We've all seen the jokes floating around e-mail and Facebook about how when a woman says, "I'm fine." it really means quite the opposite. And as much as I hate to admit this, for me at least, there's some truth to that.
When I give the "I'm fine" response, it usually means I just don't want to talk about it for one reason or another.
When it comes to me talking about how I'm doing emotionally after the loss of my babies, it's the answer I give because I just honestly don't know what else to say. Most people you encounter probably don't even really want to hear the long explanation of how I'm really doing because it makes them a little uncomfortable. And sometimes I just don't even know where to begin! And there's even been a few days when I've felt like I just dared someone to ask me because I was so angry that I was really going to tell them how I was and not care.
A lot of times, for me, the response of, "I'm fine!" is how I stay strong. I'm a wife and a mother and I have jobs and responsibilities and my time to be "not fine" is very limited. So I am forced to find a way to be fine all the while thinking, "I have to be strong for my family! I have to be strong to make it through this."
But there is one very important thing I've learned this time around: there is a lot of strength in admitting that you are *not* fine.
It takes strength to ask for, and to accept, help.
It takes strength to tell someone how you're really feeling.
It takes strength to admit to yourself that you're not always "fine".
It takes strength to know that it's perfectly ok to not be fine all the time.
Not being "fine" is not a weakness. And maybe if more moms going through a loss were able to openly admit on any random day that they are, in fact, not fine today, more women would feel better about not being fine. To make the new definition of "fine" in this circumstance mean that we're hurting, we're experiencing something that's unbearable and something that we'll never understand, and that it's normal and good and how we heal. We're fine. We hurt, we cry, we long, we smile, we laugh, we scream, we yell.
We're fine.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Tuesday, March 11, 2014
The Things That Were Taken
My best friend delivered a healthy baby girl this morning. She and I have been through a lot together over the last two years, her having experienced her own pregnancy loss and infertility journey. I was feeling pretty proud of myself all day yesterday that rather than feeling sorry for myself and the loss of my own baby girl, that I was excited for her. She was finally becoming a mother to a baby that would get to come home with her! It sounds so cliche but it really is a life changing, defining moment. In fact I'm not sure there's any other joyous event in life that even compares.
But when I received a text from her at 4:30 this morning announcing the birth, suddenly I felt robbed as I realized the birth of a healthy baby is no longer my reality.
Pregnancy loss robs you of so many things. The greatest loss is of course the life of your child, but there are so many other things you lose that you never realize right away.
Sometimes you lose friends and family members who either don't acknowledge your loss as being significant, or it makes them too uncomfortable to acknowledge or talk about. I need to surround myself with people who are comfortable it the topic comes up. I need to be around people who let me acknowledge them as my children and not my "miscarriages".
Sometimes, you lose hope and faith. Will we ever bring home a baby again? Why has God put us on this path? Why do my babies die?
And sometimes, you lose that naive state of pregnancy being that pregnancy=baby. When we see our loved ones announce a pregnancy, there's a very confusing mix of emotions. For me personally, it's not that I'm not thrilled for them because I am. But I'm also very envious. And I'm also terrified for them. I don't want to see them experience what we've been through. I don't want them to have to understand this. But because of what we've been through, to me, pregnancy=loss.
This morning I realized yet another thing that I've been robbed of. I don't remember that joy of having my newborn baby placed in my arms for the first time. I certainly feel joy at having my children, looking at them and loving them. But I honestly can't remember what that joy felt like when they were born because so much has happened since then. When I think of my birth experiences, the first emotion that comes to mind is the sorrow and the pain of holding my teeny tiny babies who didn't make it. I don't remember the late night feedings as we learned to nurse, I remember the late nights of empty, aching arms in the hospital. I don't remember the nervous excitement as we brought home our baby, I remember the crushing pain as I left the hospital without my baby. When I try to remember, I only end up feeling even more robbed that I didn't get that and I'm filled with longing to have the chance to realize that again.
I feel of all the random things I've been robbed of, this one has me the most angry. The birth of my living children was so special and someday, I do think I'll be able to remember that happy feeling better as the raw pain of our losses fades. But I'm mad that for now, it's so overshadowed.
Hope and joy. Two things that represent so much in our lives and it's so easy to lose sight of them in the midst of sorrow and pain. Stolen right out from under our hearts.
But as the saying goes:
Beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it's the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up.
And it's my personal belief that when you find hope, there you will also find joy.
