Grief On My Sleeve

 Happy Easter, everyone!

I have a quiet moment while everyone is occupied, and this idea came to me in Mass this morning and I didn't want to forget it!

While in Easter service, a gentleman in front of me was wearing a nice dress shirt with the word GREIF embroidered on the sleeve. (I've since deduced this is a company and not a clothing brand, and yes I know it's not the same as the word "grief" but that's what it looked like).

But it got me thinking...what if we labeled our sleeves? 

Nationwide Children's Hospital has the "On Our Sleeves" campaign to break the stigma of mental health, very similar concept! Mental health, suffering, grief, is often not something that is visible. It's easy to assume people are ok but we have no clue what's on the inside.

What if I had just labeled my shirt with the word, "Grief." Or, "Hurting," "Suffering," "Really sad," or maybe even, "Not sure if I'm still sane."

Then people would know. Kind of like a warning label, maybe more like a handle with care. 

Maybe if you're having a good day you can just wear, "Happy today!" and people can celebrate with you. And when you're wearing "sad" on your sleeve, people will find ways to lift you up.

It's just that it's hard to tell people how you really feel. A miscarriage, stillbirth, or infant loss is (as I've probably said a hundred times on here) very isolating. It feels like the world goes back to regular speed and you're stuck in slow motion.

Like those commercials for antidepressants where the world is in a bright, sunny day with chirping birds, but you have your very own storm cloud over your head.

I know I didn't really know how to communicate my true feelings in the thick of my suffering. What did I need? I'm not even sure I knew. So being "fine" was much easier than telling caring people who inquired how I was really feeling. 

Maybe if I could have just worn a sign, I wouldn't have had to tell anyone.

But alas, people would probably think I'd really lost my mind if I'd done that. So what's the solution? 

Find a person you CAN tell. Send them a text. Set up a code word. However you are able. Find a way to have at least one person you can be truly open and honest with, and then let them help you. Don't be afraid to tell them what it is you need. Often times, we as human beings just simply don't know how to help. It doesn't mean we don't want to, it just means we don't know what would be best for you. Because of that, get to a place where you feel ok just telling someone.

Do you need a hug? Do you need to just laugh at really stupid jokes? Do you want to go out and pretend like everything is normal? Do you want to just bawl your eyes out for awhile? 

Find that person and find that thing you need and do it! 

It's ok to let people into your pain. Good for you, in fact! We aren't meant to do this alone, so don't!

This Is Us

By Amy Tatz

Do you watch the TV show This Is Us? It's a pretty emotional drama about a family and their story. But I often find some of the lines from the show inspirational. Thus, this blog post. 

I won't give away spoilers, but this is something that Kevin said in one of this season's episodes.

"You ever feel like you're performing in a movie that no one's watching? You're trying to be the right kind of person instead of just...being that person."

He wasn't talking about grief, but that's what it reminded me of.

I hear all the time how the women and men who have lost a baby or child feel so alone, so isolated. I myself felt that way for sure going through my losses. Especially after the first week or so. Life around me had gone back to normal, yet I wasn't sure what my normal was anymore. I buried my child. That was not normal. I had to find the new norm and adjust to it. And I felt like I was doing it alone despite the family and friends who wanted to help.

And eventually, there comes a time in which "the world" expects you to act normal again. In the book Empty Arms by Pam Vredevelt, (which we are doing in our new peer-to-peer support group! E-mail us if you're interested!) one of her tips was to sort of try and fake it until you make it. I have mixed feelings about this but I understand what she's getting at. I just feel like there's a very fine line there, where we don't want to over-fake it, or constantly fake it. We still have our grief and emotions to process and it's important that we allow, sometimes even force, ourselves to do that. 

But sometimes, we do have to fake it. Maybe it's because we have children at home that we have to take care of and we can't always be falling apart. Maybe we have to go back to work. And for me, that's when the performance begins.

I'm in a movie no one is watching. No one knows that thoughts swirling in my head.

