Burst Apart

Someone told me that Elsa was in a "better place with God." That line, out of the many I have heard, pissed me off.

I know, words are hard to come by when faced w another person's grief. I'm also not an atheist but neither am I Christian. Somewhere in between.

To be told that my baby is in a better place is a slap in the face. What better place is there but in your mommy's arms, surrounded by people who love you? Why did I not deserve to hold my beautiful Elsa? What gives God/Jesus/Whoever more of a right to "have" her than me? In my eyes, no one.

She was my (and Gage's) baby. She was a baby that I grew inside of me. I gave her my blood. Nothing will ever feel the void in me and it is insulting to hear someone state a fact that she is in a "better" place.

Late last week, a customer asked me about my belly and when I was due. The first time he asked about my pregnancy (I was wearing a sweater covering my midsection), I tried to ignore it. He kept going and finally I had to walk away. The panic attack came rolling in my chest. I couldn't breathe. All I knew was pain. It felt like i was hearing the ultrasound technician say "I'm so sorry, there is no heart beat." I was thrust back to May 13th.

A few days before then, a customer came in with a tiny little baby. So perfectly newborn and precious. I enjoyed looking at her and felt happiness. Then I grabbed one of her little feet. That was my undoing. I remembered suddenly that I won't be holding Elsa's feet. That I wont ever get to enjoy her soft snuggles and beautiful coos. Instead I'm left w a small container of ashes. It feels like my heart was w her when she was cremated.

I can enjoy my days. I allow myself to be distracted in the flow of life. I have began to master carrying the weight of my grief. I don't look the part of a mother who has had to say hello and goodbye in the same breath. In this moment, the anger I have to people's well meaning words, though irrational, is cathartic in a sense.

Up From Below

Yesterday was a healing day. After the horrible experience from the Binghamton based funeral home, I was very hesitant to meeting with the second funeral home. I have found it harder and harder to be assertive of what I want for Elsa's burial. She's been gone for over a week and the fight in me is dwindling.

When we first arrived, the director acknowledged the girls and asked their names while crouched down to their level to talk to them. My respect for him went up a thousand fold. Yes, a funeral home isn't an ideal place for young children. But this is their sister that we're burying. I don't want to hide the whole journey and path that Gage and I are on after Elsa's death. It's nothing more than a part of Life.

The conversation was emotional, of course. But in a healing and cleansing way. He spoke very gently and made a lot of eye contact. He brought up pros/cons that I personally didn't think about (cemetery plot/etc). Once we made it known that we really just want a simple ceremony, he dropped all of those immediately.

He also understood what I was desperately trying to put into words. I was trying to explain why we didn't want a casket for Elsa and why a cemetery plot wasn't important. I kept saying that this is us separating ways with Elsa and returning her to the Earth. He then says "You're releasing her." That's exactly how I feel. I'm releasing Elsa's body back to the Earth. Her soul is with us, in our hearts. We will always carry her with us through life.

After everything was said and done, I felt more than a little better. I still harbor a lot of grief, and yet the meeting was slightly therapeutic. I feel so much more confident knowing that our wishes are going to be met with this funeral home. I was never bullied whenever I brought up our "alternative" wishes.

My thoughts and emotions that have taken over much of my very being are slowly becoming quieter. A week ago I was submerged in an ocean of darkness and pain. When looking up, I saw no glimmer of the sun, just raw sorrow and grief. Now that I've reached the very bottom, I know where to push off so that I may start swimming to the surface. Having Gage be my support, my lifeline is more than beneficial. Without him, I would have easily just stayed at the bottom. The bottom is a very familiar setting for me considering my past. I also have my midwife to thank. She has been more than just a care provider but an extension of my family. She has gone above and beyond her call of Midwifery.

My milk has dried up enough that it isn't a constant reminder of my empty arms. My stomach has gone back to it's previous state of being flat but still chubby. When I cry, the tears don't burn my skin as much. I've started caring more about my appearance. I'm hoping that when I return to work next Thursday, I will be more than a shadow of who I was when I last left.

Atrophy

I live by words. They are my comfort. Even though I have major difficulties speaking my mind and explaining my emotions, in my head it all makes sense. Mainly because I can assign words to the things happening in my heart. As long as I can do that, I can be comfortable with my emotions.

