How to Move forward

Two posts in one day, I realize people will be shocked. They are two entirely different posts. The first post was for family, this post is a heartfelt outpouring of grief that is best understood by others who have walked in our shoes relating to the loss of a child. Memorial Day was recently. I have been struggling so hard with grief ever since. I realize that feelings I will express here about guilt seem pointless. My head knows what happened to Mason was not my fault. Sometimes it is hard to tell my heart that. No amount of time, or counseling, or prayer seems to completely remove those feelings of guilt. In my case, I had a perfectly healthy baby boy, and my cervix was too weak to carry him to term. I was betrayed by my own body. My son was betrayed by my body. My son died because my body failed both of us. Memorial day seems to have increased the feelings of guilt and thus the feelings of grief. I feel so guilty for not being able to be there at his gravesite on that day. I hate that I had to leave him. I hate myself for the need to have a gravesite to visit even occurred at all. It is a terrible combination and I am unsure how to completely let those feelings go. I have come to realize several things through the counseling I do with other mothers new to this situation. Losing a baby is unfair. Grief is unfair. A grieving person will act unfairly. Friends and family can act unfairly towards a grieving person. Life is unfair. I know that I have been hurt by friends and family while I experienced this journey. There really is no excuse. I always thought before this happened that if something bad were to happen, I would be able to handle it with grace and poise and keep my pain to myself. That was not always the case, as it is not always the case with most grieving people. When a woman goes through the pain of labor and childbirth, it is usually followed by the most joyous event. When a woman is my situation goes through the pain, once the delivery is over, pain even more gut-wrenching begins. The pain of watching my son pass away. The pain of planning a funeral for my child. The pain of attending a funeral for my child. The pain of picking a casket and a headstone for my child. The pain of going to the cemetery and seeing a tiny, fresh mound of earth where my child was laid to rest. I cannot even begin to describe to you the pain I felt on the inside. I wanted to shut everything and everyone out. I thought if I could block everyone out, I could block the pain too. Because of my attempt to block the pain, I also blocked some of the best things about me. I have said before that grief is selfish, and it truly is. A bigger person would have been able to go visit friends and families who had babies in the months after, I couldn't, or wouldn't do it. The thought of going to the same hospital, on the same floor, in a room that looked exactly the same as I was in during the most agonizing and heart-crushing event of my life overwhelmed me. I could not push past the pain and even fear and bring myself to do it. There was one time in particular where I made it all the way to the hospital lobby before I began to almost panic. My throat felt tight, my chest hurt, my knees felt like jelly, and I couldn't seem to take a breath. I did the gutless thing and fled. I am truly sorry for the friends and family for whom I could not support in the way they wanted. It was never meant to cause pain, or anger. Other times I was so short tempered and lashed out. A bigger person would have more restraint. I didn't. I was angry and bitter. I was so tired from crying myself to sleep and then having nightmares when I did sleep. I was tired of cruel comments like "you should be over this" and "you still have two other kids". My fuse was short and there are times where I should have bit my tongue and had more patience. I am truly sorry for that. I still struggle with this sometimes. It seems like I have had a personality change since losing Mason. I struggle to find compassion when others need to vent about their children or babies. I struggle to find compassion for people who I feel should still talk about Mason to me. I struggle to find forgiveness for those that hurt us during that time. I struggle to let Noah and Mina be independent from Jake and I because the fear of losing them overwhelms me. I struggle to let Jamie and Linda go out of my sight with friends because again, I think I cannot survive another loss. I don't know if I will ever be the person I think I ought to. I think we are often times hardest on ourselves. I do know that I am a work in progress and that God has not finished healing me, nor has He finished molding me in his image. To my readers who are here for the same reason, I hear the pain and guilt and even shame in your stories and it hurts me. Yet, I can't tell you to let go of it and move forward because I still struggle with this. All I can do is promise to pray for you as you are molded, and to pray for me as well. There are people I need to seek forgiveness from, and people I need to forgive should they ever ask for it. There are feelings of fear, guilt, and anger I need to let go of and you need to as well. I don't know how, but I do know we will get there. We are not alone, we have a Father in Heaven who loves us, we serve a Risen Savior, and we have each other. We also have the greatest Healer of all whom by his sacrifice on the cross has allowed us to have the chance to be with our babies again. I am trying to dwell on that fact and allow myself to fully feel the joy that comes from knowing Christ. That is my desire for you as well. As always, please message me if you would like further discussion on any of these topics. I will be more than happy to respond offline. Thank you Father for all of these gifts.

It is that time of year again. Fall has always been my favorite time of year. I loved the leaves turning, the cheesy Halloween television specials, and the nip in the air. I still love all of those things, but now fall also brings with it new feelings. Now fall brings the anniversary of Mason's passing. So while sometimes I can enjoy all the things I used to, but there is always something lingering in my mind. Now the fall decorations I buy are fall flowers to put in the vase on Mason's headstone. When I am buying costumes for the kids I am also buying a new animal to place on his grave. When I see spooky decorations lit up at night, it reminds me that I need to buy batteries for the solar lights on Mason's headstone.

