Capture Your Grief - Day 17. Secondary Losses

When your child dies, there are a series of secondary losses that follow. They are different for everyone. The loss of relationships, the loss of innocence, the loss of employment etc. Share about something else that you lost when your child died. This is the perfect way for us to shine a light on the grief experience.

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After Simone was born it was so hard for me to see pregnant ladies. Not just because they were still carrying their living babies, but I was so upset at their happiness and overwhelming joy. Of course I never did, but I wanted to make sure they knew. "Why are you so happy?! Just because you are pregnant, just because you do everything right, doesn't mean you get to bring your baby home!" I wanted to blurt out at them. 

It wasn't just my own loss of innocence, but my sweet Gabriela's as well. I lived naively for 35 years thinking when you get pregnant, you have a baby, and you go home blissfully with that little bundle of joy swaddled in your arms. Gabriela lost that innocence in kindergarten. Not a lesson I was planning on her learning. Ever. 

When my sister gave birth three days after Simone's birth, Gabriela's first question was whether or not her baby lived. Because in our reality, babies don't always live. 

She has informed me that she's never having a baby because you can go through all that hard work being pregnant and preparing and then your baby could DIE?!? No thank you. She says she is adopting, at least that way she would know her baby would be alive. 

When tragedy hits, you really discover who you want at your side, who can't handle being there, and who you don't want to be there. 

Some lovely friends have really shown themselves to be exactly what we need, stepping up at the time we need them most. Others have run away completely from our reality. They don't mention Simone, won't talk about her, and fine by me, have kind of fizzled away. Someone who can't even acknowledge our daughter's existence even when I bring it up in regular conversation is not someone I want or need in my life. 

Gabriela took an art class with one of her cousin's friends and so this 11 or 12 year old boy didn't know us, but he knew what had happened to our family. He came up to me one day, out of nowhere, and said, "I'm really sorry about your baby. That's so sad." What a sweet, kindhearted boy. Gabriela and I had a talk about how much that meant to me, how it's not easy to bring up. And how it's so hard, that some grown ups can't bear to bring themselves to do what this young man had the courage to do. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 16. Creative Grief

There is such a deep-rooted yearning that we feel when our beloved children die. This yearning hurts so bad and yet it also inspires us to get creative to do something beautiful in memory of our children. Have you done anything in memory of your child? Maybe it is something your created for them. A tattoo or a piece of jewellery or artwork. Did you create a garden? Maybe you created an organization or a charity benefit. Maybe you took up a new practice. A new hobby. Writing, painting, dancing, reading. Whatever it is share your mementos.

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Days after Simone died my sister-in-law told me she wanted to get me a necklace with Simone's name and asked me to choose one. I love this one with the heart and laurel leaves. 

Lane got me this bracelet. It's called Beauty in Brokenness. To remind me that, somehow, we will heal from this. We won't ever be the same, but grief comes from love and there is something beautiful about that. 

We planted a cherry tree for Simone days after returning home from the hospital. It waits and waited to bloom this year. Lane and I were beginning to wonder if something was wrong, since it seemed ever other cherry tree was in full bloom. But, sure enough, it bloomed as soon as April began, and the very last blossom of Simone's tree blew away with the wind on her actual birthday. 

And here is a little something I made. Simone's Christmas stocking all the way on the right. She won't ever be able to pull goodies from it or dump it out in wonder on Christmas morning. And I knew this, having sewn it after her death. But it was so important for me to see five stockings hanging up, because even in her absence, we were still a family of five. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 15. Wave of Light

As a wave of light makes its way around the world today, we take some time out to honour and remember our children. It is a day of sacred remembrance and a day of awareness. What does this community mean to you? Where would you be without it? What would you like to see happen in the future for this community? Share your candles of light and hope.

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Lighting some candles tonight in honor of our babies and all the other babies gone too soon, sorely missed, and deeply loved. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 14. Express Your Heart

This is the day in month where you can say whatever it is on your heart that you would like. Is there anything that you were hoping would be in this month of subjects that wasn’t? I am sure there is a bunch of things! This is your chance to share it. Find your voice. What is it that you want to express. If you are lost for words a subject that you could write about is grief myths. What does grief look like for you?

