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
Saturday, April 15, 2017
Sunday, April 2, 2017
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
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
Saturday, March 25, 2017
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 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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)