A Pandemic of Grace

Yes, I know.  Pandemic refers to a disease but honestly why can’t we shift our focus to the spread of something more positive?  I’m truly trying to find the silver lining in all the chaos that is now our new normal. 

I’ve been transparent with some people about my struggles over the years, especially this past year. Grief is a staple in my life. It drives what I do and what I don’t do.  It affects how I interpret situations, how I process life. I wish I didn’t have to live this way but it is the hand I was dealt. Last year, with Dad failing, it was harder than losing Holden. With Holden, I was allowed to be weak. I was allowed to feel the immense pain and I was able to express it among those who knew what my heart felt. I felt like I could openly grieve and lean on loved ones to help me carry the pain. 

Not many know what it is like to see a big hero of a Dad slowly turn into a stranger.  Already weak from all I had endured, I didn’t handle his failing and death in a heathy way. I held in a lot because I needed to be strong for everyone else. I needed to keep my composure because I was suffocating anytime I truly saw what was in front of me. My depression became an angry monster and I tried to go off my meds and prove how strong I was and that it couldn’t control me. That was a mistake.  I felt anger and resentment towards those who meant no harm to me and loved me. I was just so mad that people couldn’t see how hard this was for my family because we always put on a brave front.  Truth is, it’s scary for everyone and I feel like we don’t reach out as much as we should. Life is a lot more beautiful when we can be honest with each other.  I see that now. 

Therapy and medication changes has helped and I thought I was doing better. Then came this pandemic. It hit me hard. I was trying to work (in a new position), help with school for 3 of the kids, manage a household and find a way to keep the stress levels down for us all. It was too much. I finally went to a dear friend who is my NP to talk about my anxiety. She’s seen me in some pretty dark places and always has my heart in her best interest. She had a student NP, let’s call her D, with her whom I’ve known forever and I just adore her. Trying to be strong, I started explaining about how I’m struggling with all the demands, fears that I’m hurting my marriage, guilt that my children haven’t had a whole mother since losing Holden and that my mental health struggles are trickling into the kids. Then the tears came. She said some lovely words and then came the punchline “you have to give yourself some grace” (there may have been a “damn” before the grace☺️). Yes!!!!!   I never do. I’m so hard on myself and trying to do it all. People always see this organized, put together person but it’s all a front. Behind the scenes, I’m emotionally struggling with it all.  I recognize that my anxiety is fed by chaos and I try so hard to be prepared and organized to reduce my anxiety. Truth is, I’ve been a hostage to routine due to my anxiety.  Any chaotic shift sends me into a tailspin and I can’t seem to get myself straightened out. It’s exhausting, mentally and physically.  I sat there with tears in my eyes as these two beautiful souls reminded me that I’m allowed to feel what I feel because I’ve been dealt some pretty shitty cards. I know everyone has struggles they’ve faced and I need to embrace what I’ve been through and also how far I’ve come, no matter how small the progress may be.  So with my continued therapy and a new medication regimen, I’m trying to change my focus. 

I’ve been blessed with the most amazing cheerleaders in my life and I need to find a way to give myself grace to see what I’m capable of.  I’ve scared myself with how self critical I can be and this pattern needs to stop. I pride myself in advocating relentlessly for my children’s mental health, yet have fallen short for myself.  Mental health has always been something discussed behind closed doors or not at all. It’s okay to struggle.  It’s okay to feel hopeless. What isn’t okay is feeling like you have nowhere to turn. Where is the rule book that says you have to have your shit together at all times. Why can’t we be a beautiful mess sometimes and give ourselves some grace?  We’re all a little bit broken and it’s those cracks that unite us as humans. No one is perfect. No one has it all figured out. We’re all just bustling away, trying the best we can and societal pressures, life challenges and the constant stimulus of social media clouds over the good we do. It’s time to clear the fog and appreciate the view. Lord knows I haven’t paused long enough to see how wonderful it is. I think I could get used to this change ❤️

New World Order

I’ve let my depression run feral while I’ve struggled to keep it all together.  That’s the problem with being a “strong woman”. People don’t see the war feeding upon your soul, slowly chipping away until all you see is a stranger in the mirror.  You become a bystander to your own life.