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This month, especially, I need to find balance in my grief and creating space to safely welcome a new baby into our lives and hearts. How to separate the two. It seems nearly impossible. 

How can I return to the same hospital where Simone was born and not be preoccupied by the way our lives so drastically changed that day? How can I give this baby and myself an entirely different birthing experience without separating myself from Simone's birth? 

I feel so guilty and sad, like I am trying to push away the feelings and experience surrounding Simone's birth. Of course I don't want this experience to be anything like the last. But that makes me feel like I am somehow ashamed of my daughter's birth, like I am dishonoring her and her memory. 

My dear brother in law told me I'm not pushing her away. I'm just tucking her in for a little bit, like putting her down for a nap, and I'll be back. I really liked how he described it. 

I need to give myself emotional space  not only to accept this birth, but to welcome it with open heart and arms, visualizing my healthy, strong baby alive in my arms. I need to permit myself to believe that this much loved and anticipated baby will in fact come home with us, swaddled in our arms. That I will enjoy the bonding skin to skin contact and actually nurse my baby girl with the milk my body will make, no matter what the outcome. 

It's so scary to let myself go there because I know how swiftly all those things can be so violently snatched away. I want to believe it will all be okay like everyone says it will. But how can they say that? They don't know. 

So, my heart struggles with finding the right space for both these baby girls right now. I need to protect myself and this new baby from something I have been trying so hard these last eighteen months to own without shame, to honor as my story. It's a tricky, tricky balance. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 13. Regrets and Triggers

What are some regrets that you have about your experience with grief so far? Do you believe there is a way to heal that regret? Do you have any grief triggers? Maybe it is the pregnant woman in the store or a scent that reminds you of that time in your life. Perhaps it is a sound, song, season etc. Share what pulls on your heart strings.

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Regrets. I wish we had professional photos of our very brief time with Simone. I never knew about Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep or other services. Perhaps they mentioned it to us in the hospital, maybe they didn't. It's hard to say, everything was such a blur. The very few cell phone photos we have show Simone's delicate skin tearing, the discolor, and don't capture our family. The one photo we have of Lane holding his baby girl is blurry. I regret that we don't have more high quality photos of the few hours we had with our baby girl. 

I wondered if I would regret not having Easton come to the hospital to meet Simone. On some level, I wish we could have had a photo of us all with her, that he could have seen her. But on another, I think it just would have been confusing for him. He would probably have been running around the hospital room, possibly unaware of the severity of the situation. Or may be he would have just gotten it. After we met some babies born very close to Simone, Easton would ask if those babies were Simone. He still messes up his pronouns with his cousin Isaac, born three days after Simone. It's the only boy he refers to as she or her.  So I do wonder how things might have been different, but I feel like we did the right age appropriate thing for Easton. 

Triggers. I never know when a new wave of grief will sneak up and crash down over me. Sometimes it's a song like You Are My Sunshine, which Gabriela always sang to my belly in hopes that her sister would recognize her voice after being born. Other times it's a song like Let it Be. It's not always the same. 

It's sad to admit, but my nephew is a trigger. He was born three days after my Simone. Everytime I see him, I see exactly what my baby girl would be doing. How she'd be toddling around, saying mama. It's been 18 months and it hasn't really gotten much easier. I am afraid he will forever be that marker. And I can't help it. 

I'm scared I will discover new triggers when I return to the hospital to birth this rainbow baby of mine. I have already discovered that the soap at the hospital transports me right back to those first few days, fresh with grief. I packed our own  soap, although being at the hospital a few times a week is helping to normalize that scent, making it less traumatic. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 12. Normalizing Grief

Often while grieving we have feelings of isolation because we fear judgement that what we are feeling isn’t normal. But it is amazing to see just how many people feel the same way. When others stand up and express how they feel through sharing their experiences, it allows us to say “Hey, I feel that way too!”. Connecting with and communicating our experiences we are able to normalize our grief for ourselves and others. So share something about your grief journey that you might feel is strange or not common. It might be something you do to remember your children or maybe it is something you fear. By sharing these parts of our stories we can educate others on the grief experience. 

