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Ways to Help a Grieving Child

03 Mar 2016 Leave a comment

by Natalie in Dealing with Death, From My Heart, My Angel Baby, Parenting Battles Tags: baby death, baby dying, children grieving, dealing with death, death, grief, Helping children with grief, Losing a child, loss of a child, sorrow, stillborn, ways to help a grieving child

My oldest son reaches in to kiss his baby brother before we close his casket and bury him.

What’s harder than living with a broken heart? Watching one of your children try to live with one.

Earlier this week my son was sobbing before school. He didn’t want to go. He has always hated school. In fact I wrote a few weeks ago about him trying to stay home after a class election didn’t go in his favor.

But this time I couldn’t figure why he wanted to stay home. I asked him if something had happened or if kids were being mean. No.

He couldn’t come up with a reason.

All day long I stewed over what it could be. Is he nervous about his science class? Does he worry about kids sitting by him at lunch? Are they teasing him at recess?

Then it dawned on me. We visited the cemetery Sunday – the cemetery where his baby brother is buried. We took a water bottle and a kitchen knife. We cleaned off his head stone and cut back the overgrown grass from its edges.

My second son wipes away dirt and grass from his little brother’s headstone.

It was a beautiful sunny day. But that trip brought back rain clouds for my 9-year-old son. The flood of emotions resurfaced as we spent time thinking of our lost family member.

This time of year is always hard for our family. Six years ago it was a hopeful, exciting time. We were waiting for our third baby boy to join our family. Then our joy quickly turned to sorrow as we discovered he had died. I delivered him stillborn at 37 weeks.

Since then our family has learned a lot about grief. More than we ever wanted to know.

I sat down with my oldest son Monday afternoon and we had a heart-to-heart talk about missing his brother. He confessed that he was overwhelmingly sad about not having him in our family.

Uggh. I hate that. More than hating the fact that I can’t get over the loss of my baby boy. I wish no one else had to feel the same way. I wish no one felt hurt, anger or sorrow because of his death. I wish I could place a giant happy bubble around the ones I love and cocoon them from sadness.

Regretfully I cannot.

So I gave him a grief journal. I told him he could use it to write to his little brother. Part of our grief (because our child died before he was born) has been mourning the fact that we never got to spend time with our baby boy.

I my son that he could write to his brother about things he wished he could do with him. Tell him what makes him sad, happy, scared or excited. Tell him what he remembers about the day he was born. Tell him how much he can’t wait to spend time with him.

We all know writing is therapeutic for me, why wouldn’t it be for my child?

I’m hoping he can pour his heart into the pages of that colorful notebook. And that it will serve as a positive outlet for his sorrow.

There are a few other things I have found that help my children when they are consumed by sadness.

I am in no way an expert. I have no professional education or training on loss. I acknowledge that every person grieves differently. But the following things have helped my children mourn and internalize the loss of the brother they never got to know.

And since I can’t create that happy bubble cocoon, I thought that the least I could do is pass on some of these ideas in case it may help another mother help her grieving child.

First, speak openly – Right after our son passed away I knew in my heart that I had to be honest with my two living children. One of them was nearly three years old, the other nearly two. They were really young. But I felt like they could handle the truth.

I told them that their baby brother died.

I refused to use phrases like, “he is sleeping,” “he is in a better place,” or “he passed away.”

I didn’t want them to be afraid to go to sleep. I didn’t want them to think that our place wasn’t good enough for their brother and I don’t even know what “passed away” is supposed to mean. If I can’t figure that one out, then how can my two young children?

There are so many phrases associated with death that are meant to lighten the blow. Words like “deceased” or “slipped away” are often used in place of “dead” or “died.”

But nothing could lighten my blow. No matter how you said it my son had died.

Being open and honest with my children allowed me to eliminate confusion for them. I still speak freely and openly about his death. And they can as well. I answer all of their questions no matter how strange they seem.

We have had many, many conversations about what happened. And while I don’t know that this is the right tactic for every family, it has worked wonders for ours. My children feel safe talking about their brother’s death.

Let Them Cry and Let Them See You Cry –

Crying is healthy. Crying is natural. Yet sometimes we feel ashamed to show others that we are sad. It’s like there is something wrong with us.

