Today is Infant Loss Remembrance Day.
Today my facebook newsfeed was filled up with posts from mamas and daddies, aunts and uncles and grandparents who had to say goodbye to their babies too soon.
Today I remembered my own darling girl, gone too soon for my liking, but forever in my heart
Today I give a silent nod to you, all you mothers and fathers with wounds of your own, holes in your heart from missing your babies
I nod to you, new parents, still freshly grieving your loss. The hurt never goes away, but it does change, and it gets easier to deal with. You are not alone.
I nod to you, you seasoned veteran. Maybe your baby would be a teenager now, or perhaps an adult. Your wound is no longer fresh and gaping, but it is still noticeable, still there. Your loss still matters.
I nod to you, those who have lost more than one baby. Their lives mattered, and have forever changed who you are.
I nod to you parents and family members and friends of lost potential and babies of all kinds because your loss matters, and your story matters.
Do you hear me? Your story matters
Your story of loss, whatever that looks like, matters
And tonight I light my candle in remembrance of all our babies.
We stand together
So tell me, dear friend, what's your story?
If you're feeling brave, maybe comment below with the name of your sweet one and how long it's been since they left this earth
And regardless of whether or not you say a word, know I am standing with you tonight, and honoring your sweet babe(s)
Their lives matter
And so does yours
Showing posts with label Holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Holidays. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 October 2014
Wednesday, 25 December 2013
Christmas 2013
I've never been much of a Christmas person.
Correction, I've never been much of a people person. After a few hours with family I'm burnt out and in desperate need of a closet in which to hide.
I also get a little nostalgic at Christmas. A little sad reflecting over this past year, and all that happened. It's usually a bitter sweet kind of sad, though. This year was no exception.
It was my second Christmas without Mia.
Last Christmas was a blur, only a few months out after losing Mia. I was a mess, and barely had time to get ready for the holidays.
This year they seemed to sneak up on me as well. I was the frazzled woman standing in line on Christmas Eve with an armful of presents and a fierce look of determination.
The Christmas Eve service I attended last night was around the theme "Fear Not."
I thought back on this year, in the 15 months that have passed since I lost Mia. There are a million things I could fear. And yet there was a strange peace over my heart.
This morning I awoke and opened presents with my family. We ate a big turkey and the extended family came over and it was jolly and merry and everything Christmas is supposed to be.
It was bitter sweet for me. It came with a pang of nostalgia and a wave of grief.
I barely remember last Christmas, to be honest. I couldn't tell you now what I got, what I gave or who's house I went to. It was a blur. I was numb.
This Christmas felt heavier.
This Christmas I felt pain deep in my body, and felt Mia's little body so close I could close my eyes and remember so distinctly what it was like in that moment when she was born.
While I've been working hard to let go of all I can't control, to accept what was, there are moments when I feel her close and I just accept it.
"Hi darling girl. Mama misses you."
I know, mama, I'm here.
This Christmas I listened to Kate Rusby and looked at the stars as I drove home, thinking about grief and love and how funerals and memorials are more for the living than the dead.
This Christmas I felt her, in a way I rarely do anymore, and smiled.
Correction, I've never been much of a people person. After a few hours with family I'm burnt out and in desperate need of a closet in which to hide.
I also get a little nostalgic at Christmas. A little sad reflecting over this past year, and all that happened. It's usually a bitter sweet kind of sad, though. This year was no exception.
It was my second Christmas without Mia.
Last Christmas was a blur, only a few months out after losing Mia. I was a mess, and barely had time to get ready for the holidays.
This year they seemed to sneak up on me as well. I was the frazzled woman standing in line on Christmas Eve with an armful of presents and a fierce look of determination.
The Christmas Eve service I attended last night was around the theme "Fear Not."
I thought back on this year, in the 15 months that have passed since I lost Mia. There are a million things I could fear. And yet there was a strange peace over my heart.
This morning I awoke and opened presents with my family. We ate a big turkey and the extended family came over and it was jolly and merry and everything Christmas is supposed to be.
It was bitter sweet for me. It came with a pang of nostalgia and a wave of grief.
I barely remember last Christmas, to be honest. I couldn't tell you now what I got, what I gave or who's house I went to. It was a blur. I was numb.
This Christmas felt heavier.
This Christmas I felt pain deep in my body, and felt Mia's little body so close I could close my eyes and remember so distinctly what it was like in that moment when she was born.
While I've been working hard to let go of all I can't control, to accept what was, there are moments when I feel her close and I just accept it.
"Hi darling girl. Mama misses you."
I know, mama, I'm here.
This Christmas I listened to Kate Rusby and looked at the stars as I drove home, thinking about grief and love and how funerals and memorials are more for the living than the dead.
This Christmas I felt her, in a way I rarely do anymore, and smiled.
Wednesday, 26 December 2012
That Christmas
This Christmas has become that Christmas.
My first Christmas without her has passed. As the actual day approached I found myself not in the Christmas Spirit, found myself dreading the actual day.
And when it came, gathered around family and friends, I wanted nothing more than for this day to be over. Nothing was the way it should be. I couldn't make myself be happy when everything felt so wrong.
So, when the clock struck midnight and turned from December 25 to December 26, I let out a sigh of relief.
I made it through my first Christmas without, the first of many to come.
I miss you, sweet girl. I wish you could have been here. I'm sorry.
I love you
Mama
My first Christmas without her has passed. As the actual day approached I found myself not in the Christmas Spirit, found myself dreading the actual day.