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I feel this inordinate amount of pressure that it is my job to keep my family safe. I saw my husband grieving before, and I can't bear the thought of him going through that again. I worry about our kids more, I know awful things can happen no matter what. No matter how well you take care of your people, bad shit happens and sometimes there's nothing you can do to see it coming or to stop it. 

With Simone, I had acupuncture to help get labor going on a Friday afternoon and woke up in labor just shortly after midnight. I sometimes wonder if that acupuncture session brought my labor on more forcefully than it would have begun on its own. Maybe my water wouldn't have broken just where it did, at the blood vessels of Simone's cord. I know it's crazy. I'm sure whatever I might have done that day would have me wondering how differently things would have been if only.  

And now, I feel so strange, being less than two weeks from my due date with this rainbow baby. People keep telling me how excited they are and how they can't wait to hold the baby or see me with the baby and I just don't share in that excitement. I can't. I want and love this baby so badly. They say everything will be just fine this time.  But I know how terribly wrong  everything can go at the last moment. I know nobody can prose that. I'm scared to let myself feel that excitement; it's completely overshadowed by extreme worry. I suppose it's my way of coping, of surviving through this anxious time. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 11. Glow In The Woods

Today I want to honour the beautiful writers at Glow In The Woods, past and present. This was the first place I found on the internet where I could read about other parents experiences with grief. They were literally my light in the darkness. When we become bereaved, in the beginning, many of us look outwards for help. We set out in the darkness of night with a blanket and a lantern in search of others like us. Along the road we usually find someone or something and it is with that discovery that we can walk this road with understanding company and with that, we watch the sun begin to rise over our worlds again. Who was your glow in the woods? Share some resources that have aided you in your healing journey. It may be a website, charity, organization, a person/teacher/therapist/new friend etc. Whatever it is, share what is so wonderful about that resource and how it has helped you. Please feel welcome to share links so that others can benefit.

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When Simone died, of course I was broken. I was so completely blind sighted. Who did this even happen to? Full term health babies didn't just die. I couldn't believe it. 

But then the stories started coming in. No one ever talks about it before. I realized there was comfort in hearing others' stories, what happened to other parents and their babies, all the emotional responses, the frustrating things people said to them, how could people act like this never even happened, things that other people who haven't experienced this kind of loss just don't get.  

I started reading books - collections of baby loss stories. Always Within, Three Minus One. I filled up my Facebook feed with articles from Still Standing Magazine, A Bed For My Heart, Pregnancy After Loss Support, Return To Zero, Carly Marie. It all helped me understand I was not alone, gave me hope regarding how I would survive through this loss, that the feelings I had were completely normal and that there were people out there who truly understood. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 10. Words

Writing is a wonderful tool for healing. When you put your pen to paper you may have no idea where you are going or where you will end up and that is the beauty of it. It is your own adventure. Find some time today to write by hand. You can write about whatever is on your heart right now. It gives you the chance to write down anything that you need to release. Do you have a poem inside you or a short story that is waiting to come out? Maybe it is just one word, that needs to be written over and over and over. Whatever it is, write as little or as much as you need to. If you cannot find the words today, you can always share something from someone else, like a quote or poem, just be sure to credit the author.

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Capture Your Grief - Day 9. Family

 What does your family look like today? Who is your family to you? What do they mean to you? 

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My family. I treasure these people so dearly. 

My ever loving, sensitive husband. I was terrified when I saw him in the depths of his grief, but I adore that he wears his heart on his sleeve and isn't afraid to feel his sadness. He supports me fully, especially on those days where I just can't keep it together, which are thankfully fewer and farther between. He works so hard to support our family so I can stay home with our children. He loves us all fiercely, worries about being a good daddy, makes our kids laugh like I never could, and always, always takes the very best care of me. 

My tender hearted seven year old, Gabriela. This girl is amazing. She has shown herself to be so brave, to handle with such beauty grief that no child should have to bear. I notice her doodling her sister's name here and there, writing stories and songs about Simone. She honors her sister's memory always, sure to remind others that she has a baby sister, and not just the one growing in my belly. And on the days when it's just so hard, she gives herself permission to voice it, to let out her sadness and anger, to ask for help in staying afloat when a new wave of grief hits. I am so very proud of my big girl and how she's managed through horrors I desperately wish she could have gone her whole life without ever experiencing. 