Well there is something wrong. Something terrible sad and terribly difficult happened. We buried one of our family members.

That is huge.

I tell my kids that there’s no reason to pretend that we don’t get down about it sometimes. They have seen me sob over my son. We have all hugged and cried as we have watched his memorial video or the home video we have of his time in the hospital or visited the cemetery.

Letting my kids show emotion about the loss of their brother has allowed them to work through it when it comes. It has minimized them bottling up their sadness.

Give Them Something to Hold on to – My oldest son has a wallet-sized picture of his brother that he keeps in a protective plastic sleeve. He sometimes puts it in his backpack or hoodie pocket and carries it to school.

It reminds him that his brother was real. It keeps him close to his thoughts.

He will put it on his bedpost or inside his wallet. He will show it proudly to others.

I think having a tangible object to hold close to his heart helps with the pain.

Start some traditions – I mentioned earlier that this time of year is difficult for our family. All around us the world is awakening from its slumber. New life is forming as winter melts into spring. While this brings a lot of hope and excitement, it also brings us memories from a darker time. The day that our baby died – April 22 – is particularly rough.

So we have started to do some special traditions to honor his memory – things that we can look forward to when we are feeling sad. (You can read about what we did a couple years ago here)

About one week before his death/birthday I create an online Facebook event for friends and family. I call it “Serve in Luca’s Memory.”

People did so many great things for us after Luca died. It brought us peace and comfort to see the service of others. So, we thought, why not help others? It can be a way to give back and keep his memory alive.

Friends and family members post pictures and comments of things that they do for friends or strangers. From helping a friend move, to donating clothing to others to sending someone flowers. It’s so nice to see what people do for each other in his memory.

We spend Luca’s “angelversary” together as a family. We visit the cemetery and take him small gifts. Sometimes we invite friends and family together to do a service project for Utah Share. Last year we planted a tree together at a local park.

luca's tree 2

Each year we end the night by sending lanterns to our baby boy. We light wish lanterns, watch them fill with hot air and then float off to the heavens.

Those are some of the things we do to celebrate our little Luca’s birthday. They give us something to look forward to on our day of dread.

We do other things throughout the year as well. One thing we have grown to love is donating gifts to a child that would be Luca’s age at Christmas time. We contact a local shelter for a name of a little boy in need. Then we buy him presents and deliver them to the shelter.

There is nothing we can do to bring back our baby boy. But helping and serving helps us feel like we are giving back to others who are having a difficult time. It softens our sad hearts and gives us things to look forward to.

I am sure there are many, many more ways to help children cope with tragic loss. But these are a few things that have worked for us. While I hope no one else has to see their children grieve the loss of a close loved one, I know that it happens to far too many.

If you know of any other great ideas – for children or adults – I’d love to hear them. Because grief is always changing and different things may work better at different times. I am always looking for more ways to work through the sorrows of my heart.

Celebrating Our Angel

24 Apr 2014 Leave a comment

by Natalie in Dealing with Death, My Angel Baby, Uncategorized Tags: Celebrating our Angel, Luca Birthday, stillborn

How do you celebrate an angel baby’s birthday? That’s a very good question. I’m pretty sure there isn’t a codebook on what to do. Some might not do anything. But for our family it wouldn’t feel right if we didn’t do something to remember Luca- even if it is something small.

I realized that I have never officially written about what we do to remember him on his angel day. It’s not huge. It’s not a big fan fare. But it’s a quiet day for us to talk about him and remember the day we got to see him.

It’s a day where we gather close as a family. I take the boys out of school and my husband takes the day off work. I don’t know why but it feels better going through the day together.

This year I cuddled on the couch with my two oldest boys and read them a junior novel. They kept begging me to read on so we sat there for nearly an hour enjoying the story.

We watched the DVD of songs and pictures we have of Luca and we all cried. It’s a bittersweet thing to sit back and truly remember that all of that actually happened.

After our youngest woke up from his nap we headed to the dollar store where I let each of the boys pick something out to “give” to Luca for his birthday. My 7-year-old gave him a recorder, my 5-year-old gave him a goop-filled dinosaur egg and my 21-month-old gave him a pack of miniature farm animals. I picked out a set of miniature monster trucks.

