12:20am on Palm Sunday 2022, my godmother and aunt, Deb, took her final breath here on earth and joined her loved ones in heaven – including our sweet Astrid.
My SIL was one of a handful of people who knew that my aunt was in her last days and had been praying for her and our family. After telling Bri of Deb’s passing, she shared the verse from Philippians that clearly God keeps putting in my life.
I made a trip to Duluth today to spend time with my Aunt Deb who was placed on hospice on this past Monday. The drive was gloomy and wet, which fit the heaviness of the reason behind my visit.
Once at the hospital, I was able to spend about five hours beside Deb’s hospital bed. For most of the afternoon, she rested peacefully. Toward the end of my stay, she began getting restless. The nurses who cared for her were kind and worked to get her comfortable again by administering enough pain meds to calm her down.
Cancer is a horrible disease. It has taken a vibrant, sharp, kind, and confident woman from her friends and family. Her presence in our lives will be missed tremendously.
Before I left, I whispered to my aunt that I loved her and asked her to hug my sweet Astrid when she gets to heaven. I know she will be welcomed by a host of family and friends who are waiting for her when it is her time to pass from this life to the next.
We spent the week at home. Jake traveled for work during the beginning of the week.
Shecklet #2 suggested we add some color to the study room, so we pulled down ceiling tiles and primed them for painting.
Three kids used the painter’s tape technique to paint design their designs and one used a sponge technique.
Once the weather warmed up enough, the kids put on their shorts (it was in the 50’s 😆) and went for their first bike ride of 2022.
Update: April 16. I chose to paint a family of gnomes. After painting six, Shecklet #2 asked if I was planning to paint one for Astrid. I found a design that incorporated a halo. I love how it turned out! 💕
Jake and I took a stained glass class together at The Artery Studio tonight. It was so much fun!
We received three orchid plants after our daughter Astrid died, but I was never able to get them to bloom a second time. We made these to remember our sweet little girl 💗 (and bonus, they don’t need to be watered!)
Our parish’s sanctuary has been expanded and part of the remodel involves new flooring. Before the marble is installed, parishioners were given a chance to write a verse on the concrete. (We did this a few years ago prior to the new carpet installed.) Philippians 3: 20, 21 is the verse that is on Astrid’s marker. ❤️ I didn’t realize this until just now when I found my 2017 post, but Phil 3:20 is the verse I chose back then, too.
Prenatal Partners for Life was a huge support to us during our pregnancy with Astrid as well as the time after her death. Mary, the founder of PPFL, asked if I would write about our time with Astrid for her to use in their fall newsletter. I was honored to be able to share about the short life of our little girl and the impact she continues to have on all of us.
How can one year without our sweet baby have already passed by?
I started writing this post about a week before the anniversary of finding out Astrid’s heart stopped beating. I currently find myself in the middle of a very busy month. It seems we went from zero on the calendar to booked solid. We’re still distance learning, the kids are in activities that require chauffeuring multiple days a week, and this particular weekend was one where we celebrated two joy-filled occasions on one day: Shecklet #1’s 15th birthday and Shecklet #4’s First Communion.
And then there’s today. 5/16/2021.
This is not a day I ever wanted to have to mark on the calendar. I don’t know if dread is the proper way to describe how I’ve felt as 5/16 approached, but I suppose it’s been something like that. Yes, I know you can say we are celebrating a life, our daughter/sister’s life – her birth day. But it is nowhere near the same as the first birthdays her siblings have been able to celebrate with us. Her earthly life was so short. (Too short, IMO.) And thanks to COVID, her siblings and other family members never even had the chance to see her or hold her.
The events following the end of her life were intense. Induction planning, funeral planning, burial planning, and my return to the hospital – all within a week. I felt like I was on autopilot. Not much room for grieving with all of that going on. A year later, I feel like I’m reliving it all as we navigate what is really more of a week of anniversaries, not just a solitary day. It’s still hard to wrap my head around it all. I have felt numb at times. I know I haven’t given myself the space to truly feel the emotions in real-time because of the busyness of daily life. It’s good I have a therapy appointment this week.
Talking about a child’s death is not comfortable. I understand that bringing up their name or mentioning their life (no matter how long it was) can be hard. And yet, to those of us who have lost a child, it means so much to know that our kids are not forgotten. People know. People care. But not many will talk about them with you. Watching someone cry can be awkward. Death is uncomfortable. Silence is “easier.” I get it. That said, I am very grateful for those who have recently been willing to enter into the part of my life where my heart will always ache because it’s missing someone.
In the weeks leading up to today, a few people took the uncomfortable step to open the conversation to talk about Astrid. One friend (who I finally got to see after 1 1/2 years,) offered her condolences in person, asked me questions, and allowed me to share about my experience with this tremendous loss. Another friend texted me a few weeks before 5/16 to tell me she’s praying for me and recognized that the coming weeks would likely be difficult ones. The fact that she remembered this time of the year for my family meant a lot. Yesterday after First Communion, two friends handed me cards to open today. This morning, I received two hugs before mass and two after mass – one came from a stranger who told me, “I feel like I’m being led to give you a hug.” And throughout the day today, I received emails and text messages from friends and family who told me they’re thinking of us and praying for us. They wrote Astrid’s name. They cared enough to take the time to reach out. I feel humbled by people’s kindness towards me and my family.
The past 365 days have gone slow and fast at the same time. They have been full of tears, questions, prayers, and also peace. Astrid Philomena Sheck, we love you, we miss you, and we live with the hope of seeing you again one day in heaven! Happy birthday, sweet baby girl!
1 year ago we were told Astrid’s heart was no longer beating.
I will never forget searching the screen for a blip during the ultrasound but only seeing flat lines. I still can’t believe I had to hear those words alone, while wearing a mask, and then call Jake (who was waiting in the car outside) to tell him the news.
Today is the first of the last painful 1-year anniversaries of the past year. The trio of them (13, 16, 21) is something I have been avoiding thinking too much about. I went to mass by myself this morning. It’s the Feast of the Ascension. I needed a reminder that my baby is with Jesus.
Friends (one known and one unknown) gave us flowers today. (And a gift card to DQ that we will use on Astrid’s birthday when we visit her grave.) Shecklet #4 also picked out mini roses to leave by her marker when we visit.
I ended up at the cemetery last Monday (3/29) while taking a walk with my friend’s littlest kiddo (so she could get some things done in her house.) We stopped to see Astrid’s grave and found that her marker had been placed. The warmer temps and melted snow must have made it possible for them to finally set it.
A wave of emotions hit me the moment I saw her name etched in granite. I was thankful that my companion was an almost one-year-old who didn’t question my tears or feel the need to comfort me. I was able to cry and feel the weight of the finality that was in front of me, alone. Astrid’s body’s final resting place is now marked for anyone who visits that part of the cemetery to see. Her earthly existence, though only physically felt by me and my family, is known. It’s a reality that is both comforting and hard at the same time.
ETA: On 4/7, my friend, Michelle, stopped at the cemetery with two of her boys to see Astrid’s marker and pray for our family. When I was talking to her later about the flowers beside the marker, she said someone else had left them prior to their visit. My grieving mama’s heart found comfort in knowing someone cared enough to notice my little girl and leave flowers. A simple gesture that means a lot.
