This week has been so wonderful. I feel like I woke up on Monday feeling amazing. A have mostly been walking around in a bubble of happiness.
I think the grief support group had really put me over the edge of anxiety.
Although our trip to Hawaii was really great, it also came with a lot of baggage/emotional stress. We hadn't really been home long enough for me to decompress when I got the call about the grief group.
The meeting got cancelled. I wasn't pleased. I had fought so hard to prepare for the occasion. Wasted energy. When I decide to try it again I'm going to remember not to waste that energy. And if it doesn't seem to offer me the support I need I just won't go again.
Through all the emotions: the ups, the downs the balance place in the middle, Trever has been amazing. He is the quintessential partner. We are in this game of life together. It's nice to be reminded that he is my partner, my husband, my friend. We are determined to be a team, to support each other and to continue learning about the other persons (as well as our own) needs. I really like "us", and I know he does too. It's awesome.
Natalie and I have been talking about Abigail a lot the last couple of days. She pulls out the "guest book" and looks at the pictures.
It makes me happy. I like knowing that my kids have a special place in their heart for their little sister.
Nathan continues to remind us that Abigail is in his heart. That he doesn't have to be sad and miss her.
But he also agreed with Natalie (and us, of course) that he wishes she had stayed around. Natalie says that she wishes Abigail lived with us so she could give her kisses and sing to her.
Natalie also wishes that I would have 3 girl babies and 3 boy babies. Poor thing wants a sister so badly. Makes me sad for her. She is such a love.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Pictures
It was 25 hours more than we were sure we would have. The most intense 25 hours I have ever lived.
Taking a moment to show Abby our beautiful world. I love this picture of Trever looking at her fingers holding his thumb. He has such an amazing love for each of his children.
October 6, 2012
I think it's good to be in touch with my emotions. (I think a break from them from time to time is good also.) I think I need to be in touch with myself, really feeling my emotions (not just thinking about them) to create healing.
Even believing that, it doesn't make the pain and sadness any more comfortable.
It's not easy to get through the days right now. I'm never sure how much energy I have to give to my responsibilities. I wonder how this year will affect my kids. I wonder how much they notice?
Some days I'm the "yes" mom because I just don't have the energy to care to say no. Pancakes for breakfast and dinner? Sure. Lunch also? Why not. A new toy, a snack from every store? Sure.
Other days I try to stop myself from only saying "no". Because why does it really matter if they watch another show? If we have pancakes instead of something healthy? If we read extra books and stay up later? Some days I feel like the first word out of my mouth is "no", just because I don't have the energy to allow life to happen around me.
They are such great kids, I'm so afraid that I forget to tell them often enough. Some days I'm working so hard to take care of my responsibilities, that I forget what my only real job is. To love my children.
To embrace them each day, to fill their hearts with the belief that I love them. And to honor my love for Abby by letting myself work through the grief.
And not to be a side note but I also need to love myself and my husband.
Some days it all feels like a big job.
I was invited to a grief support group. I had just been talking to Trever, saying it might be time to look into something. I'm a huge supporter of counseling, I just haven't gotten around to taking the first step. This isn't exactly counseling, but I'm hoping to learn something. And I figure since this fell into my lap just as I was thinking I might need it, then I should listen.
That said, it's causing me a lot of anxiety. Each time I've thought about it, or talked about it I've had tears in my eyes. I'm sure I'll feel better after going tomorrow. Maybe the haze that I seem to be living in will be lifted.
I know these waves of sadness come and go. When I'm being knocked down by a wave it's so hard to imagine being above water again. I can't remember the last time I actually felt happy.
I am writing about my current emotional state as if it's something I begrudge. It's not. It feels real. It feels authentic. So I kind of find comfort in being here right now.
I like spending so much of my time thinking of Abby. Feeling my love for her. Feeling the sadness of missing her.
I also like to smile, and feel present in my daily life. So I know I'll be happy to embrace feeling a bit detached at some point too.
And maybe some day I won't sway between deep grief and detachment. Maybe someday I'll feel like I'm actually living in balance.
Even believing that, it doesn't make the pain and sadness any more comfortable.
It's not easy to get through the days right now. I'm never sure how much energy I have to give to my responsibilities. I wonder how this year will affect my kids. I wonder how much they notice?
Some days I'm the "yes" mom because I just don't have the energy to care to say no. Pancakes for breakfast and dinner? Sure. Lunch also? Why not. A new toy, a snack from every store? Sure.
