Tag: stillborn

Losing Everything

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Typical Tuesday evening. Watch NCIS with Bill. Walk on the treadmill for 45 minutes. Clean up and a quick change into pajamas. Lay down. Set the alarm on your iPhone. Turn on Pandora for some bedtime music.

And that’s where “typical” ends.

Pandora won’t load. Ugh. How can you sleep with no background noise to drown out the constant conversation in your head? The analyzing. The questioning. The wishing it had all been a dream.

Your iPhone wants to update. Sure, no problem. You do this over Wi-Fi all the time. You bet once you complete the update, Pandora will work seamlessly. But something is not right. Your phone will not finish downloading the software. The screen goes black. When it comes back on, it’s telling you to plug into iTunes. Ok….

Plug into iTunes. Warning screen: If iPhone cannot be updated you will need to reset it to factory settings. So you click “Update.” Nothing. Initiate freak out. When was the last time you backed up your iPhone? A year ago. Do you auto-backup to iCloud? No.

Freak out some more and go to bed so that you don’t make it any worse. Lay awake for three hours worrying you’ve lost everything.

In the morning: you’ve lost everything.

Ok, that’s extreme. You’ve lost all of your pictures. To you, it feels like everything. Ultrasound photos. “Bumpdate” photos. Videos from the Carrie Underwood concert you shared with Bill and Joanna while she was still growing, strong and healthy, inside your belly. The video of her heartbeat on your Doppler.

Everything.

Praise God for technology. Yes, technology is why you lost your photos and videos. But with technology, you posted many of the best and most special ones on Facebook. You texted videos and photos to your family and friends each week. You are able to get back some of what you have lost.

Do you ever feel you’ve lost everything only to get most of it back? There is nothing sweeter than receiving something you thought was gone forever. A lost dog is returned home by a kind soul. A lost favorite earring is recovered on the beach by a stranger’s metal detector. A lost ring down the bathroom sink is fished out by a friendly plumber. A stack of cash is dropped at the grocery store and an honest employee runs out behind you to hand it back.

But no one returns the baby you’ve “lost.” When “lost” means “died” – you can’t get anything back. Sure, you might cremate your baby and get her ashes “back” and you might even get the precious blanket and hat she wore in the hospital “back” but they are baby-less. You’d prefer the baby to the adorable hat that covered her precious little head.

You could even get “another baby,” but he would not replace the one you lost. He would simply be a sibling to your stillborn baby. He would bring joy to your life and he would be a miracle, but he wouldn’t bring his sister back.

And so, even when some of my pictures and videos were returned, there were still gaps. Still breaks in the story that was my pregnancy with Joanna. Still gaps in the hopes and dreams I had for her, for our family.

11 weeks since Joanna was born and my days and nights have a new trend: they are slowly getting better; slowly the pieces of my heart are coming back together. But for me, that which is lost will never be returned. My heart will never be completely whole again. I do believe it will get its shape “back.” It will start to feel like a solid piece again. Someday.

But this, this is not extreme: losing a baby feels like losing everything.

Joanna’s Playlist

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First – sorry for the ultra-long post, but I hope you’ll read it all.

It’s not surprising that music is important to me. I think I get my love for it, and my skill for recognizing songs quickly and artists’ voices easily, from my dad. Not a bad gift to have given, thanks! I can’t do much without music – I have to have either iTunes going or the radio when I am in my car. I listen to various playlists at work on Spotify each day. Silence is hard for me (especially since Joanna died), so I also listen to music when I am falling asleep.

Music has also played a role in mourning the loss of Joanna. From her lullaby to the song playing in the car on the way to the hospital, songs have a way of meeting me where I am, and helping me feel the emotions I need to at the moment.

I recently created a playlist – “Joanna.” The songs are ones that remind me of my pregnancy, the help me express my pain, that help me mourn and that have started to help me heal. I wanted to share the songs with you. For some, I wrote out stories or a specific reason for the song’s inclusion, for others, I just quoted lyrics.

