Right when you think you are finally getting a grip on this new life you are living, right when you feel like you have control of your emotions, right when you think the deep sadness and darkness that once surrounded you has began to lessen you feel it again. That ache that is so deep within you it's impossible to escape. It's as if the outside world knows exactly when to throw at you that harsh reminder that your child has left you. As much as you try to escape the feelings, as much as you try to escape the pain and as much as you try to escape the dark memories; you can't.
The other day at work I was walking down the hallway when I saw an adorable little boy who I imagined was pretty close to my son Levi's age. Since I work in a skilled nursing facility a small child under the age of 10 is a rare sighting. In front of him I saw his mom pushing a stroller and walking behind him was what I could only assume his grandmother carrying a beautiful chunky little baby in her arms. As I walked behind these adorable kids I saw what could have been my future flashing before my eyes. But instead of dwelling in the sadness I decided to ask the mom how old her little boy was
"He is so cute, how old is your oldest?"
"2 years and 2 months"
"How perfect, I have an almost 2 year old at home and I thought your little man looked to be about his age."
"Oh man, you must have a pretty big guy if he's about the same size as this one and not quite two."
I responded with, "Yea he's not the smallest of the bunch."
The grandmother then turns to me and says: "But I bet you don't have one this size at home" and held up the cutest little blue eyed, pudgy baby I had seen in quite awhile.
My eyes, just like they have experienced much too often these days started to well up, so I quickly answered "You're right, I don't have one that size."
The daughter turned around at that point and said "See Mom, she was one of the smart ones."
I can't even write these words without tears streaming down my cheeks. The pain I feel when I re-live this conversation is just so real. So incredibly real, that sometimes I wish parents who have lost their children could wear a sign that says "I'm a mother/father to an angel." I wish that mother had known that I would have given anything to have what she had. To hold two perfectly healthy, happy babies in my arms, to have them close in age and to watch them grow up together. I struggle every moment of every day with the fact that I will never get to see Harper grow up, that she wasn't healthy while she lived her earthly life and that I had to witness her take her last breath in my arms.
One thing I've learned for sure in the realm of grieving is that reality is so harsh sometimes. You can't escape it and you can't avoid it, it doesn't stop for you and it doesn't always cater to your needs. When you've lost your child you have to learn to survive within reality. You have to re-learn how to breathe, how to walk, how to function and how to strive without a piece of yourself. It's unfair, it's unthinkable and it's tragic but it's also necessary. Mothers of infant loss most definitely learn very quickly what true strength feels like; not because they want too necessarily but because they have too. My soul has never ached so much in my whole life and yet here I am: still standing, still breathing and still moving forward. Some days I'm not really sure how it is possible. Reality wants to knock me down at times, wants to remind me of the darkness and the sadness that floods my being but strength is knowing that there is light and strength is believing that one day that light will shine through again and that one day we will be reunited for eternity and all will feel complete. So when reality comes knocking at my door, I've learned to take a deep breath, roll with the punches and picture my beautiful baby girl shining down on me from up above.
So with that image on my mind, today I pick up another broken piece on this unimaginable journey and place this particular one where it belongs with the hope that one day this journey will look complete once again and I can hold my beautiful daughter in my arms and tell her how much her mommy misses her and loves her. *Harper Lynn*
Sunday, August 14, 2016
Saturday, July 16, 2016
I Hope You Dance
This past weekend we got to witness the most beautiful wedding ceremony, one where you could just feel the love that filled the room from each and every corner. It was such a special day for such an amazing couple and when it came time for the Father/Daughter dance I could feel that little tug in my heart that I've been feeling so often these days. That little tug that sometimes pulls a little harder each time and causes my heart to ache a little bit longer. I could feel the emotions creeping up: the sadness that tries to take my breath away and the darkness that attempts to overshadow the light. But then the song started to play. It was the most beautiful melody, a melody that enabled the light to shine through and show the love that had once encompassed the room. As the lyrics began to play I found the words to be so incredibly soothing; they were finding a way to encourage joyfulness through the immense sorrow.
" I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted..."
"Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
and when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I HOPE YOU DANCE"
These words started to fill my soul and the more I listened to them and watched the loveliness of a father and daughter dance before my eyes the more I began to allow myself to see the beauty again. I could understand how easy it would be for me to sit this one out though, to cower in the corner or quickly walk away in order to spare my heart from feeling that little tug again; but instead, I was learning to accept these feelings and I was finally learning to dance through them. At times it feels like the most awkward dance, where my arms may not be in rhythm with my feet or my movements might feel totally out of sync with the music but yet at the same time I am so proud of myself. As the song tells us, I know that I have not picked the path of least resistance and I have promised myself to not sit this one out.
I know that I will always wish for there to be an extra person with me while I'm dancing. I will always wish that with each family picture we take these days you could see four visible people. That when I speak of my daughter you could picture a beautiful, happy, and smiling almost four month old. I will always wish that I didn't have to leave that hospital with completely empty arm, with a heart that was shattered into too many pieces to count and a soul that felt like it could collapse at any moment. I will always wish I could still live that naïve life where these types of feelings felt impossible to imagine and even more so out of reach. But I can tell you there is ONE thing I will most definitely NEVER wish for. You will at no time find me uttering the words "I wish this never happened." I am forever grateful for those three whole days that I got to soak up what life on earth with two amazing children felt like. I always joked when I was pregnant with Harper that having a girl felt like such a "game changer" and how true those words ring in my heart right now. Harper was a definite game changer in our family, but within all the sadness of her leaving she has brought us so much joy. Harper has taught us to appreciate the small things, to cherish each breath we take and the ease that comes with it and to give thanks for the beauty in which we live. To say it simply, she has taught me to keep dancing and to love without limits.