The crossroads are a scary place to be. Which path do you take? The rough path ends back to who you truly are. The smoother path tends to be chosen when you lack the energy and confidence to challenge yourself.  This path circles back to where you started. You become lost in the cycle with no sense of direction.  It’s a lonely road with lots of dead ends. I’m at one of those dead ends, trying to decide what direction to take next. Do I turn back and take the rougher path?  Do I continue on this perpetual path of “just being okay”?

I’ll admit, I’ve neglected myself greatly. I’ve been so focused on all that surrounds me and didn’t realize I was crumbling among the chaos. I made changes regarding my physical health by exercising and eating better. I’ve lost 38 pounds which should make me feel amazing and yet I still feel the clouds become heavier above me.  I realized my mental health was failing and I wasn’t supporting myself the way I should have been. I saw my healthcare provider and restarted  medications after a hiatus that I thought I could handle. I returned to therapy, signing both of my daughters up as well. I unapologetically told myself “it’s time”.  Lord knows we all have our struggles but I tend to push my weakness aside to feign strength for those around me.  Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate when people allow themselves to be weak in hard moments.  It’s a beautiful aspect of being human. Problem is, I tend to push myself aside to make sure others are taken care of which most likely stems from me being the eldest child along with being a nurse.  A blessed curse.

I’ve seen my struggles in the actions of my children. We project our emotions and soul aches upon our children. My children have had way too much sadness in their short lives. We have had an intimate relationship with death. This has created a continuous open dialogue which is often uncomfortable amongst adults. Heavy subjects for young minds to absorb and yet we do not want to shield them. There is beauty amongst the pain and I would not want to deprive them of these moments.  But it requires work...checking in with them, making sure their questions are answered....making sure my emotions are cared for so that I can carry them through the hard moments when they need me to.  I gave the girls the choice if they wanted to be present when their Papa passed away. They both chose to be there. I believe it has helped them begin to process their grief which will be supplemented through therapy. However, in the aftermath of losing Dad, I sit here and think about how naive I am to think I can carry all the weight when I clearly am not as strong as I project to be.  I’ve been so worried about being strong enough to help my family, especially my mother, when they collapse from the weight of the grief we all carry.

It’s a choice. Which path to take. Are you willing to put in the work to make the changes that so desperately need to happen?  In the end, the work will bring you back to being a main character in your life.  Admitting you need to focus on yourself more and possibly detour from situations or people that discourage you is the start of the journey. Sit back and enjoy the ride.  The destination awaits you when you are ready.

He should be two.....

Trigger warning- Living children mentioned.

He should be two on Earth, not in Heaven.  I find myself saying that over and over again in my head.  He should be two. He should be fighting me over potty training and fighting with Lydon over their trucks.  He should be giving kisses to Sawyer and making silly faces to make him laugh.  He should be running away from his sisters, tired of all the hugs and kisses they would most likely be smothering him with. I am constantly replaying our moments in my head with him in it.  What would life be like with him here?

I have lived in this odd haze for the last 2 years with one foot forward and the other firmly planted in a life before his death...a life without grief.  Grief for a loss parent is very complicated.   It is hard for others to understand unless they are in the trenches with us.  Our grief is our connection to our child.  We don't have a lifetime of memories to soothe our heart when it aches.  We don't have vacation pictures or old letters to touch and look at when we need to feel connected.  We were still getting to know this little person and yet we loved them so deeply.  A stranger we fell in love with before we even knew they existed.  And, as quickly as they came into our lives, they were gone.  We were left with deep, confusing sadness that seemed like a dream.  I have to awaken myself to my reality often because it is easy to let my mind wander and trick me into believing none of this ever happened.  The beautiful wooden box that sits within my home and the ache with every beat of my heart reminds me that it did happen.  He existed.  For a very short time on Earth, he existed.  He was beautiful.   A picture of perfection.  It is so hard to believe that something so incredibly breathtaking is gone.  How could this happen?  Why us?  I often play the last few months of his life through my head struggling to find answers.  Was it something I did?  Did we miss something?  Did he suffer?  Did he know how loved he was and still is?  How do I carry on without him?

