The Pain of Still Missing You

Dear Norah,

Life has a way of moving on without you. The good in life still has a sting to it, because you aren't here to share it with us. You would be 4 1/2 years old right now; you would be in preschool, a year ahead of Stella and you would be gearing up for kindergarten. I still remember your red hair, pale skin, and long legs. I didn't know all that I lost when I lost you; I just knew you died and I couldn't have you in my life. That day had such a distinct loss, but the losses that have followed in these years sneak up on me. Waves of pain, anxiety, and grief. Times I feel like I could cry for hours and then feeling completely numb. I wish that you were here; plain and simple. I wish that I had my 4 1/2 year old red headed girl with me, with Stella and with Sophia. There's always this mind trick I go through, wondering if I would've had Sophia b/c I thought I only wanted 2 children. 

You are like a time capsule in my soul and spirit and that's the part I don't think will ever go away. You're always here with me. Christmas can be hard b/c I wish you were here with presents under the tree, a stocking w/your name on it, and the sound of your feet pattering on the floors Christmas morning. There's a real ache w/you not here and I'm not sure that will ever fully go away. Can you say a prayer for me in heaven -- that God would give me peace in my heart?

Something I don't open up to a lot of people about is the anxiety that has come after losing you. I sometimes have struggled with fears of other people in my life getting hurt or can fixate on the idea that life is so short. I want to think normal but life was abruptly and brutally changed in an instant and I just can't wrap my mind around it all still. Underneath all of it -- at its essence -- is that I still have pain from missing you. Pain that I tuck away in my everyday life b/c of all the demands and having to be strong for everyone else -- but the truth is -- losing you still impacts my life everyday and you have forever left a mark on my heart.

I believe you have made me a better woman and mom. You have fortified me. You have marked me in a deep way and I am forever grateful for you life. Some would say small -- but I say mighty and big. I'm not sure what you're doing in heaven or what your personality is like, but I am excited to be able to meet you someday. You are forever my girl Norah and momma misses your presence in our family. 

Norah, your life has been my winter. It has crushed me and yet -- in a way, I feel like it was meant to be written in my life story. I have come to a place of acceptance and I trust the process and all the lessons your life has taught me. The winter has brought richness and depth to my life. It has carved out my soul and that makes me more aware of my need for God. And I guess -- in a world where it's easy to be shallow and distracted, I am grateful for you imprint on my life.

Love,

Mom

Four Years Later

I thought I would write about my experience four years after our loss. I wanted to give people a glimpse into my process, for those who are interested. This year, so far, was the best year for grieving. I honestly feel renewed. I do not replay the traumatic experiences in my mind; I can honestly say that my mind feels healed from the experience and that God has done a huge work in me. This is a big step for anyone who has been through trauma.

Last week Jason was sharing a message at the ministry school I attend about our loss. He went through the story, detail by detail, including the way it happened, how I almost lost my life and then how I almost lost my uterus. It dug up lots of emotions for me and I began crying right on the spot. This grieving process has been put in a compartment or box and it gets pulled up at different times. When he was speaking it was leading up to April 7th, so I figured it was also because of sensing the "anniversary" was coming up.

On Saturday night, when I was by myself, I decided to go through Norah's box, which has all of her memories stored in there. In there is her urn, blankets made for her, cards sent from people after we lost her, and paintings that I did for her room. I went through each item and allowed myself to cry as hard and as long as I needed to. The biggest source of tears for me right now is that she isn't here. I feel as though I should have a red headed 4 year old who is going to preschool and swimming lessons and talking clear sentences...but then again, I have been so used to my life without her that I have moved on. And I have never once felt guilty for moving on. Now don't get me wrong, I have felt guilty for many different things; I struggled with feeling that I did something to cause her death, but I have not felt guilty about moving on with my life. I knew from the beginning that she wants me to live fully. Her earthly body is a phantom; it doesn't exist. It's her heavenly body that's real and so that's how I envision her now.