My Easton will proudly inform anyone he is three-and-three-quarters and is "into" Star Wars. My little guy was only two when his sister was born and he never met or saw Simone. I thought he was too young to understand. But I was wrong. Easton took on the role of official comforter and master hug giver after Simone's death. This little toddler would literally throw aside his toys, stop whatever he was doing to give the biggest, most heartfelt snuggles and hugs when he saw us breaking down, which was often. He asked why the tears came down, and after a while would answer his own question, because our baby died. He and his big sister have kept Simone close to their hearts often asking what she would be doing if she were alive. It makes Lane and me consider little things like how she might be doing baby signs or kicking her legs in excitement, or grabbing at our dinner plates and just picturing Simone doing normal baby things. 

And now, there is another baby girl, only a few short weeks until we meet her. She has given me hope again. This little life that wiggles and squirms inside of me. Maybe she can sense how much love we already carry in our hearts for her, how terribly anxious I am to hold her in my arms, to hear her strong cry, and watch her little chest rise and fall with every breath she takes on her own. 

I truly cannot fathom how I would have been able to navigate through these last nearly eighteen months without these wonderful, loving people by my side. It feels strange to say, but despite living through my daughter's death, I feel so very fortunate. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 7. Memory

Share a memory of your child. It doesn’t have to be a positive or negative memory. Just share whatever it is that you want or feel drawn to sharing. You are the story teller here.

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 I've decided to reshare my birth story here. A big giant memory. My first night home from the hospital one of the many times I awoke in tears was out of fear and panic that I would forget the details of the most tragic story of my life. I so desperately wanted to remember and hold onto every last detail. I knew this was the only time I had with Simone, I understood the emotional fog I was living in, and I couldn't bear the idea of losing or forgetting the only time I had with my baby girl. So I wrote it all down the very next day. It tore me apart, yet it was so satisfying to examine the events, the emotions, so soon afterwards. It is an awful, yet beautiful story, but it's mine, it belongs to our family. I felt this immediate, urgent need to preserve it, and I am so thankful that I did. 

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I had been having Braxton Hicks contractions for quite a while, and they seemed to be increasing in intensity, though were still very mild. I knew labor would be coming soon, but it was so hard to know just when.

And then I started trying all the things that seem like Old Wives' Tales when you aren't very pregnant, but suddenly sound totally logical when you are just so ready to have a baby.  We ate the "world famous" Preggo Pizza from Skipolini's, ate fresh pineapple, spicy foods, I had acupuncture, we went for long walks, I bounced and swayed on my birth ball, and walked up and down lots of stairs. 

It got to the point where I was no longer wondered how our birth would go, nor was I worried about how we would adjust to life after the baby was born, she just needed to come out.  I was so done being pregnant, and ready for the next stage.  On Friday I had a second round of acupuncture.  I could feel Simone moving around all afternoon.  Two days before, I had my membranes stripped, and I was 40 weeks and 6 days pregnant. I felt different, like something was going to happen.  Just to make sure, I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the wooden floors.  I showered and started some soup in the crock pot so everyone would have food to eat. I baked some bread, and felt ready to meet our baby girl.  That evening, Gabriela and Easton both read stories to their sister in my belly. It was so precious.

Just after midnight, I woke up to a stronger than normal contraction.  I felt like this was labor starting, but I needed to relax. And all of a sudden I felt wetness between my legs and it started increasing. I got up to go use the bathroom and was shocked to see my underwear full of blood. Blood was in the toilet, and it just kept coming out. It didn't feel like I was peeing.  My water had broken and it was full of blood. I was scared, worried, and surprised. Of course, Easton woke up crying for Mama right then, so Lane was busy comforting him back to sleep.

