That I know very few people have been through what I have, but I can't walk this road alone.
That, although it's been almost 3 months, people still think about her and remember her.
That silence is deafening.
That I would rather have you put yourself out there and risk saying the "wrong" thing (as if there is a "right" thing), rather than avoiding me altogether.
I've always been a person who deeply connects with music. Throughout different trials and tribulations in my life, I've found that music somehow has a way of "finding" me; certain songs come on the radio and speak to me in such profound ways. So it was hard for me to pick just one song for this topic. Instead, I've picked a few that are really meaningful to me.
For the days I feel angry:
Offspring "Gone Away"
"I reach to the sky and call out your name. And if I could trade, I would. And it feels, it feels like heaven's so far away. And it feels, it feels like the world is so cold now that you've gone away."
For the days I'm just missing her, missing being pregnant, missing her physical presence (I have yet to listen to this song without breaking into uncontrollable sobs). I would give anything to go back to the start. Anything.
Colplay "The Scientist"
"Nobody said it was easy, it's such a shame for us to part. Nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be so hard. Oh, take me back to the start."
For the days I'm struggling with my faith, desperately searching for answers in all of this (I've had a lot of those days lately):
Rufus Wainwright "Hallelujah"
"Maybe there's a God above, and all I ever learned from love was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you. And its not a cry you can hear at night, its not somebody who's seen the light, its a cold and its a broken Hallelujah."
This song will ALWAYS remind me of her (most of the time I can smile when I hear it, other times it makes me incredibly sad):
Adele "To Make You Feel My Love"
"I could make you happy, make your dreams come true. Nothing that I wouldn't do, go to the ends of the Earth for you, to make you feel my love."
This is my grandmother Virginia (Grandma Ginny for short). She is Virginia's namesake. She's an incredibly strong, brave, independent woman who has always been a role model for me. I have so many wonderful childhood memories connected with Grandma Ginny: sleepovers at her house, eating her delicious Macaroni and Cheese, doing ceramics projects in her basement. I'm so glad we could honor her by naming our sweet girl after her. Even though things didn't work out as we had hoped, I am still glad my Grandma Ginny got to "meet" her great granddaughter Virginia (even if only through my belly).
I have found a lot of solace in embarking on some new creative endeavors since we lost Virginia. I've never thought of myself as an artistic person at all. But I've heard from several people that intense grief can be a good catalyst for creativity. My theory is that the creative part of the brain becomes more active as a defense mechanism after trauma or loss. The brain allows us to feel different emotions throughout grief (sadness, anger, numbness) as a means to shielding us from feeling nothing but intense despair all the time (otherwise, none of us would recover from falling into what seems like an endless black hole). Similarly, I think that having a creative outlet serves as a means to release some of those emotions, even for those of us who wouldn't consider ourselves artistic individuals.
I've done quite a bit of painting, beading, and playing my guitar lately. I typically turn on the Pandora lullaby station, set myself up with a cup of hot tea or a glass of red wine, and just let those creative juices flow. Sometimes this process is accompanied with crying (even screaming), but I've noticed that I always feel better afterward. As far as the artwork goes, I don't share much of what I've done with anyone (even Pat). I don't paint because I'm hoping to create some masterpiece; I paint because of the release of emotions that occurs. It's a beautiful, sacred, intense process.
The painting above is from our first art therapy session with our therapist about a month after Virginia was born. She asked us to paint something that was representative of how we see our daughter's presence in our life: past, present, or future. This is my painting, and I'd rather not get into the interpretation of what it all means, because that's a little more personal than I'm willing to share right now (and it's probably pretty obvious anyway). The title of this painting is "Everywhere".
We have no way of knowing exactly when Virginia died. From what my doctor said, it could have been anywhere from 24-48 hours before she was born.
I wish that I would have spent more time with my hands on my stomach, eyes closed, being fully present in those moments and taking in what that sensation felt like. It seems like another life now. I wish I would have cherished that time with her more. I wish I would have known that feeling her move in me would be the only time I'd have with her while she was living. If so, I would have done things so.much.differently.