This life has made strangers into best friends and best friends, as well as some family, into strangers.  It teaches you the importance of empathy and what it truly means to a grieving heart. It makes you question everything....all your relationships,  career, life in general.   You often wonder if you are on the right path because none of them seem right with a piece of your heart missing.  It is a confusing and emotional journey that requires every ounce of your strength to make it through each day....to get to the next sunrise where you are one day closer to being reunited in Heaven.  You have to put your mask on and power through because your reality is far too heavy for those around you.  You find your secret group, filled with beautiful mothers with heartbreakingly similar stories, where you can unload your fears and sadness before it eats you up.  You say 'I'm okay' more than any person should because it's exhausting being honest. You live a lie everyday because your heart is breaking yet you keep on living.  It's the nature of the beast.  Grief is ugly and ever changing.   Just when you think you have it controlled, it breaks free and attacks your heart.  People call me strong....that's a lie.  I'm just trying to stay afloat.  I do what I have to do for my family but it isn't easy.  I don't have the energy to extend to others after I take care of myself and my family.  I'm still trying to figure this all out.  There is no guide on how to live without your child. 

I thank God everyday for my beautiful Earth children and my husband.  They give me purpose and keep me grounded.  They remind me that I am needed and loved.  In the darkest moments, they show me the beauty I possess in this life.  Even on days when it feels as if we have more than we can handle, I find those moments of peace where I know we are blessed beyond measure.  Such a beautiful, wild, crazy life we have.  I wouldn't trade the joy or sadness for anything.  This is  my life. My beautifully designed life. 

Grief's Army

One thing I have learned about grief is its  unpredictability.   Just when you think you are making progress,  grief rears its ugly head and knocks you down like a bully on the playground.  It is a constant struggle to find a balance, a new way of living when everything seems so much harder to tolerate.  Everyday life is a battlefield and grief is your enemy.   You try to stand your ground but grief's army is much stronger than yours.  I'm not gonna lie, I have been struggling...I have been struggling to find a new path through this war zone and I now admit I need reinforcements.  

I thought I was doing okay, making my way slowly through the muck and getting one foot ahead of the other.  I was a fool to believe it would be that easy.  I realize that I put my grief on hold to focus on getting Sawyer to us safe and sound.  In the first few months of his life, I was in a haze of relief and gratefulness.  My grief was able to plan a sneak attack and I started back where I left off before I got pregnant.  I started to get frustrated easily and overwhelmed with minute things.  My organized ways have been nothing short of chaotic and I can't seem to get a grasp on it.  At first, I blamed it on life with four kids and I believed I would figure it out eventually.  I go to therapy to help navigate the grief and have had many discussions with my doctor about starting meds but I didn't want to seem weak.  I am a warrior, right?  I have seen the darkness of death and made it this far.  Shouldn't I  be okay by now?  How long can I hold on to this pain?  The stigmas of society weigh heavily on my mind because society often minimizes grief and labels it as weakness rather than human nature. 

Not many people know but I battled postpartum depression after I had Brynly.  I was terrified the day I went to the doctor to tell her I needed help.  It was the best decision I ever made but yet I still feared the judgment I may face seeking help again.  I tried telling myself that I could figure it all out with the right therapy and getting our family rhythm back.   Problem is, I am a different person now.  I see life differently and cannot go back to who I was before.  She no longer exists.  The new me has many fears and views life as before and after Holden.  But, I put on a brave face and tell people "I'm okay" even when I am screaming inside.  I share my true emotions with a select few who get me, who truly hear my words and allow me to vent. Grief is such a hard concept for people to understand because it is so different for everyone.  People try to use their own experiences or others' experiences to give advice to those who are hurting.   Even though well intended, it can cause more damage than good. 

Last week, Sawyer became ill and it was traumatizing for me.  I know most parents can relate to the normal fears when your child is sick but I truly know the pain of when things go horribly wrong.  I watched as he coughed and gagged and, at one point, his lips turned blue.  I froze in fear and thought I was losing another baby.  I felt my heart pounding and my eyes burning from trying to hide my tears from everyone.  The nurse in me is usually calm in these situations, assessing and determining what needs to be done.  I failed in that moment because the loss mom in me took over and I panicked.  I knew in that moment that I was not okay.  I needed help.  I can no longer ignore my heart's pleas.  I needed to take care of myself to care for my family. I was not okay.....