Immediately I called the midwives and let them know what had happened.  They were on their way over. I asked Cynthia to come over to watch the sleepy kids.  Karen arrived first.  She got my IV ready for the penicillin drip I would need, and tried to listen for the baby's heartbeat with the doppler.  I wasn't even worried at all when she couldn't detect the heart beat.  I figured the baby was just in a weird position.  But then Beah, my other midwife, couldn't find the heartbeat either. It was time to go to the hospital. I didn't know until much later that while we were still at the house, Beah told Lane that she thought we had already lost the baby.  Lane was so worried, hurrying around trying to get us out the door and in the car. I told him I didn't want to waste any energy being worried unless I knew we had a reason to worry.

Our midwives both work at Alta Bates Hospital. Karen is a labor and delivery nurse there.  Beah has so many connections. She made phone calls on the way.  We walked right in, they told us which room to go to, and Karen advised the nurse that she would clock in and take over my care, for which I am so very grateful.

They still couldn't detect the baby's heartbeat with the hospital-grade machines, and ordered a sonogram, so that they could at least see the heartbeat.  Soon the sonographer came in with the equipment. I was unable to see the screen, but I saw Beah and Karen's faces.  The worried look in their eyes, I saw them holding each other.  Lane and I burst into tears before they confirmed what we already knew.  Our baby's heart had stopped beating.  She was gone.  I never could have imagined that this would happen.  Never.

Through this all, my contractions starting getting stronger and coming more frequently.  I decided that I had enough to sort out emotionally, that I no longer wanted the natural childbirth I had been planning.  I got an epidural and pitocin, and then we had a number of other decisions to make while we were still in shock, in an incredible emotional fog.  We had to tell Cynthia what was going on, but were nervous about her feeling overwhelmed, especially since she was taking care of Gabriela and Easton. We decided to call Meliss to tell her what was going on, since she was originally going to be at our birth and help with Gabriela.  Lane tried to tell her, but how do you say those words out loud, when you can hardly believe that they are true?  Beah, who was at Meliss's home birth, took over the call and told  Meliss what had happened and asked her to be with Cynthia.  Then she called Cynthia to tell her.  We needed them both to be strong for our kids.  I was so nervous about Gabriela getting up and being excited to meet her sister, only to find out that she was gone.

We told our parents and spent much of my labor in tears, holding each other, unable to believe that this was our reality - that we would not be bringing home the baby girl whose arrival we had so eagerly anticipated.  Karen gave me some pain medication that would help me to rest, and Lane had some Benadryll to help him rest.  We slept together for a short while in the hospital bed before I woke up feeling like it was about time to push.

Over the next 30 minutes, I pushed out Simone.  Apparently, I lost a lot of blood in the process.  They placed her on my chest immediately, and I held her and cried and cried.  My sweet baby girl, so beautiful but lifeless in my arms.

We originally had a different middle name chosen for her, but after learning of her fate, changed her middle name to Esperanza, which means hope.  It is a beautiful name, and a reminder to us that we will make it through this difficult time.  Before my Nana was born, her mother had two stillborn babies, both of whom she had named Esperanza.  It seemed a fitting, beautiful name for our precious daughter.

The hospital staff were all very tender and helpful.  They let us know what had happened.  Simone's cord had been pinched at her shoulder.  As she started to descend down, the cord pinched, stopping her blood flow and oxygen, and then her heart.  Not only this, her cord was positioned at the very edge of the placenta, rather than firmly in the middle.  This made it easier for the bloodflow in the cord to pinch.  The doctor compared it to a garden hose.  She said if it is on securely and on full blast, it's much harder to pinch or bend, and that wasn't the case in this situation.  Also, another problem was of course, the amount of blood I lost when my water broke.  This suggests that a blood vessel could have ruptured, stopping blood flow to the umbilical cord.  She was very sweet and honest and was sure to inform us that there was nothing we did wrong, no choice we made that could have influenced or prevented this from happening.  If we had planned a medicated hospital birth, this still would have been the outcome.  There is strange comfort that comes from knowing that no matter what, Simone did not have a chance at life.

We had a very hard time deciding whether or not we wanted our family to see us in the hospital. In the end, we decided to give our parents, Simone's grandparents, the option to come in and see her at the hospital.  As soon as we let our families know, they started coming.  We couldn't have kept them away if we had tried.  And, honestly, it was very therapeutic and comforting to have them there to hug, and cry to and love us in our time of complete devastation and despair.  It was truly the worst day of our lives, yet so touching and beautiful at the same time.