There is a part of me that doesn't want to write this blog or even bring up this story anymore. I don't want this to be the defining moment of my life. I want my calling and life to be about much more...but I was reminded by someone who spoke on Sunday morning to share the things God puts on our hearts, because we don't know the people we are touching through our stories. And while this moment in history no longer defines me, I will bring it forward when I feel the pull to do so. There is a fear in bringing up a story like this too much that people will judge me for it or think I need to move on with my life, and while it's true that I need to move on (and have), it is a part of me, a very deep part of me. Norah is an important part of my story.

Here is one thing that is still effected. Today Stella told me she wanted to see the baby, so I let her touch my bare belly and she says hi to the baby and hugs my belly and gets sheer excitement for seeing the baby soon. There's a part of me that feels total joy when she does that, and then there's another part of me that experiences fear/foreboding because now she is getting attached and "what if?" It scares me to be taking another step of faith into another pregnancy. It scares me to think about getting another c-section. It scares me to think that anything can happen, and while I know that's "normal," I don't want to own it. But the reality is that it's what I'm really feeling and experiencing and that's what this has been all about - me being totally honest with how I think and feel towards motherhood, loss, this pregnancy, and the last one with Stella. I am in such a better place than last time with Stella though, just ask Jason!!

The biggest lesson God is teaching me in all of this is to love myself. To love, care, nurture, tend to, and value myself. If I can do that and receive his love, then I am doing well. As mothers, even without loss, we go through so much. We go through so much change, stretching (physically, spiritually, mentally, emotionally) and we need to love ourselves through the changes, to be considerate towards our needs, wants, and desires. That has been my biggest key. I can honestly say I value myself.

To any women facing challenges of infertility, hope deferred, miscarriage, stillbirth, or whatever loss you find yourself in, I pray life, grace, and love to fill your spirit. As women, we are so much more than mothers and wives; we are valuable as who we are without the titles. How often do we compare our lives to another, thinking "only if?" I pray that you would find contentment in your circumstance and God would bring breakthrough for you in whatever struggle you find yourself in. Be encouraged, because the best is yet to come. And remember that your struggle softens you, even crushes you in the hands of your Creator - and His hands are the ones that hold the world. I pray His breath would breathe new life into your spirit, offering you hope in areas that you never thought you'd experience hope.

My letter to those who've experienced loss

Dear Parent of the child who went too soon,

Your prayers during your pain can move mountains. Right now you may have a mountain in front of you and within you, but I want you to know something: it will be okay again. There will be tough terrain and upward climbs, but there will also be downward slopes and green pastures. I know for some it may be hard to understand and fully grasp, but you are on a journey of making a comeback. Let this be the comeback story that releases you into your destiny. Let it remove what already has entangled you; let it mold you and shape you; let it be the story that takes the tape off over you mouth and releases your voice.

These are reflections over the course of 3 years from the week after my loss and the 3 year anniversary of my daughter's transition to glory. I am a trauma therapist who has experience not only working with trauma, but actually walking through trauma. I had plenty of issues I was proactively working towards before losing Norah, and her death caused a complete upheaval in my life that has forever changed me. And you know the surprising part? I feel like I am a better woman today, not because it was supposed to happen, but because it did happen.

Through these pages you will see me triumph, fall flat on my face, stumble, be strong, be vulnerable, be broken, and be made whole. I pray you have already given yourself the permission to be what it is you need to be...and if you haven't, please, do it for yourself. Let yourself be carried. You have permission to feel what you need to and you have the strength to be carried, to stumble, to walk, and to run again. With God's help, you will run again. And it will be stronger and faster than before because He promises to return all that was lost and then some.

With great love,
Nancy

My Letter to Norah (after 3 years)

To My Precious Little Girl,

This spring you would have turned 3 years old; we would've celebrated your birthday as a family and sing you happy birthday, blow out your 3 birthday candles, and watch you open presents. Your red hair may have been shoulder length or longer and I would be starting to think about preschool for you. Most likely you would be talking in full-er sentences and beginning to ask me questions about every little thing.

I would have loved to have you here. With me. With your daddy. And with your siblings, especially your two twin sisters. You would be playing games of hide and seek with them. You maybe would have sneaked into their bed early in the morning to cuddle next to them before we all woke up in the morning.