I saw my doctor and told her I needed something.  She got it, she got me.  I needed to know that I was not weak.  I needed to know that what I am experiencing is normal and we will find a way through.  I know I am not alone but, even with all the support, baby loss can feel so isolating.  It is a lifelong grief that will change many times and I realize that asking for help is not a sign of weakness.  I feel stronger having shared my struggles and seeking help.  I share this because I know of so many who suffer alone or minimize their pain to make it more acceptable.  Grief is human nature, a byproduct of having a soul and experiencing loss.  It's okay to admit when you are not okay.  That is the strongest thing a person can do for themselves and those they love.  Grief's army is no match for the human heart.  Never deny your heart the help it needs ♡

When Holidays Hurt

I used to love Christmas.  The smells. The lights. The music.  Every single bit of it.  However, after Holden, Christmas has lost some of its luster.  Nothing like the season of caring and being with those you love to remind you of what is missing.  You would think that after all we have been through this year, I would be filled with immense joy but I find myself teetering on the edge of joy and sadness.  It is a very confusing time for me having Sawyer here.  I thank God everyday for him but I still have that deep hole within my heart that echoes my pain.  I cannot recall my memories as vividly as the time passes and it makes me wonder if it was all a dream.  I find myself only looking at the same two photos of him.  In these photos, he looks like he is just sleeping.  He looks alive.  Sometimes we must trick our mind to calm our heart and our reality is too real some days.  I am still feeling my way around, trying to make sense of it all and find a way to make this all work.  No two days are alike and I imagine they never will be.

I have been called strong alot lately but I have my doubts.  Most of my strength has been birthed from the death of my son so it is a difficult trait to embrace. I have to be strong because my husband and earthly children depend on me.  If I fall apart, so will this family and I cannot let that happen.  Holden wouldn't want it that way.  But, underneath the facade, I am a shattered woman who still feels the weight of the world and has moments where she struggles to catch her breath.  Somedays, I wish I could collapse to the ground and sob uncontrollably until my tears dry up.  Somedays, I wish I didn't have to leave my bed because he is so alive in my dreams.   Somedays, I trick myself into believeing that none of it happened.  These temporary moments of survival are what I need to keep above water but then I feel the waves crash upon my already weakened heart and it is the most sickening feeling ever.  It's hard to believe that I have a beautiful baby boy who grew inside of me for eight months only to have him taken from me.  That's not how it's supposed to happen.  He is the first thing I think of in the morning and the last thing I think of before bed.  He saturates my dreams and his name lingers on the tip of my tongue.  I am on the verge of tears often but have learned how to function otherwise.  It isn't easy and I doubt it ever will be.

This is our truth.  No sugar coating. No fluffy words to make it easier to swallow.  This is our life.  There are far too many others who carry this pain daily.  I decided to write this piece to bring awareness to the fact that so many of us hold a deep pain behind our seemingly happy faces this season.  Although there are many things to be grateful for, it does not negate the loss and pain that so many have endured.    Yes, we have found some beauty in all of this but it still is a seering pain that will reignite often and never fade completely because our love for them will not allow it.

There is one thing that I want you to take from this piece and here it is:

Although we smile, we still hurt.  You will not hurt us by saying their name or speaking of them.  Silence hurts more than any words ever could.  We are navigating this confusing and often overwhelming new life and although we may seem strong, we still need you.  Don't ask what you can do, just do.  Oftentimes,  we don't know what we want but we need you to remember with us and understand we are not the same and may never be.  No matter what loss a person has experienced, a heart never forgets and we need each others to help us through each day.  We need love on Earth to help us through when we lose love to the Heavens. 

Merry Christmas from me to you.  May the love of the season bring you peace and be gentle to your heart ♡

Dear Sawyer

**TRIGGER WARNING**  This is a letter to our new rainbow baby.

Dear Sawyer,
I need you to know this:

I fought for you.  I fought demons I never knew existed to make you a reality.  You were never an afterthought; you are exactly what our hearts needed.  You came after our lives were turned upside down and we were struggling to find a way to navigate through the grief.  I was terrified to try again.  My own body was now foreign to me, having carried life and death.  I had to fight off fears that my body couldn't bring another child into this world alive.  Time was not on our side and I had to fight to educate myself and make sure my body was ready.  I had to fight off all the 'what ifs' and let destiny take over.  I had to find a balance in the war between my heart and my body. 