But when I received a text from her at 4:30 this morning announcing the birth, suddenly I felt robbed as I realized the birth of a healthy baby is no longer my reality.
Pregnancy loss robs you of so many things. The greatest loss is of course the life of your child, but there are so many other things you lose that you never realize right away.
Sometimes you lose friends and family members who either don't acknowledge your loss as being significant, or it makes them too uncomfortable to acknowledge or talk about. I need to surround myself with people who are comfortable it the topic comes up. I need to be around people who let me acknowledge them as my children and not my "miscarriages".
Sometimes, you lose hope and faith. Will we ever bring home a baby again? Why has God put us on this path? Why do my babies die?
And sometimes, you lose that naive state of pregnancy being that pregnancy=baby. When we see our loved ones announce a pregnancy, there's a very confusing mix of emotions. For me personally, it's not that I'm not thrilled for them because I am. But I'm also very envious. And I'm also terrified for them. I don't want to see them experience what we've been through. I don't want them to have to understand this. But because of what we've been through, to me, pregnancy=loss.
This morning I realized yet another thing that I've been robbed of. I don't remember that joy of having my newborn baby placed in my arms for the first time. I certainly feel joy at having my children, looking at them and loving them. But I honestly can't remember what that joy felt like when they were born because so much has happened since then. When I think of my birth experiences, the first emotion that comes to mind is the sorrow and the pain of holding my teeny tiny babies who didn't make it. I don't remember the late night feedings as we learned to nurse, I remember the late nights of empty, aching arms in the hospital. I don't remember the nervous excitement as we brought home our baby, I remember the crushing pain as I left the hospital without my baby. When I try to remember, I only end up feeling even more robbed that I didn't get that and I'm filled with longing to have the chance to realize that again.
I feel of all the random things I've been robbed of, this one has me the most angry. The birth of my living children was so special and someday, I do think I'll be able to remember that happy feeling better as the raw pain of our losses fades. But I'm mad that for now, it's so overshadowed.
Hope and joy. Two things that represent so much in our lives and it's so easy to lose sight of them in the midst of sorrow and pain. Stolen right out from under our hearts.
But as the saying goes:
Beginnings are scary, endings are usually sad, but it's the middle that counts the most. Try to remember that when you find yourself at a new beginning. Just give hope a chance to float up.
And it's my personal belief that when you find hope, there you will also find joy.
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Third Time's a Charn (Did I really just write that?)
Many people have already heard that we lost our baby, Olivia Grace, two weeks ago.
Olivia is our third angel. First came Alex at 14 weeks, then Henry at 20 weeks and now Olivia at 16 weeks. Zero answers, zero explanations. It makes me feel all the more blessed for my two living children because I honestly have no idea how I got them so easily.
Going through these past two weeks, I have been absolutely amazed and blown away by the amount of support we've received. Back in His Arms Again has an amazing community of support and I want to take some time to share that more in depth, especially as we get ready for our annual benefit on March 8!
The first time we went through a loss, as I've said before, there was very little support. We had our families who were amazing, but we were not aware that there was much of a pregnancy loss community. I felt uncomfortable with support groups because I was "only" 14 weeks (Kambra hits me in the head every time I say that because it took me a long time to allow myself to recognize that it was ok to grieve for a baby at "only" 14 weeks).
My husband and I felt very isolated in our grief. The only reason we knew it was an option to bury our baby was because my mother in law told us. I didn't get any information from the doctor that saw me because I was supposed to have a D&E two days later, and was never prepared at all for what to do if it happened at home.
Now, had I known about Back in His Arms Again, perhaps I could have spoken to someone who most definitely could have helped prepare us for our options a little better. I would have been given more emotional support from a person who'd been in my shoes, who knew the ropes of the system. Who could connect me with other women who'd been in my shoes.
Instead, we were alone in our feelings.
About a year and a half later we lost Henry, last February. I met Kambra about two weeks afterwards when a friend heard her give a Pulpit Pitch about the benefit and bought me a table. Kambra and I didn't know what was coming! We chatted for hours on the phone. It was her kind voice that was always telling me it was ok to grieve, it was ok to feel pain, to make sure I was taking care of myself physically because even though I had no baby to prove it, my body had been through a lot. However I was feeling, it was ok.
The more we spoke the more I began to understand just how ridiculous it is how quiet the pregnancy loss concept is kept. It makes people uncomfortable. Women (and men) don't feel comfortable discussing it much outside of their loss circle or their safe people. Doctors see you and then you're done, sent on your way to navigate this mess of emotions. There's no one there to pick up the slack and step in.
