Weekend Blog Roundup

I think it's safe to say that there are few things as shocking as losing a child through miscarriage or infant loss. It's biologically counterproductive. It goes against everything we want to believe about nature, even though we know all about the circle of life.

When a tiny life begins it just seems only natural and right that it should grow. That it should keep growing until it has white hair, dentures and a cane.

So when something goes wrong - when the unthinkable happens and you experience this kind of tragedy - the natural human response is to try to make sense of it. To find and apply order where there doesn't seem to be any at all.

For some people, the idea that "everything happens for a reason" is enough. For others, the belief that everything is random is what they cling to for comfort.

So much of the healing journey is trying to come to terms with the fact that this horrible, horrible thing has happened. To us.

This gorgeous post by Missing One at A Mending Heart is beautiful in so many ways. She intersperses pictures of her garden with her thoughts about both what she has lost and what she has gained since her daughter Jessica died on Monther's Day.

It seems impossible to imagine that you could possibly gain anything at all from losing a child (particularly when you're in the horrible throws of those early days of unbearable grief), but through her lovely words and photos Missing One demonstrates that, inexplicably, sometimes you can.

I find it incredible that the process of grief often seems to wind it's difficult way to this kind of realization. And I'm always so thankful that it does. Nothing ever takes away the pain of loss, but finding a way to give it meaning helps make the process of accepting that it is now part of your life so much easier.

This post by BasilBean at The Littlest Bean was like drinking a big glass of ice cold water on a hot day. Somehow seeing someone reach a healing milestone that you yourself have reached validates your own journey. It makes you feel like you're doing okay. And it makes you feel so good to know that they must be too.

This is why I love the fact that bereaved parents blog. Being able to read about the different ways people face and live this kind of sorrow is absolutely invaluable, no matter where you are in your journey. There is so much to learn from people who are willing to tell their stories.

I mean, look at this:

" Life doesn't fit into neat little packages, and things don't always follow the script we think they should. I am happy and thankful for what we have and do not want to get off track by always thinking about what it seems we ought to have. I could go on, but I think that is where I will leave it for now."

But still, there are days when all the time in the world - and all the healing we've done during that time - seems to mean nothing at all, and it's hard to find meaning or purpose in our sorrow. The nagging thought that nothing makes sense creeps in and the days are long and hard. So often this happens around anniversary days. Birthdays and death days. The anniversary of the day we saw those two beautiful lines on the stick or the day we found out it was really all over.

Angel Mom is experiencing this. This past week marked the seventh anniversary of the ultrasound that delivered the agonizing news that her daughter wouldn't be coming home with them. While desperately trying to absorb this horrific news, they had to endure a joke-cracking doctor in dire need of bedside manner training (as so many are...).

She writes:

"Last night I had the strong urge to hold S in my arms again. Just one more time. Instead, I hugged a doll that I found at Target that shares her name. A poor replacement. I can't hold her. I can't even dream about her. My heart aches and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.

It's all such hard work. Healing, living, surviving, remembering, grieving. People who don't know don't always realize exactly how hard it is. They don't realize that we have to work to makes sense of our worlds - and just how exhausting that task can be.

They don't get that, as Angel Mom demonstrates, it goes on for years.

At the request of two people (and because it happens to fit here) this is one of my own blog entries.

it's a little rant-y, but I'd just read a blog written by someone who lost twins only a few months ago. She's being told by her family that she's being selfish by not "getting on with things". She's being told how to heal by people who haven't got a clue what she's healing from.

And that made me angrier than I've been in a very long time. Partly because I worry that some of my family and friends think this of me, but mostly because I'm outraged that someone who doesn't understand would think it at all appropriate to put limits and restrictions on someone else's sorrow.

I just wanted to show that the monster of grief sometimes lies in wait, even when you think everything is just fine. Even when you've worked very hard to make sense of the world and your place in it.