For a while, I didn't know how I would live without you. Now, I know. I have put one foot in front of the other...some small, loving baby steps...some big leaps of faith. I began making new plans after you because I needed to for me, and I know you've always understood that. I know you see our family's future more than I do, so you understand that your momma wanted more babies. You are aware of all that God has in store for us. And you are a part of this story and this family, even being separate from us with your physical body.

The traumatic memories are becoming more distant now and I don't relive them anymore. I notice my grief more through seeing 3 year old girls and feeling sad, seeing mommas with two young children and feeling sad, desiring to control my circumstances more than I normally would have before losing you, and sometimes still feeling afraid to fall asleep at night.

But I want you to know something important. My light is coming back again. It was dimmed and I could barely breathe in the beginning. It was still dimmed in the middle, even though I could breathe, I could barely dream. And now I can dream again, not just for small things anymore, like what I am going to do to the house or what I want to plan next week. But I am actually returning to the DNA, the core of who I am. I am dreaming again about my future. I didn't know I lost it as much as I did until it started to return again and it felt like a fresh wind blowing over me. I am not surviving anymore.

And let's talk about your little sister, Estella. Sometimes I wonder if I would have had her...weird to think about, isn't it? I know you love her deeply. I think about her connection to you. She has some sibling connections to sort through as she is able to grasp, so would you pray for her in that place of questioning? Isn't she fun and amazing? :)

There feels to be an infinite love I have for you; there is an infinite love that God has for both of us, and we are enveloped by this love and pulled in close. I am in you and you are in me, and we are in Him. I would love to hold you right now, but I have seen you in eternity as a toddler, little girl, and adult woman, and I look forward to many long conversations with you. As weird as this may sound, I fully release you to be who you are created to be in heaven. I release you into your assignment and I say, 'Go boldly forward.'

I love you.
Mom

3 year mark is coming

Sometimes I am unsure of how to feel about losing Norah. Some days I don't think about it. Other days it sneaks up on me and knocks quietly at my door. Then others, it is louder and I am forced to feel the grief. I would say the last one is fewer days than I actually expected. Throughout this process I have been forced to stay true to me. I have tried others suggestions and have not tried others suggestions. I have not done a group. I did write a blog. I did go to therapy. I ran and worked out as an outlet. I didn't read books about it. I did freak out my subsequent pregnancy, at times. It gets to be mine. It gets to be yours, so let it be yours. I will say this; don't do it all alone because your heart will grow cold. Let others warm up your heart to feel and let go of the pain.

There were times I did it alone too, for self-preservation. Unhealthy people were certainly not allowed in the grieving space. And I went through a lot of change as a person; this experience has changed me so much. It has honestly made me a better person. I feel like I am still recovering parts of myself back...some part of me left for good and some are returning to me in unexpected ways.

I took time away from church. After the dust settled is when I felt angry towards God. And it wasn't an outright shaking my first anger, it was a subtle, passive anger. And this subtle, passive anger took over part of my soul until I claimed it back. I didn't want to be angry at God, but the truth is, I was. When I saw others Norah's age, I got angry. When I felt hurt or unsupported by others, I got angry. I couldn't understand why this happened to me. With the subtle, passive anger, my soul began growing numb to certain things. And honestly, I felt so much in the beginning, it was kind of nice to feel numb. Looking back, I don't regret my process because it has brought me to the place of full acceptance, and I was able to get here in my own way.

I don't know what I want to do for her 3rd anniversary, or whatever we want to call that day. That part of the process has felt the most unclear to me. I tried a couple of things for her day, and it didn't fit for me. Letting go of the balloon, getting a dessert to symbolize her birthday...I'm not sure what to do...but that is also okay. I know what not to do...I don't want to isolate or cry all day. I want to be with people and let myself feel.

I'm not as sad now as I thought I might be. Your truly do heal with time and move on from certain deaths. While she is always with me, her life is more remembered in my heart. I don't talk about her a lot. I don't write her many letters. I feel like my communication with her is on pause and I get to pick it up when I want to. I don't remember the trauma like I used to; it's a distant memory and I feel more like an observer now than an active participant in the memories.

There is Always a New Day

There is always a new day.