Was it my fault? What did I do wrong? My family is hurting and it's all because I lost my baby. Will I ever be ok? Will those donuts make me feel better? I really think they will. But now I have this weight to lose for the baby I didn't get to bring home.

No one knows the physical toll my my body is recovering from.

Blood loss. Anemia. Hormones crashing. Milk coming in with no baby to drink it. 

No one can see the total devastation on the inside.

They see the performance. And because the performance appears normal, no one wants to watch it. That's ok. I didn't want to be watched. I really didn't. 

But I even remember feeling like I wasn't doing the performance right. Was I crying enough in front of people? Did I look sad enough? Did I look too sad? Why couldn't I get it right?

Was I getting the happy act right? Why couldn't I just be happy? Why couldn't I just grieve right? Why all the acting?

I guess what I want to say is, it's ok to put a smile on your face to get through the day. It really is. But guess what? So is all the other stuff. The doubts, the hurt, the tears, the performance. It's all ok. 

And I also want to say that you may feel like you're performing in a movie that no one is watching, but I promise you, you actually do have an audience! And you should never hesitate to reach out to them for support, or laughs, or a hug, or a chocolate. 

And maybe, if you really think about it, you're not really acting. You're surviving, and that's huge! 

Being Thankful

 It's really hard to write about infant loss and thankfulness in the same blog. It's a hard thought to stomach. My last post was about finding joy in the memory of your baby. If we can find joy, we certainly can find thankfulness! 

I know many people hate the phrase, "Everything happens for a reason." And sometimes, I hate it too. And yet, when I look back on my adult life, I can't help but think it only proves this point. 

I'm at a place in my life where I can be thankful for it all, even the grief and the heartbreak. It wasn't easy or fast to get to this place. And there are days where I don't feel it, even still. But here are the things I am thankful for when it comes to losing our Alex, Henry, Olivia, and Jessie.

I am thankful for the opportunity to love more. To get to know a mother's love even if I never got to mother those babies in my arms.

I am thankful for the people our suffering has brought into my life. Had we not lost Henry, I would not have been introduced to Kambra and this ministry. It truly gave me a purpose. And through Back In His Arms Again I have made so many new friends and had so many new opportunities.

I am thankful for the families I have been able to help. I have been able to use our experiences to help others navigate their own loss. 

I am thankful for the memories of those ultrasounds, those positive pregnancy tests, those baby flutters that offered proof of life. Not everyone gets those. 

I am thankful for the hard lessons my kids have had to go through in their own grief. While I would never have wished that pain upon them, I also know they have learned some valuable lessons that will benefit them later in life. 

I am thankful for the journey. What more could I ask for? 

Finding Joy Amidst Your Suffering

 I’m supposed to talk about finding Joy again….so I don’t want to screw this up! No pressure just trying to find people’s happiness! 

The thing is...sometimes you have to let joy find you. Joy is always out there, we just have to be ready to feel it and let it in. 

I remember going through this process with all of my losses. I had this fuzzy white bathrobe. By our last loss it had become a bit dingy as it was pretty worn. But it became my cloak of grief. I wore that robe all day, every day, for several weeks. And two of my losses were in February so sometimes I even slept in it because it was so cold. 

I felt like I couldn’t take it off, you know? I had to not just feel like crud, I had to look like crud, too. I went through the motions.

And then eventually, there would be a day where I was just tired of that robe and ready to take it off. And it didn’t just stop there. I bought a new outfit, new makeup, got my hair cut. It was as if...I was ready for joy. I was ready to feel better. And I thought that maybe if I spruced myself up a little, I could act the part and it would help. 

Did it help? I believe it absolutely did, as silly as it may sound. You see..I was ready to find joy. I was ready to let it in. 

A mother who has lost a baby has a lot of dialogue in her head that she doesn’t share with many people, if at all. A lot of blame and guilt swirling around in our brains. It blocks the joy. You can have joy alongside grief. Absolutely you can. I think where the joy gets lost is in that blame and guilt. So I want to clear a few things up.