Part One: The Joys and Memories of Pregnancy

Safe & Sound – Taylor Swift and the Civil Wars

Before Bill and I got pregnant, I had a small list of songs picked out for our future children. My plan was (and still is) to pick one special song each time I get pregnant to be that child’s lullaby. For Joanna, I chose Safe & Sound. I would play this song in the car and sing it to her in bed as I fell asleep each night. The hope was that she would recognize it when she arrived. I sang this song to her when she was born as I cuddled her little body close to mine. I know she couldn’t hear me on this earth, but I believe she heard me from Heaven. While it was meant to tell her that I would keep her safe, it still applies – she is safe in Heaven and will never know the pain and heartache that this world can bring.

Just close your eyes, the sun is going down. You’ll be alright, no one can hurt you now. Come morning light, you and I’ll be safe and sound.

Leave the Night On – Sam Hunt

This song made the playlist simply because it was my favorite new song on the radio while I was pregnant. It’s a happy song and I loved to sing it on my commute to work, which was often a time I felt Joanna moving around in the mornings. I guess she liked it too! (Or maybe my singing was awful…)

Layin’ down would be in vain. I can’t sleep with you on my brain.

Perfect Storm – Brad Paisley

Have you ever come across a song that makes you cry every time you hear it? Well, that’s what Perfect Storm does to me. It reminds me of Bill and how he loves me. While I was pregnant, my hormones tended to make me cry over every song ever recorded. Now, this song still makes me cry as I think about what it means and remember hearing it often while I was pregnant. Plus, Joanna’s second concert was Brad Paisley and he performed this song.

She destroys me in that t-shirt. And I love her so much it hurts.

Something in the Water and See You Again – Carrie Underwood

As anyone who knows me knows, Carrie Underwood is my absolute favorite artist ever. My friends joke that she is my best friend, but that she just doesn’t know it. These songs makes the playlist for a number of reasons, but the first is that, even in my loss, I know that Joanna and I shared one of the best moments as mom and daughter – I took her to a Carrie Underwood concert (The Concert for Valor). She got to hear Carrie sing these songs live from inside the bump! It was one of the best days of my life. Even though we were far away from the stage and I could only see Carrie via the big screens nearby, we were there and Joanna and I were together. When Joanna died, I couldn’t listen to Something in the Water for a while. But as I am healing, I am cherishing this special memory. See You Again is special in its own right because, for me, it is about seeing Joanna again someday in Heaven.

(Not to mention being pregnant at the same time as Carrie was a dream come true… and she just had her baby last week!)

You are my tomorrow. Sometimes I feel my heart is breaking. But I stay strong and I hold on, ‘cause I know… I will see you again. This is not where it ends. I will carry you with me till I see you again.

Part Two: The Pain of Loss

Cry – Kelly Clarkson

Whenever I feel your memory is breaking my heart, I’ll pretend I’m ok with it all. Act like there’s nothing wrong. Is it over yet? Can I open my eyes? Is this as hard as it gets? Is this what it feels like to really cry? I’m talking in circles. I’m lying, they know it. Why won’t this just all go away?

Over You – Miranda Lambert

This song was chosen because the lyrics of the chorus sum up perfectly how I felt more than once in the last few months. Besides the deepest sorrows a mom can feel when her baby is stillborn, I have been angry. The lyrics here say, “You went away. How dare you? I miss you.” I still feel those words coming up to the surface sometimes. How dare you? How dare you? (This song also reminds me of my grandfather, and we left the hospital after Joanna was born on the 7th anniversary of my grandfather’s death.) Also, Miranda Lambert was Joanna’s first concert.

But you went away. How dare you? I miss you. They say I’ll be ok but I’m not going to ever get over you.

Glory Baby – Watermark

A song that has meant so much to me… Seeing Watermark in concert as a young teen was a fantastic experience. And to hear their story of loss, and now they have three beautiful children, it’s an inspiration. Glory Baby has been a song that has helped me cry the tears I’ve needed to, but also to remember that Heaven is the only home both my miscarried baby and Joanna will ever know.

