Author: lovingbrielle

Christmas Eve

~ lovingbrielle ~ Leave a comment

Christmas Eve marked six weeks since Brielle was born. And for Christmas Eve Mt. Paran hosted a candelight service. Curious about this type of service we decided to attend as a family, and David and I decided there really could be no better way to honor Brielle.

I knew it would be hard. I’ve yet to make it inside the church since Brielle died. Not because I didn’t want to, but because I can’t bare to be there without her. She loved church and it breaks my heart to not feel her happy wiggles. Each week I get closer. Last week I made it to the parking lot and then broke down in tears. We went home.

This week I managed a tight smile to the many attendants, a whispered, “Merry Christmas” and I made it all the way through the first song before I couldn’t bare it anymore.

I didn’t leave. As the choir sang a chilling version of “Mary Did You Know” I dug my nails into my palms and bit my tongue. Anything to keep the tears from coming. They came anyway. I am not weepy, I was not raised to be, and it is contrary to who I am. And yet these tears fell out, no sobbing or sniffling, just tears falling before I could feel them build in my eyes.

I tried not to listen, but song after song was about birth and welcoming a newborn. I turned to David and whispered, “this is torture.” He asked if I wanted to leave, but no. My curiosity had lured me here and I was determined to satisfy it.

I endured. I put on the coldest face I could muster and did my best to turn off every emotion that bubbled to the surface.

And the service was beautiful. The music, the organ, everything. Dr. Cooper spoke about reflecting light, specifically Jesus’s light. And I found myself thinking about Brielle and her life, wondering how I could reflect her light, her beauty, without destroying it with controversy.

As the service began to end, candles began to be lit one by one, neighbor to neighbor. The electrical lights were dimmed and candlelight began to fill the room. At this moment I was grateful we were sitting in the back, visualizing the message through a metaphor was deeply moving.

The service was wonderfully tortuous. Beautiful and happy for everyone else and a reminder of everything I’ve lost. I tell myself I’m fine. I delude myself into thinking the pain isn’t that bad, but Christmas has a special way of displaying grief in a horrifically spectacular way. And I’m not sure which is better, delusional or despondent? Regardless, I will hurt for now, but I hold onto the hope that it will get easier. And that’s okay, I’ll eventually be okay. But for now, I need to be sad. I need to grieve Brielle.

Lacey

~ lovingbrielle ~ Leave a comment

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When I was eight we had to put, Rascal, our dog down. I loved Rascal. And I begged my parents for another dog, Mom wasn’t ready for that kind of heartbreak again. So every night I prayed that God would let me have a dog. For three years I prayed this prayer. And one day, Mom came into Dad’s office and said, “I want a dog.” At the time, that moment was the happiest moment of my life. That night we found a golden retriever breeder and went to look at pups to adopt.

There were so many cute little puppies, but there was one in particular that loved my shoe laces and followed me everywhere. I loved her. We chose her and I named her Lacey. Lacey was exactly like me and she became my best friend. She followed me through some of the toughest years of my life. She was there for me when the kids at school bullied me. There for me when I had my first heartbreak. She slept with me at night and kept the nightmares at bay. She was there during my awful teenage years and the incredible lows of that time. The most heartbreaking thing about moving out when I was seventeen was that I had to leave Lacey.

My first spring semester at college my Dad called me around four in the morning. I ignored his call, I thought he had butt dialed me or something. Until he called again. He called to tell me Lacey had died. I lost it. Dad picked me up from my dorm and drove me to the vet so that I could say goodbye. I sobbed over her and tried to ignore the clumps of hair coming off of her and her stiffening body. I couldn’t understand why she had to go then. How could she go now? Why would God do this? Why now?

The following July I found myself ready for another dog. I was moving into my first apartment in a month and wanted a companion. I searched and searched and eventually found a beautiful flat-coated retriever. She had been a rescue and her current owners didn’t want her anymore. Emmy and I became inseparable. We spent quite a bit of time together and she quickly became my first “child.” A year later we moved to Athens, GA to be closer to David. Eight months later, I adopted Rosie, my next dog daughter, from a kill shelter – four hours before her death. I made wonderful friendships. David and I built a relationship together.

David proposed, we were married, we moved into a wonderful home, I became pregnant with Brielle and we had some of the best times of our lives with her. So many wonderful things happened in the past six years. A lot of awful things happened, but good things too. I found myself thinking about Lacey’s death the other day on our way home. Lacey left at just the right time. It broke my heart, but none of these things would have happened if she were still living or had not died when she did.

