My Little Pumpkin

                                    

Although it is very hot still in California, Fall is definitely in the air. Everywhere you look there are pumpkins; pumpkin lattes, pumpkin bread, pumpkin patches, pumpkin everything! I used to love Fall with all that pumpkin goodness, the weather changing, and Thanksgiving. It was my favorite time of year. This year I face a different Fall season filled with grief and heartache.

It was this time last year that I was pregnant with Tenley. We carved pumpkins about her, took pictures my belly weekly, dreamed of all her life would be and looked forward to meeting her in March. I remember telling Brendan how excited I was that we would get to take her to a pumpkin patch next fall and dress her up as a ladybug for Halloween.

Oct. 2014

Each season brings a new set of things that I grieve. Because of this it feels like there is no growth or change in my broken heart. This cycle becomes very discouraging. I know it has not even been a year yet, but surviving eleven months of this pain has been so hard and seeing no progress makes it even harder.

This Fall pumpkin carving, pumpkin spice lattes, or bright red leaves can't make me happy. Not without my my little pumpkin here...

Tip of the Iceburg

The struggles that people see are just the tip of the iceberg; underneath there is much more.

Grief brings many struggles. There are the obvious ones like missing the person that is gone, wishing you could see them one more time, and accepting that life will never be what you had hoped and dreamed. Then there are the other parts of grief that people don't usually see, mostly because those of us grieving choose not to show it. 

One of the more obvious struggles I have... babies, babies, babies. Everywhere I look there are babies. I cannot avoid them! And when I look at those babies I feel broken hearted and robbed. I never got to experience my baby like most people get to experience theirs. Seeing a baby makes my heart ache deeply and makes me begin to ask the impossible questions again: Why did she have to die? Why couldn't I save her? Why us? And the list goes on. 

Another challenge is with friendships. Not only am I missing and grieving my daughter, but I am losing friends because I cannot bear to be around them while I am in this pain. So many friends have or are having babies, but this causes a separation between me and those friends. I cannot relate to them, we have nothing to talk about...there is an elephant in the room. That elephant is that you have a healthy baby and I do not. Some people clearly think I just need to get over it and deal with it. They talk about their baby, show pictures, and don't think twice about the pain it causes me. Other people are sensitive and kind. But even if they are sensitive and kind, what are we left to talk about? I cannot handle talking about their children, I have no children (and in the back of my mind fear I may never have children), and I do not always want to talk about my loss and pain. So we are left with small talk. 

The other big struggle I have is feeling like I am letting down the people around me because I am not able to be who I used to be. As I have written in previous posts, I have learned to smile and laugh in the pain. I have also learned to show my true emotions and share my experience with people. But there are times when I cannot socialize and visit with friends, I cannot laugh at jokes, and I cannot be my usual outgoing self because the grief has paralyzed me. I often worry that people are uncomfortable or disappointed with how I have changed. 

As I analyze and process my struggles, I must remind myself of the hope that there is for healing and hope for the future. 

It Comes in Waves

It has been almost seven months since I held my daughter and kissed her for the first and last time. I have thought about that moment at least 50 times a day since then. What an impact her tiny, short life has made. My world has been turned upside down. 

Last month was Tenley's half birthday. The grief was heavy that weekend, but my husband and I vowed to celebrate her in our grief. Being a teacher, I have shared Tenley's story with my students and their families, so I decided to include them in the celebration by blowing bubbles up into the sky for my girl. I was overwhelmed by the joy of my students and how excited they were to celebrate Tenley's life. 

This past month we have had many ups and downs. There are days when I miss her so much that the heartache becomes all consuming. There are other days that I try very hard to ignore the pain and sad reality of our situation and keep busy. And then there are days like today, when I think "I can do this... I can survive this."

At this point I no longer cry every day, most days, but not every day. I call that growth! I have been able to talk about Tenley without crying...more growth! And the biggest one... I found hope.

Before Tenley came God was good. He had blessed me, I loved him, He loved me, we were cool. After Tenley I had many questions and so much doubt. How could a loving God leave me in world to suffer without my daughter? Why didn't He save her? Where is He? Does He care at all, or just sit back as God of all and watch? I was so angry.

I do not have those answers, and as long I am on this Earth I will not have them. But I know that God has been present during this time. I believe that He has brought specific people into our lives during this time to support us and encourage us. He has given us the strength to get up every day and keep living. Most of all, I believe that He has wept with me. He is not sitting back watching with a straight face, he is watching me cry and feeling my pain with me. He did not want this to happen, but He will make good of this. The good will never balance out the pain, but there will still be good. Tenley's life will make an impact, God will be sure to do that. I still believe God is good, he has blessed me, and I am not alone.