Other days I try to stop myself from only saying "no". Because why does it really matter if they watch another show? If we have pancakes instead of something healthy? If we read extra books and stay up later? Some days I feel like the first word out of my mouth is "no", just because I don't have the energy to allow life to happen around me.
They are such great kids, I'm so afraid that I forget to tell them often enough. Some days I'm working so hard to take care of my responsibilities, that I forget what my only real job is. To love my children.
To embrace them each day, to fill their hearts with the belief that I love them. And to honor my love for Abby by letting myself work through the grief.
And not to be a side note but I also need to love myself and my husband.
Some days it all feels like a big job.
I was invited to a grief support group. I had just been talking to Trever, saying it might be time to look into something. I'm a huge supporter of counseling, I just haven't gotten around to taking the first step. This isn't exactly counseling, but I'm hoping to learn something. And I figure since this fell into my lap just as I was thinking I might need it, then I should listen.
That said, it's causing me a lot of anxiety. Each time I've thought about it, or talked about it I've had tears in my eyes. I'm sure I'll feel better after going tomorrow. Maybe the haze that I seem to be living in will be lifted.
I know these waves of sadness come and go. When I'm being knocked down by a wave it's so hard to imagine being above water again. I can't remember the last time I actually felt happy.
I am writing about my current emotional state as if it's something I begrudge. It's not. It feels real. It feels authentic. So I kind of find comfort in being here right now.
I like spending so much of my time thinking of Abby. Feeling my love for her. Feeling the sadness of missing her.
I also like to smile, and feel present in my daily life. So I know I'll be happy to embrace feeling a bit detached at some point too.
And maybe some day I won't sway between deep grief and detachment. Maybe someday I'll feel like I'm actually living in balance.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
October 3rd, 2012
I can't seem to really connect with my emotions today. The physical feelings are intense, I've spent most of the day feeling like I'm carrying a 50lb pack, not to mention just wanting to be in bed.
But I can't really put my thoughts/emotions into words, so I'm going to write about other aspects of my day.
My highlight? When Nathan crawled into bed with us this morning. He curled up next to me and excitedly said "Abigails blanket!" as he grabbed it and cuddled up. We took it to Hawaii, I wonder if he actually noticed it was gone, or just realized this morning that he hasn't seen it in a week. It was a beautiful moment.
As I go through these times/stages of grief it is obvious to me that my husband and I have two very different needs. (Reference to The Five Love Languages).
He needs touch. I need space. It's a difficult dance.
I'm so thankful for our ability to (mostly) work together. We've been through our share of stress during the past 5 years. We've been lucky enough to learn about each other and learn to balance our completely opposite needs. It's still not always easy.
I'm glad he needs touch. I'm glad that he can give me some space. I have no doubt he needs more touch just like I need more space. But I'm thankful we meet in the middle. If it was all about my needs I'm not sure we would know when to start touching again. We might just get used to the space.
I look forward to the day that I can relax again. Not in the "I'm so uptight right now" sense, but in the "my emotions are so intense I don't have room for anything else" sense. I look forward to the day I want someone's hands on me, rubbing my arm or my back as we stand close in a group of people. I know Trever will be there when I'm ready since I work hard to still give the opportunity to show me love in his way right now.
The irony in my situation, my personality? All I really want to do is lay my head in someone's lap and cry. But not have any movement on my skin. I want people around me, and I desperately want to be alone.
I'm thinking of going to a grief group this weekend. It feels funny to be around "those people". But I'm one of them. I guess it's that uncomfortable reminder of my reality.
But I can't really put my thoughts/emotions into words, so I'm going to write about other aspects of my day.
My highlight? When Nathan crawled into bed with us this morning. He curled up next to me and excitedly said "Abigails blanket!" as he grabbed it and cuddled up. We took it to Hawaii, I wonder if he actually noticed it was gone, or just realized this morning that he hasn't seen it in a week. It was a beautiful moment.
As I go through these times/stages of grief it is obvious to me that my husband and I have two very different needs. (Reference to The Five Love Languages).
He needs touch. I need space. It's a difficult dance.
I'm so thankful for our ability to (mostly) work together. We've been through our share of stress during the past 5 years. We've been lucky enough to learn about each other and learn to balance our completely opposite needs. It's still not always easy.
I'm glad he needs touch. I'm glad that he can give me some space. I have no doubt he needs more touch just like I need more space. But I'm thankful we meet in the middle. If it was all about my needs I'm not sure we would know when to start touching again. We might just get used to the space.