I'll always try to find meaning and purpose in Thomas' life. It's what I believe I have to do to survive losing him and what I know I have to do to find happiness in this life I'm living without him. I know I'll still have agonizing days like Angel Mom's and I know I'll take refuge in reflective days like Missing One's. It's okay that this is the way it is.

It really is. No matter what anyone says.

Weekend Blog Roundup - July 1st

Sometimes I get a little lost in my grief. It's not so much that I'm wallowing in it (although I do that too - sometimes you need to do that), it's just that I forget to focus on things that aren't related to my lost boy and my subsequent infertility. I forget to hunt for the happy things. Not the silver lining (there is no silver lining here), but just things in general that bring me joy or brighten my spirit or help me to remember that life is good. Even still.

This week My Beloved told me that he thinks we have a good life, it's just that it's got a hole in it. Like a chocolate doughnut, he said.

Like a chocolate doughnut indeed. Still lovely and sweet, but missing something just the same.

So this weekend I decided to go hunting for chocolate doughnuts among the ever-growing list of blogs posted here. I wanted to find little things that made me happy so I could show them to you and maybe make you happy for a little while too. I'm not purposely trying to ignore the sad, I'm just choosing to focus on the happy for a moment instead.

Because sometimes you need to do that too. And it's totally okay. It really is.

So to start things off, there's this beautiful poem over at Beaten But Not Bowed:

Those of us who have traveled a while
Along this path called grief,
Need to stop and remember that mile,
The first mile of no relief.

It wasn’t the person with answers
Who told us the way to deal,
It wasn’t the one who talked and talked
That helped us to start to heal.

Think of the friend who quietly sat
and held our hands in theirs,
The ones who let us talk and talk
and hugged away our tears.

We need to always remember
That more than the words we speak,
It’s the gift of someone who listens
That most of us desperately seek.

~Author Unknown~

This touched me so much because it reminded me of a very dear friend of mine who was an invaluable source of support simply because she let me talk and talk and talk when I needed to most. I'm going to send this poem to her with a thank you note, because I'm not sure I really have properly thanked her for not being scared of me when I was in the deepest, darkest throws of that awful new grief.

This poem also reminded me that even when I feel alone, I'm not. There are people who care. People who will listen. And people who will always be there no matter what.

Chocolate doughnuts.

And here's a really, really good idea from MKV at Infertility I Wish I Could Quit You. She posted a list of resolutions for the month of July - just things she wants to work on and accomplish this month.

Brilliant. After all, why wait until January when you can make resolutions (or adjust any you might have made in a champagne haze back on New Year's Eve) right now? I'm all over this. I need focus very badly and I think this just might help.

Really clever chocolate doughnut.

Oh, and then there's this incredibly sweet entry from Lori over at Losses and Gains. She posted a picture of her son on his skateboard (an impressive action shot, I might add) and then wrote an open letter to us - to those who might see him in the street - asking us to be patient and kind to this beautiful boy she loves so much.

Reading the letter made me smile. Being allowed to peek into someone's heart at the biggest, most all-encompassing love imaginable will do that to a girl.

Total chocolate doughnut.

And you have to see the puppy that Wannabe Mom at One Big Maybe adopted on Father's Day for Wannabe Dad. So much cuteness. The fact that she joked he might be part bat (seriously, go look at this guy's ears) made me howl.

I love that they brought him into their lives. I love that he has such a good, loving home. And you know, I bet he'd love chocolate doughnuts if he was allowed to eat them.

Finally there's this little exercise that Caro at Third Time Lucky performed last Sunday.

She did what I'm sort of trying to do right now - she wrote down reasons to be cheerful. They included strawberries and dancing to Frank Sinatra. Nothing grandiose or unattainable, just simple pleasures that happened to be making her happy last weekend.

I know it's not possible to stay focussed on good stuff all the time. Sorrow depletes our energy stores and sometimes all that's left is just enough to keep us afloat. Barely.

But when energy permits, it feels very good indeed to hunt down the happy lurking in dark corners and bring it out into the sun to play. Even if it's just for a little while.