Sweet little babies, it’s hard to understand it ‘cause we’re hurting, we are hurting. But I will rest in knowing Heaven is your home and it’s all you’ll ever know.

If I Die Young – The Band Perry

I think the song title speaks for itself. However, when we were trying to get pregnant over the past 2+ years, I loved to see rainbows. They were there reminding me of God’s promise to take care of us. I saw many rainbows in the summer when we got pregnant with Joanna and I hope, as the song says, when I see rainbows from here on out, I’ll be reminded of Joanna and that she is safe in Heaven. Plus, babies born after loss are called “rainbow babies” – and we do hope to have one someday.

Lord, make me a rainbow, I’ll shine down on my mother. She’ll know I’m safe with You when she stands under my colors. Oh, life ain’t always what you think it ought to be; aint’ even grey but she buries her baby.

Held – Natalie Grant

This song says it all. God didn’t promise us an easy life or everything we ever wanted. He promised to never leave us, no matter what.

Who told us we’d be rescued? What has changed and why should we be saved from nightmares? We’re asking why this happens to us who have died to live? It’s unfair. This is what it means to be held. How it feels when the sacred is torn from your life and you survive. This is what it is to be loved and to know that the promise was when everything fell, we’d be held.

Part Three: Mourning and Healing

I Am Not Alone – Kari Jobe

I’ll let my Facebook post from a month ago sum up why I chose this song for my playlist.

“This song, that I have loved for a while now, has become so much more meaningful to me in the last four weeks. It was four weeks ago today Joanna was born. Four weeks ago on the way to the hospital this song played. And it played the next day as we left the hospital. And it played on the way to the funeral home the day we brought Joanna home. And every word of the song is true and it has helped remind me day after day… I am not alone. God went before us in all of this and He hasn’t left.”

When I walk through deep waters, I know that you will be with me. Through the valley of the shadows, I will not fear. I am not alone. You will go before me. You will never leave me. In the midst of deep sorrow, I see Your light is breaking through. Through these trials, You’ve always been faithful. You bring healing to my soul.

Not for a Moment – Meredith Andrews

After all You are constant. After all You are only good. After all You are sovereign. Not for a moment will You forsake me. Not for a moment will You forsake me

You were singing in the dark, whispering Your promise, even when I could not hear. I was held in Your arms, carried for a thousand miles to show not for a moment did You forsake me.

You’re Not Alone – Meredith Andrews

You cry yourself to sleep ‘cause the hurt is real and the pain cuts deep. All hope seems lost with heartache your closest friend.

You’re not alone for I am here. Let me wipe away your every tear. My love, I’ve never left your side. I have seen you through the darkest night and I’m the One who’s loved you all your life.

What We Ain’t Got – Jake Owen

We all wish it didn’t hurt. When you try your best and it doesn’t work. Goodbye is such a painful word. We all wish it didn’t hurt.

Part Four: Hoping for the Future

Wonderful – Christy Nockels

A song of praise and worship to my God who has been with me through it all. Even on the days when I didn’t think could praise Him.

And my life will burn for You. ‘Cause Your light shined in the darkness. I was hopeless and You lifted up my head to sing for joy with a song that broke the silence of my worship. Now I’m singing all the day. And forevermore, You will be adored, ‘cause You are wonderful.

I Am – Nichole Nordeman

This song reminds me that God is here, no matter what stage of life I’m going through. He is holding my hand and holding my heart. He is healing me and keeping me afloat each day. He is I Am.

When I am weak, unable to speak, still I will call You by name. Oh Shepherd, Savior, Pasture Maker, hold on to my hand. You say, “I am.”

Creator, Maker, Life Sustainer. Comforter, Healer, my Redeemer. Lord and King, Beginning and the End. I AM.

In Your Sight – Kerrie Roberts

There is so much about this song that I love. I love that it talks about wishing to know the wisdom of a broken heart without the pain. Yes, please! If only I could know what this is like and have the experience without hurting so badly. But it also says that God saw EVERY MOMENT before I was even born. While I believe that He could have chosen to save Joanna, I do not think He chose for her to die. I believe that the sin in the world, the Devil, he chooses that. Our free will allowed sin to enter the world and God knows what those choices lead to – and He can prepare us and make a way for us to survive those trials that sin will cause. But think about that. EVERY MOMENT. He knows what will happen and He knows how to use us and lead us in these moments.