And when it came, gathered around family and friends, I wanted nothing more than for this day to be over. Nothing was the way it should be. I couldn't make myself be happy when everything felt so wrong.
So, when the clock struck midnight and turned from December 25 to December 26, I let out a sigh of relief.
I made it through my first Christmas without, the first of many to come.
I miss you, sweet girl. I wish you could have been here. I'm sorry.
I love you
Mama
Monday, 8 October 2012
Thanksgiving
Today was thanksgiving, my sweet.
Today, I woke up, not at all feeling grateful. What did I have to be grateful for? It's been exactly 4 weeks since I lost you, my heart was broken.
My heart was beating loudly in my ears, echoing the news that I was alive. I was still here, 4 weeks after you. Sometimes I dream of heaven, of a time when we'll be together again, when I will finally be complete, not walking around with this gaping hole in my chest, learning to adjust to this new life I have been thrust in to. It's not that I'm suicidal, or that I want to die... I just don't know how to live without you, my girl.
But I got up, and I help both prepare the Thanksgiving meal, and I rolled cutlery in napkins and I stacked paper plates. And then my mom asked me to set out your flower.
It was a lily your grandma had bought for you a few days ago. I smile to myself as I notice the lily becoming a bit of a tradition - I got a tiger lily when my grandmother died, because they were her favorite, and I got an easter lily when my friend, who was like a big brother to me, passed away, and now you have a lily too, Mia girl.
So I set it out on the table. Whenever I looked at it, I was filled with peace, that you were here, even if it wasn't the way I had expected. Instead of being in my arms and filling my heart with joy and relief over your arrival, you were here in the presence of a flower, my heart filled with longing and sorrow.
Today was thanksgiving, and I found something to be thankful for, because even though I didn't have you, I had much.
I have my family, gathered around me, laughing over card games gone wild
I have the memories of you. Oh how I wish I'd had more time, that I'd gotten to hold you just one time, to feel the weight of you in my arms before you were taken away. Instead I only know you from the inside out, and only I know the secrets, like the way you danced inside of me, the way you gave me hope, the way I loved you, those secrets are only mine to cherish
I have life, a beating heart, lungs that breathe in air.
I have the promise that one day I will be complete again
After the festivities had ended I snuck down to the basement and cried, because I lost you, my girl. Because I don't know who I am in a world without you, because life is going on without you.
Tonight the pain isn't overwhelming. The grief isn't so much a part of me i can't tell the difference between Emily and Grief anymore.
It is just there, the still dull ache that comes with the knowledge that you are gone. It is sweetened by gratitude, though.
Can I close my eyes and pray it will last? Pray that soon the grief will be over and I can learn how to live again. Some part of me knows it won't, that I'm only 4 weeks in, that soon it will come back and I will ache strongly once again. Maybe I can be foolish for just one night and believe it won't. Maybe for one night I can taste the sweetness and not the pain.
Maybe for just one night I can utter the words, "I love you," And not cry because you're gone.
I love you, Mia, I love you so so much.
Today, I woke up, not at all feeling grateful. What did I have to be grateful for? It's been exactly 4 weeks since I lost you, my heart was broken.
My heart was beating loudly in my ears, echoing the news that I was alive. I was still here, 4 weeks after you. Sometimes I dream of heaven, of a time when we'll be together again, when I will finally be complete, not walking around with this gaping hole in my chest, learning to adjust to this new life I have been thrust in to. It's not that I'm suicidal, or that I want to die... I just don't know how to live without you, my girl.
But I got up, and I help both prepare the Thanksgiving meal, and I rolled cutlery in napkins and I stacked paper plates. And then my mom asked me to set out your flower.
It was a lily your grandma had bought for you a few days ago. I smile to myself as I notice the lily becoming a bit of a tradition - I got a tiger lily when my grandmother died, because they were her favorite, and I got an easter lily when my friend, who was like a big brother to me, passed away, and now you have a lily too, Mia girl.
So I set it out on the table. Whenever I looked at it, I was filled with peace, that you were here, even if it wasn't the way I had expected. Instead of being in my arms and filling my heart with joy and relief over your arrival, you were here in the presence of a flower, my heart filled with longing and sorrow.
Today was thanksgiving, and I found something to be thankful for, because even though I didn't have you, I had much.
I have my family, gathered around me, laughing over card games gone wild
I have the memories of you. Oh how I wish I'd had more time, that I'd gotten to hold you just one time, to feel the weight of you in my arms before you were taken away. Instead I only know you from the inside out, and only I know the secrets, like the way you danced inside of me, the way you gave me hope, the way I loved you, those secrets are only mine to cherish
I have life, a beating heart, lungs that breathe in air.
I have the promise that one day I will be complete again
After the festivities had ended I snuck down to the basement and cried, because I lost you, my girl. Because I don't know who I am in a world without you, because life is going on without you.
Tonight the pain isn't overwhelming. The grief isn't so much a part of me i can't tell the difference between Emily and Grief anymore.
It is just there, the still dull ache that comes with the knowledge that you are gone. It is sweetened by gratitude, though.
Can I close my eyes and pray it will last? Pray that soon the grief will be over and I can learn how to live again. Some part of me knows it won't, that I'm only 4 weeks in, that soon it will come back and I will ache strongly once again. Maybe I can be foolish for just one night and believe it won't. Maybe for one night I can taste the sweetness and not the pain.
Maybe for just one night I can utter the words, "I love you," And not cry because you're gone.
I love you, Mia, I love you so so much.
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