Child loss

My One Week Check Up

~ lovingbrielle ~ Leave a comment

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.

Christmas

~ lovingbrielle ~ Leave a comment

This Christmas was hard in so many ways. It seemed that my grief period occurred during the first few weeks after Brielle was born. Then I was doing pretty good and it was David who was struggling. Then a few days before Christmas, it suddenly became my turn to grieve and David was doing better. I wish grief would have given me some warning. Really, it just came out of no where. Thanks a lot grief, great timing.

I managed to make it through the second half of Christmas day with a smile on my face. But I spent the morning hiding in my bedroom crying because Christmas music was playing through the house. I don’t think people realize how difficult music is for me. Brielle loved music and I never played her anything Christmas related. I will never know what she would have liked. Then you add the newborn babe stuff on top and it’s like pouring acid on an open wound.

I had envisioned that we’d start a new tradition with Brielle. I wasn’t sure what, but I wanted to talk about it. I wanted ideas. Most days I’m mentally foggy. Grief seems to make me move and think slower than I used to. But whenever David and I would bring up Brielle, the room would get silent and the subject would change. So David and I just kept quiet. I felt like the room was closing in on me and I was carrying the whole world on my shoulders.

After my family left, I felt as if I had been emotionally battered and bruised. David and I spent the following days bingeing out on Psych (the comedic tv show) and eating obscene amounts of popcorn and Christmas desserts. Don’t judge us. And we decided that perhaps Christmas really isn’t for us anymore. So next year we plan on escaping some place else and just not celebrating. I’ll put up a small tree just for Brielle. And we’ll probably do something small for his family. David’s mom has Alzheimer’s (although she doesn’t realize it) and next year may be the last year she remembers us. To be fair, this may have been the last year. But all that is left of David’s family is his nephew and his mom, (his only living brother lives in Germany). So we don’t generally have a large Gentry Christmas. We’ll just have to make our own Wolford-Gentry family Christmas.

For those that don’t know I kept my last name, David kept his, and we are giving our children the last name Wolford-Gentry. Funny thing about David, he respects me more for keeping my name. He likes that I’m independent and didn’t want to follow tradition. I kept my name for quite a few reasons, but one of them being I’m the eldest grandchild and the Wolford name dies out with my generation. Also I’m ornery and didn’t want to change my name. And do you know how annoying it is to redo all of that paperwork? Ain’t nobody got time for that.

So after a really horrible week David and I think we’ll just go someplace tropical or really snowy next year. We’ll hole up on the beach or in a cabin and just forget Christmas. Maybe next year I’ll be pregnant and we can do something special for that baby and in honor of Brielle. But the way Christmas was, will never be what David and I can continue. Maybe we’ll take an annual cruise! Or a trip back to Paris or Dover! Who knows? We’re also thinking no presents. I don’t know. Taking a trip and disappearing from the world sounds a lot more fun. But assimilating back into a family Christmas will take time for us. I’m not sure if we’ll ever be okay with a family Christmas again. We may endure another, but I don’t know if we’ll ever be okay with it again.

Strength

~ lovingbrielle ~ Leave a comment

Strongest

I think what most people say to me is that I am strong, “The strongest person they know.” And I don’t understand this. I don’t feel exceptionally strong. I feel quite average.

I feel like my “strength” is easily explained. I’m strong because I have no choice. We all face difficult times as we raise our children, each person has a different circumstance that calls them to do what they have to for their baby (no matter how old). My challenge didn’t happen in Brielle’s teens. It didn’t happen as a child. As an adult after a crisis. My time to step up as a parent and mother happened in Brielle’s earliest days. And maybe this is what people find admirable. But really, it is no different.

Brielle needed me to love her. She needed me to protect her and give her the best life she could have. What else was I to do? I could have aborted her, but would you abort your teenage daughter struggling with depression? Your child recently diagnosed with autism? Your grown son who was just diagnosed with cancer? No, you wouldn’t. You may get frustrated. You may not know what to do, but you would do your best for your baby. All I did was the best I could for Brielle. And so I don’t feel exceptionally strong, I just feel like a mother. A mother that was faced with difficult circumstances. And I did my job. I did my best.

Maybe it was that I had the choice. I could have aborted Brielle. Maybe not taking the option is what people find so amazing. As if it was an out, an easy solution to a horrific tragedy. But it’s not an out. It’s not any easier. There’s an entire support group filled with bitter mothers who aborted their babies with anencephaly, hoping it would be an easy out, only to find it wasn’t. There’s no taking back an abortion. There’s nothing you can tell yourself to fill that void. The void of regret.

I am future oriented. What I mean by that, is that I spend most of my time in the future. I plan, think, and dream of tomorrow and the days to come. And I know myself very well. I knew who I would be if I aborted Brielle. The draw of a new healthy baby a few months after Brielle was aborted was appealing. But looking down that road I knew it would tear me to pieces. I’d destroy myself with regret and agony. I would live a life violating my conscious with no way to correct the hole in my heart.

I’m not here to start an anti abortion campaign. That’s too political and I don’t want to mar Brielle’s legacy with politics. But I do want people to understand that I did take the easy out. I knew which of the two options would be the most difficult to live with and I chose the easiest one. I chose to love Brielle. And it wasn’t hard. It’s not hard. I miss Brielle so much. But I get to miss her. I have memories of her. I met her, held her, told her I loved her. None of those things are hard. They don’t require strength. They just require a heart and we all have one of those.

