We went to mass this morning to remember Astrid and hear her name read as part of the intentions during mass. Two of my girlfriends surprised us and joined us. Another friend sent me a photo of their family remembrance table where they pray for family and friends who have died. I am so grateful for the people who continue to pray for us and remember our sweet little girl.
Our parish gave us a candle with Astrid’s name on it after mass. I placed it alongside the Hope cross that my friend, Heidi, gave me after our miscarriage in 2009.
November is a month when we remember our loved ones who have died. Trusting in God’s goodness, we believe our little girl is a saint in heaven and is waiting and praying for us until we can meet her again one day.
There’s a saying I’ve seen on the internet that has brought me comfort when I find myself missing Astrid.
“…and to think, the first thing she saw when her little eyes opened was the face of Jesus.” 💕
The ache of missing her doesn’t go away, but there is no sadness or worry about her being alone. I know she is in the best company possible and I look forward to joining her one day.
Astrid’s photo is part of the display of members of the parish who died in the past year.
As with almost everything else 2020, Halloween is a bit different this year. The Shecklets did different activities today. (We opted to skip door to door trick-or-treating this year.)
Shecklet #2 did this with his friend:
Shecklet #1 and Shecklet #3 did this with Grandma & Grandpa:
And Shecklet #4 went trunk or treating at our church. Kids typically dress up as a saint for our parish’s annual All Saints Day party. This year, all on her own, #4 said she wanted to be St. Philomena in honor of her baby sister. I may or may not have gotten a little misty-eyed when she told me her plan.
So much has happened during our 18 years together that I can’t adequately put in to words my thoughts about today. I think I need to save that for another day.
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.
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:
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.
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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
I was reflecting today that a week ago was the beginning of the end of my pregnancy with Astrid. No heartbeat. Information about induction. Fast forward a week and it’s the eve of Astrid’s funeral. Writing that is so hard. Grief has hit me in more waves today. I get choked up at the littlest thoughts of her and how, as my friend Sara put it, we “had to fit a lifetime of loving into just a few short moments.”