I look forward to the day that I can relax again. Not in the "I'm so uptight right now" sense, but in the "my emotions are so intense I don't have room for anything else" sense. I look forward to the day I want someone's hands on me, rubbing my arm or my back as we stand close in a group of people. I know Trever will be there when I'm ready since I work hard to still give the opportunity to show me love in his way right now.
The irony in my situation, my personality? All I really want to do is lay my head in someone's lap and cry. But not have any movement on my skin. I want people around me, and I desperately want to be alone.
I'm thinking of going to a grief group this weekend. It feels funny to be around "those people". But I'm one of them. I guess it's that uncomfortable reminder of my reality.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
October 2nd, 2012
Trever and I just got back from a much needed vacation. I had so many thoughts while we were away, I wish I had a laptop.
Right now I can't really focus on our trip, on the emotions that we experienced (all tucked in around our fun time with friends and much needed time as a couple).
I came home to find a note that a woman who is so dear to me is headed into surgery tomorrow. 9 days ago she found out that her breast cancer has metastasized to her brain. Yesterday she met with her neurosurgery team. Tomorrow she goes in for surgery to remove at least one, possibly more tumors. I'm in shock. I'm feeling numb. I want to get on a plane and fly to Charlotte. Now is not the time, but I'm keeping that option open.
My heart is already so heavy with emotions. It wasn't the easiest week. It's amazing when the emotional pain creates physical pressure on your body. I'm sure that emotions are always affecting me physically, I guess it's just amazing when I am able to realize it due to decreased distractions.
Right now I can't really focus on our trip, on the emotions that we experienced (all tucked in around our fun time with friends and much needed time as a couple).
I came home to find a note that a woman who is so dear to me is headed into surgery tomorrow. 9 days ago she found out that her breast cancer has metastasized to her brain. Yesterday she met with her neurosurgery team. Tomorrow she goes in for surgery to remove at least one, possibly more tumors. I'm in shock. I'm feeling numb. I want to get on a plane and fly to Charlotte. Now is not the time, but I'm keeping that option open.
My heart is already so heavy with emotions. It wasn't the easiest week. It's amazing when the emotional pain creates physical pressure on your body. I'm sure that emotions are always affecting me physically, I guess it's just amazing when I am able to realize it due to decreased distractions.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
September 25th, 2012
Two months.
The truth is, I've been so busy today I nearly didn't realize what day it is. As I sit and think about "two months" I realize I've got some strong boundaries up right now. I'm not feeling much, and that probably isn't because there isn't much to feel.
I can feel myself pull back each time I try to think of Abby and feel the pain that is always just under the surface. I would say it isn't healthy, but I think it's okay. I know I will let myself feel again, I want to. I miss the ache of remembering Abby. Of actually feeling her place in my heart.
I was just cleaning out my inbox and came across this email from July 29th.
Jen:
I'm writing a sermon for tomorrow on Colossians 2:1-6- "holding to Jesus even when things are uncertain"...and all I can think about is your daughter. I'm sorry your daughter has passed. I don't know why bad things happen or why some babies aren't healthy. I dont have much I can tell you tonight- other than I'm sorry. I'm sorry for your kids and for the conversations you are having with them now about where Abby is and why she couldn't stay. I'm sorry for your husband and that awful feeling to have as a dad that you couldn't protect your child. I'm sorry for your tears, and for your pain as your body prepares to nurture a life that is no longer present. It all is just terrible. But your daughter was beautiful. And what a gift to get a day with her. I'm sure it was the best and maybe worst day of your life. I hope you and your husband can cling together, and continue to trust God even when so much seems too difficult to trust. He can hold you together and pull you through this. Your joy and hope around this baby have been a strength and joy to many- myself included.
Blessings on your journey.
It's amazing how just saying "I don't know" and "I'm sorry" is so powerful. We have people in our life who say "I know, but you just need to....". Not helpful. Ever. But maybe it is for them. It's clearly not about us when we are given that encouragement.
Everyone means well. I'm just so thankful that we have people in our life that are able to really offer supportive words.
The truth is, I've been so busy today I nearly didn't realize what day it is. As I sit and think about "two months" I realize I've got some strong boundaries up right now. I'm not feeling much, and that probably isn't because there isn't much to feel.