When I go to bed at night, I’ll hold Brielle, sob through “I’ll Love you Forever,” tell her goodnight and go to sleep. And I sleep peacefully. I ache. But my dreams aren’t sad. I am not haunted by worry. By the fear that I made a mistake. By guilt over a new pregnancy that I chose to replace the anencephalic baby I had.

If I had chosen the “easy” option everyone thinks abortion is, I would spend the rest of my life filled with a horrific ache. And a guilt that no one could imagine. I would never have forgiven myself. That kind of pain requires super human strength. And it is not something I am strong enough to endure. I am in awe of those that carry on, silently grieving their loss. A loss that they cannot speak to anyone about. A loss that haunts them. The mother’s who chose the path that I did not deserve our love, support, mercy, and encouragement. They carry a burden that is unimaginable.

Trusting God Through the Pain

~ lovingbrielle ~ Leave a comment

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When I found out I was pregnant, I was beyond excited. Not just for the obvious reasons. Last Thanksgiving we got the call that my Papa’s cancer had moved to his brain and was quickly growing and he would have to be put on hospice. A year ago today, my Dad and I drove to Arkansas to help take care of him. For the next month my family helped take care of him. It was a very difficult December, to say the least, and a couple of days after we had our Christmas with him, he passed away. I wasn’t looking forward to my first Christmas without my Papa, but I was going to have a sweet new baby for Christmas. God had blessed me with a special gift that I’d treasure, that would bring joy to not only me, but my family as well for Christmas.

One of my first thoughts when I found out Brielle had anencephaly was, “What kind of sick joke is this?” To take my Papa and my daughter away from me within a year of each other, on Christmas? What kind of sick God does something like that? I was angry, but mostly deeply, maddeningly hurt. I’m still not sure why God gave us a baby on the first try, that would be born around the holidays, and then die. I hurt, but that anger and hurt aren’t at or from God anymore.

I have a lot of confusion, one day I’ll come to terms with everything. For now, I feel like an open bursting wound. And I hate it. I hate that this is happening now, at Christmas, one of my favorite times of the year. I love Christmas and this is too much.

While I hate all this pain, I’m not going to let it consume me. We get to choose how we handle what the world throws at us. We don’t get to choose what happens in our life, but our attitude we do get to control. David and I won’t be miserable, we’re going to grieve, but we’re not going to live in darkness.

This weekend is David’s birthday. We’re going to see The Nutcracker, take a Christmas historic home tour in Marietta, take the dogs to the farmers market in the square. I’m going to wear myself out and we’ll end up watching a funny movie to distract us from the grief of watching families with young children.

We’ll lean on each other and lift the other up when we’re too deep in grief. We’ll think about how happy Brielle is. We’ll remind each other that we’re not grieving Brielle’s fate, we’re grieving our own. The loss of a perfect baby that was too good for our world. We’ll have a bittersweet weekend.

I’ve said this over and over again, but I cannot stress it enough, the loss of Brielle is horrific, but her life was not. We crammed a lifetime into her ten months here with us. She was the greatest light we ever knew, she brought more joy into this world than we could ever imagine. I’m not going to let that be overshadowed by my pain. I don’t know God’s plan, but I know her story isn’t over. I’m just along for the ride, and I’ll constantly seek out ways to honor Brielle’s legacy. She’s too wonderful not to.

Putting Brielle’s Room Together

~ lovingbrielle ~ Leave a comment
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Room inspiration for Brielle’s nursery. Photo credit here.

My parents and I have bought Brielle a few outfits. And I’ve hung them up in her closet. I originally thought this would make me sad. Wouldn’t it be heartbreaking to go into a room that was supposed to be hers and it go unused? Or to look into a closet that was filled with her things and know she’ll never use them? So I didn’t go into her room for weeks. I didn’t put her nursery together and I didn’t hang things in her closet. And then I did.

I’d stand there with a huge smile on my face, looking at her frilly outfits that she probably wont fit into and really not caring if she did or didn’t. David would come in and join me and we’d laugh about how cute she’d look with her beautiful smile and a ruffly dress with a big bow on her small little head. We’d stand there and happily dream about a future with her.

I decided I wasn’t going to let her room sit empty. It’s still her room. We even call it Brielle’s room. So we’re going to hire painters and paint it for her. I’ll leave the guest bed in there, because we’ll need it and I didn’t plan on putting her crib together until she was older anyways. I’ll buy her bookshelves for her books. And keep her special blankets and toys in her room too. It feels wrong not to.

I think about when her younger sibling comes someday and telling them, “This was Brielle’s room, but we didn’t finish it.” And I don’t like that train of thought. I like the idea of saying. This is where we hoped to bring your big sister. Here are her footprints and this blanket was made special just for her. I imagine showing them who she was and what she was like.

I imagine the days after she’s died, sitting in her room and looking at her cute little things and thinking, she lived, she mattered. Maybe not for long, but she was real. I like the idea of having proof that my daughter existed and meant the world to David and I. We’ve let her fill every nook and cranny of our lives. Why would we let an unused room that we pass every single day go untouched by her?