Every post I've made so far has been made while I was in my grief pit. Right now I'm out of the pit, so I thought maybe I should post how I feel when I'm not so "consumed."
While I was pregnant, I kept a journal. After Anika was born "sleeping," I continued to write in it. I had intended to give it to her one day, but now I don't know what I'll do with it. I want to share something I wrote in there. It's a list of wonderful things about Anika that I wrote down so that I could look at it and feel more comforted. Well, it didn't help. When I'm in the pit, I'm IN the pit, and no list of good things is going to make me feel any better. BUT on the days that I feel good, I can look at it and feel even better.
I write these with "My baby..." so that if any of you, my readers, have ever lost a child to miscarriage or stillbirth, you can put your child's name in there.
1 My baby knows God - she's "shaken His hand" and everything!
2 My baby hears the music of Heaven everyday. (I often wonder what that will sound like!)
3 My baby has never known pain, sorrow, or cold. My baby has never experienced hatred or cruelty.
4 My baby has never sinned; my baby is truly perfect!
5 My baby is MY baby - that makes her pretty amazing, no matter what!
6 My baby has never cried for anything because all her needs are supplied for her in Heaven.
And this is really just Anika -
7 Anika was born in the sac! If she had lived and grown, being our child (and having some mixture of our personalities), she would have thought that was hilarious!
My daughter Anika was fullterm stillborn. This blog is about our griefs, pregnancy after loss (hopefully), and hope.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Chocolate-Covered Car Crash
We all know someone who sugar-coats everything. They tell you:
Everything's fine!
I'm just trying to stay positive!
Yeah, I'm bummed, but it's all for the best!
But you know what they really mean:
I'm so upset that I'm surprised all my hair hasnt' fallen out, that I haven't gained/lost 50 pounds, and that there's no gaping hole in the middle of my torso.
Well that's me. I'm just a big mess with pieces all over the place, but I dowse myself in yummy candy-coating. I do this for you because I don't want you to feel awkward or worry about me, and I do this for me because I don't want to become a disaster in front of you.
No more.
Today I make a promise to myself and to you that I will feel what I need to feel when I need to feel it. If I'm feeling dark and depressed, I will let you know, so you can help me. I value our relationship, and I know you want to be there for me.
I will no longer be a chocolate-covered car crash.
Everything's fine!
I'm just trying to stay positive!
Yeah, I'm bummed, but it's all for the best!
But you know what they really mean:
I'm so upset that I'm surprised all my hair hasnt' fallen out, that I haven't gained/lost 50 pounds, and that there's no gaping hole in the middle of my torso.
Well that's me. I'm just a big mess with pieces all over the place, but I dowse myself in yummy candy-coating. I do this for you because I don't want you to feel awkward or worry about me, and I do this for me because I don't want to become a disaster in front of you.
No more.
Today I make a promise to myself and to you that I will feel what I need to feel when I need to feel it. If I'm feeling dark and depressed, I will let you know, so you can help me. I value our relationship, and I know you want to be there for me.
I will no longer be a chocolate-covered car crash.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Forgive Me, Anika
Yesterday at the grocery store, I'm minding my own business, and a voice next to me says, "You don't have children, do you?" My first thought was that I must look pregnant, but I know I'm not. And I don't know where that thought came from because I know I don't look pregnant anymore. Then I realized I needed to answer this woman's question. I thought that saying "Yes," may lead to other questions, so I said, "No." Turns out this woman just needed help buying diapers for someone else's kid and had no clue what she was doing. I told her I know a little about diapers, and helped her out.
I cried the whole way home - I denied my daughter's existence. Something I said I'd never do.
When I'm in a group of women I've just met, and they're talking about pregnancy and babies, I just don't say anything. When I was talking to the man painting our apartment and he assumed I had no children, I was silent. Some may say this is denial by omission, but I believe it's just keeping an uncomfortable subject to myself. I knew the day would come when someone would ask Andrew and I if we had children, but I had assumed it would be at a dinner party (or something along those lines) and we would have been talking with them already. In my mind, it certainly never came from some random woman at a grocery store who I hadn't even seen standing there.
I was almost mad at this woman - why couldn't she just have asked if I knew anything about diapers. That's all she wanted to know, after all. Lots of people know about diapers without having any of their own kids. Doesn't she know that for some people, kids are an emotional subject? What an idiot.
