Capture Your Grief: Day 31 - Sunset

Today brings an end to the 2015 Capture Your Grief Project.  As I wrote yesterday this was a healing growing experience for me.  Thank you to everyone who followed along on Facebook, and for those who have taken the time to read here as a glimpse into our world of life after child loss. Your continued love and support is very much appreciated!

It seems fitting that we could barely see the sunset today, due to the rain storm.  While today marks the end of this project, it also marks the beginning of several dark milestone and remembrance dates for us.

October 31st last year we received the first test results that hinted something might be wrong with Elisa.  Our 1st trimester blood test results came back with a 1 in 2 chance that our baby could have down syndrome.   We spent Halloween day at the doctor's office getting more test done that would confirm for sure.  Obviously we would have loved and been grateful even if our baby had Down Syndrome, it just meant a shift in what our image of parenthood was going to be.  After a long weekend of waiting for the results, we found out she did not have Down Syndrome, it was a false positive, something that happens 5% of the time.  (We found out later, that it was likely the placental problems that caused Elisa's IUGR that triggered the false positive in this blood test).

So today marks the end of the Capture Your Grief Project, and the beginning of some of the hardest times in our lives.  Less than a month from now will mark a year from when we received the news that Elisa would likely not make it to birth.  And her first birthday is less than three months away.  In addition to this, we have the holidays, which are supposed to be joyous and exciting, but they are hard for us, as we know our two girls are always missing.

Thank you for following along these last 31 days. I hope you will come back again soon.

Capture Your Grief: Day 30 - Reflection

The Capture Your Grief Project was a new thing for me this year.  It was challenging, but it was fruitful.

I have tried to be very intentional throughout my grieving process, to use my grieving as a way to move toward healing, and as a way to sit with and learn who this new person is.  Who I am now after our miscarriage.  Who I am now after carrying our second daughter, what was supposed to be our "rainbow pregnancy"  knowing she would likely not live. Who I am now knowing nothing is guaranteed.

This project helped me be even more intentional than I thought I could be.  It focused my writing on topics, some of which I have been wanting to write about, like my gratitude and intentions with sharing our stories, and others that stretched me in to writing things I wanted to talk about, but didn't know how, like secondary grief.

This project also gave me the opportunity to share my blog, something I have been wanting to do for a while now, but I was scared.  Scared of what people might think, how they might judge me.  Self conscience about my sometimes inventive spelling, that spell check doesn't even catch :) and my less-than-perfect grammar. Uncomfortable with the thought that some might think I am being dramatic or wallowing, when really I am just doing my best to be honest and real.

Despite my fears, I am so glad this project gave me the medium, and the courage to share my blog.  In a self-giving way, in honor of my girls and in hope that I can help others who are in this life-long, unwanted club of baby loss. But also in a self-caring way, in the hopes that I can help those close to us understand what Mark and I are going through, so you can know us better and in all humbleness, so we can ask for your loving support on this journey that is our life after loss.

Capture Your Grief: Day 29 - What Heals You

What Heals You

Carly Marie, the woman who set up the Capture Your Grief Project does a grief work shop called "What Heals You"

She says instead of asking "WHY" ask "What Heals You?"

I catch myself asking why a lot still, but I know that I won't find an answer. Or if I ever did, nothing, nothing, would be reason enough to lose my children.

So it isn't a productive question.

What Heals You, is productive.

What Heals Me, is talking about our losses, telling our story, telling our daughter's stories.

What Heals Me, is connecting with people, opening myself up and offering myself as a connection for others who are traveling down this road of baby loss.

What Heals Me, is being able to be honest about my feelings, to be authentic in everything that I do now, because life is too short and too fragile to mask who I really am

Capture Your Grief: Day 28 - Reach Out

After Elisa was diagnosed I balanced between wishful thinking and fear, between hope and utter despair.

One of the things that kept coming through my mind during all of the hard times was how I did not know how I could keep going without the loving support of those around me.  I was lucky to have the support of family, a warm home to come home to, health insurance and a job where I could work from home to continue working while on bedrest.

Shortly after Elisa was diagnosed,  I read a blog post of a woman in a similar situation as I was in, in that halfway through her pregnancy, the doctors told her the baby would likely not make it.

The difference was, at the first hint of trouble, her partner left her. She could no longer work due being on bed rest.  She didn't have any other family support. Things crumbled around her and when she left the hospital after her daughter was stillborn, she spent the night alone, sleeping in her car, because she didn't have anyone or anywhere to go.