A few months later, the first Mother to Mother group met. The women in this group have become some of my closest friends. I was nervous that first meeting what we'd talk about and I wrote a list of talking points just in case, but I never needed it. We shared our stories, we shared tears, we shared laughs. It seems like whenever one woman who has had a loss meets another woman who's had a loss, that they already know each other better than some of the closest people in their lives simply because they have shared living through one of the most painful experiences life can throw at you. While every story is different, at the root, they're very much the same. The pain we feel for our babies, the loneliness we feel as we continue to grieve while others move on, the fears of the future....they're all there.
There are also certain things you can only tell another loss mom because only a loss mom gets it. Only we can laugh at certain things or cry over the most ridiculous seeming things.
So two weeks ago when I lost Olivia, I feel like I finally got to experience a loss the way I wish every woman experiencing a loss could. Help was all around me. Prayers, offers of help, food, help planning, hugs,, messages, phone calls.....anything and everything we needed was there.
Even after losing two babies I never really knew that I could have a funeral for a baby of "only" 16 weeks. But this time I got to have a funeral for Olivia and it was absolutely beautiful. Schoedingers was nothing but respectful to Olivia and to us. They took great care of her and of us. I was able to have a service that was worthy of my perfect baby girl with the support of our families and of the ministry and of the other mothers I've met along the way.
And so reflecting on all this it really drives home why we're here doing what we do. No one should have to feel as alone as we did the first time we experienced a loss. It's sad that it took us three times before we got to experience it "perfectly".
If I could, I'd hang out at hospitals just to find the families who have just received the worst news just so I could help them and let them know there's more support out there than they know, that they can do things the way they want, the way they deserve...however that may be. Loss is different for everyone and there's no one way to support someone through it except to help them go through it the way they want, the way they feel is best for them.
My commitment to this ministry has only been more solidified. I'm excited to watch it grow over the coming years, and I'm excited to find more ways we can reach out and help. One way or another, we are going to change the experience of a loss for the better for as many people as we can. I just can't even find the words to describe what an amazing difference it has made.
Olivia is our third angel. First came Alex at 14 weeks, then Henry at 20 weeks and now Olivia at 16 weeks. Zero answers, zero explanations. It makes me feel all the more blessed for my two living children because I honestly have no idea how I got them so easily.
Going through these past two weeks, I have been absolutely amazed and blown away by the amount of support we've received. Back in His Arms Again has an amazing community of support and I want to take some time to share that more in depth, especially as we get ready for our annual benefit on March 8!
The first time we went through a loss, as I've said before, there was very little support. We had our families who were amazing, but we were not aware that there was much of a pregnancy loss community. I felt uncomfortable with support groups because I was "only" 14 weeks (Kambra hits me in the head every time I say that because it took me a long time to allow myself to recognize that it was ok to grieve for a baby at "only" 14 weeks).
My husband and I felt very isolated in our grief. The only reason we knew it was an option to bury our baby was because my mother in law told us. I didn't get any information from the doctor that saw me because I was supposed to have a D&E two days later, and was never prepared at all for what to do if it happened at home.
Now, had I known about Back in His Arms Again, perhaps I could have spoken to someone who most definitely could have helped prepare us for our options a little better. I would have been given more emotional support from a person who'd been in my shoes, who knew the ropes of the system. Who could connect me with other women who'd been in my shoes.
Instead, we were alone in our feelings.
About a year and a half later we lost Henry, last February. I met Kambra about two weeks afterwards when a friend heard her give a Pulpit Pitch about the benefit and bought me a table. Kambra and I didn't know what was coming! We chatted for hours on the phone. It was her kind voice that was always telling me it was ok to grieve, it was ok to feel pain, to make sure I was taking care of myself physically because even though I had no baby to prove it, my body had been through a lot. However I was feeling, it was ok.
The more we spoke the more I began to understand just how ridiculous it is how quiet the pregnancy loss concept is kept. It makes people uncomfortable. Women (and men) don't feel comfortable discussing it much outside of their loss circle or their safe people. Doctors see you and then you're done, sent on your way to navigate this mess of emotions. There's no one there to pick up the slack and step in.
