Tag: grief

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8-23-2020 – Astrid’s due date

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.

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Someone remembered

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.

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Visiting my baby

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.

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Therapy appointment #2

Sunday night (7/19/20,) Franciscan University hosted a live stream conference called, Night of Hope. I missed out on the first part of the broadcast (due to not realizing that the times listed were EST.) However, when I did log on, I got to hear Sr. Miriam James Heidland, SOLT, answer a question about vulnerability with the LORD. (At 2:31:20 of the conference video – link above.) What she said could not have been more appropriate for what I’m working on by going to therapy. I feel her response can apply to vulnerability in my human relationships, not just my relationship with God and is a beautiful way to re-frame the difficult, sorrowful, things in life that I’ve experienced.

In case you can’t read my handwriting, here’s what I wrote down from her response.

“The sorrowful mysteries of our life never go away… Until they’re transformed, they don’t allow blessing, they transmit suffering on to other people.”

“Suffering that is not transformed, is transmitted.”

“Allow the LORD into these places.” “Invite the LORD into these places.”

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Thoughts after therapy

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.

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5/20/20 – The night before

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.”

This isn’t how it is supposed to be.

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5/19/20 – Additional planning

Astrid’s Grandma Patti (Jake’s mom) offered for us to use the baptismal gown that Jake and his siblings were baptized in to wrap around Astrid when she is laid to rest. The dress was made by her Great-grandma Lois and is a similar design to the one that Grandma Lois made for the Shecklets’ baptisms. Jake brought the gown over to the funeral home yesterday afternoon.

Today we heard back from our Judy from our parish, who has been guiding us through planning Astrid’s funeral mass. We did some minor additions to music and asked for Shecklet #3 to change roles with Jake so she could read the intentions at mass. Shecklet #1 will read the first reading (Wisdom 3: 1 – 3, 9) and Shecklet #2 will read the second (Philippians 3: 20, 21.)

Two of our friends worked together to create a Meal Train for us for the next few weeks and we have been blessed with two meals thus far. Much like when we returned home from my brain surgery in CA, being provided a meal during a time of recovery, and in this case, recovery & loss, is a gift that means so much. I know people say “it’s the least I can do,” but really, it means way more to us.

I keep scrolling through the photos we took of our time with Astrid in the hospital. We still have not had a chance to look at the ones taken by our nurses, but we will get there. The organization, Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep, that is available to take photos for families experiencing the loss of their babies was not able to come to the hospital to take photos for us, but they do offer a retouching service. Once we’ve looked at all of the pictures we have of Astrid, I plan to send a selection to them in hopes that they can be retouched if possible.

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5/15/20 – Kindness

I stopped at Caribou after having my COVID test this morning. The person in front of my paid for my drink. I had to pull into a parking space because I was so overwhelmed by emotion and shocked that of all the days that this could happen, today is when it did. (It’s never happened to me before.) I wish I could have told the person who treated me how much their kind gesture meant to me.

The OB I saw yesterday contacted the hospital medical director and strongly suggested there be an exception for me should my COVID test result not be back by Saturday morning. He called this afternoon and assured me that I would be admitted regardless of whether the result has been returned. I’m grateful for his persistence. I now have one less thing to be anxious about.

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5/14/2020 – A rose 🌹

Jake and I have received many emails and text messages offering prayers, love and support since we shared the news of our baby’s heartbeat stopping. One email I received in particular today made me stop and pause. My friend concluded her note saying, “Mary Mother of God, Our Mother, send Roni a rose from heaven to comfort her darling baby home.” Shortly after reading her email, our doorbell rang and a flower arrangement was dropped off on our porch. In the arrangement were three orange roses. The friends who sent the arrangement had no idea the other friend emailed me and said what she did.

UPDATE: 5/15/20 – my friend who sent the arrangement that included roses texted me the following: “I called the florist yesterday and told them the ‘rest of the story’ of the flowers showing up after you read a friend’s email and the rose and all that. I spoke to the delivery driver. She was in awe, because she said she sat in the parking lot for 20 minutes trying to get her GPS to work on her phone and your address wouldn’t show up… and she was running late. But she wasn’t late, it was perfect timing for you to get the email and THEN the flowers. 🌹”

I met with an OB this afternoon to discuss the next steps I will need to take following the news of our baby’s death. He was very kind. I’m scheduled to be induced on Saturday, 5/16. I’ve never been induced before…

I was told I needed to have a COVID test prior to being admitted, so I scheduled that for tomorrow morning. Even with a “rush” put on my test, it isn’t a sure thing the result will be back before I’m supposed to report to the hospital. I’m really hoping that it’s back in time. I have enough anxiety right now. I don’t need to add to it by having to wait longer than Saturday to start the induction.