I felt so terrible, but Lane had to leave to go tell Gabriela in person that her baby sister did not live through the birth. I didn't want him to have to do that alone, but what choice did I have? We decided to give her the option of coming to the hospital to see her.  We talked and he wrote down notes while we thought of how and what to say to our daughter, who has done nothing but talk and think and be excited about the arrival of her baby sister.

After he left, Karen gave Simone a bath and cleaned her up so she looked nice for Gabriela.  It was then that she also weighed her and I was surprised to see Simone was 9 lbs, 14 oz., 21 1/2 inches long.  I had no idea she would be such a big baby!  I was even more amazed after learning of her size that I didn't tear at all from her birth, I was hardly swollen and not sore. I think my body knew that I could only handle so much pain and spared me the physical pain of recovering from childbirth.

When Lane got home, he walked inside to see a huge smile on Gabriela's face quickly disappear.  He told her what had happened and she cried. She said, "I thought you were just going to tell me something bad happened, not that my sister died!" He was crushed. They cried together, picked out an outfit and hat for Simone to wear. And Gabriela wrote her a note that said, "I have so, so much love for you". And at the house, she asked him if we could celebrate Simone's birthday every year.

She came to the hospital to meet her baby sister.  There were moments when she was her normal happy self, curious questioning moments, and very tender heartbreaking moments as well.  She wanted to see Simone's whole body. She marveled at her soft skin, tiny but long fingernails, itty bitty toes. She asked why Simone's lips were so dark red, why her skin was peeling, and what would happen to her body.  Gabriela asked why we couldn't take her home with us, she held Simone, caressed her little cheeks, hugged her, cried, and said goodbye.  She cried and asked what about her crib, and all her diapers and all the clothes she would never wear, and why Simone would never meet her big brother, Easton.  It. tore. us. apart.

Simone's Grandma and Grandpa, Uncle Nate and Auntie Liss, Nana and Papa, Auntie Banu and Uncle Matthew, Auntie Cynthia and Uncle Dan, Auntie Kristie, and Uncle Tim, big sister Gabriela and Mommy and Daddy all had the chance to hold her, look at her, and say goodbye.  So much love for our baby girl.

My mom said over and over again how much Simone looked like me when I was a newborn.  She had the same little nose that Gabriela and Easton have, dainty little lips, and the softest head of hair.

Lane brilliantly asked his parents to go to Michael's to get supplies so we could make baby hand and footprints for Simone.  They turned out perfectly. I know we will treasure them always.  The hospital took photos of her as well, and sent us home with them.  And now I appreciate my belly cast more than ever.

Lane and I stayed overnight in the hospital. We weren't sure if we would at first, but the kids were happy to sleep overnight with their cousins.  The hospital staff said we could spend as much time with Simone as we wanted.  But around 12:30 in the morning, we decided it was time to ask them to take her away.  It was a very difficult thing to do, but we had already noticed her body change so much in less than 12 hours.  Truthfully, we weren't sure we could handle what she might look like in the morning, and wanted to remember her the way she was.  We told her how much we loved her, how we would have taken such good care of her, how she would always be our baby, and how terribly sorry we were that this had happened to her, to our family.  But how hard it was to ask someone to take her little body away.  No one should ever have to do that.

Lane and I spent the night cuddled up together in that tiny hospital bed, crying. It was helpful to take the time to grieve for her, just the two of us.  We are surrounded by so much love in each other, our beautiful perfect children, an amazing selfless and giving family, and wonderfully supportive friends. We have to focus on these blessings in our lives and put everything into perspective.  We know that this will help us to love each other more, to be more patient with our children and to truly appreciate every moment we have with them.

It's like this is our gift from Simone.  

Capture Your Grief - Day 6. Books

 So many of us turn to reading in the wake of the death of our children. We take solace in other people’s words, stories, journeys and wisdom. Have you read any books that have helped in this journey of healing after loss? They don’t have to be specifically about the death of a child, just anything that helped you. Share about how they helped you and what you loved about them. You can share books that help grieving children too. Please feel welcome to share links.

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You Are The Mother of All Mothers: a message of hope for the grieving heart. 

