Bringing Good Into the World

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Sorrow

One of the things David and I began saying after Brielle died was, “Maybe we shouldn’t have any more kids. I don’t want them to be a part of this awful world.” We’d talk about how disgusted we were. David and I have seen some of the worst parts of humanity during our time and research with anencephaly and it has made us embittered.

People are at each other’s throats over politics, we’re plagued with terrorism, corruption, war, hate, and greed. We watch our friends and family lose pieces of themselves in exchange for hate and bitterness. And David and I wonder why we would bring innocent children into such a terrible place, to be surrounded by the darkness of this world.

The world has been much darker in the past, but it is still such a terrible world. And so we talked about it, until one day we realized that you can’t make the world better by avoiding the problem. It is up to us and others to have children and raise them to know what is right and what is wrong. To raise them to be good people.

I feel like we’ve lost sight of that. We (myself included) seem to be more interested in raising successful members of society. We measure success by a paycheck, cars, a house, a tailored suit, and 2.5 kids. But at the end of the day, if I’ve only raised Brielle to be successful, but not caring and generous, what good have either of us done?

The world is always going to be a bad place. And bad things will always happen to good people, its just the way of things. But my children don’t have to add to the darkness. My biggest hope is that I can raise children that are good and honorable. I hope for a world where more people are concerned about loving each other than what their political party is doing. When did that become more important? Why do we hate each other over silly things?

We (myself included) ignore travesty and get so caught up in ourselves, in our opinions and beliefs, that we forget what is important. I hope that I do better. I hope that I am better for our future children. I want them to be better. I want them to do better. I want them to add light into the world, I don’t want them to be consumed with bitterness. A life of bitterness, really isn’t a life worth living.

Comforting Others

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One of my fears or anxieties that I’ve developed since Brielle has died, is the fear and knowledge that people will assume I’ve never had children. I’m young and I’m not toting around a baby. I find myself wondering how I’ll react when someone says, “Oh you’ll understand one day when you have kids.” Or “When do you plan on having children?”

Even before Brielle, these statements always sounded incredibly condescending or prying. And now I have to navigate them with an additional layer of pain. I’m really not sure how to properly respond. And I find that when I’m not prepared I generally blurt out whatever comes to mind. For instance, my first thought is to say, “I do have a child and she’s dead.” And that really isn’t the best way to handle a situation like that.

I did do well the other day (at least I think I did) when a waitress asked how old my daughter is. She asked because I mentioned I could finally eat rarer meat. I told her, “She would have been one month.” The waitress caught what I was saying and left it at that.

I find myself wondering how to freely talk about Brielle without upsetting other people with the reality that my daughter died. How to be polite about death. This really wasn’t something I ever envisioned having to think about or prepare for. This whole situation is strange. And I still want to talk about Brielle. But I don’t want to console others either. People get so upset when they find out and I just want to tell them about Brielle, I don’t want to have to tell them it’s okay and effectively make them feel better about the situation.

I wish we weren’t so uncomfortable about death. It happens all the time. And we (myself included) go about life acting like it doesn’t happen. Or it couldn’t possibly happen to us. We get uncomfortable around people who have just experienced it, like it’s contagious. And instead of accepting it, we push it away and when it does happen we’re left wondering how to handle it. And here I am, wondering how to make others comfortable about Brielle’s death. Strange isn’t it?

My One Week Check Up

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I wrote this after my one week check up: Yesterday was my one week check up. It hurt going into the office for the first time without Brielle. It felt so very wrong. And I was okay, I kept it together, until another new mother came into the empty waiting room. Out of all the chairs she sat right next to me, with her brand new baby girl, and began nursing her. I turned my back to her, held David’s hand, and started crying. Thankfully, the staff is very kind at SeeBaby and the nurse that always takes care of me quickly got me into a room.

David and I struggled to get it together while we waited for the midwife to see us. The midwife was nice, thankfully knew our Brielle had died, and was very kind to us. My incision looked “beautiful” and “perfect.” I’m healing very well and she’s very happy with my progress. I know everyone cares about that, but I don’t. I just don’t care about much anymore. I feel numb.