I can feel myself pull back each time I try to think of Abby and feel the pain that is always just under the surface. I would say it isn't healthy, but I think it's okay. I know I will let myself feel again, I want to. I miss the ache of remembering Abby. Of actually feeling her place in my heart.
I was just cleaning out my inbox and came across this email from July 29th.
Jen:
I'm writing a sermon for tomorrow on Colossians 2:1-6- "holding to Jesus even when things are uncertain"...and all I can think about is your daughter. I'm sorry your daughter has passed. I don't know why bad things happen or why some babies aren't healthy. I dont have much I can tell you tonight- other than I'm sorry. I'm sorry for your kids and for the conversations you are having with them now about where Abby is and why she couldn't stay. I'm sorry for your husband and that awful feeling to have as a dad that you couldn't protect your child. I'm sorry for your tears, and for your pain as your body prepares to nurture a life that is no longer present. It all is just terrible. But your daughter was beautiful. And what a gift to get a day with her. I'm sure it was the best and maybe worst day of your life. I hope you and your husband can cling together, and continue to trust God even when so much seems too difficult to trust. He can hold you together and pull you through this. Your joy and hope around this baby have been a strength and joy to many- myself included.
Blessings on your journey.
Scott
It's amazing how just saying "I don't know" and "I'm sorry" is so powerful. We have people in our life who say "I know, but you just need to....". Not helpful. Ever. But maybe it is for them. It's clearly not about us when we are given that encouragement.
Everyone means well. I'm just so thankful that we have people in our life that are able to really offer supportive words.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
September 18th, 2012
Sometimes I wonder if I should have been clever and named each of my posts instead of just dating them. But I wasn't, and I'm not about to start now. I don't think I would like the pressure of defining a post anyway. Not in this situation.
But that is all beside the point.
Today I found our copy of the video we played at Abigails service. I was SO excited. Admittedly I have been just staying afloat in some areas of life (like organization). The crazy part of the story is that the video was in a logical place.
Abby's video (for some reason I can't upload the video, I can only put the link in)
I'm so thankful we put this together. I love remembering her life when she was still in the womb, and I love seeing those moments when she was first born. The celebration was amazing.
The pictures that capture the people who were able to come to the hospital to meet Abby bring me peace. Remembering how "normal" life felt at the start of the day. The hope we still had, the joy we had in sharing her with so many people.
Through the pictures I can also remember the moment when we knew the story was changing. When we started hearing the hard news. She was forgetting to breath. The feeding tubes were unsuccessful. And then when I watched her stop breathing for the first time.
It's not captured in the pictures but I will never forget the moment I knew she was gone.
And I can almost feel the complete and consuming pain I felt after I had adjusted to the truth that she was gone. After we had run out of distractions and there was only room for the truth. I just held her and let my entire being fall into the grief. My heart has never felt pain so pure. I'm so thankful I had the time and the safety to just embrace that moment and feel the pain so completely.
During the last (almost) two months it has been easy to focus on where we are now.
Watching this video was a wonderful way to remember more of the story. To think about the anticipation: the joy and the fear of pregnancy. And to feel the amazing love that we had for her, the gratefulness that she was born alive.
But that is all beside the point.
Today I found our copy of the video we played at Abigails service. I was SO excited. Admittedly I have been just staying afloat in some areas of life (like organization). The crazy part of the story is that the video was in a logical place.
Abby's video (for some reason I can't upload the video, I can only put the link in)
I'm so thankful we put this together. I love remembering her life when she was still in the womb, and I love seeing those moments when she was first born. The celebration was amazing.
The pictures that capture the people who were able to come to the hospital to meet Abby bring me peace. Remembering how "normal" life felt at the start of the day. The hope we still had, the joy we had in sharing her with so many people.
Through the pictures I can also remember the moment when we knew the story was changing. When we started hearing the hard news. She was forgetting to breath. The feeding tubes were unsuccessful. And then when I watched her stop breathing for the first time.
It's not captured in the pictures but I will never forget the moment I knew she was gone.
And I can almost feel the complete and consuming pain I felt after I had adjusted to the truth that she was gone. After we had run out of distractions and there was only room for the truth. I just held her and let my entire being fall into the grief. My heart has never felt pain so pure. I'm so thankful I had the time and the safety to just embrace that moment and feel the pain so completely.
During the last (almost) two months it has been easy to focus on where we are now.
Watching this video was a wonderful way to remember more of the story. To think about the anticipation: the joy and the fear of pregnancy. And to feel the amazing love that we had for her, the gratefulness that she was born alive.
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