This book is so beautiful and profound. It speaks to the heartache, the guilt in a way only a grieving mama can describe. I only wish I had discovered it right away. The copies I have are extra special, since Simone's name is in them. 

For our children, Something Happened: A Book for Children and Parents Who Have Experienced Child Loss was absolutely perfect. There are no religious references, no confusing language (we didn't "lose" the baby; she died). It's written from an older sibling's point of view, beautiful, direct, and nearly mirrors our own family's situation, down to planting a tree in memory of the baby.

Why Did You Die?: Activities to Help Children Cope with Grief and Loss.  This book incorporates short lessons about different feelings of grief, truths of life and death, remembering and honoring your loved one.  For example, it's okay to not feel sad all the time, that every living thing dies, or that nothing we can say or think could ever cause someone to die. These are shown to kids through a short story about another child experiencing a death in their family. There are accompanying writings. drawing, and coloring exercises along with a set of questions for each. We pull this book out on days that are extra hard on my seven year old. Focusing some time and energy on her sister helps her to feel better. I'm so glad she recognizes this too. We have had really bad behavior days sometimes, and she will appear out of nowhere with this book in hand, telling me she wants to talk about Simone. We drop everything and pick an activity together. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 5. Empathy

 So often in this community of bereaved parents we speak about all the things that friends and family should not say to us. There are countless articles about things never to say to a bereaved parent but not as many on actual things to say to a bereaved parent. If we want to break the silence surrounding baby and child loss we need to communicate our needs of what people can do and say to help. We must educate society on what real empathy is. What does empathy look like for you. What do you wish people would have said to you? How could they have helped you better?

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Say my daughter's name. Bring her up. Show me you haven't forgotten her, or the fact that we are living daily with her loss, and that we always will. Don't be afraid to remind me of Simone, because trust me, she is always on my mind. When you tip toe around her existence, her birth, never mention it, act as though it never happened, it sends the message to my living children that what happened to their sister is shameful and that they shouldn't bring her up. Please don't be afraid to remember Simone with my other children especially. They need to know others love their sister as much as they do. 

A couple friends of mine have been so straightforward and honest, letting me know that they never tire of hearing about Simone and even though they don't always know what to say, they always want to listen. They ask me hard questions, like how am I feeling emotionally as I get ready to birth another baby. I just got a call recently from someone lovely who told me how much they are thinking of us. they know it's going to be so hard to hear our new baby's first cry, how difficult it must be to compartmentalize the feelings for Simone and prepare for this birth. These kind people aren't afraid to address what is so obviously there, something they are likely uncomfortable discussing, but they do it anyway. It makes me so grateful and brings me to tears to know that someone else gets it, or at least they are trying to. I know it's not easy for them, and that makes me appreciate it even more. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 4. Dark and Light

 Today we are acknowledging the dark and the light sides of grief. The ugly and the beauty. The bitter and the sweet. The anger and the peace. You might want to write about the moments when everything falls apart or maybe the moments where our eyes are opened to the gifts that this journey has in store for us. Maybe you just want to write about both.

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The darkness of this journey is that nothing ever seems right. Of course there is the deep darkness of grief from which you feel, at first, you will never emerge. The sadness and darkness is expected lots of times. But even the beautiful, picture perfect family moments of happiness are tinged with darkness because Simone is supposed to be here. And she's not. We sing happy birthday to a baby who isn't alive, she won't ever use the Christmas stocking I made her, we cry on our own birthdays and Father's Day and Mother's Day are rough days indeed.

The light comes from being able to help others. For Simone's birthday, with the help of our friends and family, we donated $5,000 worth of grieving books and handprint kits to the hospital where she was born. To know we have turned some of our pain into hope for other families surely gives us light. 

Several people have asked for my help and guidance after learning of a friend or family member who had just experienced a miscarriage or stillbirth. Just the other week, a woman at Lane's work called him because her daughter had just been told her baby's heart had stopped. She was about to go be with her daughter for the stillbirth of her first grandbaby. I sent her a ton of information too, after Lane answered all her questions. It's devastating to hear of other people fresh in their grief. But there is some comfort that these people have someone to turn to, that we can share what we learned, what we wish we had known at the beginning, in hopes of making their experience at least a tiny bit less overwhelming, or for their family to have an idea of how to better support them. I suppose that is us bringing a sliver of light to the darkness in which others find themselves.