But I can't be mad at her. She didn't have much tact, but she had no idea that babies are a tough subject for me, let alone that I had already spent half the day crying about my daughter's death. To her, I was just some random woman at a grocery store.
I apologized to Anika in my head. I asked for her forgiveness. I know she forgives me, that she understands, but I still feel terrible.
I cried the whole way home - I denied my daughter's existence. Something I said I'd never do.
When I'm in a group of women I've just met, and they're talking about pregnancy and babies, I just don't say anything. When I was talking to the man painting our apartment and he assumed I had no children, I was silent. Some may say this is denial by omission, but I believe it's just keeping an uncomfortable subject to myself. I knew the day would come when someone would ask Andrew and I if we had children, but I had assumed it would be at a dinner party (or something along those lines) and we would have been talking with them already. In my mind, it certainly never came from some random woman at a grocery store who I hadn't even seen standing there.
I was almost mad at this woman - why couldn't she just have asked if I knew anything about diapers. That's all she wanted to know, after all. Lots of people know about diapers without having any of their own kids. Doesn't she know that for some people, kids are an emotional subject? What an idiot.
But I can't be mad at her. She didn't have much tact, but she had no idea that babies are a tough subject for me, let alone that I had already spent half the day crying about my daughter's death. To her, I was just some random woman at a grocery store.
I apologized to Anika in my head. I asked for her forgiveness. I know she forgives me, that she understands, but I still feel terrible.
Monday, August 8, 2011
A Suicidal Heart
I'm running into walls. Banging my head on the desk. Driving head-on into trees. Screaming until my vocal cords bleed. Convulsing with heaving sobs and rivers of tears.
Well, maybe I'M not, but my heart is.
I feel like it's getting harder. I miss my Ani more everyday. I know life isn't fair, so I won't complain about that, but sometimes the unfairness just seems a little more unnecessary than usual.
When we first came home from the hospital, after giving birth to Anika, it felt like we had just been there for complications and then we came home. We were still waiting for her arrival. Then I would see that my belly was no longer stretched and swollen, but saggy with extra skin, which forced the crushing reality on me. ...Other times, it was as if my arms knew that my body gave birth. "So...let me hold the baby!" they'd cry, so joyfully. But there was no baby to hold, and my arms actually ached.
I keep going back to those days in my mind, and I think while we were in the hospital, some parts of my heart were still joyous. My darling Anika was laying beside me. I took a nap with her on my pillow, falling asleep looking at my beautiful daughter. I got to introduce her to our visitors, some of whom even smiled when they saw her. It was like everything was going to be ok, because I had my daughter right there. I could hold her whenever I wanted, I could cuddle and kiss her, and we even celebrated her first 24 hours of "life." I'm so glad that there were times I smiled at her and treated her as I would have if she were alive. It sounds so strange, but I think God put that joy in my heart for those few days. I couldn't have done that by myself. He knew that being able to do those things, and be happy while doing them, would help me get through everything. Because Anika's short life is not a tragedy. It is a blessing.
But how I miss her. "Pain takes my heart's place."
Well, maybe I'M not, but my heart is.
I feel like it's getting harder. I miss my Ani more everyday. I know life isn't fair, so I won't complain about that, but sometimes the unfairness just seems a little more unnecessary than usual.
When we first came home from the hospital, after giving birth to Anika, it felt like we had just been there for complications and then we came home. We were still waiting for her arrival. Then I would see that my belly was no longer stretched and swollen, but saggy with extra skin, which forced the crushing reality on me. ...Other times, it was as if my arms knew that my body gave birth. "So...let me hold the baby!" they'd cry, so joyfully. But there was no baby to hold, and my arms actually ached.
I keep going back to those days in my mind, and I think while we were in the hospital, some parts of my heart were still joyous. My darling Anika was laying beside me. I took a nap with her on my pillow, falling asleep looking at my beautiful daughter. I got to introduce her to our visitors, some of whom even smiled when they saw her. It was like everything was going to be ok, because I had my daughter right there. I could hold her whenever I wanted, I could cuddle and kiss her, and we even celebrated her first 24 hours of "life." I'm so glad that there were times I smiled at her and treated her as I would have if she were alive. It sounds so strange, but I think God put that joy in my heart for those few days. I couldn't have done that by myself. He knew that being able to do those things, and be happy while doing them, would help me get through everything. Because Anika's short life is not a tragedy. It is a blessing.