When we arrived at the hospital for my routine monitoring the morning we found out she didn't have a heartbeat, I could not truthfully remember when I had last felt her move, or what that last movement felt like. Was it a jab? A punch? A kick? A roll? I don't know. Not having that distinct memory will always, ALWAYS haunt me.
I'm not a huge fan of baby showers (or showers in general for that matter). So much so, that when one of my girlfriends here in CA offered to throw me one, I politely declined. However I did want an opportunity to get together with my close friends and family in Montana to celebrate the upcoming arrival of our "Baby G". My mom and friend Abby threw a perfect little informal party--no games, nothing cheesy or overly "babyish". Just a small gathering of some of the most important women in my life. It was a perfect day.
Our siblings. When Virginia was born, 3 of them became uncles, and 1 became an aunt. I am so honored that our daughter was able to give them that gift. ((By the way, can you tell who the "special" uncle is??))
I’m taking a cue from a fellow baby loss mom and taking a break from all of the heavy stuff today to post something a little different.Something that has absolutely nothing to do with my grief.Blue Moon Harvest Pumpkin Ale.Yummm.Virginia would want her mommy to continue enjoying a good microbrew every now and then, no? ;)
Today I had one of those moments where the grief hit hard and out of the blue (I’ve had several people tell me that I would have times where this would happen, but up until now I’ve been able to keep my composure at work and in public settings, for the most part). I was at work this morning, and all of a sudden, from the other side of the cubicle came the sound of Brahm's Lullaby (as it turned out, one of the employees in the Early Childhood Education Dept was replacing the batteries on a toy). Immediately, I panicked. Insert knife in heart. Twist. Repeat.
This is the song they play at the hospital whenever babies are born. I remember being at the hospital for twice weekly monitoring in the month leading up to Virginia's birth thinking, "Someday soon, they'll be playing this for my baby." This song was never played when Virginia was born. As it turns out, the hospital administrators have decided that this special ritual is reserved for those babies who are born alive. Yet another part of this experience that we were deprived of.
I really struggled with regaining control of my emotions, but somehow, I managed to avoid going into a full-blown panic attack. I think part of that had to do with the fact that there was a coworker there with me who saw what was happening, and, God bless her, found the person in charge of the suspect toy and told him to please turn the music off. She took me into a quiet room, and I explained to her why hearing that song feels like a punch in the gut. Her response was that Virginia knew that I needed to hear it. We see signs all the time that she is still here with us, even if only in spirit. And today, she was there with me.
We have too many sacred spaces to choose just one. Virginia's nursery, in all of its messy glory, is probably where I feel the most connected to her. But we also have a few shelves in our living room dedicated to pictures and mementos, as well as a rose bush right outside her bedroom window that was given to us by my coworkers (and I've somehow managed to keep it alive and blooming!).
There are two organizations I'd like to recognize:
Sharing Parents has been a lifesaver for us. They are a local, completely volunteer-run nonprofit that provides support to families who have experienced pregnancy or infant loss. They put on a memorial service every year, and also facilitate support groups and short-term grief groups (both of which we have attended). This organization has connected us with other baby loss parents, a few of whom have become good friends to us in this short amount of time that we've been a part of this community. We always talk about how we are members of a club that no parent wants to be a part of, but for some reason, we were chosen to take this journey. And because of Sharing Parents, we don't have to walk this difficult road alone.
Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep is another organization that does incredible things for grieving parents. NILMDTS collaborates with hospitals to provide professional photography services to parents who have lost a child prior to, during, or shortly after birth. The photos of Virginia that were taken by the volunteer photographer from NILMDTS are an incredible reminder of the gift that Virginia was to us, in all of her perfect beauty. We will forever be indebted to NILMDTS for the gift that they have given us.
So with that in mind, I'd invite you all, if you feel so inclined, to make a donation to one or both of these organizations in Virginia's name. These nonprofits depend largely on private donations to provide these valuable services to grieving parents, so every little bit helps. We have made small donations ourselves, and will continue to in the future, so as to give other parents the opportunity to receive the same supports. We are so blessed to have been connected with Sharing Parents and NILMDTS.