Today, my husband Adam and I celebrate five years of marriage and today is undoubtedly one of those days where I remember and acknowledge how truly blessed I am. Sometimes it's been hard for me to see the "blessings" through the gloominess, but with this celebration comes a joy that words will never be able to describe. This is not how I ever imagined our marriage to look like when I said "I Do" five years ago. It's been messy, so much more than I could have ever believed and yet through these messy times we have found a love so much deeper and so much fuller than my imagine could have allowed. Adam and I have been through more than someone who just turned 30 should have ever experienced, we have seen more sadness than a happily married couple of five years should ever have felt and yet we have made it through and we have found the light in what will hopefully be one of our darkest moments. I'm not saying that because we survived this tribulation that the road before us will be easy but I am just so grateful that every morning I wake up next to this man and I thank God that I get one more day on this earth to spend with him. There is nothing I would change about the "Kate and Adam Story" because it is our story that has helped me develop into the woman I am today, the mother I am today and the wife that I am today. I know Adam is always and will always be by my side and I know he will always be the one saying over and over to me ... "I hope you dance."
So within the celebrating that today will bring, I will pick up another broken piece that has been scattered along this unimaginable journey and I will place it where it belongs knowing that I have been truly blessed with the most amazing man by my side, the most beautiful baby girl in heaven and the most inspiring son here on earth.
* HAPPY FIVE YEARS OF MARRIAGE, ADAM: Let's dance all day long!! I LOVE YOU *
" I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted..."
"Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,
Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
and when you get the choice to sit it out or dance
I HOPE YOU DANCE"
These words started to fill my soul and the more I listened to them and watched the loveliness of a father and daughter dance before my eyes the more I began to allow myself to see the beauty again. I could understand how easy it would be for me to sit this one out though, to cower in the corner or quickly walk away in order to spare my heart from feeling that little tug again; but instead, I was learning to accept these feelings and I was finally learning to dance through them. At times it feels like the most awkward dance, where my arms may not be in rhythm with my feet or my movements might feel totally out of sync with the music but yet at the same time I am so proud of myself. As the song tells us, I know that I have not picked the path of least resistance and I have promised myself to not sit this one out.
I know that I will always wish for there to be an extra person with me while I'm dancing. I will always wish that with each family picture we take these days you could see four visible people. That when I speak of my daughter you could picture a beautiful, happy, and smiling almost four month old. I will always wish that I didn't have to leave that hospital with completely empty arm, with a heart that was shattered into too many pieces to count and a soul that felt like it could collapse at any moment. I will always wish I could still live that naïve life where these types of feelings felt impossible to imagine and even more so out of reach. But I can tell you there is ONE thing I will most definitely NEVER wish for. You will at no time find me uttering the words "I wish this never happened." I am forever grateful for those three whole days that I got to soak up what life on earth with two amazing children felt like. I always joked when I was pregnant with Harper that having a girl felt like such a "game changer" and how true those words ring in my heart right now. Harper was a definite game changer in our family, but within all the sadness of her leaving she has brought us so much joy. Harper has taught us to appreciate the small things, to cherish each breath we take and the ease that comes with it and to give thanks for the beauty in which we live. To say it simply, she has taught me to keep dancing and to love without limits.
Today, my husband Adam and I celebrate five years of marriage and today is undoubtedly one of those days where I remember and acknowledge how truly blessed I am. Sometimes it's been hard for me to see the "blessings" through the gloominess, but with this celebration comes a joy that words will never be able to describe. This is not how I ever imagined our marriage to look like when I said "I Do" five years ago. It's been messy, so much more than I could have ever believed and yet through these messy times we have found a love so much deeper and so much fuller than my imagine could have allowed. Adam and I have been through more than someone who just turned 30 should have ever experienced, we have seen more sadness than a happily married couple of five years should ever have felt and yet we have made it through and we have found the light in what will hopefully be one of our darkest moments. I'm not saying that because we survived this tribulation that the road before us will be easy but I am just so grateful that every morning I wake up next to this man and I thank God that I get one more day on this earth to spend with him. There is nothing I would change about the "Kate and Adam Story" because it is our story that has helped me develop into the woman I am today, the mother I am today and the wife that I am today. I know Adam is always and will always be by my side and I know he will always be the one saying over and over to me ... "I hope you dance."
So within the celebrating that today will bring, I will pick up another broken piece that has been scattered along this unimaginable journey and I will place it where it belongs knowing that I have been truly blessed with the most amazing man by my side, the most beautiful baby girl in heaven and the most inspiring son here on earth.
* HAPPY FIVE YEARS OF MARRIAGE, ADAM: Let's dance all day long!! I LOVE YOU *
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
Just Keep Swimming
The other day Levi had his first "official" swim lesson and boy was he ecstatic. As soon as we entered the pool area I couldn't get him to calm down, he incessantly pointed to the pool, screaming "Wa Wa" at the top of his lungs while squirming ferosciously to wiggle out of my arms. Levi loves to take on new adventures, sometimes keeping Mommy and Daddy on their toes a little too often but we welcome it nonetheless. He's just so amazing, usually a very happy kid with a strong will and yet so incredibly loving. As I watched his Dad take him into the pool for his "waterbabies" class I watched with a full heart at how much this little child had grown up and how much life he gives to us. I watched as Levi learned to turn his head to the side, as he put on little flippers and learned to kick in the water and how he unwillingly floated on his back for a few seconds (not his favorite thing!) While I watched Levi learn all of the new and exciting movements and experience sensations he had never felt before all I could think of while watching is how much learning to swim reminds me of life after loss. A bunch of un-natural movements and feelings that when learned and accepted turn into something beautiful, something that allows us to move forward and onward through rough patches, allowing us to breathe if we know how and sometimes throwing a bit of unexpectedness our way.