I waited for you.  After Holden was born,  I made a promise that I would not hold another newborn until it was my own child.  It may seem unnatural to some that this thought was in my head so soon after we lost your brother but I knew in my heart that this chapter of our life could not end that way.  I knew Holden wouldn't want it that way.  I met many babies during that time but my heart hurt to see them so alive.  I had to force back my tears or walk away when it was too much.  I knew that my time was coming.  I just had to wait.  Even in the depth of our grief, I knew that we would find hope and peace again.  You brought that to us.

I love you immensely.  I love each of my children with all my heart, whether here on earth or in Heaven.   My love for you feels different as it does with each child; one no less than the other,  just different.  One of the OB nurses, and dear friend of mine, asked me in the hospital if I felt like I was bonding with you.  It made me think because I could see where she was coming from.  Us Mommies sometimes go through the motions of caring for our babies which conveys love but bonding is a higher level.  I had to think about it and really check in with myself to make sure I wasn't just 'going through the motions'.  Truth is, the moment I saw your face, you took my breath away.  I felt an intense pull to you knowing what I went through to get you here and that you and Mommy were bonded as warriors in our own right.  You came into this world screaming and awakened my heart in more ways than you will ever know.  The last time I was in that room, my heart shattered from the silence.

You are your own person.  I truly worry that at some point you may feel as if you are living in Holden's shadow.  Truth is, he is a huge part of our family but so are you and the rest of your siblings.  I do not want your life to always be intertwined with his death.  You are not here because he is not.   You are here because this was our destiny as a family.  I truly believe that you would have come to us regardless.   Your piece to our puzzle existed long before Holden and is now where it should be.  I will spend the rest of my life reminding you of that.  I recently had a discussion with my therapist about the discovery that cells from babies  have been found in a mother's body long after the baby is born.  There is also some speculation that these cells can migrate back to subsequent babies.  If this is true, you are the only one, besides me, in our family to carry a little bit of Holden as well as all your other siblings.  You carry all of us within you and it only seems right that you came to complete the circle that was broken almost a year and a half ago.  You are the piece that has been missing all along, long before our family even started.  Never forget that.

And, finally, I am still broken.  I lost some of my confidence as a mother when we lost Holden.  I am more nervous and may hover over you alot.  I apologize for this but you are almost too good to be true and my heart is still a little fragile.   Give me time.  I will get better.  I am gonna kiss you and hug you as much as I can.  I am gonna snuggle you to my chest and breathe in your smell.  I may take a little bit longer to lay you down at night just to get that extra moment.  I was robbed of this recently and I am going to cherish every moment I get now.  You may see me watch you and your siblings with tears in my eyes.  It's okay, I need to do that.  You may see me get frustrated at times when I shouldn't be.  I apologize, I am still grieving.  You may see me come out of my room with puffy eyes and that's okay.  Sometimes, I need a quiet moment to let it all out.  I miss your brothers and I always will.  It is the price of love and I am left with so many questions my heart and mind cannot answer. 

I often wonder if you hear Holden whispering to you.  If he does, listen. I wonder if you saw him before he sent you to us.  If you did, remember it.  You were handpicked by your big brother and what an incredible gift you are.  As much joy as we feel right now, I still feel the pain sneak up every now and then.  I know this will not be easy and we will certainly face our challenges but I know we have the strength to see it through and come out stronger than ever.  And never forget that you were destined to complete our family.  It just took a long and twisted road to get you here ♡

Love,
Mommy

Dear Holden: Happy Birthday

Dear Holden,

One year.  365 days since your silent entry into this world brought forth the loudest pain I have ever felt.  My heart still aches as it did that day.  The more time that passes, the more I remember or, maybe, the more my mind tries to fill in the gaps.  You see, when you are only given a small moment in time to create a lifetime's worth of memories, you don't want to look back and not remember every single minute.  That time is so very precious.