But how I miss her. "Pain takes my heart's place."
Friday, August 5, 2011
Losing Anika
My daughter Anika Lenore was stillborn on May 10, 2011. She was 38 weeks gestation, which is considered full term. I felt her moving the evening before, and I had no idea when I went in for my regular OB appointment that morning, that I had lost my blessed daughter.
She was officially nameless when she traveled to Heaven, which breaks my heart. We had discussed name possibilities, and we were pretty settled on Anika Lenore the weekend before...which just happened to be (my first) Mother's Day. Anika Lenore means "Sweet Faced Ray of Light." And she is just that to both me and my husband Andrew.
At her memorial, we played the song "Latter Days" by Over the Rhine. The name of this blog comes from the first line. Here are the lyrics.
What a beautiful piece of heartache
this has all turned out be.
Lord knows we've learned the hard way
all about healthy apathy.
I use these words pretty loosely.
There's so much more to life than words.
There is a me you would not recognize, dear.
Call it the shadow of myself.
And if the music starts before I get there,
Dance without me. You dance so gracefully.
I really think I'll be ok.
They've taken their toll, these latter days.
Nothing like sleeping on a bed of nails.
Nothing much here but our broken dreams.
Ah, but baby if all else fails,
Nothing is ever quite what it seems.
And I'm dying inside to leave you
With more than just cliches.
There is a me you would not recognize, dear.
Call it the shadow of myself.
And if the music starts before I get there,
Dance without me. You dance so gracefully.
I really think I'll be ok.
They've taken their toll, these latter days.
Tell them it's real.
Tell them it's really real.
I just don't have much left to say.
They've taken their tolls these later days.
This song resonated with me when I first heard it, probably around age 16. I had no idea why. I had never felt the sorrow that it implies. I would play it on the piano and sing along, but there were lines I never really understood until now, at the age of 30. Fourteen years it has served as one of my favorite songs, and now it has more meaning to me than I will ever be able to express.
I am devastated, blessed, and forever changed by the love and loss of my first child. I am damaged, less shiny, and more quiet. However, I am more considerate, forgiving, and loving. And through it all, I still have joy and peace.
She was officially nameless when she traveled to Heaven, which breaks my heart. We had discussed name possibilities, and we were pretty settled on Anika Lenore the weekend before...which just happened to be (my first) Mother's Day. Anika Lenore means "Sweet Faced Ray of Light." And she is just that to both me and my husband Andrew.
At her memorial, we played the song "Latter Days" by Over the Rhine. The name of this blog comes from the first line. Here are the lyrics.
What a beautiful piece of heartache
this has all turned out be.
Lord knows we've learned the hard way
all about healthy apathy.
I use these words pretty loosely.
There's so much more to life than words.
There is a me you would not recognize, dear.
Call it the shadow of myself.
And if the music starts before I get there,
Dance without me. You dance so gracefully.
I really think I'll be ok.
They've taken their toll, these latter days.
Nothing like sleeping on a bed of nails.
Nothing much here but our broken dreams.
Ah, but baby if all else fails,
Nothing is ever quite what it seems.
And I'm dying inside to leave you
With more than just cliches.
There is a me you would not recognize, dear.
Call it the shadow of myself.
And if the music starts before I get there,
Dance without me. You dance so gracefully.
I really think I'll be ok.
They've taken their toll, these latter days.
Tell them it's real.
Tell them it's really real.
I just don't have much left to say.
They've taken their tolls these later days.
This song resonated with me when I first heard it, probably around age 16. I had no idea why. I had never felt the sorrow that it implies. I would play it on the piano and sing along, but there were lines I never really understood until now, at the age of 30. Fourteen years it has served as one of my favorite songs, and now it has more meaning to me than I will ever be able to express.
I am devastated, blessed, and forever changed by the love and loss of my first child. I am damaged, less shiny, and more quiet. However, I am more considerate, forgiving, and loving. And through it all, I still have joy and peace.
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