Oct 14, 2010


This is the eve of the international Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day.  It is suggested that we light a candle at 7pm in all time zones to create a world-wide wave of light.  Apparently I missed The Walk to Remember in my area, which was on October 2nd.  I figured I would have been alerted by one of the people or groups ...  There's always next year.

I meant to write sooner.  It's not for lack of things to talk about.  It's more that Life has become very confusing and I like to be at my highest and best here, in order to honor Brynn.  My subjects for discussion as of late are a little too real, even for a blog about a dead baby. 

Noah's 28 weeks in utero, doing well.  We're all fine, sort-of. 

I had a dream awhile back that I was living alone in a hotel, some kind of transient life, and a stranger, or someone I had met once at some sort of women's group placed a marker on my lawn that signified that I was the mother of a child who had passed.  It meant a lot to me.  I asked her if I could hug her, and I started sobbing, but even in my dream I would not allow myself to say the words that were burning in my throat.  Simply, "I miss her so much."

Nobody wants to hear that.  Nobody wants to be burdened with my ongoing longing that they can't fix.  But keeping those words in is unhealthy.  And so today I say to you, I MISS HER SO MUCH.

I guess after any traumatic event, when you get back to your busy life, the trauma has a way of sneaking its way back in from time to time.  Say, in a tick, or an act of violent rage that really seemed to come out of nowhere.  Our family has gotten out of sync, each member attempting to withstand the normal pressures of life whilst under the pressures of grief for our daughter and anxiety for our new son's well-being.  Not to mention dealing with a house full of other crazy people under the same intense pressures.  We're starting to crack, as a unit.

So, I am finally engaging in the luxury that is mental health counseling, with a counselor who has personally been down this road.  This to me is a great blessing, and for me there is already a high level of trust and understanding for eachother.  It always urks me when people say things like this, but I will allow myself to urk some of you because: Unless you've been through as devastating a loss, you can't really guide a person through the process.  I've had grief counselors and well-meaning friends in the counseling profession attempt to encourage me by essentially telling me what chapter in the book I'm on.  I was told, "You're meaning-making, that's great."  Thank you, that's helpful.  Reduce my efforts to honor my daughter to a multiple-choice answer on your mid-term.

So far, my girl Emily has given me super simple advice that has really helped.  Read this book.  Take Unisom when you can't sleep (It's approved for pregnancy, and WHY didn't anyone tell me this sooner, like 2 years ago??).  Add structure to your day, schedule breaks for yourself.  Duh.  But I wasn't doing it until she told me to.

So, slowly, we begin to rebuild our fragile selves, and from there our fragile relationships, with less than three months before adding a newborn into this mix.  We can most certainly use your prayer.  And we are feeling more hopeful.

1 comment:

  1. I teared up reading this entry. Thank you for just being so truthful and letting us in, especially those of us who haven't walked down your road of grief. I have found that the best counselors are those that give simple advice that is immediately applicable. You write beautifully. Your prose has a rawness that draws the reader in without getting sentimental. Sorry to get all English-teacherey on you there. I'm praying for you and your family.