Right now, that is not happening.

I have no words for what is happening in my heart. I'm angry but sad. I'm empty but full of pain.I am open and exposed to what may happen in my soul. Words evade me no matter how hard I concentrate. I try to pick apart my feelings and still, I'm left empty handed. I am everything and nothing all at once.

I'm trying to watch stupid movies just to fill the space in my head and heart. Nothing is working. Nothing is helping. Nothing is healing.

Tomorrow some wonderful coworkers want to stop by to give me a card from work. While the idea of them coming to bring me comfort makes me feel loved, I am full of anxiety. My apartment is a mess. I can't stand and clean without being hit with cramps. Cramps are a reminder of what is no longer in my uterus. I look like a mess. I can hardly eat without being filled with guilt. (Why should I eat when my daughter will never eat?) The prospect of having to go outside fills me with fear and pain. I want nothing more than to welcome them into my apartment and have them to lean on and bask in their love. The panic that sets in has me picking up my phone to cancel multiple times.

The only beauty I can find in this week is that One- I am so very grateful for my living children. I am yet again amazed by their smiles, their beautiful eyes and blonde hair. Their voices bring me from the brink I've been teetering on for days. Their warm hugs and cuddles start to wake me up. Second- the way Gage has taken care of me, the way he has dedicated his days to me, has shown me how to fall in love with him all over again. I can see his love for me. I can feel his support. I don't walk this path alone. He is with me for every step, even if it's one step forward and two steps back. He knows how I feel without me having to communicate. He knows what my long and drawn out silences mean.

For now, I will allow myself to fall back into my hurricane of emotions. No words swirl around. Just raw, real emotions.

The Arms of the Ocean are Carrying Me

It has been four days since Elsa was stillborn. Four long, arduous days filled with pain and grief.

She was my fourth pregnancy. First was Jade, second was a baby I aborted, third was Ava and fourth was Elsa.

We heard her heartbeat for the first time March 13th. May 13th, we discovered no heartbeat. I was but 22 weeks along. May 13th, my world was ripped asunder and grief flooded in. I accepted her death immediately. I knew there was no bargaining to bring her soul back into my womb. I knew there was no denying her still body portrayed back to me on the ultrasound screen.

My beautiful midwife held Ava while I dissolved. She rocked and explained what happen to my 3 yr old so I could feel the grief completely. Jen promised to be with me every step of the way and she fulfilled that promise.

After laboring for twelve hours from first cramp, I woke up at 6 am on the dot to the all too familiar pain. I felt Elsa come down the canal and felt her come out just as Jen rushed into my room. Elsa was born in the caul  at 6:05am. Her entrance was met by my wails of pain that no parent should ever have to endure.

Her little body was perfect in every way. Ten toes. Ten fingers. A precious nose and tiny ears. I could tell that she was going to look like Gage. I held her in the kidney basin while I took in every part of her. I touched her little fingers and sobbed. I gave her to Gage and decided to birth her placenta. Out it came and Jen showed me the hole that her little arm was in (amniotic band syndrome). She also showed me that there was a band around the base of the umbilical cord. That was her demise. Nothing I did caused her death. Nothing could've been done.

Since we knew that she passed, I accepted it. But acceptance doesn't make that pain any lesser. Acceptance doesn't make putting away the dreams you have of our still born baby any easier. I knew that I wasn't at fault for her passing and I knew that her beautiful soul was to only be on this earth for so long.

But that deep pain. That acute pain that goes to your very being. That pain of knowing that the clothes you had started to buy will never be filled with that baby. The dreams you dreamt of holding that precious child will never be lived out. I have never had to experience such pain. I've lived a long life of pain and suffering. A long life filled with disappointment and abuse. But never did I believe that I would have to bury a child of mine.

So here I sit, with my breasts bound, the cramps still filling my womb instead of a baby. I can't live with silence bc then my thoughts make their presence known. I push myself into sleeping so that the unconscious world will soften the aches in my arms and breasts. I barely survive the days. I tell myself multiple times a day that death would be better than this.

One day I will have another baby. One day I will only feel dull aches in my heart. One day I will laugh and smile. But for now, I am drowning in my grief.