A few months later, the first Mother to Mother group met. The women in this group have become some of my closest friends. I was nervous that first meeting what we'd talk about and I wrote a list of talking points just in case, but I never needed it. We shared our stories, we shared tears, we shared laughs. It seems like whenever one woman who has had a loss meets another woman who's had a loss, that they already know each other better than some of the closest people in their lives simply because they have shared living through one of the most painful experiences life can throw at you. While every story is different, at the root, they're very much the same. The pain we feel for our babies, the loneliness we feel as we continue to grieve while others move on, the fears of the future....they're all there.
There are also certain things you can only tell another loss mom because only a loss mom gets it. Only we can laugh at certain things or cry over the most ridiculous seeming things.
So two weeks ago when I lost Olivia, I feel like I finally got to experience a loss the way I wish every woman experiencing a loss could. Help was all around me. Prayers, offers of help, food, help planning, hugs,, messages, phone calls.....anything and everything we needed was there.
Even after losing two babies I never really knew that I could have a funeral for a baby of "only" 16 weeks. But this time I got to have a funeral for Olivia and it was absolutely beautiful. Schoedingers was nothing but respectful to Olivia and to us. They took great care of her and of us. I was able to have a service that was worthy of my perfect baby girl with the support of our families and of the ministry and of the other mothers I've met along the way.
And so reflecting on all this it really drives home why we're here doing what we do. No one should have to feel as alone as we did the first time we experienced a loss. It's sad that it took us three times before we got to experience it "perfectly".
If I could, I'd hang out at hospitals just to find the families who have just received the worst news just so I could help them and let them know there's more support out there than they know, that they can do things the way they want, the way they deserve...however that may be. Loss is different for everyone and there's no one way to support someone through it except to help them go through it the way they want, the way they feel is best for them.
My commitment to this ministry has only been more solidified. I'm excited to watch it grow over the coming years, and I'm excited to find more ways we can reach out and help. One way or another, we are going to change the experience of a loss for the better for as many people as we can. I just can't even find the words to describe what an amazing difference it has made.
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
The Grieving Mother vs. Writer's Block
It's been a very long time since I've written anything. I started this blog with the grand idea of writing several times a week, posting things full of witty insight and blunt honesty. But that didn't happen.
Why?
I think the reality is, I feel much like a broken record. I feel like I live in the movie Groundhog's Day. How many different ways can I phrase just how much losing a baby sucks? How many different ways are there to explain how my soul was crushed, my heart shattered? Because in the end, it's the same story told a different way.
But, to anyone reading this that's been in my shoes, you know exactly what I'm talking about don't you? Because that's your reality every. single. day. You wake up, you put on a smile, get dressed, take care of your family, go about your normal day. But on the inside, there's always that part of you that's screaming, "What about my baby?"
Our world has been forever changed and so many people fail to see it. It's like suddenly the grass is pink and the sky is purple and you wonder why you're the only one that sees it. So you start faking it 'til you make it. Slowly but surely, you assimilate back into the real world. You pretend the grass is still green and the sky is still blue. And eventually, you almost manage to convince yourself the grass really is green.
Almost.
Then something happens. You see a baby or a glowing, pregnant woman. Maybe you're at the playground and you hear a mother calling a name- the name of the child you lost, a name you never seem to hear spoken. And it twists up your gut. I'll never forget that day at the playground when I heard a parent calling for "Henry!" and I immediately had to find this child named Henry. A name that I'd never get to call out at the playground. And suddenly, the grass is pink again.
And this cycle continues endlessly. And it probably always will to some extent.
So I haven't written. Because honestly, what's left to say that I haven't already said?
It's been nine months since we lost Henry. It's been two years since we lost Alex. It's gotten better, easier. But it still hurts. I still feel angry and sad. Not all the time. Maybe not even every day. But I've had to patch myself together the best way I can for my family and for myself.
In that nine months, we conceived another baby only to lose that hope just a few weeks later. That baby would have arrived just a few days before Christmas. Sometimes it blows me away to think that I could have been nearly ready to have a whole other baby in the amount of time that's passed since Henry. How has it been that long already?
On the other hand, it feels like ages ago. That long day in the hospital when he was delivered. That windy, snowy day when we buried him, it sometimes feels like years ago. So much has happened. Yet I remember it like it was yesterday.
I've been so thankful to become a part of Back In His Arms Again, to be given a voice, to hopefully try and help someone else experiencing this same thing. I have met some absolutely amazing women through the Mother to Mother group who have forever changed my life. They've lifted me up and prayed with me. Sometimes it amazes me that even though I know so little about some of them, I feel as if I know them better than so many other people in my life simply because we share a very strong common bond. I could say just about anything to them about this experience and they would know exactly what I was talking about.
