Right Where I Am: 3 Years, 2 Months & 2 Years, 4 Months

Many thanks to Angie from Still Life With Circles for sharing this incredible project. Such an awesome idea. The Right Where I Am Project encourages readers to share where they currently are in their grief. Whether it be fresh, years down the road, or somewhere in between. I have read so many different bloggers stories; their reflections on where they are, and where they've been. It's been incredibly insightful and comforting, knowing I'm not alone on this journey.

I recently watched a great movie…Rabbit Hole. If you haven't watched it, you should. There is a scene between mother and daughter about grief. This was so powerful to me. It broke me and reassured me at the same time. It broke me, because it affirmed what I already knew…my grief over the death of my babies will never end. I will carry it with me always. It also reassured me, because I knew that even though I would always carry this heartache around, it was what I had instead of my babies. It reminds me they were real. It linked us, and that's okay.

I know I will do no justice to this scene, so here it is…

Today, I feel somewhere in the middle. It's been just over 3 years since I miscarried with baby #1. It seems impossible that it's been that long. My children died within exactly 10 months of each other. Becoming pregnant with our daughter Grace was what helped me along in my grief with my miscarriage. I stumbled along, but becoming pregnant so quickly afterward brought renewed feelings of excitement and hope for our future.

March 19, 2008 and January 19, 2009. I will remember both of those days for the rest of my life. I remember each with clarity, like it was yesterday.

My grief is no longer what it was. In the days after, it was raw, it was ugly, and it hurt like no other. And it got worse before it got better.

Today, it's still sad, and it always will be. Sometimes it comes out of nowhere, when I least expect it. I even ask myself, "Where did that come from?" It usually disappears as quickly as it came, and I move on with whatever I was doing. Usually.

I do have dark days from time to time. Days that overwhelm me, days where everything goes wrong, and I just want to climb in bed and stay awhile, and sometimes I do. But in the words of Longfellow, "Into each life some rain must fall, some days must be dark and dreary."

I still think about my babies every single day. I wouldn't have it any other way.

I've grown. I can carry on conversations about them without losing it. I can look at babies, even hold them. Boxes of baby wipes don't diminish me to tears anymore.

It does still wear on me though. Endless Facebook posts about friends and their new bundles of joy get difficult. The "Hide" feature has come in quite handy.

I still have a hard time seeing little dark haired girls around the same age that Gracie would be. They brings tears to my eyes, and whisk me away to thoughts of her, and what she would look like, and what kind of little personality she would have.

The hardest is seeing parents upset with their children. I watched a Mother scream at her young child one evening over something so completely stupid. It took everything within me to keep my mouth shut. I wanted to shake her. I wanted her to feel one ounce of the daily pain I feel so she would get it. I don't think that will ever go away.

My life is vastly different now. I am different. I'm no longer the person I was before, and that's okay. It's made me stronger in some ways, weaker in others. It's deepened my compassion towards others. It has also made me deeply aware at how trivial some things are. Along with that an aggravation with people who think their life is falling to pieces over the most minor of things. If they only knew.

Most friends have changed, and I'm still coming to grips with that. I'm not bitter anymore, but I still ask why. I see it in other peoples loss also. Friends stop calling, writing, and coming around. Why? It's like we have a dead baby disease. It's heart breaking. When tragedy hits, you really do find out who your true friends are. I am immensely thankful for mine.

I am marching onward though, somewhere in this in between. Waiting…some days patiently, others not so much, for what life will bring. Hoping, hoping from the depths of my soul, for my deepest desire.

Hope is the thing with feathers

that perches in the soul,

and sings the tune without the words,

and never stops at all.

Rabbit Hole

It's not often that I come across a really great movie. Movies today are mostly garbage if you ask me. They have so much flash and cash and contain so little depth. So when I do come across a really good movie I like to share it!

Rabbit Hole is one of those movies. It tells the story of a young couple whose little boy was killed, and the aftermath the parents experienced. This story was profoundly poignant, and beautifully written. It deals with such a taboo subject that so very few people are willing to venture into. Yet it is bluntly honest and painfully accurate. It is truly one of a kind, and one I highly recommend.

"We're collections of chemicals … bundles of bone and blood and breath. Parsed, we're nothing, our distilled elements worth pocket change. We're neither scarce nor special—a marvel of engineering made commonplace through mass replication. People outnumber pigs and pigeons and Ping-Pong paddles and fill the earth like grains of sand. The planet keeps turning when one of us dies, the Milky Way remains unmoved. If one of us disappears, there are 7 billion more to fill the gap.

And yet it doesn't fill. We leave, and a hole remains … an emptiness echoing of grief unimagined. In death we see the truth: We are priceless … and irreplaceable."

Taken from the Plugged In review by Paul Asay

PS - Scroll to the bottom of the page to pause the music whilst you watch the trailer.