I was heartbroken for her. I remembered the paralysis and helplessness I felt after Elisa's diagnosis.  Thinking I didn't know how I could go on without her.  It was the love and support of friends and family that kept my hope up, to move forward every day.  And then after she passed away,  the only reason I ate was from Mark or other family members cooking for me.  I was able to get out of bed by the encouragement of others.  I could not imagine how sad and alone that woman must have felt.

To many people, the homeless are seen as people who must have done something wrong in their lives, got in to drugs, committed crimes, and that is why they lost their jobs and their homes. That they somehow deserved the life the now had and that something like that could never happen to us. But as I read that woman's blog, in the depths of my own grief, I realized how that could have been me on the streets too, had circumstances been different.

Had I not been lucky enough to find a man who stuck by my side as we faced the oncoming storm, I would have had to endure the loss of a baby and of a partner.  Had I not had a job that allowed me to work while on bed rest, I would have had no income beginning November of last year.  Or a job that  paid me and guaranteed me a job back while I was on "maternity leave" I would have had no way of being able  to pay for my medical bills, light bills, rent.  Had I not had the support of family and friends, helping me to get back on my feet I could have lost everything.

I know that is a pretty extreme scenario coming from where I am, but it did make me think, how different my life would be, how my loss experience would have been had I not had the immense network of support I have today. I made a vow after reading that woman's story that I would not judge what brought someone to the situation they were in.

At that point in time, the only opportunity I had to get out of the house was our weekly or twice weekly appointments to our OB and to our High Risk Doctor's office.  Both of which were on first hill in downtown.  On the James street exit, we often saw homeless people asking for money or food.

It was November, it was cold and rainy.

So Mark and I decided we wanted to give back how we could.  We went out and bought a bunch of fleece blankets, and safeway grocery cards.

Every appointment we went to from then on, we handed out a blanket and a safeway card to each homeless person we saw.

I now keep safeway cards with me, and blankets in the back of the car all the time, so that we can reach out and give back in honor of Elisa our little fighter   With each card and blanket we give out, I wonder what sorrows each person has been through to end up where they are now any my heart aches for them.

Capture Your Grief - Day 17: Secondary Loss

This post is out of order, days wise, because it has been incredibly hard for me to write.  It has been mulling around in my head since I first saw it on the project list in September, before I started, and it has sat in my draft folder, half written since the actual day, 10 days ago.

This is hard because there are so many secondary losses with pregnancy loss.

Loss of future, loss of milestones.  I have various friends who have children that were born near each of my babies due dates.  A cousin who has a daughter born just days before Luca's due date, and niece born a month and a half after Elisa's due date.  They are constant reminders of what would have been, what could have been. 

In some ways, having these family members with ages so close to what my girls would be is nice.  I think every day about what my girls might be doing, if they would be walking yet, talking yet, and these girls show me just that.  I would be thinking about it anyway, they are just the physical reminders.

On the other side though, I will admit it is hard.  I see them and I wish my girls were here too playing with them, learning to roll over with them, smiling at me, with them.  It just hurts that both of my children are not here, that I don't get those experiences.  I will never see them walk, talk, roll over, have  a first day of school, a first date, get married or even have their own children.  All of those are losses.

The other type of secondary loss that has been so hard is the loss of relationships.  Especially losing Elisa, has changed our relationships with people. Being on bedrest limited our social outings, and then once she died, I did not feel like being social for a very long time.  We lost connections with people.

Also it was eye opening to us in the days and months after our loss, how grief changed us, and how some people were OK with the "new" us and for others it was more difficult.  Some people were incredibly supportive, others maybe didn't know how to comprehend the loss themselves, or maybe didn't like to see us sad.  Regardless of the reason, as a result they either saw us less, or when they did see us, suggested or insisted that it was time for our grief to be over, and for us to continue on as we were before.  But the thing is, we aren't the same as we were before.  We have been through one of the hardest things in life and we are not the same people we were before.

Relationships were also changed with friends and family members who had children around when Elisa was born.  I grieve that our niece and Elisa will never be best friends, the way my cousin and I were growing up.  I grieve the loss of the closer relationship I would have had with my sister-in-law had we both been on maternity leave together. I still catch myself daydreaming of what it would have been like had Elisa lived.  Going out the four of us, or visiting each other and exchanging stories of late night feedings and blowout diapers.  Watching our relationship as sisters grow, as we watched our girls grow together. 

Right now my grief is still so raw, and what could have been is still too hard for me to deal with every day of what is. 

I love our niece so much, I wish Elisa were here to share in that love.