This song says that I can rest because God is holding me, holding these moments. It’s about closing our eyes and trusting that we are going the right way, wherever God is taking us. This is important for me because I’m completely terrified of having another baby. I fully believe that Joanna needs at least one sibling, that Bill and I need at least one baby on earth to raise and love on. But getting to a place mentally and emotionally where that is something I can do is hard. This song says that because we are in God’s sight in EVERY MOMENT we can be unafraid. I want to be unafraid. I want to trust. This is part of my healing process and I am grateful for this song.

I wish I never really had to fall this far, could have the wisdom of a broken heart without all the pain. But Lord you saw these moments before I began to breathe. And You see how to use them and where they’re going to lead. And I will rest knowing you are holding me. I believe You will never say goodbye. I close my eyes, unafraid of what I cannot see ‘cause I am always in Your sight.

Thanks for reading to the end. What are your songs for joy, grief and healing?

Her Heart and Mine. Together. [The First Day I Didn’t Cry]

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I recently stumbled upon the story of Alana Marie Banerjee – a sweet baby girl who was born still at 39 weeks and 5 days. Truthfully, though I am living life as a baby loss mom, I can’t imagine the pain and sorrow felt by this mama. Every situation is different. I can say I understand the type of pain, loss and grief. In the last section of the blog post, Samantha, Alana’s mom, writes about how she and her husband are grieving, about how they are surviving after the death of their baby. I could copy and paste her writing to my blog and it would be an accurate portrayal of how I feel.

In particular, this paragraph:

“Everyone keeps asking how we’re doing, and we’re not really sure how to answer that question.  “Okay,” we say, or, “We’re hanging in there.”  The truth is, the grief comes and goes.  Sometimes it’s absolutely, devastatingly crushing, like a mountain of sorrow sitting on my chest, and sometimes it’s surprisingly, mercifully absent.  After all, it’s hard not to smile when you’re surrounded by the people you love, even if one of them is conspicuously absent.  But the gaping hole in our lives where Alana should be is never far from mind – we can push it to the side, for a time, but eventually it sucks us back in, laughing cruelly as we struggle just to stay afloat of our tears.” –Samantha Durante

Bill and I often respond to inquiries into our emotional state with “okay.” Recently, my typical response has been “alright” and that is immediately followed by, “We are surviving.” Barely. It is hard to answer the question. For me, if I say I’m doing well, good, fine, I feel like I’m lying. Day to day, I am doing “fine.” I am getting out of bed. I am getting dressed. Eating breakfast. Working. As the quote above says, I can push the grief to the side. I can be happy and have fun with those I love. But when the grief hits, it feels as fresh as that Sunday morning when they told us Joanna had no heartbeat.

In the first six weeks after Joanna died I didn’t go a single day without tears. The grief was too much to bear without allowing it to come out. Some days it manifested in anger (and still does – this is a very common reaction I have to many things), but every day it manifested in tears that sometimes could not be stopped. On top of great sadness and a wholly broken heart, I was dealing with the greatest “mama guilt” – Joanna’s death was my fault.

But then something happened.

I write Joanna’s name everywhere. In my journal. On my blog. In my notebook at work. In the shower* — and it was there that I was sent a message about two weeks ago. In the shower, I write Joanna’s name in the steam on the glass door. One day I wrote her name, as usual. And as I looked at her name so lovingly and beautifully written in cursive, a drop of water gently trickled down from the final “A” and stopped in front of my heart. And then I saw it. The droplet created a perfect heart shape. Her heart and mine. Together. And I knew it was a message from God, a message from Joanna – Joanna knew, knows, that I love her. She knows I did my best for her. And she doesn’t blame me, so I shouldn’t be blaming myself. And that was the first day I didn’t cry.