After all, no one ever said we were never allowed to smile again.

Now go look at Wannabe's puppy again. C'mon, you know you want to...

Weekend Blog Roundup

I was musing out loud on Friday (while My Beloved and I were on the hunt for a new Christmas store that opened up in our town - an incredibly soothing thing to do on a Friday night, you should try it) about the fact that I don't think people realize how hard this journey is for us. How hard everything is. Normal stuff that those not touched by our particular brand of sorrow don't even have to consider, can be exhausting for those of us burdened by grief.

You have to approach everything differently than you used to in order to survive the ordinary. Trips to the grocery store where newborns seem as plentiful as apples and bananas, rollicking conversations about labour and delivery in the staff room, family gatherings where all the children are playing and laughing - except the ones you've lost.

They're all an assault to your wounded soul. And they all require a lot of effort to endure. Work. We have to work harder at life than people who don't understand will ever know.

And maybe it doesn't matter that they'll never quite "get" how much effort we now put into our lives in order to make them livable and happy. But sometimes I just want to take them by the shoulders and shake them and tell them that it IS hard. Harder than they can possibly imagine. All of it. Every day.

Sometimes I want the world to understand so badly I could scream.

Janna at In Search of the Stork blogged about this on Thursday. While filling in for an absentee babysitter, she has twice had to field questions from strangers about the children they believed were hers.

"God I wish I had kids of my own! I want to be able to answer everyone's questions about my kids! I don't want to have to keep telling people I'm just their babysitter."

For someone not touched by loss, these questions wouldn't carry with them any particular discomfort or agony. But for someone like Janna, who has miscarried two very wanted children, it was agonizing. A stab in the heart is how she describes it.

Indeed.

Niobe blogged about this phenomenon too - about how normal things just aren't normal anymore, and about how sometimes we have no control over how we're going to handle that reality.

She went to a party, but as soon as she stepped into the house she found herself incapable of mixing and mingling. She is now "thinking bad thoughts" about her behavior that night...

"We went to a big party at my father's house last night. When we got there, everyone was listening to some indescipherable piece on clarinet and piano. One of my stepmother's friends, a woman I've known for years, saw me come in and smiled and waved from her seat. Suddenly, I just couldn't bear to see or talk to anyone. I went up to the third floor and sat in my father's study, listening to the music drifting up the stairwell and, later, to talking and laughter."

I understand (and respect) that she feels uncomfortable with the way she seemed to shut down that night, but I for one am jumping up and down and cheering her decision to do what made her comfortable. We don't do enough of that. We just don't. I can't count the number of times I've wanted to flee a situation (and I mean one that it would have been perfectly fine for me to flee) but I've chosen instead to force myself to endure personal discomfort to make others happy.

Sometimes it's okay to do what makes you happy (or, at least, what makes you less sad). It just is. So do it. Look after you for a change.

Because all that hard work - all the energy we use to make it through each day - it takes its toll. And then, as Rollercoaster of Love says so succinctly, you may find yourself buried under "the weight of a thousand worries".

Life isn't kind enough to just stop for a while and let us grieve in peace. It moves on and drags us right along with it, car payments, mortgages, health concerns, bills, toilet training, work conflicts and all.

It's why she woke up one day thinking, "I'm stressed beyond all comprehension and I haven’t figured out just why yet." Add grief to a long list of ordinary worries and you have a very challenging life indeed. It's why you're tired. It's why sometimes you snap at your husband when he hasn't really done anything wrong. It's why sometimes you just want to sit down and cry.

Chances are it's also why you blog.

And you know, the fact that so many of us do blog about our experiences gives me hope that one day more people will have a better understanding of the lives we're now living. It gives me hope that maybe one day the careless, insensitive remarks they make and the unreasonable expectations they have of us will cease to add to our already heavy burden.

It also gives me hope that we'll understand ourselves better too. And forgive ourselves when we're just too tired to work so hard and opt instead to give ourselves the break we deserve. And have earned - in spades.