I needed to pick up a few things at Target, I was in a lot of pain, but I needed a few things. We passed the baby aisle and I saw Christmas bows for infants and sweet little outfits. I leaned on David and cried. I walked through Target crying. David physically held me up when the pain was too much, he held my hand when I was too numb to make a decision or move. He guided me through Target and let me have “retail therapy” as he calls it.

All I could think about as we shopped, was how Brielle should be here. She should have a crib. She should have a Christmas this year. I should have celebrated Christmas with her, why didn’t I do that? We could have done that for her 25th week. I should buy her a stocking, but it has to be perfect. Brielle should be here.

There were screaming babies everywhere, families out with their children, having lunch with their children. Kids in the toy aisle. We left the parking lot and a blonde little girl around seven skipped in the crosswalk in front of us with a big pink balloon and waved hello to us with a huge smile. I waved back and cried. Brielle would be like that little girl.

I miss her. I miss my baby. My arms are empty and my body craves a baby, it knows there is supposed to be a baby here. And she’s not here. I find myself wanting to try again soon, I need a baby. But I don’t want a baby, I want Brielle. I don’t want another little girl or little boy, I want Brielle. I want her silly personality, her strange taste in music, her pure beautiful heart. No one else is like her, and I want her. I miss her. I need her. No one else, just my beautiful Brielle.

Lisa’s Work for Anencephaly

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Lisa B. found this picture and added Brielle’s name and the quote. It was so encouraging when she shared this with me and I think it’s beautiful. It means the world to me when people share that they are thinking of Brielle. And I am so thankful for this.

Now, let me tell you how awesome Lisa is. Lisa is a part of the anencephaly community and she makes little bonnets and hats for new anencephalic babies. She donates them to these parents so that they can have cute and pretty things to give to their sweet anen babies. She is selfless with her time, kindness, and generosity. She creates other things for bereaved parents and is always willing to do a custom project for anen parents and bereaved parents. She is truly a very kind and wonderful person and has a very special place in the anencephaly community’s hearts.

The Evening of Brielle’s Birthday

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Trust

On the day Brielle was born, after everyone had left and David and I were alone, David came to my side and said, “I’m mad. I’m mad at God. I was so sure he had healed her.” That morning I had posted a picture of Brielle, David, and I getting a picture with the Coca-cola polar bear. Earlier that evening I had checked the Loving Brielle page and in a single day there had been over 35,000 people who had come to the Loving Brielle page and had seen her story.

On average, the Loving Brielle page reaches around 8,000 people per week. This happens by people liking, sharing, and commenting on the pictures and posts. Somehow, in one day her little life reached 35,000 people! That is incredible.

I grabbed David’s hand and said, “I know. I hoped for the best too. But David, Brielle reached 35,000 people today. I don’t know why God didn’t heal her and let her live, but her story isn’t over. God has a bigger plan for her. Look at everything that happened today. Her story isn’t over. We just need to be open to God’s plan and trust him.”

He wiped at his tears and said, “I know, but it still hurts so much.” And it does. We both know that there will be more to Brielle’s life. Clearly God has a plan for us and for her legacy, but we have no idea what that plan might be. Her absence is felt every moment of everyday. And it hurts constantly. And we both get upset with God.

And I think that is important. I think it’s healthy to be upset with him. I think he expects it and I don’t think he is angry with us for being angry. He understands. And I think that is one of the most comforting things about losing Brielle. I can’t be too angry, God would have spared her if it had been for the best and I know this because God also lost his son and he wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone else, especially his own children. And so I know, that like Jesus, it must have been necessary for Brielle to pass now. I may never know the reason, but I can trust that God did not heal her because it was what was best for her.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t hurt. Because I do, quite a bit. But she’s safe and happy. She’s loved and only known love. He did everything he could for us and he made the loss of her life as loving and gentle as it could be. At the end of the day David and I trust him and we trust his plan for our lives.