Responding To A Parents Grief

Do you have someone in your life that has experienced the death of a child? Are you clueless as to how to respond, so just don't? I know many people are afraid of saying the wrong thing, so they don't say anything at all. Then others think they are being "helpful" or "comforting", but just end up hurting or offending.

If you've ever wondered how you should respond, here are my thoughts.

As a disclaimer….these are only my personal feelings. I've dealt with the death of two children, and had to endure insensitive comments. I've had many people confess that they don't know what to say to someone like me. Just remember, everyone is different.

I feel I was pretty fortunate in the realm of hurtful comments. I experienced a few, but I know so many Mommies and Daddies have dealt with far worse than I.

I think one of the number one no-no's would have to be telling a parent who has just experienced the death of a child that you understand what they are going through. If you've never had a child die, then you have no idea whatsoever of what they are going through. It's just impossible. Nothing else compares, nothing. A better response would be "I'm sorry you're going through this", "I'm praying for you", or "I'm here for you".

Another huge no-no is comparing your heartache, or difficult circumstances with theirs. There is no heartache like the death of a child. There is no difficult day that even compares. It rips a hole in your heart. It leaves you breathless. You can't function properly.

I had a mixture of the above two happen to me. Someone approached me and started out by telling me how strong I had been, and how amazed she was at how I was handling my grief. It then proceeded into how she understood how I was feeling. She back pedaled a bit, then launched into a comparison of how my grief over the death of my daughter was like her grief over raising her children. She explained to me that the heartache she felt when her children misbehaved was like my heartache.

I was pretty much speechless. I was still in that numb stage of my grief so I didn't really even respond to her. I just sat there dumbfounded.

What she failed to understand was that our heartache was in no way similar. I would take misbehaving kids every day over the death of one.

Please don't ever, ever tell a parent "Well, you can always try again." This is very common with miscarriage and early infant loss. Yes, we can always try again, but right now we need to grieve the one we'll never have. Sometimes trying again is hard. It could take months or even years until a woman is ready to step back into that arena. They are scared, and full of doubts. It takes time.

If the parents have other children, don't ever say the old "Well at least you still have so and so, you should be thankful you still have them." That is so insulting for a grieving parent. Yes, they do still have their other child/children, but they no longer have the other. Just because there are multiple children, doesn't mean that one was any less valuable.

One I especially hated was "At least you can get pregnant." I heard this multiple times. We had dealt with infertility for almost four years. It was exhausting. Realizing we were finally pregnant was an ecstatic time for us. Unfortunately it didn't last long. I miscarried at only 9 weeks. Being able to get pregnant wasn't a whole lot better than not being able to. The end result was still the same. No baby. In actuality, it was in a lot of ways much worse. You got one step closer, only to be right back where you started.

Refrain from saying things like "It wasn't meant to be" or "There must have been something wrong with the baby". Those phrases do not help. They aren't encouraging…they are not comforting.

Another topic to stay away from is trying again. Just days after our daughter died, someone asked my husband if and when we were going to try again. That is the worst possible time to bring that subject up. Parents are still reeling from their loss. The last thing they are thinking about is trying for another baby.

If you tell a grieving parent that you're going to call, or come over, or other such thing…do it. Chances are, we're looking forward to having that distraction for a little bit, and having someone to talk to. When you don't follow through, or just don't show up, it can be very disappointing. I had multiple people promise me they were going to come over, have us over for dinner, or other such thing, but never followed through. I went through a time of not wanting to be left alone, and it was disheartening when someone said they would be there then weren't.

Being there for someone in their time of need is priceless. One friend of mine came and just sat with me while my husband was at work. Another friend came and taught me how to knit. They were welcome distractions, a small respite from my ever present sorrow. They were cherished times to me and I am still so thankful for them.

Also understand that sometimes, a grieving parent just wants to be left alone. Don't feel offended. Offer to check on them at a later date, and do it.

In times of difficulty, a common response is "Call me if you need me." This doesn't work for the grieving parent. I know I am terrible at asking for help anyway. A grieving parent is even worse. It's pretty much impossible. Your world has just stopped. You're doing good if you can get out of bed and get dressed. You can't think, you can't focus, it hurts to breathe, it hurts to think. The last thing you'll be able to do is pick up the phone and tell someone what you need.

Be specific. Tell them what you're going to do, and when. "I'm going to call and check on you on Tuesday afternoon", or "I'll bring dinner over tomorrow." Most importantly, follow through!

Some other positive ways of responding are by being there to listen. They may just want to talk…let them. Don't be afraid of bringing up their child in conversation. You're not going to be a painful reminder. They think about their child every day. It's more painful when you don't talk about their child.

Use the child's name. It's important.

Remember Mother's Day, Father's Day, anniversaries and birthdays. Send a card or pick up the phone. Knowing someone remembers and cares is priceless.

Most of all be patient. The death of a child is not something a parent just gets over. The grief is overwhelming. It is endless. It's something they will deal with for the rest of their lives.