While most days are still teary, since that morning I have had a few days where the tears haven’t come (and since I am sharing feelings here, as my mom has heard from me a few times, I feel bad that I feel alright. I feel sad that I can make it through a day without crying; but I do want to learn to be happy in the memories of my sweet girl).

This past weekend and especially yesterday and today have been especially difficult. Very teary. Today marks eight weeks since the day I walked away from the hospital – with no baby. That’s the grief that “sucks us back in.” The grief that crushes on my drive home from work, alone with my thoughts and emptiness. Not to mention my heart has been hurting since learning of another mama whose baby was born still on Saturday at 28 weeks. Like I said earlier, I am living it, but somehow I still can’t imagine how she is feeling.

Likely similar to me, brokenhearted.

But surviving.

*It turns out other baby-loss mamas do this too…writing our babies’ names everywhere (or just in the shower). I met a woman on The Bump recently who writes her son’s name in the shower. He passed away in December, like Joanna. And this mama too, whose blog I found through Facebook. Finding people “like us” who have remembrance practices is good for the soul. Do you ever write the names of those you’ve lost as a way to remember? Where?

The First Month

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All posts below this one are from my original “married life” blog – Mrs J at Home. I wasn’t very good at keeping it updated, but recent events in my life, mainly the loss of my stillborn daughter at 25w5d, have made me want to share again. So, I changed the name of the blog, and here we go. Writing is both therapeutic for me, and a great way to encourage others who may be going through similar situations. Not to mention, it can help those around me understand how I am feeling and how I am grieving and healing. For an intro post to the original blog, check it out here.

As a starter post this time around (check out the About page for more), I wanted to share some of my heart. My grieving process. My thought process. I am a mother. I am a bereaved mother, and a mother with empty arms (read Joanna’s Story). When I hit the “one month” mark, I realized my heart was still breaking every day. I was sitting in my cubicle one day, unable to work. My mind was everywhere. My heartache was physically manifested in chest pain and an upset stomach. I took a few minutes to write what I was feeling. As I am approaching the “two month” mark next week, the feelings in this little writing below still hold true. Every day I am broken again. But I do feel the healing beginning…

—

One Month.

Today is January 29 and my heart is broken. I am trying to concentrate, but as I sit at work looking at my beautiful baby’s face on her last ultrasound picture, I wish for the chance to hold her again.

The truth is the heart can break. And just because it’s broken, that does not mean it cannot break again and again. It doesn’t need to be mended or healed first. Every day the pieces can just get smaller, more broken.

I once wrote a blog post in college about trying to heal heartbreak with Elmer’s glue. How you could take the heart and put it back together with Elmer’s, and that even though the cracks would come together and make the heart look whole, the glue, now invisible, would still be there. The heart, once broken, can never be the same.

Sometimes that’s what I think happens. Each day and night I cry tears of healing. The heart slowly comes back together, drying with Elmer’s glue (or just my tears, really). Then each morning I awake and know I am not dreaming; this is my life. I buried my baby after holding her in my arms. I kissed her goodbye when I should have been kissing her scrapes. I sang her a lullaby as a final love song when I should have been singing her to sleep each night. I rocked her, lifeless, when I should have been joyfully rocking her in the nursery each day. And when I wake each morning and remember the nightmare I am living, my heart breaks all over again.

People have said that I am strong. I am not sure they are right. I feel weak. I feel tired. I feel devastated. And I feel guilty.

First: guilt that I was not enough for Joanna. I could not keep her alive and she’s gone.

Second: guilt that it’s my fault. In my head, I know I did all I could for her; I know nothing I could do differently would save her. But in my mama’s heart, I am filled with sadness and disappointment in myself. How could I do this to my baby?

Third: guilt when I feel moments of happiness. How can I be happy when my daughter has died? How can I laugh when I will never hold my little girl again? Will she think I don’t miss her? That I don’t love her? Does she know I would do anything to change what happened?

From Moments Like These by Selah:

I’ve got a little girl in Heaven right now
Those streets of gold are her playground
[The time] she lived was enough to fall in love
She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever let go of.