I have healed enough that I can at least find some enjoyment in the things I used to love about fall, but there is always the little twinge of grief behind my eyes. It is strange to see how grief changes us as mothers. Even the ordinary is somehow connected to our loss. I know it will continue to change with time, but I actually am glad it is this way. I know that I, as Mason's mother, feel like his memory is always with me, and that in some small way brings me peace. So if this post touches you maybe as you do your fall things you can drop a prayer for grieving parents everywhere this year.

Mason's story-The Aftermath Part 5

The day after Thanksgiving was Mason's funeral. We had a dear family friend keep James and Linda because we felt that they were just not emotionally prepared to deal with the funeral of their little brother. We drove to the church, and I wept on the way. I just didn't want to have to do this, I just wanted so badly to close my eyes and have it all go away. We were the first people at the church. Mason's tiny casket was at the front. We went up their and sat in front of it, I wept some more. The lady from the funeral home came over and asked if I would like her to open the casket one last time. I said no. I am not sure why, I think I was just so overwhelmed that I couldn't take anymore. I wish now I would have said yes though and that haunts me sometimes.

We walked up to and placed our hands on his casket. We both prayed silently for Mason and for strength to endure. My family began to arrive. I can't remember what happened after that, the next thing I remember is being seated and the first song we selected began. The song is titled "Cry out to Jesus". It may seem like an odd song for a funeral, but we knew that there would be unsaved people at the funeral and we wanted to show them that even though we were broken, we still had faith. We wanted them to wonder how they could have that too. Later in the story I will not be so strong when tested. There was one line in particular that seemed like it was sang for us. I am not going to type the whole song, just the parts that spoke to us.

For every one whose lost someone they loved
Long before it was their time.
You feel like the days you had were not enough,
when you said goodbye. ....

There is hope for the helpless,
rest for the weary,
and love for the broken heart.

There is grace and forgiveness,
mercy and healing.
He'll meet you wherever you are.
Cry out to Jesus, oh cry out to Jesus.

The first stanza is pretty obvious on why we chose it. The refrain however spoke especially to me. Hope for the helpless, I felt so helpless when they told me what was happening. I knew I was doing everything I could do, and it still wasn't enough.

Rest for the Weary. I was tired in every way a person could be tired. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, and mentally. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his precious face. In my sleep I had viscous night terrors about the trauma. I was exhausted to a level I have never been to this day.

Love for the broken heart. When something like this happens, you truly feel like you will never be able to be happy again. Love is happiness. You have to allow your broken heart to feel again to be happy.

Grace and forgiveness. Every mother I have ever talked to who has gone through a loss related to IC feels partly, or wholly responsible. It is our jobs to protect our babies, and to have a perfect baby pass away because your body did not do its job leave you with a profound feeling of guilt and failure.

Mercy and healing. I needed to accept God's mercy before I could forgive myself and begin to heal.

He'll meet you wherever you are. Wherever I was. Even if that meant in the pit of depression and anger, God would meet me there all I had to do was Cry out to Jesus. Although it would take months for me to do this, it later becomes an important part of my healing. Something so simple as crying out for my savior changed my life forever, again. More later.

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Mason's Story-The Aftermath Part 4

I have said this before, but I have to be in a certain frame of mind to write down Mason's story. I am telling his story as honestly as I know how. I know there are parts that someone who has not experienced grief may not understand. I know there are parts that make me look selfish, or dramatic, or bitter. The truth is grief is all of those things. It makes no sense. It changes who you are, how you feel, and how you live again. You will see in later posting how God lifted me from the pit of constant darkness. How He raised me up from the depths of the deepest, darkest parts of me and let me feel joy, peace, love, and even happiness again. But for now I am telling the story in the order that it happened, as it happened. I truly feel like that is the work that I have to do so that some poor woman who is newly grieving may read this and know they are not crazy, or selfish, or a bad person, but most importantly, that they are not alone. So I pick up Mason's story with the day following the funeral viewing. If you are new to my blog, all of Mason's story until this point is written in previous blogs. Just search the name Mason and you will find it.

The next day after the funeral viewing was Thanksgiving. Until that year we had split our time between my family and Jake's, but I just didn't have it in me this year. I went back and forth between such intense emotional pain and total emptiness. I was beginning to develop anxiety that would cripple me for several months afterwards. I couldn't stand the thought of sitting down to a normal dinner when things in my life were so not normal. To quote my pastor "things are a million miles away from normal." I couldn't stand sitting there and receiving pity looks from people, and worse I couldn't stand the thought of sitting there while people made small talk and tried to make life normal. I didn't want normal, normal felt like I was abandoning my son, like I didn't care enough to be miserable as crazy as that sounds. I thought of having to sit there and watch life go on as normal, and in my head I pictured myself just snapping and screaming "What is wrong with you people!" "My son is laying in a casket a few miles away and you want me to eat turkey and pie!". I know that this seems unfair, that several family members were hurting as well but were dealing with it in different ways, but that is what I felt like would happen if I went. Most family understood this, some did not and began to judge us for not taking James and Linda somewhere so they could have Thanksgiving dinner. It is very cruel to judge us in that moment. I had delivered Mason just four days ago. I was still having massive blood loss and fever from infection. My mind is absorbed with just getting up from my bed to my couch. They were fed and either played outside or watched movies inside. That was as good as I could do at the time.