As I battle with trying to move forward, trying to have another baby, I'm constantly fearful and anxious. And hopeful. And optimistic. What an awkward combination of emotions.
I have about four unfinished blog posts I've attempted to write over the last few months, I really hope that I can finish them because actually I quite like what I've written. But I often times just simply feel too stuck to finish them. It all sounds the same to me.
But for now, I want you to know that whoever you are, wherever you are, if you or a loved one has lost a baby, I pray for you. You are not alone, you are not the only one stuck.
You are not the only one who sees that the grass is pink and the sky is purple.
Why?
I think the reality is, I feel much like a broken record. I feel like I live in the movie Groundhog's Day. How many different ways can I phrase just how much losing a baby sucks? How many different ways are there to explain how my soul was crushed, my heart shattered? Because in the end, it's the same story told a different way.
But, to anyone reading this that's been in my shoes, you know exactly what I'm talking about don't you? Because that's your reality every. single. day. You wake up, you put on a smile, get dressed, take care of your family, go about your normal day. But on the inside, there's always that part of you that's screaming, "What about my baby?"
Our world has been forever changed and so many people fail to see it. It's like suddenly the grass is pink and the sky is purple and you wonder why you're the only one that sees it. So you start faking it 'til you make it. Slowly but surely, you assimilate back into the real world. You pretend the grass is still green and the sky is still blue. And eventually, you almost manage to convince yourself the grass really is green.
Almost.
Then something happens. You see a baby or a glowing, pregnant woman. Maybe you're at the playground and you hear a mother calling a name- the name of the child you lost, a name you never seem to hear spoken. And it twists up your gut. I'll never forget that day at the playground when I heard a parent calling for "Henry!" and I immediately had to find this child named Henry. A name that I'd never get to call out at the playground. And suddenly, the grass is pink again.
And this cycle continues endlessly. And it probably always will to some extent.
So I haven't written. Because honestly, what's left to say that I haven't already said?
It's been nine months since we lost Henry. It's been two years since we lost Alex. It's gotten better, easier. But it still hurts. I still feel angry and sad. Not all the time. Maybe not even every day. But I've had to patch myself together the best way I can for my family and for myself.
In that nine months, we conceived another baby only to lose that hope just a few weeks later. That baby would have arrived just a few days before Christmas. Sometimes it blows me away to think that I could have been nearly ready to have a whole other baby in the amount of time that's passed since Henry. How has it been that long already?
On the other hand, it feels like ages ago. That long day in the hospital when he was delivered. That windy, snowy day when we buried him, it sometimes feels like years ago. So much has happened. Yet I remember it like it was yesterday.
I've been so thankful to become a part of Back In His Arms Again, to be given a voice, to hopefully try and help someone else experiencing this same thing. I have met some absolutely amazing women through the Mother to Mother group who have forever changed my life. They've lifted me up and prayed with me. Sometimes it amazes me that even though I know so little about some of them, I feel as if I know them better than so many other people in my life simply because we share a very strong common bond. I could say just about anything to them about this experience and they would know exactly what I was talking about.
As I battle with trying to move forward, trying to have another baby, I'm constantly fearful and anxious. And hopeful. And optimistic. What an awkward combination of emotions.
I have about four unfinished blog posts I've attempted to write over the last few months, I really hope that I can finish them because actually I quite like what I've written. But I often times just simply feel too stuck to finish them. It all sounds the same to me.
But for now, I want you to know that whoever you are, wherever you are, if you or a loved one has lost a baby, I pray for you. You are not alone, you are not the only one stuck.
You are not the only one who sees that the grass is pink and the sky is purple.
Friday, November 1, 2013
Happy Birthday, Mary Claire!
Dear Mary Claire,
Tomorrow is November 1 again..... All Saints Day. This day became very special to your Daddy and I on November 1, 2006. This was your Birthday, the day we held you. A perfect, tiny, little baby girl .
We didn't have much time to prepare and after Gabriel's death I felt numb. We just went through the motions. It felt oddly familiar. We knew what to expect. But, a few years later it hit us. We were not going to be blessed again with a child. You would be the youngest. You have a very special place in our family and in our hearts. I wanted a different chapter to end this part of our married life but Jesus CHOSE you ! Mary Claire we pray every night at family prayer time for you and all of the unborn . I love you sweet baby and as we celebrate Mass today I'm thankful for you and the blessing you are to us. Mary, I can't wait to hug you again ...but you are truly Back In His Arms Again.
