We ordered Astrid’s grave marker today. My list of things I never thought I’d have to do keeps growing.
The granite we selected comes from South Dakota. I have extended family who live there and were a great support to me during my pregnancy and after Astrid’s death. Jake and I like the extra special connection that Astrid’s marker will have because of where the granite is from.
Due to COVID, we weren’t able to have a professional photographer come to the hospital after Astrid was born to take photos for us. We relied on my old iPhone 6S to capture the only pictures we have of our daughter. Thankfully, that worked ok. Definitely not professional quality, but I’m grateful for every one we took.
Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep (NILMDTS) is the organization we would have contacted about sending a photographer to the hospital. Instead, we were able to upload photos to them and have them retouched. What they returned to us (in an amazingly short time,) are beautiful. I cried when I saw them. They did a wonderful job softening Astrid’s skin and lightening it so we could see her delicate features. She was so beautiful.
I hope to make a photo book and not only include the retouched photos but the blog post content I wrote during my pregnancy and after. I think it would be nice to have her story in a book that we can flip through and remember her. I miss her so much!
Today is another “should” day.
Today I should be celebrating that my due date has come and that Shecklet #5 can join us anytime.
Instead of that “should,” we picked up DQ (thanks to friends) and visited the cemetery where our little girl is buried – Jake’s parents joined us. (I don’t envision DQ as a treat every time we visit, but I can see it being the way we celebrate her sweet life when we visit on days like 5/16 – the day she was born.) The girls brought flowers from home to lay on her grave.
We don’t have her grave marker yet, so no one else knows where she has been laid to rest. My therapist is holding me accountable by checking in to see that I make progress on having a marker made. It is yet another task I never dreamed I would have to do for one of our kids.
The “shoulds” of her life were cut short. Too short in my opinion, but my opinion is just that, an opinion. I can’t see the big picture that God can see. I’ve had hopes of seeing something good come from her death. I know I’ve experienced one major one – loving my daughter and being loved unconditionally by others who have supported us. But the still-hurting part of me was really hoping that losing her would be the catalyst for reconciling/healing a few relationships that have been broken for almost three years. (I’ve added that to the list of things to discuss in therapy.)
I don’t imagine 8/23 as a day I will reflect on annually. I’m hoping once will be it. It’s a day that never came to be (from a pregnancy standpoint) and I don’t know if I need another reminder of that fact. Astrid’s birth date (5/16) is a different story though. That’s the day she became fully “real” in the sense that we finally got to see her, find out she was a baby girl, and say goodbye. The hardest goodbye I’ve ever experienced.
We received these flowers and a DQ gift card from friends who chose to remain anonymous. (I have a hunch as to who sent this kind reminder, but will leave it at that.) We are planning to bring DQ to the cemetery on Sunday. It has become our “thing” when we go to visit Astrid’s grave. (I had mentioned this to one of my friends – hence my hunch.)
Three people (including my hunch) have acknowledged to me that they know this week is likely a difficult one – leading up to my due date of 8/23. I’m so grateful they have been willing to mention that reality, say Astrid’s name, and allow me to truly share how I’m feeling – no sugarcoating. I’m extremely thankful for the people in my life who allow me to be real and authentic.
I’m finally taking a break from cleaning. I’ve kept busy vacuuming, moving furniture, cleaning and resealing tile grout, and washing the kitchen/dining room floor. (Jake took the kids up north for another Saturday of fun at the lake.) My current Amazon Music playlist is blasting throughout the house and it’s making me cry. I suppose it’s my fault; I picked the songs. As I get closer to what should have been my due date, I’m finding myself feeling the big emotions again. Ugh. Grief sucks.
Here’s what’s hitting my heart tonight:
Today is a hard day. I’m missing my baby something fierce and the tears are falling hard.
Jake and the other Shecklets are at Nissedalen for the day. (Cousins Day 2020, but with reduced attendance this year. Thanks COVID.) I just didn’t have it in me to fake a smile and pretend I was ok today. One of the things my therapist is challenging me to do is look for ways that I am advocating for myself. I guess the argument could be made that this is one of them – I can grieve how I need to grieve and allow my family to spend the day as they planned. It does make me sad to not be with them – I love watching the kids in the water.
I decided to make a stop at the cemetery and spend some time reading with my littlest Shecklet. My MIL made the sweet suggestion that I bring a favorite kids book and read it by Astrid’s grave. I brought two favorites – one that makes me cry and one that makes me laugh.