Learning to swim is not an easy task. I know the difficulties it has since I taught it for such a long time (learning from the best since my Dad taught swim lessons for over 30 years). It's a lot of unusual and odd motions, it's learning to breathe and stay afloat , it's learning to move forward when your body just wants to sink and it's putting all these acts into one glorious movement to get you where you want to be. It usually starts with a kick, the most common of all the kicks is the "flutter" kick, where you quickly move your feel up and down. It's what helps propel you through the water, it's the piece that brings power to this new experience . But that's not all that it takes to keep you afloat, it's just the first piece of the puzzle to helping you learn. Then comes the arms, large screwy movements that are in an entirely different rhythm to your legs. A movement that when performed perfectly helps push the water down and behind you in order to move you faster and faster; allowing you to achieve your goal much more efficiently and smoothly. When your fingers don't grasp the water in just the perfect way though or your elbow doesn't bend at just the right angle when coming out of the water you may lose momentum. One small abnormal movement may hinder your progress forward and require you to work a little harder to catch up. But alas, even with all of this you still have one more key component to be taught... You need to learn to breathe.
Continuing on with life after losing Harper has to be one of the hardest things I've ever had to, it's a daily struggle to find the beauty within this experience. It's learning to ride the waves and power through them when they decide to hit; it's knowing ahead of time that some waves are bigger than others and you must find a way to breathe, even though it may be difficult at times. It's learning that sometimes you may not have the strength to power through, so instead you flip to your back and float through them, watching them carry you as you go. But the hardest part of losing Harper, and the hardest part of swimming, is learning and remembering to breathe in this new environment. It's Hard. As soon as I feel like I've discovered how to power through, a new wave hits and I find myself gasping for air; looking for the fastest way out of this wave of emotions. And sometimes I'm able to power through, kicking with all of my might and sometimes I've learned to let the emotions take me on this journey and I willingly flip to my back and ride them out. Sometimes that's the safest route to get to where you are going, because the more you fight the more resistance you might encounter. Similar to being sucked into a rip tide, where it is safest to swim parallel to shore until the tide brings you closer to land.
Harper has taught me so much about myself, she's helped me understand that suffering and pain come from a beautiful place, a place where love is so abundant and so flourishing that it can become endless. She's also taught me that pain is pain, and sometimes that pain will never go away but that doesn't have to stop us from leading a fulfilling life. You can't let pain be the wave that pulls you under and never lets you breathe again. At times you will find yourself holding your breath as the water pours over you, but with each breath will come a new breath and new understanding of what you just encountered. You come out stronger and better because next time you will understand the fight a little bit more. Never Give Up.
So today I will kick a little harder and breathe a little deeper as I put together another broken piece on this unimaginable journey. Today I will bask in the glory of finding a love so deep and so pure; a love that will one day bring me back to my daughter again.
Learning to swim is not an easy task. I know the difficulties it has since I taught it for such a long time (learning from the best since my Dad taught swim lessons for over 30 years). It's a lot of unusual and odd motions, it's learning to breathe and stay afloat , it's learning to move forward when your body just wants to sink and it's putting all these acts into one glorious movement to get you where you want to be. It usually starts with a kick, the most common of all the kicks is the "flutter" kick, where you quickly move your feel up and down. It's what helps propel you through the water, it's the piece that brings power to this new experience . But that's not all that it takes to keep you afloat, it's just the first piece of the puzzle to helping you learn. Then comes the arms, large screwy movements that are in an entirely different rhythm to your legs. A movement that when performed perfectly helps push the water down and behind you in order to move you faster and faster; allowing you to achieve your goal much more efficiently and smoothly. When your fingers don't grasp the water in just the perfect way though or your elbow doesn't bend at just the right angle when coming out of the water you may lose momentum. One small abnormal movement may hinder your progress forward and require you to work a little harder to catch up. But alas, even with all of this you still have one more key component to be taught... You need to learn to breathe.
Continuing on with life after losing Harper has to be one of the hardest things I've ever had to, it's a daily struggle to find the beauty within this experience. It's learning to ride the waves and power through them when they decide to hit; it's knowing ahead of time that some waves are bigger than others and you must find a way to breathe, even though it may be difficult at times. It's learning that sometimes you may not have the strength to power through, so instead you flip to your back and float through them, watching them carry you as you go. But the hardest part of losing Harper, and the hardest part of swimming, is learning and remembering to breathe in this new environment. It's Hard. As soon as I feel like I've discovered how to power through, a new wave hits and I find myself gasping for air; looking for the fastest way out of this wave of emotions. And sometimes I'm able to power through, kicking with all of my might and sometimes I've learned to let the emotions take me on this journey and I willingly flip to my back and ride them out. Sometimes that's the safest route to get to where you are going, because the more you fight the more resistance you might encounter. Similar to being sucked into a rip tide, where it is safest to swim parallel to shore until the tide brings you closer to land.
Harper has taught me so much about myself, she's helped me understand that suffering and pain come from a beautiful place, a place where love is so abundant and so flourishing that it can become endless. She's also taught me that pain is pain, and sometimes that pain will never go away but that doesn't have to stop us from leading a fulfilling life. You can't let pain be the wave that pulls you under and never lets you breathe again. At times you will find yourself holding your breath as the water pours over you, but with each breath will come a new breath and new understanding of what you just encountered. You come out stronger and better because next time you will understand the fight a little bit more. Never Give Up.
So today I will kick a little harder and breathe a little deeper as I put together another broken piece on this unimaginable journey. Today I will bask in the glory of finding a love so deep and so pure; a love that will one day bring me back to my daughter again.