Happy Sixth Birthday!
Love,
Mommy
Tomorrow is November 1 again..... All Saints Day. This day became very special to your Daddy and I on November 1, 2006. This was your Birthday, the day we held you. A perfect, tiny, little baby girl .
We didn't have much time to prepare and after Gabriel's death I felt numb. We just went through the motions. It felt oddly familiar. We knew what to expect. But, a few years later it hit us. We were not going to be blessed again with a child. You would be the youngest. You have a very special place in our family and in our hearts. I wanted a different chapter to end this part of our married life but Jesus CHOSE you ! Mary Claire we pray every night at family prayer time for you and all of the unborn . I love you sweet baby and as we celebrate Mass today I'm thankful for you and the blessing you are to us. Mary, I can't wait to hug you again ...but you are truly Back In His Arms Again.
Happy Sixth Birthday!
Love,
Mommy
 |
| Mary Claire's Birthday Candle at the Altar of Mary today |
Sunday, June 30, 2013
Dear Mommy
Dear Mommy,
As I watch you from Heaven, I wanted to tell you a few things:
Don't feel bad when you cry. I know you miss me and I know it's one of the few ways you have to express how much you love me since I'm not there with you. And never feel bad for laughing and being happy! I'm always happy to see joy on your face.
When you smile a smile that never quite reaches your eyes, I still see it and I'm smiling back at you hoping to ease your soul.
When you feel that empty ache in your arms, try to see all the hugs and kisses I send you from Heaven. They don't come to you in the same form, but they're there. That bright rainbow in the sky was a big bear hug from me! And don't worry about me, I'm in the arms of the Angels and Saints and on the lap of our Father. It will never feel good enough for you, but I promise it's good enough for me!
The next time you feel at the brink of tears, when you feel in such pain, remember that the only thing I'll ever feel is love. While I can see your sadness, I can not feel it. There is no such thing where I am.
I don't like it when you feel guilty. You didn't do anything wrong, in fact you gave me wings. I know it wasn't your choice to let me go, but you did and you're still standing. I wish you could see your strength the way I do. You'll never be able to see what a gift you've given me because it's so hard for you to imagine the life I have in Heaven, but one day we'll be together and I'll take you by the hand and show it all to you.
When you have those days where you feel totally and completely alone, you're not. I see you and I'm watching out for you as best I can. I can feel your love for me even still, whether you're happy or sad. When others have moved on, I know you'll still remember.
That day when you saw the newborn baby at the park, I saw the hurt that you felt deep inside. I know you long to hold me, to smell my little head, to plant kisses on my cheeks. But never forget that even though you can't do those things, I'm still with you and I'm still finding ways to send you my love. So keep looking for those rainbows, those butterflies and those shooting stars because I'll keep sending you love and never worry about whether or not I feel yours because I most certainly do each and every day!
As I watch you from Heaven, I wanted to tell you a few things:
Don't feel bad when you cry. I know you miss me and I know it's one of the few ways you have to express how much you love me since I'm not there with you. And never feel bad for laughing and being happy! I'm always happy to see joy on your face.
When you smile a smile that never quite reaches your eyes, I still see it and I'm smiling back at you hoping to ease your soul.
When you feel that empty ache in your arms, try to see all the hugs and kisses I send you from Heaven. They don't come to you in the same form, but they're there. That bright rainbow in the sky was a big bear hug from me! And don't worry about me, I'm in the arms of the Angels and Saints and on the lap of our Father. It will never feel good enough for you, but I promise it's good enough for me!
The next time you feel at the brink of tears, when you feel in such pain, remember that the only thing I'll ever feel is love. While I can see your sadness, I can not feel it. There is no such thing where I am.
I don't like it when you feel guilty. You didn't do anything wrong, in fact you gave me wings. I know it wasn't your choice to let me go, but you did and you're still standing. I wish you could see your strength the way I do. You'll never be able to see what a gift you've given me because it's so hard for you to imagine the life I have in Heaven, but one day we'll be together and I'll take you by the hand and show it all to you.
When you have those days where you feel totally and completely alone, you're not. I see you and I'm watching out for you as best I can. I can feel your love for me even still, whether you're happy or sad. When others have moved on, I know you'll still remember.
