Infant Loss

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.

Happy New Year

~ lovingbrielle ~ Leave a comment

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There is another anencephaly mother who makes awareness images in honor of her daughter Makenna. They are beautiful and a wonderful way to honor other babies lost to anencephaly. She has made pictures of other anen babies with Santa, on virtual ornaments, and more. I can’t even begin to explain what a wonderful service it is to those of us who will never be able to watch our babies grow up. She gives us all a bit of normalcy. This is the Happy New Year image she made for Brielle.

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.

Heartache in the Little Things

~ lovingbrielle ~ Leave a comment

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We met my cousin and his girlfriend for breakfast a few weekends ago. They had come to Atlanta for a concert. My cousin has a little boy who really is the cutest thing, he’s a very happy and smart boy. I asked my cousin what his son wanted for Christmas and he told me the things he was obsessed with at the moment.

I was surprised how much it hurt hearing about the things he liked. It didn’t have anything to do with my cousin and his family. And I wouldn’t want him or anyone to stop talking to me about their children and their lives. But it hurts because I immediately began to wonder what Brielle would be interested in at that age. Two of my cousins as young children have loved dogs and dinosaurs and I found myself hurting because I wanted to know if Brielle would have been the same. I later asked David if he thought Brielle would have liked dogs, he grabbed my hand and said, “Probably, she loved her big sissies.” Brielle would wiggle around when she would hear me call Emmy and Rosie (our dog children). She’d love it when I’d play games with them and she loved feeling them rest their heads (or half their body) on my belly.

I have thoughts like this all the time. I’m sure it’s normal. Watching someone with a stroller and thinking, “I should have a stroller.” Folding Brielle’s newborn clothes and thinking, “I wonder if she’d still fit in these now.”

I came back upstairs from the basement the other night, I had been working on David’s media room and had been down there for hours. I found myself wondering what I would have done with Brielle during that time. It’s like I have a double life or a split identity. I really can’t explain it well. I find myself living the life I am in now, but always wondering what I would be doing in that moment if Brielle were still alive and healthy. Every moment of every day she is on my mind.

When I get in the car I check my mirrors and immediately think, “I should adjust my mirrors so I can see Brielle.” And then I immediately correct myself. She’s not here to check on. I go on. Everything goes on. But I never stop thinking of her. Wondering. Wishing. It hurts. It hurts in that “I’ve accepted this” way. I’m not losing my mind. I’ve accepted she’s gone and it hurts. It just hurts, all the time.

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.