I remember a family member came and got James and Linda and took them over to their house for dinner. I can't remember who though. I think it was my mother-in-law, but I am not sure. It may have been my mother. I am pretty sure that my mother-in-law brought us each a plate of food, but I am not sure on that as well. It is not that it wasn't appreciated, it is just that I was so overwhelmed at the time that smaller details are fuzzy. I know I was still not eating at this point. I also know I had started smoking again, something I had not done in over a year. I was living off of apple juice, pain pills, and cigarettes. Not a healthy combo for someone whose body had been through what mine had gone through.

Sometime in the afternoon I began to panic about what I would wear to the funeral. You would think that it wouldn't matter to me at that time, but somehow looking appropriate seemed so important. It seemed like what I wore would be a testament to my love for Mason. Everything dressy I owned was pretty cheery. I liked to dress up for work in different colors and patterns. I got up from the couch and tore through my closet trying to figure out what to wear. I can't even explain what was driving me. I know I didn't care what others thought, but what Mason would think. I know that is ridiculous, but I was obviously not in a normal state of mind. I went into my closet and began teaing things off the hangers. "I can't wear this shirt, it has flowers on it!" "I can't wear this shirt, it's pink!" One by one I threw things out of my closet into a pile on my floor. "This shirt is too low cut." " This shirt has sparkles." "This shirt is green, green represents life, I can't wear that!" With every item I rejected I became more hysterical until eventually I was weeping, and screaming, and throwing things, and hitting things.

Jake came into the room and I am sure thought I was officially having a nervous breakdown. He tried to tell me it didn't matter, that made me more angry and hysterical. He tried to put his arms around me to make me stop and calm down. I screamed at him to let go and he tried to hold me tighter. He was desperate to calm me down. He put his arms around me again and for the first time in our entire relationship I hit him out of anger. I punched him as hard as I could on his chest until he let me go. He would have bruises the next day. A couple of seconds later I realized what I had done and it was like my knees went out from under me. I sank to the floor, drew my knees up to my chest, and just wept. I sat there rocking back and forth on a pile of shirts and hangers and wept like a broken woman. Jake knelt down and gently put his arms around me again. This time, I let him. He laid his head on my shoulder and wept with me as I rocked back and forth. Even as I am typing this I am crying because I remember how lost I felt in that moment. It felt like something dark had swallowed the real me and all that was left was a broken shell.

When I had recovered, Jake handed me my purse and told me to go find something to wear. While I was gone he cleaned up the mess I had made so it looked like nothing had ever happened. I found a store that was open and got a pair of dark gray pants, and a black button down dress shirt. They seemed appropriate to me. After the funeral, I have never been able to wear them again, but I can't stand to give them away either. They sit in the back of my closet, only worn for an hour, a reminder of the pain I felt, and yet, I keep them. It makes no sense to me either. I only know that to give them away seems wrong as well. Maybe time will change that, I am not sure. I only know that for now, there they sit.

Blogs I Love

Here is another blog I love to read. The blog is called "My Expected End". Marie is a teacher who has lost two babies due to Incompetent Cervix. She is trying to get the abdominal cerclage which should help her to carry closer to term. Not all doctors are willing to do this and she is facing difficulty. She tells her journey through infertility, grief, hope, and tears in a poignant way that hits very close to home for me. She through it all retains her faith and you can literally seem to feel her need for Jesus through her struggles. I hope you will all find it as dear as I do. I highly recommend it for those of you with IC. Here is the link.

http://myexpectedend.blogspot.com/

Multiple Blessings

I have just learned that a friend on the IC forum just lost her third baby to Incompetent Cervix. She lost the first baby very close to how we lost Mason. Then she had a cerclage with her second one that failed, then she had a cerclage, and when that one started to fail, another one and still lost her baby.

I can't imagine going through the loss of a child multiple times. I lost a piece of my soul the day Mason died. I imagine it would feel like being pulled apart little piece by little piece. No one can explain medically how Noah and Mina are here. When I had the major bleed at 12 weeks the doctor's were concerned, when I started dilating at 22 weeks even with the stitch we were given steroid shots because it looked very likely I would have them anyday, but day after day went by and they held on. We made it all of the way to 35 weeks. It had to be a God thing. There is no other explanation. As I hold them tonight, I pray for Hope and I ask that one day she can have her miracle too.

Our doctor looking down at Noah and Mina moments after their birth. The relief and joy on his face says it all. This is one of my favorite pictures from their birth.