Sunday, June 19, 2016
Daddy's Girl
Lately, I haven't been feeling very strong but in true "Kate" fashion, I've been trying harder than ever to not let it change me, to not let it affect me and to not let it control my life. But there is one person in my life who sees it everyday, one person who knows that I struggle often and knows that sometimes the darkness tries to prevail. The same person who I also know will never let the darkness overcome, who will pull me up every single time that my knees make me crumble to the ground and who will willingly stand next to me each time and willingly do it all again. That person, as most of you might know, is my husband, Adam and it only feels fitting to tell you all about the amazing man that he is while celebrating Father's Day.
There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that tells me I would not be where I am today, living the way I am today and finding the beauty in today if it were not for the rock that stands next to me each and every day. There was no way Adam was going to let this devastating situation change who we were in a negative way, there was no way he was going to let the sadness conquer us and there was no way he was going to remember his daughter in any other way but as a fighter. He was there to comfort when I needed to be comforted, he was there to hold my hand when it needed to be held and he was also there to say "Kate, get moving" when all I wanted to do was hide. But not only is he an amazing husband but also an amazing father.
Before we had Levi I had never watched Adam hold a baby. I would always wonder what kind of parent each of us would be and how we would cope with all of the new responsibilities. We had met so early in life that sometimes I still think of us as our 16 year old selves and it's hard to imagine us any other way. When Levi was born though, it was natural, it was instinct and it was pure love at first site. Adam was on top of things, I honestly don't think I changed a single diaper in the hospital. He was ready to take on this new adventure and he was seriously the best at it with such little practice. I remember I would watch in awe as this strong and independent man would cradle our newborn so delicately and so effortlessly. How could I seriously love this man anymore? and yet there I was, finding myself falling more and more in love with him.
This past year, Adam's parenting skills were most definintely put to the test when I was hospitalized for four weeks while Harper and Mommy were under strict orders to take it easy. I was so fearful of how this would all play out because Adam was in the middle of busy season and Levi was beginning his "Mr. Independent" stage. Adam never flinched though, he never called me in a panic, he never complained and he made being a parent look so incredibly easy. He made sure we could face time each morning (when Mommy was awake to do it) and they would visit every single night in the hospital. Levi continued to flourish in school and everyday life and I watched that little 18 month old grow up so much with the guidance of his Dad along the way.
I have to admit though, there were times I was terrified that I was having a girl because after having a boy I felt that a girl was just a complete game changer. I'm not sure why I would get these sudden urges of fear but it would usually distance itself within a few moments. There was one thing I did always look forward too when we found out we were having a girl; that was watching Adam become a dad to a baby girl. I couldn't wait to watch their relationship blossom and used to always joke with Adam that I bet Levi would turn into a "Momma's Boy" and Harper would turn into a "Daddy's Girl". Adam would unknowingly light up a bit when we would talk about this because I knew he was ready. When I would ask are you excited it's a girl he would always answer without hesitation "Yes". I can't even begin to describe how amazing this man is because I don't think my limited vocabulary will do him justice. I seriously am so blessed, have I told you that enough times yet?
To this day my favorite memory will always be when I put little Miss Harper into her Dad's arms. Adam never took his eyes off of her sweet face and each time he kissed her a piece of my shattered heart was put back together. This was what I was going to miss most, the bonding and the completeness that our family was never going to feel again. We are always going to feel a little empty with Miss Harper so far away but we know that she is here with us each and every day holding our hands and helping us in every way she knows possible.
So this Father's Day I want to acknowledge all of the Dad's out there who are missing a piece of themselves today. I want us all to remember that behind every "strong" bereaved mother there is most likely a Dad helping to the put the pieces together as well. I know Dad's don't tend to show the outward signs of healing, but their insides were just as shattered as ours and require immense mending to heal the brokenness. So this Father's Day I'm going to pick up another broken piece on this unimaginable journey and together Adam and I will rebuild this path so that one day we are able to see our sweet daughter once again and Adam can hold his "daddy's girl" faithfully in his arms.
Happy Father's Day Adam!! * Love Levi and Sweet Harper *
There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that tells me I would not be where I am today, living the way I am today and finding the beauty in today if it were not for the rock that stands next to me each and every day. There was no way Adam was going to let this devastating situation change who we were in a negative way, there was no way he was going to let the sadness conquer us and there was no way he was going to remember his daughter in any other way but as a fighter. He was there to comfort when I needed to be comforted, he was there to hold my hand when it needed to be held and he was also there to say "Kate, get moving" when all I wanted to do was hide. But not only is he an amazing husband but also an amazing father.
Before we had Levi I had never watched Adam hold a baby. I would always wonder what kind of parent each of us would be and how we would cope with all of the new responsibilities. We had met so early in life that sometimes I still think of us as our 16 year old selves and it's hard to imagine us any other way. When Levi was born though, it was natural, it was instinct and it was pure love at first site. Adam was on top of things, I honestly don't think I changed a single diaper in the hospital. He was ready to take on this new adventure and he was seriously the best at it with such little practice. I remember I would watch in awe as this strong and independent man would cradle our newborn so delicately and so effortlessly. How could I seriously love this man anymore? and yet there I was, finding myself falling more and more in love with him.
This past year, Adam's parenting skills were most definintely put to the test when I was hospitalized for four weeks while Harper and Mommy were under strict orders to take it easy. I was so fearful of how this would all play out because Adam was in the middle of busy season and Levi was beginning his "Mr. Independent" stage. Adam never flinched though, he never called me in a panic, he never complained and he made being a parent look so incredibly easy. He made sure we could face time each morning (when Mommy was awake to do it) and they would visit every single night in the hospital. Levi continued to flourish in school and everyday life and I watched that little 18 month old grow up so much with the guidance of his Dad along the way.