I write these words to you on a good day. Not every day do I feel hopeful or blessed. It comes in waves (I never really understood that until now). That is why I write; so that on a bad day, when a big wave has hit, I can read this and remember that there are better days, I have hope, and I am not alone. 

Not Your Average Mom

Today is Mother's Day, but I keep telling myself it is just a Sunday. That's hard when Mother's is plastered over everything. It is all over social media, television, the radio, and in the stores. Even if it weren't all over the place, it is stuck in my head. Today most people are celebrating with brunch, BBQs, and family time. I couldn't bring myself to do any other that today because it is not the Mother's Day I dreamed of when we were pregnant with Tenley.

I am a mom, but don't get to BE a mom. Those two things are very different. I had a child, I am Tenley's mother. But I do not get to do the motherly things that other moms get to do. I do not get to tuck my girl in every night, give her baths, hold her, kiss her, or sing to her. That's what I ache for today and every day, doing mommy things with Tenley. I'm not your average mom, I'm a grieving mom.

Always On My Mind

This last month has been very difficult for us. Tenley was due March 14. On that day we went away just the two of us to distract ourselves and try to relax. The day was better than we thought it would be; it the was the next day that things took a turn. When we got home from our overnight getaway the reality that we were arriving home without a baby set in. I was no longer "supposed to be pregnant". Now I was supposed to be home with a newborn.

Ever since that weekend we have grieved for her as if she died just yesterday. We ache for her and the life we should be living with her in it. People have told us that the hard times come in waves. This wave is a long one. I wake up every day hoping the pain will be less than the day before, but so far that has not happened. 

One of the hardest parts about this time of grief is that it has been a few months since her death and in those months people have begun to forget about what we went through and what we are still trying to get through. All around us people are having fun and sometimes they expect us to be able to do the same thing. Impossible. I am a grieving mother; my daughter died only 4 months ago. How can I be expected to go out and have a good time and forget that? When we try to go and have fun there are always things that trigger the pain and that is when the fun becomes impossible. 

I know it won't be this way forever, but as of now I cannot see the light at the end of the tunnel. I just have to trust what others say when they tell me that it will get easier. It's that magic word... TIME. Everyone tells us that is what we need to give ourselves...TIME. I'm sure it's true, I won't deny it, but man how much?

Three months

Yesterday marked three months since Tenley was born and today marks three months since she passed away. I cannot believe that three months has gone by. It seems like just yesterday I held her in arms and kissed her sweet face as she drifted to heaven. 

Most parents take pictures of their three month old babies and post them online saying how time has flown by. My heart aches that I will never do that with Tenley. Instead of taking pictures of her, loving on her, and gushing over how much she has grown, we missed her and I cried for her.

My husband and I decided that we needed to take a few moments somewhere peaceful to remember her. We went for a drive not too far from our home and found a beautiful spot to spend a moment commemorating her life. We climbed a little hill that overlooked a small valley and the mountains all around. It was the greenest I have ever seen California hills; the birds were singing, flowers blooming, and the sun just peeking through the cloudy sky. It was perfect. There we spread some red rose petals and a single rose for her. Although it was a painful moment, it felt good to do something for her. We have spent so much time grieving that we haven't celebrated her life since she has died. And her life is well worth celebrating, because it has changed ours forever. 

Truth Behind the Smile

Every day is different for us and we can never predict what kind of day it will be. Some days I can barely contain my tears, and other days I am numb to everything around me. Brendan has days where he is so angry that he struggles to make simple decisions, days when he seems to be okay, and other days he is numb. The pain is still as deep and awful as it was the day Tenley died. We are beginning to accept that this pain is something we will have to live with for the rest of our lives. Whatever the future may bring, it will not bring Tenley back. The whole in our hearts cannot be filled.

I can best describe the grief as a thick blanket of fog that lays over us. It makes it hard to see things clearly, to make decisions, and worst of all it makes it hard to see anything good around us. We have found that we can easily pick out the bad things going on in this world and struggle to see any good. We have learned that Earth is a place of pain and sadness. I know there can be happiness, but we cannot see it through the fog right now.

We have gotten to the point where we can get up every day, get dressed, and go to work. We have learned to smile and laugh when we talk to others. I can even say, "Have a great day," to people now. The smile is genuine, but know, that when you see us doing these everyday things, it is not because we are healed, happy, or moving on. That is us getting stronger. The more we live, the stronger we become. Each day we make a conscious decision to act in a way that will make us stronger as individuals and a couple.

Underneath what you see I am aching for Tenley. From the moment I wake up in the morning until I go to bed at night, she is on my mind. Some nights I even dream of her and how much I miss her. Every day I wonder why her life had to be so short. I know I will not have the answers until I am with her and our creator in heaven. Until then, I will smile, laugh, and function as I should, but behind what you see, the grief remains.