couldn't believe that there was nothing the doctors could do to help. I felt empty. That is when I was first introduced to Share. Share was so wonderful and supportive in so many ways. I remember when I made the first phone call to Share I was in shock that people still lose their children so late in pregnancy with all the advances in modern medicine. I was so naive. Share showed me that others have experienced the same type of loss and provided a setting to talk about how I could honor my child. It was such a blessing to know that my husband and I were not alone.
The doctors had told us that we could start trying again right away. We found out the following January that we were expecting, unbelievably with the same September 18th due date. Unfortunately that pregnancy ended in a miscarriage at 8 1/2 weeks. I had genetic testing done which provided no answers and the doctors still encouraged us to keep trying. In June I found out I was pregnant again, only to again miscarry at 9 1/2 weeks.
In 2009, I came to grips with the fact that I would never be a mom. I prayed about it daily and asked God to send me a sign about His desires for me. I was attending medical school and thought maybe I would go on to help others who had been through what I had experienced. Maybe I could make a difference in others' lives by specializing in fertility. We had starting considering adopting and I decided to start volunteering to help keep my mind occupied. The very next day something in the back of my head told me to take a pregnancy test. The results came out positive! I was pregnant! I couldn't believe it. I gave birth to a healthy baby boy on April 21, 2010. My prayers had been answered and God gave me a miracle. My son Zachary is the greatest gift that God could have ever given me. I experience every second of growth and every milestone with him. I don't want to miss a thing.
Losing three of my children has changed me forever. I sometimes stop and think about how I should be a mom of four living children right now. There is not a day that passes by that I don't think about them in some way. The holidays are a special time where they are very present in all that we do to celebrate. We honor and remember them by displaying their own ornaments on the Christmas tree. We also include them on Mother and Father's Day each year. I remember the first Mother's Day after I had lost my first son, Daniel, and how much pain I was in. My husband even sent me a bouquet of flowers. We feel it was important to acknowledge all of our children because life is life no matter when it begins or when it ends. The anniversary of my second loss, Jo Jo, is coming up on February 18th. We will light a candle, spend some time together as a family and pray.
My three little angels Daniel, Jo Jo and Joseph will always be a part of our lives and their souls will never be forgotten. We will make sure that Zachary will know that he had three siblings and when he is old enough we will tell him about them.
How has the loss of your baby changed you?