There is always a new day. After you have been through the worst, there is still always a new day. The sun rises and the world keeps going, so you learn, you too, must keep going. There is new life that comes after death. Believe it or not, there is something that is purposed from this place.

I heard a woman speak about our calling. She stated it's where our talents and our burdens meet. She talked about our burdens being what we've walked through in life, and sometimes these burdens are fresh and accessible, and other times they are deeply hidden in the past. I shared part of my grief story with a client for the first time a couple weeks ago, and I shared with her in the weight of her suffering.

I knew what it felt like to feel that at any given moment, life could end in an instant. I knew that it felt like the word grief was written over my forehead, and every one should get the memo. Later that week, because of the stirring, I opened up Norah's box. I held her 8 lb bear; I wanted it to have the same effect...I wanted to put it on my chest and have it calm my fears, but it didn't. I looked through the words and letters from others. There it was. That's what I needed that day. I needed to read the words of empathy others had written and felt for us.

The unexpected wave

This past week I have felt more sluggish and tired, for several reasons, but I think the main one being, I am processing another wave of grief. It was so far from the last wave; I can't remember the last wave. It truly does get farther and farther apart. 

I have two clients right now who are processing the loss of their child. Call it fate or coincidence, but any of you who know me will know, I call that God. He's peeling back the layers. I have felt sort of numb to Norah's death lately...almost like I couldn't squeeze out tears if I tried, which feels insensitive writing. I wondered if I was blocking my emotion, numbing them, or simply that the passage of time afforded me normalcy, joy, and my new sweetie to focus on.

It was the hearing another's story that brought up this wave, and I am thankful for their stories. I am thankful for their lives and I honor their journeys. I am thankful for my tenderness towards others, that I haven't built up a fortress around my hurts. Because, sometimes, in a world full of hurtful people, you build your walls and I'm sure I have mine, but there's something about someone's story. 

There were two specific memories that got triggered, that feel important for me to speak through. The first was picking out Norah's urn at the hospital. I remember still feeling drugged up in the hospital bed, having Jason showing me different images that could hold my daughter's ashes. I knew which one I wanted, the pink one with the teddy bear, but it felt so surreal, so disconnected. You have to make decisions and do things you never imagined yourself doing and it feels like one big movie you're acting your way through.

The second memory was having to shut down Norah's gift registry at Target. I had some friends buy me things, some of which I returned and some of which I kept in hopes I could have another baby someday. I remember walking into Target with Jason and breaking down at the gift registry counter. That wasn't my plan, but that's what happened. It felt good for me to check things off the list after she died, like I was doing something tangible. But then the list stopped. The beautiful cards stopped coming through the mail, and I was left with this emptiness.

I was so scared when I was pregnant with Stella. I tried to pray my way through fear, but there were times I would just have to take medication at night to fall asleep, to have my mind stop racing. There is working through trauma and then there is walking out your healing. I had to walk that out, day by day, night by night, and moment by moment. In my first trimester we had a big scare, a subchorionic hematoma, where I absolutely lost it. I showed up to the ER, full of fear and tears, I was such a mess. I thought I lost Stella and I had this fear that gripped my heart like you wouldn't believe. 

Even after having Stella, my blood pressure was really elevated and I had a nurse come to the house, who told me this would be an issue I would struggle with for the rest of my life. I felt like I was always sick, always in the hospital, always in the doctor, always being told something was wrong with me. It was so weird, because before pregnancy I felt so healthy. 

Then the joy settled in of Stella being here and staying here. It took time for this reality to really settle into me, and once it did, it hasn't left. I am so grateful and joyful for her. She is my miracle and I do plan on having one more miracle, for any of you wondering! Not long after having Stella, I had a dream where I had this sick person following me around. In the dream, I told this sick person to go away. He then left. After that, I was literally delivered from this mindset of feeling like I was "always" sick. The truth was, I was healthy, but my body did something when I was pregnant. The truth was I had a healthy baby girl, and my body did what it needed to do to get to the finish line. The truth was, I have Stella, who is completely normal and healthy on the other side of all of this. 

So, this is what others' stories has opened up for me and I am grateful for them. I do not have any collections physically, but my soul collects the stories of others, holding some very close to my heart, knowing they are brought into the tapestry of my life.