We took them to the cemetery and carefully placed them on the headstone. My thoughtful 7-year-old son also brought him a bunch of jewels and a sprig of flowers from the backyard of our new home.

My sweet 5-year-old wrote him a special note that read: “Happy birthday Luca. You’re the best. Mom is having a baby. I just bought you an egg filled with jell and a dinosaur is inside. I have one of your onesies.”

My youngest played with each farm animal before resting it near Luca’s picture on the headstone.

We sat at the cemetery for nearly an hour while the wind blew around us, spinning all the nearby pinwheels. I think I’ve written before about how pinwheels remind me of Luca. When they spin I imagine him flying near, turning the spokes.

The boys each took turns racing to the life-size Jesus statue that sits a few hundred yards south of Luca’s grave. My oldest did it in 43 seconds. The second oldest took 53.

I don’t like going to the cemetery. But on Luca’s birthday it feels different. I like to sit there and soak it all in. I like when by boys play around there. It’s like they are playing with him.

In the evening we went out to dinner. Because who wants to cook on a day like that?

This year I was kind of nervous because my 5-year-old watched in wonder as the team of waiters sang to someone nearby who was having a birthday. Then he asked me what I thought the waitress would do if we told her it was Luca’s birthday. He had already mentioned to the dollar store checkout lady that we were buying things for, “our dead brother.”

I didn’t know how it would all play out. So I took the safe way out and told him it might make the waitress sad so we better not mention it. Maybe I should have let him tell her it was his birthday but sometimes it’s just too hard to see people’s reaction.

We planned on meeting friends and family at a park in our new town after dinner to have cupcakes and work on a service project. But the weather was crazy.

We haven’t moved into our new house yet so we didn’t know what we were going to do. Luckily my sister volunteered to let us all come to her house to celebrate.

We flipped through photo albums of Luca’s birthday while we ate cupcakes and drank strawberry lemonade.

DSCF7682 Some of us worked on making new-sew hats to donate to Utah Share in Luca’s memory. We were able to
make 87. It was so easy and I love that my boys were able to help make them. My oldest keeps talking about wanting to make more.

Several people brought items to donate to Utah Share in Luca’s memory. I figure that since Luca doesn’t need birthday presents it’s a good time to give to others instead. We got some stamps, thank you cards, hand-sewn outfits, thinking-of-you cards, plastic bags, press n seal, stickers and more.

I made some tiny gowns and wraps before we started packing up our house so I could donate them in Luca’s memory. Several people gave me cute fabric to use for the gowns. Now I can pair them with some of the cute hats we made.

Normally we end Luca’s day by sending lanterns to him in heaven. This year was different. The wind and rain kept us from keeping with that tradition. I told the boys we would try one and we definitely tried. It nearly lit my husband’s shirt on fire as it drifted back and forth while he held it. We decided it was too wild and unsafe so we threw it on the wet sidewalk and let the rain (and my two oldest sons) douse it out.

Like I said, we don’t do much for Luca’s birthday. It’s a quiet day for all of us to reflect on our guardian angel. It’s a sad day. But it’s a good day. People may think I’m crazy and wonder why I hold on to my little baby. I can’t explain why I do, but I know I’ll hold on to him forever.

Dozens of friends and family members joined in and gave service in Luca’s memory this past week. I love that each of them took the time to do something to honor him. It’s a small way to help keep him alive.

Here’s what a few of them did:

– One of my friends made cards that said “Random Act of Kindness in Memory of Luca Clemens” and tied them to pens and dragonfly bookmarks. Then she handed them out to random people at the store. One lady was in tears when she told her who Luca was.

– My sister-in-law and her family (who live out of state) took flowers to a lady who was recently widowed. Then they sent lanterns to Luca in heaven. I was happy to find out someone was able to get lanterns up in the sky.

– I had a friend who worked on sewing 23 aprons for teacher appreciation week at her local elementary school. Then she drove carpool when it wasn’t her turn even though it was an inconvenience.

– Another friend brought up her neighbor’s garbage cans and babysat her sister’s babies.