I have to admit though, there were times I was terrified that I was having a girl because after having a boy I felt that a girl was just a complete game changer. I'm not sure why I would get these sudden urges of fear but it would usually distance itself within a few moments. There was one thing I did always look forward too when we found out we were having a girl; that was watching Adam become a dad to a baby girl. I couldn't wait to watch their relationship blossom and used to always joke with Adam that I bet Levi would turn into a "Momma's Boy" and Harper would turn into a "Daddy's Girl". Adam would unknowingly light up a bit when we would talk about this because I knew he was ready. When I would ask are you excited it's a girl he would always answer without hesitation "Yes". I can't even begin to describe how amazing this man is because I don't think my limited vocabulary will do him justice. I seriously am so blessed, have I told you that enough times yet?
To this day my favorite memory will always be when I put little Miss Harper into her Dad's arms. Adam never took his eyes off of her sweet face and each time he kissed her a piece of my shattered heart was put back together. This was what I was going to miss most, the bonding and the completeness that our family was never going to feel again. We are always going to feel a little empty with Miss Harper so far away but we know that she is here with us each and every day holding our hands and helping us in every way she knows possible.
So this Father's Day I want to acknowledge all of the Dad's out there who are missing a piece of themselves today. I want us all to remember that behind every "strong" bereaved mother there is most likely a Dad helping to the put the pieces together as well. I know Dad's don't tend to show the outward signs of healing, but their insides were just as shattered as ours and require immense mending to heal the brokenness. So this Father's Day I'm going to pick up another broken piece on this unimaginable journey and together Adam and I will rebuild this path so that one day we are able to see our sweet daughter once again and Adam can hold his "daddy's girl" faithfully in his arms.
Happy Father's Day Adam!! * Love Levi and Sweet Harper *
Tuesday, June 7, 2016
Kindness, Sincerity and Empathy
To be an outsider in devastating situations has some difficult moments and I know one of the hardest parts of watching someone you love go through tumultuous times is not knowing what to say or how to help them cope with the burden they now bear. I've had friends lose their parents, lose their grandparents, lose people very near and dear to them and I have found myself in that alarming position where all I wanted to do was be there for them but I just wasn't quite sure how or what I could do. But let me tell you, I've now learned that it is just as confusing and just as hard to be on the other end of the spectrum as well. I was constantly asking myself: Will people judge me if I talk about my daughter? Will this person be upset with the words "my daughter died"? Should I show pictures of Harper? I think she's beautiful and perfect but what will everyone else see or think? I had never known anyone close to me who had lost a child (and I hope it stays that way!) so I wasn't sure how to react or how others would react to me. I was so nervous, terrified to say anything at all. How is it that I wouldn't think twice about blinking an eye when it comes to posting pictures of my beautiful daughters birth in a "normal" situation but because her life had only lasted a short time I was so scared to mention anything at all?! I knew I had to say something though because the thought of so many people asking why my arms would be empty when meeting them made my heart sink deeper than I knew I would ever be able to pull myself out from. That moment when I posted my first words on social media regarding my daughter, not only did it make the unimaginable feel real, but I had finally experienced for the first time what it felt like to watch fear slowly dissipate and become something much more incredible, it had become courage.
I'm going to tell you now, when someone loses a child I know it is scary to find the appropriate words to say. Truthfully, there really are no correct words. I know many people wondered whether they would upset me, or hurt me, or make the grieving that much more difficult but here is what I have learned though: It is most definitely OK to talk about death, it is OK to speak that child's name, and it is OK to ask questions and be inquisitive. It may not always be the right time for the one grieving to answer some of those questions, but to know that you care and are wanting to know more about the life of someone so incredibly close to their hearts is EVERYTHING. As a newly bereaved Mom, speaking of Harper's death brings me a lot of sadness but it also brings me an insurmountable amount of joy. It reminds me of the impact she had and that even though three days flew by, she will be remembered in some way. In my eyes she will always be remembered as a fighter, a daughter, and an angel: nothing less. You can ask me all day long what happened, how it happened, when we found out, what she looked like, what she weighed, what the doctors did and so on. That was the life of Miss Harper Lynn and one I am so proud of and will talk about until the day I die. When I tell you about her, I am reminded of her, and that's a gift that I will always cherish. She was brought to heaven way too soon in my eyes, but I know in His eyes she was brought there to fulfill a journey I know nothing about yet.
Not everyone grieves the same though, so I truly can't speak for each person traveling this unimaginable journey. Some need more time than others, but trust me when I say, we all want to talk about our "missing" child and we all want to be reminded of how much they were loved here on earth. The honest truth in regards to this situation is that losing a child is undoubtedly one of the most unnatural feelings in the world and we as the child's parents need to be reminded of the "realness" at times. I cannot imagine anything more harsh in this world than having to walk into a funeral home and say "I'm here to pick up my daughter's ashes." It's almost impossible to pick yourself up after re-living those moments and it's extremely hard to see where the beauty lies when uttering those horrid words. But from the ashes we will rise, and within the rising we will find beauty again; for it is with death that we find redemption and within that redemption we will find a purity that is so whole, a purity in which we strive to discover each day of our earthly lives. But one must understand, to find the beauty within us during these incredibly dark moments is not an easy task, and some may struggle more so than others. We must always approach this subject with complete compassion. You don't have to always have the right words or know the exact right thing to say but you do have to always show true kindness, true sincerity and true empathy towards those in need for it is those vibes that will help the grieving soul better understand your intentions and your love for them as well.