I remember the last time I know for sure I felt you move.  It was on Saturday night, after my 2nd 12-hour shift in a row.  You were so active that night.  Maybe too active but my naive sense of security blocked out any red flags.  What if I would have gone in?  Would you be here right now, walking around while I got ready for your birthday.  I would've bought you a smash cake instead of a name plate for your urn.  I never thought you wouldn't be here for your 1st birthday but here we are....still trying to gather the pieces after having our world turned upside down.   I remember going into work the next day thinking I had felt you move on the drive there or else I would like to think that you had moved.  I hit the ground running that day and you always slept when I was walking around.  I ate lunch and headed back out to my busy day.  My belly hurt but I thought I had ate too much.  I joked with the girls about how crazy it was that you would be here in just 8 days and how busy we were gonna be.  My forever baby boy, you were supposed to be.  I remember looking over at Shelly and said that I hadn't felt you in a while.  I grabbed the doppler and tried to listen for you.....nothing but static.....I knew right then....you were gone.  I set the doppler down and started to cry.  Damn it!  Why?  Why?  Why?  I was rushed over to OB but being a nurse didn't allow me the luxury of believing it would be okay.  I knew too many stories.  I had to call your Daddy.  How was I gonna tell him this?  How?  How do you tell a proud Daddy that his baby boy had died?  I remember his face when he walked into the exam room.  You can never forget pain like that.  I became numb at that moment.  I wanted to run away and pretend it wasn't true.  I just wanted to hide from everything and be left alone.  I guess you could say I was in shock. 

I left my body and went through the motions.  Start an IV, start an epidural,  try to rest.  We just waited....and waited.  It felt like the times I was in labor with your sisters , when the room was quiet and we were all anxiously awaiting their arrival (your brother's entry was very fast and not so quiet).  Only this time, it was too quiet.  There was no heartbeat thumping softly in the background.  Just the sound of the IV running and tears.  I slept for a while thanks to some medicine and awoke to an uncomfortable feeling.  I called Gigi over to check and moments later, the room was filled with people.  C-section...bleeding...hurry.  I honestly wasn't scared.  In that moment, I was okay with dying.  I thought that if God had to take me too, then so be it.  We could be together.  It would be okay.  I felt at peace with death as I was rushed to the OR.  He spared my life for a reason, I know this now.  But in that moment, death would have been less painful than the hurt I felt in my heart.

I think I finally snapped out of my haze the moment your Daddy looked right at me and said 'I see him' and the pain washed over his face again.  Absolute silence....no baby cries....just the sound of my heart breaking knowing we were about to face our greatest challenge ever.  How do you face life after facing death?  Where do you go from here?  I kept thinking 'what do I do?'  This is not what I had planned.  I had your diapers bought and clothes washed.  I had your diaper bag packed. I had all the baby supplies ready.  I had our life ready for you.

I thank God everyday for not taking me, too.  I know He did not want to take you either but He had to.  Something happened within my imperfect body He created and He had to embrace you.  I am not mad at Him anymore.  I have found my peace with that but the sadness remains and always will. 

Last night, I was feeling overwhelmed by the sadness, playing the events that occurred a year ago in my head.  I cried so much my head hurt.  Then, among the clouds outside our home, I saw a beautiful sight.  A rainbow was peeking from the clouds.  The sky was so beautiful as if love was being sent from the Heavens.  I felt you in that moment and peace washed over me. 

This is not what I envisioned your first birthday to look like.  I picture you with cake all over your face and the girls laughing at how silly you are.  I envision Lydon showing you how to play with your toys but then taking over as a big brother would and you getting mad at him.   I envision snuggling your sleepy head into my shoulder after all your birthday excitement as I thank God for the last year and pray for many more.   I envision telling your birth story over and over and shocked at how fast the last year flew by.  I envision a lot of things that will never happen.  I wish I could have truly seen and felt those things with you.  I wish you were in my arms right now, being rocked to sleep as I hum to you.  I just wish you were here and I always will.  

I dug your blankie out the other day to take a picture for the cake I am having made for you.  I haven't removed it from the bag in a long time because it is just too painful.  I instinctively buried my face into it and breathed in your smell.   I felt like I was right back in that hospital room.  I would give anything to feel your cheeks again and smell your hair.  I wish I could count your sweet little fingers and kiss your button nose.  I will cherish those few memories I was given but will always yearn for more.

Happy birthday, my precious baby boy.  I hold you in my heart and feel you with every beat.  The world just doesn't seem right without you here.  Someday, when we meet again, I will do all those things I envision and I will never let you go again ♡