– My sister took her two kids to my mom’s house and weeded her flowerbeds.

– One of my friends made salsa, guacamole and homemade cookies to take to her work – the NICU, labor and delivery and postpartum unit at a local hospital.

– Another friend bought a coworker breakfast Tuesday morning.

– I had one friend who spent the week focusing on complimenting others. “I think a lot of nice things but I never say them out loud,” she wrote. “Sometimes all it takes is a simple and pure compliment to uplift someone’s life. Even if it comes from a stranger.”

Two LONG Years Later … My Angel’s Story

19 Apr 2012 4 Comments

by Natalie in Dealing with Death, My Angel Baby Tags: baby death, death, grief, loss of a child, sorrow, stillborn, trial

It has been 728 days since I have held my baby boy. For me, that’s 728 days too many. Delivering him stillborn has forever changed me.

The past two years have been very long, filled with many ups and downs.

There are some things that have gotten better for me. I don’t have nearly as many nightmares as I used to and my arms don’t ache to hold him like they once did.

But no matter how far removed I get from his death I will always yearn to have him here.

I think I will always watch children his age with wonder. I will wonder what it would be like to have him. Would he be wrestling with his brothers? Would he be sleeping in a toddler bed? Would we be fighting him to give up his pacifier? Would he like to cuddle to his mom?

Sometimes I can’t help but feel bitter. Like when I see three brothers playing together at the McDonald’s play center or at the park. Why don’t my boys get to play with their little brother?

I’ve run into a strange phenomenon lately where new people have come into my life that do not know about my third son. It is so bizarre to me that there are people out there that don’t know about my most life-changing experience, my most heart-wrenching loss. And yet, how can I expect them to know?

Now that I am pregnant I get a lot of comments about having a “third” son. Most people laugh and tell me that I must be really good at “making boys.” They don’t quite know what to say when I tell them that this is actually my fourth son.

I hate that my family will never be all together – at least not in this life.

Sometimes I feel like the world is forgetting him – that his absence means nothing to anyone else. I feel like people must think I am crazy for missing someone who has been gone for two years. Especially when it’s someone I never got to know.

But that’s what people don’t understand – unless they too have buried their baby. Not getting to know Luca has been one of the hardest parts of the grieving process for me. I have no memories. No sounds. No smells. No happy moments. Only times filled with sorrow and loss.

On the other hand, sometimes I feel like I am actually defrosting. Like my sorrow is no longer crippling me and I am now only half numb.

Hopefully as time goes on I will continue to find my “normal” self again.

On Sunday, my family will celebrate Luca’s second birthday by floating wish lanterns to him in heaven – our Tangled-like tradition that I hope to continue until we find our lost prince.

In honor of Luca’s memory I am reposting his story:

My Angel’s Story

I was tired, I was huge and I was ready to have my baby boy. But not ready for the way it would all turn out. I would have happily carried him weeks beyond my due date if it meant he had a chance of being born alive.

Honestly? I wasn’t quite ready for a third child. I always wanted my kids close in age, but my two boys, ages 3 and 1, were a lot to handle. I was okay with waiting a while. But both my husband and I had strong impressions that we needed to try for another baby.

Despite those impressions, I was still extremely nervous about how I could be a good mom to three boys under the age of 3. Each day I grew, not only in circumference, but also in my confidence in being able to raise three tiny spirits.

On April 21, 2010 I had my 37-week check-up. Luca’s movement had been slowing down significantly for a while now and I was worried. I discussed my concerns with my doctor and we listened to his heartbeat, which appeared to be strong. So, my doctor and I decided that maybe little Luca was running out of room in my overcrowded womb.

The beginning of my pregnancy was a piece of cake. I felt better than I had with my other pregnancies and had virtually no morning sickness. But the end was pretty bad. I kept having sharp pains in my side and my muscles were aching.

Fearing the worst

My mother-in-law kept my other two boys while I went to my appointment so I decided to lie down and take a nap until she brought them home. That’s when I started panicking because I couldn’t remember the last time I felt Luca move.