With that being said, I once again will pick up another shattered piece along this unimaginable journey and relish in the knowledge that through Harper's death I have embraced a true miracle, one that has shown me a peak at redemption and a small glimpse of the purity that is so whole. Today, I will place that broken piece carefully where it belongs along this beautiful path and know that in doing so I am so much closer to holding my tiny miracle in my arms once again.
XoXo Harper Lynn
** One of the best messages I received from a close friend read like this: "I think about you all the time. Asking how you are doing is a really dumb question so, I hope today is better than yesterday"**
I'm going to tell you now, when someone loses a child I know it is scary to find the appropriate words to say. Truthfully, there really are no correct words. I know many people wondered whether they would upset me, or hurt me, or make the grieving that much more difficult but here is what I have learned though: It is most definitely OK to talk about death, it is OK to speak that child's name, and it is OK to ask questions and be inquisitive. It may not always be the right time for the one grieving to answer some of those questions, but to know that you care and are wanting to know more about the life of someone so incredibly close to their hearts is EVERYTHING. As a newly bereaved Mom, speaking of Harper's death brings me a lot of sadness but it also brings me an insurmountable amount of joy. It reminds me of the impact she had and that even though three days flew by, she will be remembered in some way. In my eyes she will always be remembered as a fighter, a daughter, and an angel: nothing less. You can ask me all day long what happened, how it happened, when we found out, what she looked like, what she weighed, what the doctors did and so on. That was the life of Miss Harper Lynn and one I am so proud of and will talk about until the day I die. When I tell you about her, I am reminded of her, and that's a gift that I will always cherish. She was brought to heaven way too soon in my eyes, but I know in His eyes she was brought there to fulfill a journey I know nothing about yet.
Not everyone grieves the same though, so I truly can't speak for each person traveling this unimaginable journey. Some need more time than others, but trust me when I say, we all want to talk about our "missing" child and we all want to be reminded of how much they were loved here on earth. The honest truth in regards to this situation is that losing a child is undoubtedly one of the most unnatural feelings in the world and we as the child's parents need to be reminded of the "realness" at times. I cannot imagine anything more harsh in this world than having to walk into a funeral home and say "I'm here to pick up my daughter's ashes." It's almost impossible to pick yourself up after re-living those moments and it's extremely hard to see where the beauty lies when uttering those horrid words. But from the ashes we will rise, and within the rising we will find beauty again; for it is with death that we find redemption and within that redemption we will find a purity that is so whole, a purity in which we strive to discover each day of our earthly lives. But one must understand, to find the beauty within us during these incredibly dark moments is not an easy task, and some may struggle more so than others. We must always approach this subject with complete compassion. You don't have to always have the right words or know the exact right thing to say but you do have to always show true kindness, true sincerity and true empathy towards those in need for it is those vibes that will help the grieving soul better understand your intentions and your love for them as well.
With that being said, I once again will pick up another shattered piece along this unimaginable journey and relish in the knowledge that through Harper's death I have embraced a true miracle, one that has shown me a peak at redemption and a small glimpse of the purity that is so whole. Today, I will place that broken piece carefully where it belongs along this beautiful path and know that in doing so I am so much closer to holding my tiny miracle in my arms once again.
XoXo Harper Lynn
** One of the best messages I received from a close friend read like this: "I think about you all the time. Asking how you are doing is a really dumb question so, I hope today is better than yesterday"**
Sunday, May 29, 2016
I Can Only Imagine
Sometimes it still doesn't feel like reality. Sometimes I feel like I'm going to wake up in the morning and none of this will have happened. I think I'm going to wake up with a beautiful baby girl lying next to me and I'm going to take a deep breath and let out a huge sigh of relief knowing that this has all just been a tortuous nightmare. I think about this scenario often, but then I remember that my nightmare is truly reality and that there's no going back in this world, and I suddenly feel like crumbling. That's the funny thing about grief, it hits when you least expect it and it usually hits with great force. I haven't been able to identify these so called "triggers" they often say associate themselves with grief. I just have moments; moments that burn so deep they take my breath away and I begin to stumble. I quickly wonder if this will be the stumble that brings me to my knees or if I'll find my balance and find a way to pull myself back up. I've been fortunate so far and have somehow found my balance each time, but I know that doesn't always mean I'll be that lucky.
Through this experience I've learned that there are so many different ways to bear the pain of losing a child and that there really aren't any "wrong" or "right" ways. Everyone has to learn through themselves how to move forward each day, and we have to remember that it's ok to feel stuck some days and it's ok to feel defeated some days. The most important lesson is to find a way to keep going; even in the darkness you must try harder to find a way and it is here that you will find the strength and courage within yourself that you never knew existed. It's an incredible feeling, one full of sadness and joy because it is here that you uncover a great discovery of yourself, you find a part of you that enables you to forge ahead in the face of pain but it is also here that you remember why you had to dig this deep within yourself in the first place. It's so incredibly tiring to constantly be searching for the deeper meaning so that you can pull yourself from the darkness but it's also so incredibly rewarding because it is through that deeper meaning we begin to see more clearly and more fully. Here is where your loved one lives and it is here where you feel a connection unlike any other, where two worlds begin to feel like one, the connection between the earthly and the heavenly.
There have been many times where I have wished that I was not walking this journey, I've yearned to go back to what I now refer to as "The Simple Life." I want to live in my world where happiness prevailed, the world where I never knew what true sorrow felt like. I want to return to my old normal. The truth is though, I wouldn't be who I am today without this experience. I would have never known my true strength and I would have never known true love. I would have lived life at the surface without having to look deep within myself and understand the meaning of it all. It's then that I know that I wouldn't change this experience. It's then that I remember that the love I have for my daughter is so full that it spills over this earth. I remember the courage and strength she had for her three short days, the same courage and strength she left behind for me to find so that I can continue to live this life without her here. I am reminded of how she has changed me and how I will always be forever grateful for the many gifts she has given me.