I would have never moved away from Texas, I wouldn’t have been able to leave Lacey. I would have never adopted Emmy. Rosie would have died. I would have never married David. I would have never had Brielle. I would have never made the friendships I did. Now I see how Lacey’s life was exactly what it needed to be. I had prayed for her for so long and she had been exactly what I needed. I don’t know why Brielle couldn’t stay as long as she did, but I’m thankful for the time I’ve had. I wouldn’t trade that time with her.

I hope that one day I’ll know the reason for her death. Or at least see the good that came from her death. Just like the good that came from Lacey’s death. I don’t know why Lacey died when she did, but I do see how God has blessed me through the years following her death. And this is one of the many reasons I have faith. Throughout my life I have seen how God has provided and blessed me and my family. That didn’t mean we didn’t suffer or have hard times. But he was always there, still helping us, loving us, and taking care of us. And taking care of others too.

I think that’s the whole point of faith. It’s all about hope. I have hope that Brielle’s life will do good. Her life has meaning and value. And I know and can trust that God will use her life for good. When we’re in the midst of grief it can be hard to see how he is caring for us. We can become so caught up in pain, anger, and bitterness that we miss all of the good things around us. And sometimes it can even take another tragedy for us to look back and see how wonderful our lives have been because of loss.

Lacey’s life saved the lives of four other dogs (that we know of). How much bigger then will Brielle’s impact be?

“For in hope we have been saved, but hope that is seen is not hope; for who hopes for what he already sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, with perseverance we wait eagerly for it…And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” Romans 8: 24-25, 28

This Christmas

~ lovingbrielle ~ Leave a comment

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I’ve always loved Christmas. My parents did a wonderful job of keeping it magical. We had a bit of an unconventional Christmas every year. My parents saw little use in using Christmas as a religious holiday since Jesus was born in the spring. Instead, Christmas for our family was a family holiday. They weren’t strict about it, we just never focused on that part of Christmas.

Growing up we’d drive twelve hours from Ft. Worth, Texas to St. Louis, Missouri where my Mother’s parents live. We’d get up the next morning and drive four hours to Chicago where my Father’s family lives.

We would spend a few days there with his family and celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve. My Dad has three siblings and our Christmas’s were loud, filled with laughter, and great food. My sister and I would play with our cousins, we’d see Santa, and everyone would buy presents for each other at the last minute. Santa (Papa) would come visit us and my uncle would rile us up as we waited for Santa to leave. We’d all take turns opening presents and while we did receive a lot of gifts, it was never about that. We were there to be with our family.

Christmas morning Santa would fill our stockings. My parents would wake Tessa and I up very early, we’d see what Santa brought us (my Mother still does this) and then we’d get back in the car and drive four hours back to St. Louis.

Grandma Brady would be cooking like a mad woman. She’d have fresh pies made and the Christmas dessert table filled with goodies (she’d keep the table filled and open for days). We’d have a late lunch with my grandparents, uncle, and sometimes with my aunt and her children (“the boys” as we refer to them).

Later that night we’d open presents and have a fun night joking with family. The Brady family is incredibly witty. Some years we’d have a white Christmas and would go sledding in the backyard. We would cram as much family time as we could in a few days and then head home. Where Santa had found my sister and I. The holidays were filled with joy and love. And I’d look forward to it every year. And this year I want nothing to do with it.

I thought I’d be better. I thought I could do it for Brielle, incorporate her still into our loving family celebrations. Instead, I change the radio when Christmas music comes on. I spent the morning sobbing when church had their Christmas concert. And I felt guilty because I kept David from attending. I have no desire to decorate for Christmas. I don’t have the joy I once had for it.

I don’t spend my days curled up in a ball sobbing, I only cry on occasion. I still laugh and smile. I go about life like normal. I don’t look or act differently. But inside all of my joy is gone. For the rest of my life I’ll wonder who she would be at Christmas. Would she like Santa? What would she think of snow? Would she be a brat about presents or would I have taught her how to behave well? What kind of letters would she write to Santa? And what would she request every year for Christmas? What would her interests and hobbies be? I’ll never know.