It was not your fault. Let’s say that again...It. Was. Not. Your. Fault. 

You are allowed to feel sad. You’re also allowed to feel happy. To feel joy. To feel that joy with your sorrow. There can be room for both. 

When we were planning this event, a beautiful quote came up. It said, grief is like dancing with a broken leg. At first, you can’t dance. Your leg is broken. It’s going to heal. That’s never a doubt. It will heal. But when you go back to that dance studio, you’re going to have to take some time to dance again. Muscles need to be re-trained, stamina needs to be worked back up. And the truth is, maybe that leg will hurt you from time to time as you really work it. It’s healed, but it’s never going to be quite the same as it was before. But what would that dancer do? Just learn to work with it. 

And that’s what we’ve got to do when we are grieving. We will get better. I promise. But we’ve got to learn how to work with our grief. You’ll heal, but you’ll be different. And make sure to remind yourself that it’s ok to be different. It’s ok to find new things to bring you joy when the old ones don’t. 

I think probably the most important thing I would say to someone whose grief is new, is to be kind to yourself, and take care of yourself. There is no one-size-fits-all way to get through. No one gets to tell you how to grieve. You’re in control. Own it. Feel it. Sit with it. If you do, it will begin to ease and heal. 

So...what if you feel like the joy isn’t finding you? You say, “Amy, I’m trying to let joy in and it’s not showing up.”

Ok so now we have to send out a search party. Call up that friend that’s always been the funny one. Tell them that you want to go out and feel normal. Let her make you laugh. Let that really sympathetic person give you a big hug. Or maybe, put that fuzzy white robe back on and try again another day. That’s ok too. Remember...you’re in control. You’ve got this. Joy is all around. It will be there when you’re ready.

Our Happier New Normal

I don’t want life to go back to “normal”

I’m sitting here thinking of how our days looked a few months ago. I worked 40 hours a week at my day job and 30 plus hours at my ministry job. I would run in and out of the garage door dropping my things and then running to the next thing. It was barely keeping clothes clean, while running to the store throwing things in a basket, making mediocre meals that if we were lucky we sat down to eat. All the while home educating two boys, keeping up with all the family birthdays and Sunday gatherings. My phone never stopped ringing, the texts, the calls and the e mails. I never felt I was doing anything well. I was surviving. Barely.

I remember when things started closing down and my 20-year-old son said, “They will never close down my job.” It was 48 hours later that he was told his place of employment was closed. My son-in-love was suddenly teaching high school remotely. My daughter was working from home and remote schooling her son. Another daughter was moving and promoting her small business. Everything changed. Not just for our family but for America. Life came to a fast halt. We were home. Offices and schools were now in our family rooms and dining room tables. Sundays were church on the couch via live stream. We as a family were all face to face in the same space for the first time in a long time. It was real. Some days have been very hard. I can speak for myself that a lot of my friends have posted all the great home improvements and projects they have completed. Many people have started a new hobby, reading, or learning a new skill. While all of these accomplishments and skills are amazing, I have learned some different things.

I learned my 20-year-old son loves his job and his coworkers. I know that my oldest really enjoys her husband remotely working as their two young girls enjoy daddy at home.  I saw my senior in high school keep up with his college classes, job, and horse. I saw that senior stress firsthand.  I’m amazed at my daughter, who started a new job about 9 months ago, take her skills home and keep her job duties at home from 9-5 while remote schooling her Kindergarten son. I’ve seen another daughter move, adjust life, and promote her business with her husband. The youngest two boys have kept up with homeschool with all of this swirling around them. It certainly has been a challenging time.

 However, it’s all the changes that truly brought a wonderful vibe back to all of our lives. We now eat dinner together. The “High- Low” chat at the table was the throw back. Each person at the table shares the highest and lowest moment of the day. This led to some funny family memories of years past that we all roar over.  Monopoly has ruled the night. Mario Kart parties have been reborn. Puzzles have been made. Uno came back. Yard work was done. Campfires with s’mores and great conversation. Grown kids helped with moving, birthdays, and calls to support one another. I realized things I otherwise wouldn’t have in this stillness of home. We were together. We were talking. Laughter returned. We had one another. We pulled together.