Grief helps me remember how precious this world is, it brings me closer to connecting my two worlds, the earthly and the heavenly. My imagination during these times wanders so deep and so far and it's in this moment that I've learned that there are just some things we can't imagine, even if we wanted to. I say this because I truly believe I could have never imagined the emotions that I've felt along this journey before experiencing them first hand. I couldn't have imagined them because they weren't reality and I didn't even know these emotions existed. I know I've said, "I can only imagine" in different scenarios a hundred times but in all honesty I think I've learned through this that I really don't think I could have fully imagined. It is my belief that our minds block out the truest most deepest sorrows of the imagination to protect us from the harsh reality and only when reality hits, will you feel an inexperienced sense of emotion. It is here where you will have to uncover a courage and strength you never knew existed and it's here where you will find what true survival feels like. This is when I am reminded that the loss of a child is undoubtedly an "Unimaginable Journey."
Today though, I have decided that I am going to try to imagine what my sweet daughter experiences up above, knowing that I will not be able to fully understand the joy and tranquility of the after life because my imagination will only allow me to stretch so far. Today I will pick up another broken piece along this journey and place it sweetly where it belongs knowing that I'm one piece closer to experiencing life at it's fullest.
*Love You Harper Lynn*
Through this experience I've learned that there are so many different ways to bear the pain of losing a child and that there really aren't any "wrong" or "right" ways. Everyone has to learn through themselves how to move forward each day, and we have to remember that it's ok to feel stuck some days and it's ok to feel defeated some days. The most important lesson is to find a way to keep going; even in the darkness you must try harder to find a way and it is here that you will find the strength and courage within yourself that you never knew existed. It's an incredible feeling, one full of sadness and joy because it is here that you uncover a great discovery of yourself, you find a part of you that enables you to forge ahead in the face of pain but it is also here that you remember why you had to dig this deep within yourself in the first place. It's so incredibly tiring to constantly be searching for the deeper meaning so that you can pull yourself from the darkness but it's also so incredibly rewarding because it is through that deeper meaning we begin to see more clearly and more fully. Here is where your loved one lives and it is here where you feel a connection unlike any other, where two worlds begin to feel like one, the connection between the earthly and the heavenly.
There have been many times where I have wished that I was not walking this journey, I've yearned to go back to what I now refer to as "The Simple Life." I want to live in my world where happiness prevailed, the world where I never knew what true sorrow felt like. I want to return to my old normal. The truth is though, I wouldn't be who I am today without this experience. I would have never known my true strength and I would have never known true love. I would have lived life at the surface without having to look deep within myself and understand the meaning of it all. It's then that I know that I wouldn't change this experience. It's then that I remember that the love I have for my daughter is so full that it spills over this earth. I remember the courage and strength she had for her three short days, the same courage and strength she left behind for me to find so that I can continue to live this life without her here. I am reminded of how she has changed me and how I will always be forever grateful for the many gifts she has given me.
Grief helps me remember how precious this world is, it brings me closer to connecting my two worlds, the earthly and the heavenly. My imagination during these times wanders so deep and so far and it's in this moment that I've learned that there are just some things we can't imagine, even if we wanted to. I say this because I truly believe I could have never imagined the emotions that I've felt along this journey before experiencing them first hand. I couldn't have imagined them because they weren't reality and I didn't even know these emotions existed. I know I've said, "I can only imagine" in different scenarios a hundred times but in all honesty I think I've learned through this that I really don't think I could have fully imagined. It is my belief that our minds block out the truest most deepest sorrows of the imagination to protect us from the harsh reality and only when reality hits, will you feel an inexperienced sense of emotion. It is here where you will have to uncover a courage and strength you never knew existed and it's here where you will find what true survival feels like. This is when I am reminded that the loss of a child is undoubtedly an "Unimaginable Journey."
Today though, I have decided that I am going to try to imagine what my sweet daughter experiences up above, knowing that I will not be able to fully understand the joy and tranquility of the after life because my imagination will only allow me to stretch so far. Today I will pick up another broken piece along this journey and place it sweetly where it belongs knowing that I'm one piece closer to experiencing life at it's fullest.
*Love You Harper Lynn*
Saturday, May 21, 2016
"Firsts" can be followed by FAITH
After the loss of a child there are so many "firsts" you have to overcome. The first day living without them in your arms or in your physical sight. The first time someone asks you about them without knowing the circumstance. The first time you are able to speak their name without breaking down. Their first birthday without them here. This week I experienced a first, this week I had my first day back to work; back to reality, back to the norm, back to how it all was before the chaos began. I had so many mixed emotions regarding my return to work: fear, joy, sadness, excitement. Would it feel like nothing happened? Would life just pretend to return to normal even though it wasn't? Would my mind be able to handle it all? I honestly couldn't tell you if I felt ready, but I knew I had to face the day at some point and the place that I had now found myself wasn't going to change, so it was time to take a deep breath, soak it all in and go for it.
It's been an overpowering week, to say the least, showing me each emotion noted above at some point but also showing me a sense of serenity and peacefulness; reminding me of the joys of life and the "normality" of life before this journey took a turn I wasn't predicting. I can honestly say that not a single moment went by that I wasn't thinking of her or wishing that I could answer those "How's your baby?" questions so much differently. My heart hurts so much when I think about her but I never take those moments for granted because it reminds me of how connected her and I were and how much I love her with every breath I take. If you take the time to look you can most definitely find a sense of beauty in sorrow, because without sorrow we would never know the reality of true grace and fullness.