We’ll have other children, but they won’t replace her. They will never replace that joy. They’ll bring a new joy, but it’s not the same. And anyone who says otherwise has never lost a child. How can I ever enjoy Christmas again without my family? Brielle will never have a Christmas, she’ll never join us. I should have given her a Christmas before she was born. I’ll regret that for the rest of my life. She might have liked Christmas music. I didn’t read her “Madeline” or “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” (she probably wouldn’t have liked that one anyways, it was written by Dr. Seuss). I want to know what she thought of those things.

I’ll be happy for the family that I still have. I’ll put up the tree. I’ll bake goodies and keep traditions alive. But my heart won’t ever be the same.

Our Last Day in the Hospital

~ lovingbrielle ~ 1 Comment

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“Jamie came Sunday morning (discharge morning) on her own time to check on us. She told us what to expect and filled us in on how Brielle would be taken before I could leave and where Brielle would go. I appreciated this information and her visit more than she’ll know. I don’t know how I could have gone through the day without knowing what to expect. She loved on us and thanked us for letting her be a part of our journey, she told us she was honored. She is a wonderful person and I am incredibly thankful for her. She is very special. David and I don’t understand why everyone is so kind to us, but we appreciate it and are immensely grateful for it.

During all of the back and forth of discharge, I read to Brielle. I read her all of her favorites one last time. And I saved ‘It Will Be Okay’ last. I talked to her as I read to her and did the silly voices that she liked. I’d play with her and her toys. I’d have her toys give her kisses and talk to her about Mr. Ducky and Elephant Bear. It made me happy to interact with her like I should, like she was there and not dead. I kept my bed up high near the bassinet so that I could love on her just right and hold her. I hated that I couldn’t see her eyes. David spent a lot of time next to my bed near her bassinet as I read to her.

We had another delay because the nurse didn’t realize I’d want to change her blankets. I wanted to have everything that Brielle touched. I asked for the bands on her arm and foot, but was only allowed one. The nurse said it didn’t matter which one and she didn’t want me using scissors on them, she wanted me to peel them off. It took everything I had not to be cruel in response. Of course it matters. Everything about her matters. I took the one off of her wrist and asked David to ask the funeral home to save the one on her foot. I begged that it would be saved (the funeral home saved it for me). David and I sobbed through the process of changing her blankets and clothes. We took everything except her diaper. I folded each blanket and handed them to Mom. Dad took pictures. I hurt to my core. David and I spent time alone with Brielle and we loved on her and told her how special she was. David took Brielle at this point and wouldn’t hand her back to me. This was for the best, I couldn’t let her go. I couldn’t physically let her go. So David held her while I fell apart and fussed over her.

When the charge nurse came, she gave us a chance to say goodbye one last time. She then put a blanket over Brielle so that no one could see her and took her back to the nurses station and to the fridge.

I watched her walk down the hall with my baby and lost it. This was the worst moment of my life. No mother should have her baby taken from her. David held me up and we sobbed into each other. It felt like my heart was being torn from my chest and rolled away forever. I couldn’t go after her, I couldn’t bring her home. I wanted to die in that moment. Take me instead, just let Brielle stay. When your child is taken from you, all you know is pain and I could no longer reason. The nurse came back and I got into a wheelchair. She wheeled me down to the first floor and I cried the entire time. She apologized for our loss, but it didn’t make anything feel better. An apology wont bring Brielle back. David brought the car around and as I waited with the nurse she apologized again and told me this unfortunately happens all too often. All I could think was, ‘It shouldn’t happen at all.’

Once inside the car I sobbed and held onto Brielle’s animals. When we were home I went upstairs, got in bed and slept for the rest of the day. I tried holding onto Elephant Bear, but it was too large. Angel Dragon Bear was too stiff and you can’t snuggle a rubber ducky. I curled up with Pink, the pink fluffy bear. (I ended up sleeping with Pink every night until we brought Brielle home in her teddy bear urn. I now sleep with Brielle every night.) David stayed strong for me all day, I don’t know how he did it, but I’m glad he did, because I couldn’t. I’m glad he was there. There was no way I could have lived this day without him. I couldn’t let her go.”

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The Most Heartbreaking Thing About Our Time With Brielle

~ lovingbrielle ~ Leave a comment

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This is another hard post for me to share. It has to do with the harsh realities of being with a dead body. Again, a little graphic. I know it’s strange that I’m sharing these details. But there may be people who are (will) going through a similar situation as I am and I want them to be aware of what happens, how it feels. I wish I had thought to ask someone what to do in these situations. No one tells you how to preserve a body, but still spend time with it. A really awful and weird thing to talk about. Fair warning.

