Your death has changed my life.

Malika Ndlovu writes down her feelings to help herself heal following the stillbirth of her daughter.
January 1st-I have just taken the tablet to catalyze the contractions (induce labor) that will deliver you, out of your nest, my womb. I sit with a lit candle in the garden, listening to a baby crying next door, wind blowing through the trees, a plane flying over high above. How do I leave home today full of you and come home tomorrow, empty? My mind swings between dead calm practicalities of to do lists and necessary arrangements, to tears cutting me down to a deep quiet grief I cannot fully feel even though I know it is there.

How could I imagine that your last fevered fluttering was goodbye? How can I hold the thought that you have been sleeping lifeless inside of me since then, already gone? It's been almost four days. I race from recollecting all the signs that came before to tell us that this was where your path would lead, signs that I shut out so many times, clear calls for me to face the silence of you no longer kicking within me.

This morning in the shower a clear image of these few words on a blank page came to me:

"Your death has changed my life."

 Maddie's death has changed my life. Love you and miss you beyond words, baby girl.

Heaven has welcomed more angels this month. Two were rainbow babies for people I go to dead baby group with. (Sorry--that's mostly meant to make non BLM uncomfortable) It doesn't even seem possible.

Meanwhile, my tolerance for stupid comments is decreasing by the day. I am feeling very vulnerable lately...send me strength, tolerance and peace, baby girl. Please.

And send it to everyone else who is in the same situation.

everything right/wrong

We had a very nice weekend. I think this was the first one in a long time where we didn't have plans. Today we ended up going to an apple orchard with my husband's family. I love apple orchards. I love fall weather, pumpkins and mums.

We went to grab a bit of lunch after and ended up going to a sports bar/grill and ordered some food. A group of people came in to sit at the bar and promptly ordered drinks from the bartender/waitress whom they obviously knew. Ok, big deal, a group of people drinking on a Sunday afternoon. I immediately noticed that one member of the group was very pregnant. No big deal. As we were eating our lunch, I looked up and outside and noticed that two of the women from the group were outside smoking. It's great that we don't have to smell cigarette smoke inside anymore. One woman turned to the side. All I could see was her very pregnant belly and her arm flicking the ash off her cigarette.

I really wanted to go up to her and say that she is very lucky to be pregnant and that she shouldn't take it for granted that everything is going to be ok because I could name off 30 people who did EVERYTHING right and still couldn't bring home an alive baby.

But instead, I said something to our table. My father in law said, "Oh, well I turned out alright and my mom smoked through all of her pregnancies. That's just what people did."

I really wanted to reach across the table and slap him around a little. His own mom had a stillborn baby. He knows that things don't always turn out alright. His own granddaughter (step) didn't make it and we did everything right.

Some people do everything wrong while pregnant and are able to have many healthy babies that they can't care for adequately. And some people do everything right and have a hard time becoming pregnant or simply have a baby who dies.

Sometimes people suck.

Small miracles {choosing hope}

What has brought me hope lately...

Acupuncture, knowing the pain of losing a baby and being able to give yourself to a friend or stranger who has lost a baby, diet dr. pepper, our chocolate lab, fall weather, hoodies, couch to 5K, a new treadmill on the way, thinking about going back to school, my siblings dating after a few year hiatus, and giving myself permission to let go of commitments that make me feel stressed.

I suppose I will elaborate a little. I've done one session of acupuncture to (hopefully) help with infertility. Keep your fingers crossed.

I've been trying to really reach out to women who have had losses. Many people reached out to me, so I'm trying to pay it forward.

Diet Dr. Pepper: need I say anything more?

 Our puppy (he's a 90# chocolate lab--3.5 yrs old) is so giving of love and he just melts my heart. He was truly our first child.

Anyone who knows me in real life knows I am a sweaty girl. I like summer, I like the idea of it, but I HATE sweating. So I really, really love fall weather. It's a sign of new beginnings for me...school starting...it's been hard this year. I keep thinking back to what I was doing last year at this time. Hindsight is hard.

My husband and I are pretty out of shape and (gasp) overweight. We are going to begin the couch to 5K program as soon as our new treadmill arrives.

Thinking about going back to school...tough one...I'm in the thinking stage. Thinking about how we will afford it...will keep you updated.

My two younger siblings are dating again! Yeah!