Virginia's baby book. This has been weeks in the making, and will likely take a few more months for me to finish. But it's nice to have a way to channel all of this nurturing energy and pride I have for my daughter. Her short little life has greatly impacted more people that I could have ever imagined. What a gift.
The 3 of us. This is our family. Virginia will always be included as a part of our family, even though she's not physically here with us. In a way, her presence in my life now is similar to when I was pregnant with her; she's always with me.
Saying our vows on 6/7/08. Little did we know that the "for worse" part of our vows would become our reality in just a few short years.
(**I am breaking the rules, yet again. Today's topic was supposed to be Anniversary/Birthday/Due Date. Since our loss is so fresh and we have not yet begun to even think about what we will do to commemorate Virginia's birthday next year, I decided to change today's topic to Family Portrait Before Loss.**)
So I decided to follow my own rules for today. The theme for today was supposed to be Release (balloons, doves, etc), but I'm doing something a little different. Instead, I wanted to share a poem that my aunt sent to me. I have a hard time considering myself a "survivor", because to me, that's such a loaded word. One that implies strength, courage, persistence. Those of you who are closest to me have heard my thoughts on strength. In the moments after Virginia was born, I had no idea how I would possibly make it through the coming days, weeks, and months. But somehow, here I am. I've made it through the first 9 weeks, just by putting one foot in front of the other, and taking each moment as it comes. Some days that seems pretty manageable, and other days, my feet feel like cement blocks. Those are the days that I pat myself on the back for surviving, and say a little prayer that tomorrow will be better.
We attended a memorial today that was put on by an organization called Sharing Parents. It was a beautiful, moving way to honor Virginia, and all of the other babies who are in heaven. Although I would never wish anyone membership into this exclusive club that we've become a part of as parents who have lost a baby, I am so glad we found this organization. The sense of community that exists among this group of individuals who are all bonded by baby loss is nothing short of incredible. We can look into one another's eyes and communicate without words, "I get it. I know your pain because I've felt it too."
I couldn't decide which picture to post, so I'm posting both. A rainbow reflected on the carpet, and a praying mantis. The rainbow is pretty obvious, but some may not understand the symbolism of a praying mantis (and prior to our loss, I may not have either). I did some research on this when Pat and I found one in our living room a few weeks back, and foudn that they seldom come into homes, and many cultures consider finding a praying mantis in your home to be a sign of good luck. What struck me is that in certain cultures, the insect is said to help lost children find their way home. (I've spent well over 30 minutes trying to locate the article online that said that, and of course I can't, so you'll just have to take my word for it.)
Lavender. One of the few smells I could tolerate while I was pregnant. I've continued burning lavender candles and using lavender lotion. It's amazing how powerful scents can be in bringing you back to a time in your life. The smell of Lavender will always and forever remind me of my sweet girl.
We've been very humbled by the support we've received from our friends and family (and even strangers). There's a few people missing from the above picture (shoutout to Julie, my incredible coworkers, and Cousin Corinne). Lots of love to all of you. And THANK YOU.
We came here just a few months ago, when I was 36 weeks pregnant, thinking we'd have one last carefree daytrip before the arrival of our beloved Baby G. It's a beautiful spot, and I will forever treasure these pictures.
(**Posted a day late because I had a friend in town and was busy spending time with her.)
All of these pieces of jewelry were given to me as a token of remembrance, and they each have their own special meaning. However the one on the far left in the picture is the bracelet that was given to us by the hospital. Virginia wore this bracelet in the pictures that were taken. Knowing that this bracelet was wrapped around her little wrist twice brings me an indescribable closeness and peace. This is one of the few tangible items I have left of my baby girl.
My biggest fear is that people will forget about her. So say her name. Ask about her. Talk about her. Know that it may seem as if bringing her up makes us sad, but trust that nothing that you can say will make us any more sad than we already are.
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