I want so much for things to be different.  I grieve what would have been, what should have been.

Capture Your Grief: Day 27 - Self Portrait

When Elisa was first diagnosed, I searched the internet to find books, support groups and blogs that might help me navigate this hell of knowing we would likely lose another child.  One thing I constantly ran in to was the concept of "new normal" .  Once you have experienced a loss like this, you are never the same.

Yes I am still Maria, but I am a different Maria.

I am am the Maria who can no longer say "it won't happen to me" or that "things always work out"

This experience has changed me in so many ways, down to the core.

In some ways I have changed for the better,  I am kinder, I am more patient, I try to see the struggle and the battles every other human on this earth  is fighting, to not judge because I don't know what they have been through.

I do my best to enjoy every day I have with Mark, with my mom, with loved ones, because I know all too truly how quickly things can change and all can be lost.

I am strong because I know I have already been through one of the hardest things in life.  I am continuing to live after my child has died.

In other ways though, I have lost joy, some of the glimmer and nearly all of my innocence in life.

Things that were once important to me, no longer are.

I worry, even more than I did before.

The little voice in my head that says "what if Mark gets in a car accident on the way home?" is harder to silence.  Before, I could say, "that is silly, that is very unlikely to happen".  But a death of a child is also unlikely and it has happened to me, so what is to say something else bad can't happen?

My faith has been crushed,  My faith used to be a core strong part of who I am,  we went to church every week, we met in church choir of all places....but I don't have that faith anymore, I can't have that faith.  I am not saying I am giving up on my faith all together, I am working at it. But with so many of the platitudes I have heard, coming form people who are from a religious view, like "God has a plan for this"  "it was God's will" "everything happens for a reason" I just can't take those anymore.  I do not believe in a God who would will this to happen.

My self portrait is so very different than what I expected it to be by now.  By the time I was almost 30 (one month away!) I though I would have at least one child, and one more on the way, if not two. I do, but they aren't here, I am invisible as a mother by most people.  Couple our losses with our infertility and here we sit, 3 1/2 years after trying to start a family, with no living children, and the fear that we may never have them.  Trying to keep hope, but finding it harder and harder with each month that passes.

Slowly over time, I am finding my new normal.  Coming to terms with my new, very different life. Trying to wrangle in my thoughts of worry. Getting up each day, trying to live for my children who never had a chance to live.  But the reality of the situation is that I will never be the same person I was before all of this happened.

Capture Your Grief: Day 26: Gratitude

Although the last few years have been incredibly hard, I am forever grateful for so many things.  The best thing I think I can do here is just list them

• For Mark - he has been my rock and my strength through everything we have been through.  Losing Luca, Losing Elisa, our struggles to get pregnant.  He is the most loving, compassionate and caring person I have ever met and I am lucky to call him my husband.  He lets me cry and has been by my side in the most gut wrenching devastating times of our lives.  He also knows just the right time and when to make me laugh
• For My mom - right behind Mark in my line of support, has is my mom.  She fixed us meals when neither of us had the energy to do so, we were so engulfed in grief.  She stayed by my side during those first very vulnerable weeks after Elisa died.  I am so heartbroken at the loss of my daughters, I cannot imagine her grief in seeing her own daughter so grief stricken, but knowing she can't fix it
• All of our friends and family who have shown us support.  People have come out of the woodwork, friends we haven't talked to in years have written us notes.  Others send us random emails or texts to just check in or say that they are thinking of us. Even how we can tell a friend or family member is hugging us differently because they know this is hard.  Just acknowledging our pain helps so very much. To those of you who have done that, thank you, we will never be able to fully express our gratitude
• Friends who have traveled this road before us who helped us to not feel so alone.  Those who shared their stories, so I could reach out to you, and other who told their stories after.
• Our doctors, specifically our OB and our fertility doctor who have held our hands during some of our hardest days
• For access to healthcare, although we have had some bad experiences (excluding our OB and fertility doctors mentioned above who have been wonderful) even with the instances of insensitive care, or non-personal care, at least we have access to care, something that many other people don't have
• Health Insurance, without which we would be hurried in 10s of thousands of bills
• A home to come home to after all of the sad days
• People who "get it". Those who have walked this road before and know what it feels like, and those special souls who have not been down this road of child loss, but still have the words (or no words) that show they truly get our sorrow
• Anyone who reads this blog, or has followed my Capture Your Grief journey here or on Facebook.  For allowing me to be me, to be a mother who is grieving her lost children. For allowing me the space to process my grief without judgment.  For supporting me.