And letting go...letting go is one thing I have a very hard time with. Saying no is another. I let go of a project at work that was overwhelming me to the point of making me panicky. It was not worth it.

I am choosing hope.

glow in the woods questions

Reading blogs...found an amazing blog with posts from many different baby loss parents... here are some of my thoughts.

http://glowinthewoods.squarespace.com/kitchen-table/2011/7/21/tick-tock.html

1. How much time has passed since the death of your child(ren)?  Do you mark grief in months, weeks or years? Does it seem to be going fast or slow?  

It's been 9 months, and about 17 hours since our baby girl was stillborn. Usually I mark grief time in months. In the beginning, I marked it in hours, days. I felt it in minutes. It seems to be going both slow and fast at the same time. I am grateful that time has passed and the grief feels less all encompassing, but at the same time, I feel like the memories of being pregnant seem soooooooo long ago.

2. Do you have an end goal to your grief?  How much time do you think that will take?  How much time did you think you'd need to get there right after your loss?  How much time do you think you need now? 

My end goal...to not go bat shit crazy when I (hopefully) have a baby who lives....and to be able to answer the question about children--"Do you have any children?" honestly without crying. I hope that I can answer the children question honestly within a couple years. Right after we lost our baby, I thought that things would feel considerably better at 6 months...but I think that the numbness only wore off completely at 6 months.

3. Rather than a clear end goal, is there a milestone or marker to indicate that you are feeling grief less acutely, i.e. going to a baby shower, listening to a song that made you cry early in grief, driving past the hospital?  How long did it take to get there?

My biggest milestone is being around my co-worker's babies that were recently born. That took about 7 months to handle. It makes me feel sad and wish my baby was in my arms.

4. How do you view the time you had with your child, either alive (within or outside) or already deceased?  Before you all answer "Too short! Not enough!", did you have time to "bond" or develop a future imagination about what this child would be like?  Perhaps depending on whether yours was cut short, how do you now feel about the nine-month period of gestation -- too long or not long enough?  

I treasure the memories of the ultrasounds when Maddie was alive. She was so active and silly. I know Maddie would have been a very silly girl like her mom and dad. She would have been a trickster and would have told corny jokes. We only had 5 months with Maddie alive. It's never long enough no matter how long you have with your baby. Your children should not die before you. Nine months is short...but just right to really learn to love.

5. One grief book suggested that it took 2-5 years to incorporate your grief into your life.  Where are you on this timeline, and you do you find that to be true?

Makes sense. No one understands this, though. 

Many think that 2 months is all it takes. Ha. I would like to tell them to try to imagine your child dead, in a casket. Imagine how that would feel. Now take that feeling of awfulness and imagine carrying that with you for the rest of your life. That's what the first 3 months feel like...and then it dulls slowly...but it's still there to knock you to your knees with little warning. Grief is an angry, greedy bitch.


6. There's a familiar saying, "Time Heals all wounds."  Do you think this is true?  Or do you subscribe to Edna St. Vincent Milay:  "Time does not bring relief, you all have lied"?

Grief wounds can't be healed. They can simply scar over...left vulnerable to injury with little to no provocation. 

7. Has your relationship with the future (immediate and far) changed since the death of your child(ren)?  How about your relationship with the past?

 I have become closer with friends who have lost babies. Some coworkers I have distanced myself from for self preservation. My husband and I have strengthened our relationship through grief, but there are still ups and downs.


8. How long did it take to answer these questions?

25 minutes

frozen

Starting things has been hard. Today I am sitting in my pajamas yet at 2:40 p.m. Why, you ask? Well. I keep thinking I should do something...but starting something is hard.

I started and finished something recently. I did a book of Maddie. A book that has all of the photos that were taken of her short time on earth. I have a hard time looking at her photos. She was gone two weeks before we found out she was gone...so her physical condition isn't the best. When I look at her photos, I feel washed with guilt that I didn't know she was gone. Looking at them reminds me that I didn't know. I can't change that fact...ever.

I felt prompted into action purely for financial reasons. Shutterfly had a special for photo books. It ends today...so I had limited time to overthink things and procrastinate. I did something.

I did something in memory of my daughter. I did something in memory of my daughter so I can share her with others.

I hope I can get to the sharing part sometime.

Acceptance is a small, quiet room.