I know what some of you are thinking? Why didn’t you rush to the hospital??? Knowing what I know now, my advice to any pregnant woman who is the least bit concerned about her baby, would be, GET TO THE HOSPITAL, NOW. Speed if you have to. What are they going to do? Tell you your baby’s fine and send you home? Hopefully. Laugh in your face about your unnecessary worries? Never. In all reality, even if I had been in labor and delivery when Luca’s heart stopped beating, they still wouldn’t have been able to save him. There wasn’t anything I could have done. I realize that now. But there are other reasons why babies stop moving. In my opinion it’s just better to get it checked out as soon as possible.

I literally worried all night about my Luca’s movement. I think the strong feelings and confirmations I had received that I was supposed to have another baby kept me waiting for his little legs to kick or his fists to punch. Luca’s pregnancy was my only pregnancy I haven’t run into problems conceiving. I thought that was a sure sign that this truly was meant to be. It was meant to be, just not in the way I hoped or expected.

I waited, and waited for him to move. Finally at about 2:30 a.m. I couldn’t take it any longer. I got up and sat in the bathtub for a long time. Travis came in and convinced me to go to the hospital. My mom came over to sit with my boys so we could run up to the hospital. When I got there, they hooked me up to a monitor and we found the baby’s heartbeat. Well, at least we thought we did — turns out the sound of my own heartbeat was reverberating back. We didn’t know that for sure until they hooked me up to a basic ultra sound machine and zoomed in on the heart. I knew immediately that my son had died. I looked at my husband and he knew it too. We had seen a number of live, beating hearts in ultrasounds. This one was still.

But the nurses said nothing. They tried to remain calm as they called my doctor and asked him to come in. He arrived at about 4 a.m. to confirm my baby’s death. We all cried — nurses included. He told me I could go home and come back later to deliver my baby or he could induce me right away.

The thought of leaving the hospital knowing that I was carrying my dead child made me cringe. I knew that having a stillborn was going to be the worst thing I had ever experienced. Delaying it wouldn’t change anything. They wheeled me into a corner room and posted a grieving sign on the door.

Shortly thereafter we started calling family members to let them know they were going to have to come in sometime that day to simultaneously tell Luca “hello” and “goodbye.”

Sharing the Heart-Breaking News

My poor mother. She was the first to hear of his death. And she had to take the news while watching over my other two little ones in my quiet, lonely home. I can’t imagine how alone she must have felt. She texted me awhile after I called to tell her he had died, asking what she should tell my other boys when they woke up. That literally broke my heart. What did I want her to tell them?

We didn’t want to tell him that their brother was “sleeping” or that he was “gone.” We decided to tell them the truth. That he had died. They were sad, but their grief was expressed differently than an adult. They didn’t cry much but they did throw more tantrums and asked to be held a lot more.

Telling people and hearing their reactions was one of the hardest things for me. I could handle the pain that I was going to have to bear, but having to inflict some of that pain on others made me so sad. It still makes me sad.

Our family members started gathering at the hospital and at our home waiting for the time when they would meet Luca. I knew we would only ever have a few short hours with him and so I prepared to face my nightmare with a smile on my face. This was the only time I was going to hold my baby. The only time I could take pictures of his beautiful face. I wasn’t going to let my grief overcome my ability to make the moments meaningful.

I don’t know if it’s all in my head, but I don’t think I had the full power of my epidural during his delivery. It was by far my most painful delivery. Not only emotionally, but physically. Maybe that’s because I didn’t have the anticipation of meeting my healthy baby to pull me through. With each painful push, I knew I was a step closer to meeting a baby I wouldn’t take home. I’ll never forget the shock in my doctor and nurses voices and faces as Luca was born. They all gasped in unison. He had suffered a cord accident that was visible the moment he was delivered. The cord was wrapped around his neck several times and it contained a true knot. Umbilical cord knots are extremely rare and knots resulting in a baby’s death are even more rare. Although I will never be grateful for what happened to my son, there is something I am extremely grateful for: The fact that we found out why he died.