Sitting next to my baby’s gravesite, I’m finding a little joy amidst my tears today.
I had my first session with a therapist who specializes in pregnancy loss/stillbirth as well as ART therapy (Accelerated Resolution Therapy.) I sat in my car afterwards and made some notes about how I thought the session went, what I thought and felt, and what I want to bring up next time. I plan to try the ART therapy in hopes of it helping me heal from the trauma I’ve experienced.
It’s difficult for me to call my experiences “traumatic,” but I guess when you talk about an emergency ambulance birth (2013,) brain tumor diagnosis (2017,) brain surgery and recovery (2018,) and a stillbirth (2020,) I think the argument can definitely be made for calling those events traumatic. Being that I’m the one who went through those things and I don’t know any different, I think I have coped by telling myself just that – I don’t know life to be any other way than what I experienced, so I just have to keep pressing on. But pressing on after the death of your child is different than pressing on after major surgery. Yes, surgery changed me in many ways, but the things I lost, (hearing, sense of taste, energy level) are things my body has adapted to. The death of my daughter is completely different. She was alive and now she’s not. Yes, my body has physically recovered (mostly) from carrying her for 25 weeks, but my heart is broken. I know I will never be the same person I was prior to my pregnancy. I’ve changed with each one of my kids’ births. But to not have the reason that I am different with me here on earth is hard. It’s not how it “should” be.
I should be pregnant right now.
Astrid was so wanted.
My heart aches knowing that I was only able to hold her body. I never got to hear her cry, see the color of her eyes, or find out if she would have wavy or straight hair. I won’t be part of all of her “first year” experiences. Chances are we won’t have another baby. It’s is difficult knowing that this is how my child-bearing years have ended.
A few years ago we felt as though we were in a good place, meaning we didn’t feel God putting the desire in our hearts to have another baby. When we got pregnant last December, it was a shock and also hard. Starting over at the baby stage sounded overwhelming – especially since we had recently been looking at high school options for Shecklet #1. I questioned how we would balance teenagers and a baby. But as He can always do, God worked on my heart and it didn’t take very long for me to soften up to the idea of starting over. I knew I would have plenty of “help” this time, which would be nice. Those feelings of peace were short-lived. The majority of my pregnancy was spent just focusing on each day – which I suppose is actually a good way to live, but it was also extremely stressful in that I never knew when Astrid’s last day alive within me would be.
She has been gone for 2 months. (Hearing the words, “no heartbeat,” took place two months ago today.) I know for her, that’s not even a blink of an eye, but as her mom, it’s the beginning of a journey I would rather not be on.
We have been given numerous flower arrangements, orchid plants, and stuffed animals, in addition to meals, prayers, and thoughtful gifts from friends who have walked a similar path as we are currently walking. These things have been visual, tangible ways we have felt loved and supported during this surreal time in our lives.
Our girls prayed with friends, a family from our church lit a candle for us in their home chapel while keeping us in prayer, and another family dropped off snacks, items to bring to the hospital, stuffed animals for the girls and yo-yo’s for the boys after hearing Astrid no longer had a heartbeat.
Aunts, uncles & friends have sent these:
My SD family sent us these:
Jake’s brother & SIL sent us this stuffed swan and a matching print that I hung in the girls’ room. (I love that their purchase of the swan and the print equals 15 meals for children in need.) The Psalm reference in the note is Psalm 91:4. “He will cover you with his feathers. He will shelter you with his wings.”
This print with a quote from St. Zélie Martin is one I absolutely love was given to me by two different people. It sits on the dresser in our bedroom.
Shecklet #4 drew this for me – it’s Astrid in my belly when I was pregnant. I’ve said this before – she was so excited to have a baby sibling come live with us. I wish I could have given her that gift.
A friend of mine gave me this – left on our front porch – after Astrid died. It now sits on my kitchen windowsill next to the “Hope” cross that another friend gave me after our miscarriage back in August 2009. The note in the small box below reads: “A mother’s love is not defined by the number of children she can see, but by the love she holds in her heart.” Franchesca Cox
My SILs, Kari & Stacie, sent this sweet gift in remembrance:
How can time go so fast and yet so slow?
8 weeks while pregnant always felt so slow – probably because I always felt so sick. The 8 weeks since Astrid’s death and delivery have gone so fast. I cannot believe that much time has passed.