“After our family left, David and I spent time with Brielle. We snuggled her and I took a nap with her as well. We could tell that her eyes were starting to deteriorate and it broke our hearts.

Matt (our nephew – David’s brother’s son) had told us he would come down after work on Friday (from Chattanooga). He arrived around 9:30 PM. It was really nice to see him. David and I both commented on how serious he was and that it was the first time he had looked his age and even looked old. That made me a little sad. He’s easy going like David and generally looks young and carefree, I didn’t want him to carry our burden too. He held Brielle and was very somber. He seemed happy in a sad way. Happy to meet her, but sad that it was this way. This was his first female cousin and really the only one he would have spent much time with. He was very gentle with her. It was sweet.

By the time Matt left, Brielle’s eyes were so fragile they were about the consistency of jelly. Just touching them and they felt like they would collapse at the slightest touch. It broke our hearts. I texted Lauren and asked her what to do. She told us to wrap her in ice, in this very elaborate way, and then to put Vaseline on surgical gauze and cover her eyes with the gauze and then put a hat on top of her eyes. It tore David and I up, thinking of covering her eyes forever. We took last pictures with her with her eyes exposed. I cried the whole time. All I can see is my beautiful daughter, it breaks my heart just thinking of having to hide her face to protect it from decay. Awful, awful moment. One of the worst times in our lives.

We took lots of pictures and then put her in her bassinet. We took a long video of her cute little body. I documented every little part of her and described what it was all like. We looked at every part of her and I cried over each. She truly is beautifully and wonderfully made. She’s perfect. Perfect hands, perfect feet. Beautiful legs and arms. She had such a strong body. I’ve never seen a baby with such a strong body. After we videoed, we wrapped Brielle in her ice pack swaddle. The saddest thing we ever did.

The ice swaddle was difficult to figure out at first and then made perfect sense. We had the nurse bring us gallon bags of ice and we used chux pads that were in the room with me. And then three receiving blankets. As I was doing this my hospital band caught Brielle’s leg and cut her. I nearly fell on the floor crying. I know and knew at the time that it didn’t hurt her, how could it? But it hurt me. It felt like a knife to my heart. I had inadvertently hurt my baby. I had damaged my sweet perfect Brielle. I put a band aid on it, to make it better, I’m her Mommy that’s what I do. Then I realized if it’s pulled off it might peel her skin off. At that point I curled up on the bed and bawled. Horrible, stabbing, heart wrenching pain. David wrapped his arms around me and told me it was okay. He did his best to console me.

We then covered her eyes with gauze and Vaseline. That was even worse. We lost half her face in the process and it tore me apart. I know David felt the same. We couldn’t bare hiding her. Covering her face. It felt like we were betraying who she was. I know it was for the best, but that doesn’t change how it feels. And it was awful to lose that. It felt as if we had lost another piece of her. Like she was slowly disappearing in front of our eyes. It still rips us apart. Had I known at the time that I’d get to see her eyes again it might not have been as hard, but I didn’t know that. David and I thought this was the last time we’d see Brielle’s face. And it felt like goodbye. This night felt more like a funeral for us than her actual funeral did.

After she was covered and her body prepared for preservation, I gathered all of her toys and opened the Rachel’s Gift box. Inside was a beautiful blanket, very soft, a gorgeous knit bonnet, and another toy for her. I called that toy her Angel Dragon Bear. I’ve never understood why bears need wings. Which is why that bear’s name is Angel Dragon Bear. I get my awesome naming skills from my Indian family.

We wrapped her up, tucked her in tight, and propped her on her side so that I could see her as I slept. I put her elephant in the bed with her with it’s arms on her side, guarding her. Her purple rubber ducky on the top left corner (the left corner near her head) and I snuggled the two teddy’s the Angel Dragon Bear and the pink fuzzy bear that Linda gave us, at her feet. I made sure everything was perfect for her. And then I sobbed. And sobbed. David and I tried to comfort each other, but it was just awful. It felt like we had ripped our own hearts out for the betterment of Brielle. I think this moment may have been worse or just as bad as when she died.

David and I went to bed that night completely heartbroken. I didn’t sleep with Brielle that night either, but kept my body and hand as close to her as possible. This broke me. This night was impossible and I’m not sure how we got through it.”