I hope that things don’t return to normal. This time together has been an incredible blessing. If we have learned anything it is that we all need to lean on one another. That the simple times are the best times. It turns out that we still like to talk, play, and hang out without any particular reason. This is the rainbow in these scary times of uncertainty. I am grateful and thankful and blessed for all these moments. I truly pray that our entire world takes a step back and doesn’t return to the old “normal”. The old normal was the most socially distant our family has ever been. It took a pandemic to get our attention and pull us back in. We are closer today than we have been in years.

Thank you to all who work on the front lines of this corona virus. The health care workers, first responders and essential workers.  A personal shout out to my Costco family at 1160 Easton. We are all so grateful for everyone lending a hand. Take care of your neighbor. Be kind in all you do, and I pray you are safe and healthy.

Always for life,
Kambra

Happy Birthday, Mary Claire!

     I walked outside in October 12 and it hit me  . It took my breath away . The cold fall air . The first of the season . It all came rushing back . I was there . On her grave , in that chair , with Colin on my lap . My family was around me. Here I was , again .  The smell of the air , the cool breeze and my broken heart .
     Mary Claire Malone , November 1, 2007 .  You would be 11. Each year I think about what you might have been doing . This year you would be that cute little tween . You would be adored by your brothers and look up to your amazing adult big sisters . But this wasn’t Gods plan . 
     Gods plan . How do we embrace that ? Most often it’s not what we want or had thought out in our head . How does this time of year sneak up on me - every year . How am I not more prepared ??? How does this happen ??? 
     This happens because we are human . There cannot be grief where there hasn’t been love . We are mothers and fathers . It’s not the natural order of life to lose a child . Grief is a balance and flow of tears and joy .
     I choose to embrace Gods Holy plan . I rejoice in the precious life of our youngest child . She has taught me that I need to let go . I need to live and love fully each moment . Each and every moment is a treasure . I take nothing for  granted and realize that time is the greatest gift you can give .
     Thank you Jesus for allowing me to be Mary Claire’s Mommy . Sending you all my love in heaven on your 11th birthday baby girl  ️

Mommy  

Grieving Parent, You are Not Alone

Blog post by Autumn Purdy

Dear Grieving Parent,

What I want to say to you if you are suffering the loss of your child: I know this heartache. I live it every day. I understand your pain. You are not alone.

What I would want you to know about me: I have lost children, too—six, to miscarriage. The losses no longer haunt me, but I’ll never live without the pain. I don’t want to live without these sorrowful scars, but the grief no longer defeats me. We named our children, and that gave us tremendous peace. I call them by name, silently in my prayers, remembering their tiny, yet, significant lives. They are a part of me, my marriage, our family, my story.  

What I would do for you if you told me about the loss of your son or daughter: I would hold your hand and ask if he or she had a name. Then, I would say that name out loud with you to acknowledge and affirm that child’s life, no matter how short he or she lived inside or outside your womb. Named or not, your child was real, true, loved, and deserves to be known.

What I would ask you: What can you tell me about your child(ren)? What would you want others to know about them? How did your loss unfold? Tell me anything, or everything. I will listen, and laugh and cry along with you. I will marvel at the joy their life brought to you, and I will grieve all that you have lost. I will stay with you until you have nothing more to say, and together, we will sit in silence and solidarity of being parents whom have loved and lost.

What I would tell you now is: Thank you for sharing your pain with me. Thank you for trusting me with your vulnerability. I will hold the knowledge of your heartache sacred within my own heart. I won’t forget you or your children, either.

Please, remember: You are never alone. 

In prayerful lament,

A friend 

October is National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month, and October 15^th is a special day dedicated to raising awareness for pregnancy and infant loss. At 7:00 PM tomorrow night, please join us in lighting a candle, praying, and speaking out loud the names, and honoring the memories of all the children taken from us too soon.