He was born at 5:13 p.m. and weighed 5 pounds 13 ounces. He was beautiful with curly reddish brown hair and rosy red cheeks. We each took turns holding him and taking pictures. Utah Share came and casted molds of his hands and feet. Pat Wimpee came and took dozens of priceless photos of him and our family. I don’t know what I’d do without those photos. I think I would forget the details of his face. The wrinkles of his toes. The size of his tiny fingers. At times I stared at his little body, waiting for his chest to rise or his eyes to open. He literally was perfect.

We had Luca in our hospital room for five short hours. My legs were still numb from my epidural, so I was forced to watch everyone’s encounters with him from the comfort of my hospital bed. That was really hard for me. I wanted to hug and comfort everyone and yet I was stuck on the sidelines. I am sure that those who came to the hospital to meet him will forever be changed. There was such a special spirit in the room. It was a terribly sad, yet wonderfully peaceful experience.

The next several days were a blur. I left the hospital on a Friday morning. That afternoon I sat in the mortuary office preparing a funeral. We had a very small service on Monday, just four days after I delivered. Thank heavens for pain medications. Without those my traditional delivery pains coupled with the pain of my milk coming in, would have been unbearable. I buried my baby and part of my heart on April 26, 2010.

How am I dealing with his death?

I believe, as my religion teaches, that I will raise little Luca someday. Sometimes that thought brings great comfort, other times it is little solace for a grieving mother who longs to hold her angel infant now. Although he is in a better place, free from sorrow and sin, I wanted the challenge of raising him in this crazy world. Wanted to see him wrestle with his older brothers or hear him giggle as the three of them cooked up mischief. I hate that we don’t get to have him now.

I have experienced all of the traditional grief stages at least once. I have felt depressed, angry, honored, jealous, comforted, tired, rude, bitter, overwhelmed, out of control, anxious, stressed and unmotivated. There have been times I have sat on my couch, not wanting to do anything. Then other times that I feel an urgency to give back to others in honor of my son’s memory. I have yet to find a happy medium. I have heard people say that the first year is the hardest. I pray that’s true.

This past year has literally been the year from hell. Yet despite the darkness I have felt, there are a few things that have relieved my sorrows.

What do I do when the grief is too much to bear?

I take long soaks in the bathtub where I blast Pink on my radio and cry until my eyes are strawberry red.

I watch movies like Tangled and sob when I see Rapunzel reunited with her parents. I wish I only had to wait 18 years to meet my “lost” baby.

I take my boys fishing. Fresh air and the beauty of nature clear my head and remind me of my place in the world.

I lay by my other boys while they are sleeping. I put my hand on their chest to feel their heart beating and their lungs filling with air. That reminds me of the beautiful boys I do get to raise on Earth. I can’t let myself take them for granted.

I start finding something I can do for others. I know it sounds cheesy, but sometimes serving others has been my saving grace. I understand the need to be still and internalize my grief and emotions, but sometimes it’s overwhelming. I have to find a productive way to patch over my grief until my emotions settle and I’m able to digest them.
Finally, I write through my heartache. Writing has always been a way for me to work through life’s problems. I imagine I’ll write through this problem my entire life.

I just have to keep reminding myself that life is hard, life is good and life is necessary.

My Angel’s Story

21 Apr 2011 12 Comments

by Natalie in Dealing with Death, My Angel Baby Tags: baby dying, death, grief, sorrow, stillborn, trial

Fearing the worst

I know what some of you are thinking? Why didn’t you rush to the hospital??? Knowing what I know now, my advice to any pregnant woman who is the least bit concerned about her baby, would be, GET TO THE HOSPTIAL, NOW. Speed if you have to. What are they going to do? Tell you your baby’s fine and send you home? Hopefully. Laugh in your face about your unnecessary worries? Never. In all reality, even if I had been in labor and delivery when Luca’s heart stopped beating, they still wouldn’t have been able to save him. There wasn’t anything I could have done. I realize that now. But there are other reasons why babies stop moving. In my opinion it’s just better to get it checked out as soon as possible.

Shortly thereafter we started calling family members to let them know they were going to have to come in sometime that day to simultaneously tell Luca “hello” and “goodbye.”

Sharing the Heart-Breaking News

My poor mother. She was the first to hear of his death. And she had to take the news while watching over my other two little ones in my quiet, lonely home. I can’t imagine how alone she must have felt. She texted me a while after I called to tell her he had died, asking what she should tell my other boys when they woke up. That literally broke my heart. What did I want her to tell them?