I am going to see a therapist on Monday. The weight of the last (almost) three years is heavy and even though I have done a lot of work on my own, Astrid’s death made me realize that it would be good to try to work with someone other than myself. I have no idea whether or not this therapist and I will be a good fit, but I’m willing to give things a shot. I want to heal from the hurt of Astrid’s death, the loss of relationships, and the stress, physical and emotional toll that having a brain tumor diagnosis and surgery have had on me.
It’s time.
Instead of hand writing thank you notes to everyone who reached out and supported us during our pregnancy, Astrid’s death, and the subsequent weeks, I decided to write a longer letter to friends and family – sharing more about what we went through during my pregnancy and what Astrid’s life and death taught me.
I picked out the brightest envelopes I could find and found stationery to match. Not only did my words contain heart-felt thanks, but the writing process also proved to be therapeutic in a way I didn’t imagine.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear family and friends,
My intention was to write individualized thank you notes to everyone who has prayed for, supported, and loved us during what has been one of the most difficult times in our family’s life. As I began to do so, I found myself writing the same message over and over, not because it was superficial, but because it was honest & full of emotion. I felt it was important to share with everyone.
Many of you did not know we were pregnant until we recently reached out asking for prayers and explained what was going on. The pandemic kept us contained at home, so very few saw the visible sign of our pregnancy. Looking back, I suppose this was a blessing as well as a hardship. A blessing in that I didn’t feel the need to tearfully tell everyone who inquired about our pregnancy how our little girl was actually really sick. And a hardship in that it was difficult to not be able to share (in person) with those who care about us.
We had 25 weeks with our sweet little girl. During that time, I would be lying if I didn’t admit that I frequently found myself asking the questions, “Why is this happening? What could this experience possibly teach me?” If I stopped to think, I could probably come up with many lessons that I’ve learned, however the ones that stand out the most are the lessons about loving and being loved.
Starting at week 10 of the pregnancy, Jake and I were aware of the possibility of Astrid not having the opportunity to come live with us here on earth. However, we knew from the first appointment that indicated that something was not quite right, that we would give this baby (we didn’t know she was a girl yet) every opportunity to live out her life for as long as God planned. We did not take the time we had with her for granted. We celebrated after every weekly heartbeat check. We thanked God every night for another day with her. We prayed with her and her siblings each evening. She was also part of three birthdays and several holidays including Mother’s Day. She heard her siblings speak to her, tell her hello, goodnight, and I love you. She was part of the commotion of daily life, e-learning for her siblings, and evening conversations between Jake and me. I have no doubt in my mind that she knew she was loved. Loving her was easy to do.
Most of you know the last 2.5 years have been challenging ones for our family – to say the least. There are many layers to those challenges and I’ve been slowly making my way through them. I was talking to my friend, Michelle, in the cemetery after Astrid’s burial and she shared an observation with me that I’ve been pondering ever since. She told me (lovingly) that for most of my life I have felt that I need to be, or do, or act a certain way in order to receive the love and approval of certain individuals. It is exhausting and the toll it takes on one’s self-esteem is significant. She asked me to look at the last 2.5 years of life’s challenges from a different perspective. What I have gone through has allowed me to see just how much our friends and other relatives love me as I am – imperfections and all. (The same goes for Jake and our kids.) People aren’t expecting me to be anyone other than myself, aren’t expecting favors to be returned, and only want to show us love. Standing next to her, I was overwhelmed with emotion and started to cry with gratefulness. My family has been blessed with such wonderful friends and relatives. We really do feel loved. It’s my own insecurities that have made me feel unworthy of the kindness people have shown us. That’s something I am working on and Astrid’s brief earthly life and death are helping me continue to do so.
If you are receiving this letter, it is because you have not only made a difference in our journey through the loss of Astrid, but likely the last 2.5 years as well.
We have experienced your love through prayers.
We have experienced your love through meals.
We have experienced your love through cards & flowers.
We have experienced your love through taking care of our kids.
We have experienced your love through text messages and emails checking in on us.
We have experienced your love through memorials in Astrid’s honor.
We have experienced your love through support at the cemetery.
We have experienced your love through your friendship.
Your gestures, large and small, have shown the six of us how truly loved and supported we are. Thank you.
With gratitude & love,
Jacob, Veronica, Nolan, Lincoln, Ingrid & Helena
(Astrid Philomena’s family)
“But our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we also await a savior, the Lord Jesus Christ. He will change our lowly body to conform with his glorified body by the power that enables him also to bring all things into subjection to himself.” Philippians 3:20,21