Capture Your Grief - Day 3. In Honor

Who are you doing this project in loving memory of? Share their name. Share their story. Share who they are to you. This is a time to shine a light on your children and tell the world about them. Honour them beautifully. A lovely idea is to create an acrostic poem with your children’s names (a word for each letter of their name) If you didn’t name your babies, you can still share your experience. What were your hopes and dreams for them? How has this experience changed you as a person? Share as much or as little as you feel comfortable with. 

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I am doing this project in loving memory of my daughter, Simone Esperanza. My precious baby who I felt moving around inside of me the day before she was stillborn. The baby sister that Gabriela and Easton sang to and read stories to only hours before she died inside of me. My baby girl, all squishy 9 lbs, 14 oz and 21 1/2 inches of her who we were so ready to welcome. We already loved her so much.

Simone had a full head of hair, like her big sister and a face just like her big brother. I wonder what color her eyes would have been, and if she'd had dimples like Gabriela and Easton. Gabriela remembers her long, dark fingernails and her deep dark lips. 

 Simone was born nine months and three days after we moved into our house.   Before her birth, I imagined so much happy chaos for our family. I could just see her happily wrapped up in a baby carrier while we homeschooled. She was going to be an easy baby, you see, after all, she was the third child. I was ready to juggle meeting my kids' individual needs, homeschooling, cooking, caring for my family, cloth diapering for two, with Easton still in diapers, so much love and craziness with our new family of five. I thought I was so ready for the changes Simone's birth would bring to my life. But really, I had no clue how different things would be after her birth. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 2. Intention

 Set yourself a new intention to inspire your next path in grief and healing. It might be to live your life with more kindness or maybe you might intend to live your life more wholeheartedly in honour of your children. Spend some time with this one. Go and get some fresh air. What is it that you want out of this project? Whatever your new intention is, write it down with the words “I intend to ……………. in honour of my precious child/ren ……………..”

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I intend to live in the moment more, to appreciate my living children, to be more present for them and patient with them, in honor of my precious child, Simone.

This is so much easier said than done. Shortly after Simone's death, I thought how much more precious the gift of our other children is, how I would treasure this tremendously more as a result of it being taken from me with Simone. But the truth that I quickly learned was that grieving takes so much energy, it is so completely draining, that lots of days there isn't much left, not patience. Instead my children sometimes have a moody, on edge mama who, on top of the grief, now feels pushed to the edge and incredibly guilty for not being the mama I know I used to be, the mama my babies  deserve. So this month, I am going to try harder than usual to be the mama I know I have inside of me. To shower my children with the love they need from me, and to do it in honor of their dear sister, Simone. 

Capture Your Grief - Day 1. Sunrise

I'm trying again this year to participate in Capture Your Grief Project Heal in honor of October being Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. Last year I only made it a few days, because I became preoccupied with another new loss, a miscarriage.

Here's some information about the project: 

Capture Your Grief is a mindful healing project for anyone who is grieving the death of a baby or child of any age or gestation. There are 31 subjects, one for each day in the month of October. You are invited to explore each subject and share a photo that captures your own journey. You are welcome to take new photos or use ones from the past. Capture Your Grief is about exploring your grief and discovering more about your thoughts to aid in your journey of healing and personal growth. You can join the project at any time of the month.

Today's topic is Sunrise. 

I take a deep breath and remember my Simone. I honor all the other mamas and daddies who have experienced the heartbreaking horror of child loss that will forever remain in their hearts. I honor all the big sisters and brothers, especially my Gabriela and Easton, whose hearts should never know this level of grief, but who sweetly remember their siblings, love them, and share the memories of their baby with others. May you all find some peace, comfort, and light in the love you have for your children, no matter how hard it may seem to find some days

The sunrise today wasn't full of brilliant color; it was drab and cloudy, just a little bit of light poking through the darkness.   Everything was wet from some rare early morning rain. How fitting for a morning of reflection as this month of remembrance begins.