Adam and I also met with the high risk fetal monitoring specialist for the first time since Harper's passing. He was the first one to embark on this unimaginable journey with us since he was the one to have found and diagnosed the hydrops. He was the doctor who gave Adam and I the hope we needed to endure the four weeks in the hospital leading up to Harpers delivery and he was the doctor who helped me discover and become a part of my daughter's personality and spirit in utero. Prior to the appointment lots of tears were shed because I knew seeing him for the first time and the closing of this chapter would not be an easy task. It was most certainly an informative meeting and during our visit we attempted to put as many broken pieces back together as possible.
At one point during our chat the doctor looked at my husband and I and said "I have to tell you two there really is absolutely no medical reason why this should have happened. There is no reason why there should have been fluid around her lungs. I'm so sorry we don't have answers but we do know that she didn't have any structural defects, her genetic make up was flawless and there were no infections to be found."
If I could have crawled into a deep dark hole at that moment I most certainly would have. I had been doing so well to lock up and contain the anger that I had felt so much after my daughter left this earthly life. If there wasn't a medical reason than WHY did this have to happen? WHY couldn't she be here with us right now? WHY were we the chosen ones to go through this pain and hurt?
My answers to these questions go back to when I was in the third grade. I remember sitting in class listening to my teacher lecture on eternal life and the joys of heaven; explaining God the Father and his master plans for each of us. I remember raising my hand to ask what I believed to be a very pertinent question "You may not have an answer to this question but how do we know that God truly exists and that there really is a heaven?" She smiled and looked at me and said "Actually Kate, I do have an answer for you." She walked slowly to the chalkboard and wrote in all capital letters one word...
FAITH.
Who would have guessed that a third grade religion class is what has helped to give me the courage to push forward through this unimaginable journey. Who would have guessed that I would ever feel like I had to rely so heavily on one word; a word I now know holds so much meaning. Sometimes I beg the Lord to take me back to the days before this all happened, to the days where I was so naïve to what pain could truly feel like. But with those days there would be no Harper and my eyes would still be closed to the true meaning of life and the value each of us have while we are here on earth, whether it be for a long time or just a short little while. I wish with all of my heart there was a different ending to my story but I am so grateful for the lessons Harper has taught me and the absolute joy she brings to me every day of my life. I have her to thank when I look deep within my soul and find strength I didn't know existed and discover a deeper more meaningful existence to my being. So with my little girl's arms wrapped around my heart and soul I will pick up another broken piece and place it along the path leading me towards her light so that one day I can hold her in my arms again and watch her as she smiles and tells me all about God's plan.
It's been an overpowering week, to say the least, showing me each emotion noted above at some point but also showing me a sense of serenity and peacefulness; reminding me of the joys of life and the "normality" of life before this journey took a turn I wasn't predicting. I can honestly say that not a single moment went by that I wasn't thinking of her or wishing that I could answer those "How's your baby?" questions so much differently. My heart hurts so much when I think about her but I never take those moments for granted because it reminds me of how connected her and I were and how much I love her with every breath I take. If you take the time to look you can most definitely find a sense of beauty in sorrow, because without sorrow we would never know the reality of true grace and fullness.
Adam and I also met with the high risk fetal monitoring specialist for the first time since Harper's passing. He was the first one to embark on this unimaginable journey with us since he was the one to have found and diagnosed the hydrops. He was the doctor who gave Adam and I the hope we needed to endure the four weeks in the hospital leading up to Harpers delivery and he was the doctor who helped me discover and become a part of my daughter's personality and spirit in utero. Prior to the appointment lots of tears were shed because I knew seeing him for the first time and the closing of this chapter would not be an easy task. It was most certainly an informative meeting and during our visit we attempted to put as many broken pieces back together as possible.
At one point during our chat the doctor looked at my husband and I and said "I have to tell you two there really is absolutely no medical reason why this should have happened. There is no reason why there should have been fluid around her lungs. I'm so sorry we don't have answers but we do know that she didn't have any structural defects, her genetic make up was flawless and there were no infections to be found."
If I could have crawled into a deep dark hole at that moment I most certainly would have. I had been doing so well to lock up and contain the anger that I had felt so much after my daughter left this earthly life. If there wasn't a medical reason than WHY did this have to happen? WHY couldn't she be here with us right now? WHY were we the chosen ones to go through this pain and hurt?
My answers to these questions go back to when I was in the third grade. I remember sitting in class listening to my teacher lecture on eternal life and the joys of heaven; explaining God the Father and his master plans for each of us. I remember raising my hand to ask what I believed to be a very pertinent question "You may not have an answer to this question but how do we know that God truly exists and that there really is a heaven?" She smiled and looked at me and said "Actually Kate, I do have an answer for you." She walked slowly to the chalkboard and wrote in all capital letters one word...
FAITH.
Who would have guessed that a third grade religion class is what has helped to give me the courage to push forward through this unimaginable journey. Who would have guessed that I would ever feel like I had to rely so heavily on one word; a word I now know holds so much meaning. Sometimes I beg the Lord to take me back to the days before this all happened, to the days where I was so naïve to what pain could truly feel like. But with those days there would be no Harper and my eyes would still be closed to the true meaning of life and the value each of us have while we are here on earth, whether it be for a long time or just a short little while. I wish with all of my heart there was a different ending to my story but I am so grateful for the lessons Harper has taught me and the absolute joy she brings to me every day of my life. I have her to thank when I look deep within my soul and find strength I didn't know existed and discover a deeper more meaningful existence to my being. So with my little girl's arms wrapped around my heart and soul I will pick up another broken piece and place it along the path leading me towards her light so that one day I can hold her in my arms again and watch her as she smiles and tells me all about God's plan.
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