Our family members started gathering at the hospital and at our home waiting for the time when they would meet Luca. I knew we would only ever have a few hours with him and so I prepared to face my nightmare with a smile on my face. This was the only time I was going to hold my baby. The only time I could take pictures of his beautiful face. I wasn’t going to let my grief overcome my ability to make the moments meaningful.

How am I dealing with his death?

I believe, as my religion teaches, that I will raise little Luca someday. Sometimes that thought brings great comfort, other times it is little solace for a grieving mother who longs to hold her angel infant now. Although he is in a better place, free from sorrow and sin, I wanted the challenge of raising him in this crazy world. Wanted to see him wrestle with his older brothers or hear him giggle as the three of them cooked up mischief. I hate that we don’t get to have him now.

This past year has literally been the year from hell. Yet despite the darkness I have felt, there are a few things that have relieved my sorrows.

What do I do when the grief is too much to bear?

I take long soaks in the bathtub where I blast Pink on my radio and cry until my eyes are strawberry red.
I watch movies like Tangled and sob when I see Rapunzel reunited with her parents. I wish I only had to wait 18 years to meet my “lost” baby.
I take my boys fishing. Fresh air and the beauty of nature clear my head and remind me of my place in the world.
I lay by my other boys while they are sleeping. I put my hand on their chest to feel their heart beating and their lungs filling with air. That reminds me of the beautiful boys I do get to raise on Earth. I can’t let myself take them for granted.
I start finding something I can do for others. I know it sounds cheesy, but serving others has been my saving grace this month. I have sewn 20 baby blankets and crocheted a dozen beanies to give to other families whose babies die. I understand the need to be still and internalize my grief and emotions, but sometimes it’s overwhelming. I have to find a productive way to patch over my grief until my emotions settle and I’m able to digest them.
Finally, I write through my heartache. Writing has always been a way for me to work through life’s problems. I imagine I’ll write through this problem my entire life.
I just have to keep reminding myself that life is hard, life is good and life is necessary.

Springtime Sorrows

24 Mar 2011 8 Comments

by Natalie in Dealing with Death, My Angel Baby Tags: death, grief, sorrow, stillborn, tragedy

Spring is here and I think I am having an emotional breakdown. My mind keeps drifting back to a year ago when I was excitedly awaiting the birth of my third son. With every day that passes it sinks in deeper that he’s never coming home.

It’s starting to hit me that I will deal with his death my entire life. It’s not just something that’s going to fade away.

Every time I see a pregnant woman I am going to worry a little for her baby’s well-being as well as envy her for the life she carries. When I see a tiny, newborn baby — alive and well — I’ll wonder what it would have been like to hold a healthy, happy Luca. And when I see a family with three or more kids in tow, I’ll think of what life would have been like with my third.

I feel stressed, nervous, anxious and physically ill when I remember how my perfect world turned to pure hell within a day’s time. I went from hearing my baby’s heartbeat at a routine doctor’s check up to delivering him stillborn within 24 short hours.

This spring is going to be a rough one. Ironically it’s the same time of year associated with new life and rebirth.

But I realize it’s all right if it’s rough. I need time to suffer through my sorrows. I’ve been through a tragic event that will forever change me and my outlook on life.

I saw an interview last week of a supermodel that survived the 2004 Tsunami in Indonesia. She survived but her boyfriend did not. A reporter asked her how long it takes to recover from an event like that. Her reply: You never fully recover.

I can relate to her grief. No, I didn’t experience a natural catastrophe of quite the same magnitude. But I did lose someone very close to me in a cruel and tragic way.
And I think she’s right. You never fully recover from something like that. Maybe you refer to it less frequently and tear up half as often, but the truth is, you have just learned how to better to conceal your broken heart.

A lot of times when interacting with others who have been through hard times, I think it makes all of us feel better to hear people say they have “recovered” from their tragedies. But I’m not sure we can ever fully recover. At least not me. Not yet.

Boogers on the Wall

Ways to Help a Grieving Child

Celebrating Our Angel