That day when you saw the newborn baby at the park, I saw the hurt that you felt deep inside. I know you long to hold me, to smell my little head, to plant kisses on my cheeks. But never forget that even though you can't do those things, I'm still with you and I'm still finding ways to send you my love. So keep looking for those rainbows, those butterflies and those shooting stars because I'll keep sending you love and never worry about whether or not I feel yours because I most certainly do each and every day!
Monday, June 17, 2013
A Special "Hello" From Gabriel On Fathers Day
June is a fiesta at our house. We have Brendan's birthday June 3, Kieran June 7, Shawn (my husband) June 13 and then Father's day. So many years have passed that Shawn never had the celebration he deserved. I was determined this year each person would celebrate his birthday in a special way…….and that Father's day would be as I had always pictured it :)
Ah yes, I always have this picture of "how it should be" the expectation of perfection. Well, it was that and then some. We had so much home made fun for all of the birthdays with games and cake. All seven kids came home for each birthday and we had a ball! By Sunday morning we were all a bit weary from lake water, cake and camp fire smoke! But we set the alarm got up and went to 11 am Mass. This may seem like a late mass but have you ever tried to herd nine people to the same place "looking good" before noon? It's an accomplishment. We have been frequenting the 5pm Sunday Mass - so this was nothing short of a miracle. Our church is under construction, so we are in folding chairs in the 'Faith & Family" center. We all piled into a row on the far right. We are sitting and praying. I looked over my far left shoulder and there he was. The man who eight years ago was on the other side of the curtain as I was recovering from having Gabriel. He didn't mean to but he overheard our conversation over what has happened to Gabriel's body (he was handed to my husband in a bio hazard bag). He was witness to one of the most private moments of our married life. I knew someone was on the other side of that curtain. This is why we were VERY quietly talking. I saw the man leave the area. Then he came back. He walked right up to my bed… He very kindly said " I didn't mean to hear your conversation".....he paused as tears came to his face " but I just wanted to tell you I am so sorry for your loss". He handed me a box and walked away. In the box was a beautiful gold angel lapel pin. I CHERISH this pin. We knew when he approached my bed that we had seen him before. Now I know where I saw him.......at Adoration in our church.
Hello Gabriel, so sweet of you to show your Daddy the PERFECT gift. The gift you have left for us to share. The gift of unconditional love.
I still don't know the name of this man. That's what makes this so special. We made eye contact on Sunday, he knew who I was and I knew who he was........I smiled right at him and he smiled back. Nothing else needed to be said. This made Shawn's day.
Happy Father's Day Shawn Paul Malone!!! We all love you DEARLY!
Ah yes, I always have this picture of "how it should be" the expectation of perfection. Well, it was that and then some. We had so much home made fun for all of the birthdays with games and cake. All seven kids came home for each birthday and we had a ball! By Sunday morning we were all a bit weary from lake water, cake and camp fire smoke! But we set the alarm got up and went to 11 am Mass. This may seem like a late mass but have you ever tried to herd nine people to the same place "looking good" before noon? It's an accomplishment. We have been frequenting the 5pm Sunday Mass - so this was nothing short of a miracle. Our church is under construction, so we are in folding chairs in the 'Faith & Family" center. We all piled into a row on the far right. We are sitting and praying. I looked over my far left shoulder and there he was. The man who eight years ago was on the other side of the curtain as I was recovering from having Gabriel. He didn't mean to but he overheard our conversation over what has happened to Gabriel's body (he was handed to my husband in a bio hazard bag). He was witness to one of the most private moments of our married life. I knew someone was on the other side of that curtain. This is why we were VERY quietly talking. I saw the man leave the area. Then he came back. He walked right up to my bed… He very kindly said " I didn't mean to hear your conversation".....he paused as tears came to his face " but I just wanted to tell you I am so sorry for your loss". He handed me a box and walked away. In the box was a beautiful gold angel lapel pin. I CHERISH this pin. We knew when he approached my bed that we had seen him before. Now I know where I saw him.......at Adoration in our church.
Hello Gabriel, so sweet of you to show your Daddy the PERFECT gift. The gift you have left for us to share. The gift of unconditional love.
I still don't know the name of this man. That's what makes this so special. We made eye contact on Sunday, he knew who I was and I knew who he was........I smiled right at him and he smiled back. Nothing else needed to be said. This made Shawn's day.
Happy Father's Day Shawn Paul Malone!!! We all love you DEARLY!
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