Updated version #2: Bereaved Mother’s Day Project

Hi all!

I hope yesterday was gentle for all the mothers with empty arms.

Here is an updated version of the video. I added a couple more mamas here. This is also the only place that you can view this video with the song i picked out just for this project.

Music:

Song: “Rise up”

Artist: Andra Day

Bereaved Mother’s Day video 2018

Thank you to all who participated. If you missed the deadline to submit, I still invite you to share your photo or tell us who you are a mother to, in the comments below and/or on your social media accounts.

Hopefully the video above is viewable to all and the music is able to play. This is the shortened version of the video. I plan to go “live” over on my For the love of Bradley FB page, sometime today.

 

 

Bereaved Mother’s Day Project 2018

Sunday, May 13, 2018

Mother’s Day in the United States.

A day where mothers are celebrated. They are surrounded by their children. The day is full of love. Flowers and gifts are given to the mother from their significant others. The children make homemade drawings for their mom.

In this day and age of social media, this day is also a busy day. Facebook and Instagram are saturated with photo after photo of mothers with their children draped around them. Everyone is smiling and beaming with happiness.

Except it isn’t like this for every mother. The mother who is grieving the child(ren) who are missing from their arms. She may have living children by her side so you may think what does she have to feel sad about? At least she has other children. The amount of children she has on earth does not make grieving her child who died any easier. It does not make her grief less or her pain less intense.

In the eyes of society, she may not look like a mother at all because she has no living children in her arms. Others around her may not acknowledge her as a mother. The day we are suppose to celebrate ALL Mothers, she is forgotten. The day for her is quiet. Going on social media is like another knife to the heart.

Mother’s Day isn’t the same for everyone. For the bereaved mother, this is a holiday she dreads.

This year for Mother’s Day I wanted to help remember ALL mothers.

When your child dies, the chance that you will be called their mother by someone is few and far between. I lost out on all the years Bradley will be in school and someone coming up to me and saying, “Are you Bradley’s mom? My son is in his kindergarten class!”. Those moments will never happen.

Below are the rules for submission and deadline to be included in this project.

Bereaved Mother’s Day Project:

What is this project?

This project is to honor and acknowledge the bereaved mother. I will accumulate photos from mothers who have lost a child and compile them into a video that will be posted on Mother’s Day and shared with the rest of the world.

Who is this for?

For any mother who has lost a child at any age or gestation. Whether you never knew the sex of your baby. Never heard your baby cry. Never held your baby with breath in their lungs. You were able to watch your child grew here on earth but they were taken suddenly from you. Your child grew to be an adult but tragically passed too soon.

What am I asking for you to submit?

A photo of  yourself holding a paper that says “[your child’s name]’s Mom”  (Below is an example of mine).  It is up to you to include your whole face/body or just your paper. I invite you to choose a special place to take this photo.

Optional- at the bottom of your paper, if you want to add a sentence or two about how friends, family and society can better support you. This part is completely optional.

When is the deadline to submit?

Wednesday, May 9th

Where do I send this photo?

my email: Lindsey.lynch16@gmail.com  subject: Bereaved Mothers day project 2018

Please follow up with me either by commenting on this post or reaching out to me on my other social media accounts to verify I received your photo.  

If you are not following me on my social media accounts here are the handles:

Facebook: For the Love of Bradley

Instagram: For the Love of Bradley

 

I talk about him. {Plus a Book Update}

I am actually sitting down at my computer, writing a post. The last time I was on here was last year, 2016. I don’t know why it has been so long but here I am. On social media, I am very open with my grief. If you started following me, in the last two years, on any of my accounts it won’t take long to realize that one of my son’s died. I do not hide the fact that I lost a child. I also do not share as much as I would like either. Each post or photo I share about grief, child loss, Bradley, a million thoughts go through my head before I hit that “post” button. A million questions I answer to myself. I may look too much into things. I am an over thinker, by nature. I go through a mental check list before I post anything remotely related to Bradley. Have I posted too many “sad posts”? Will someone think my account is too much for them? Will someone think I am still “stuck” in my grief? Will someone think to themselves “she is still talking about her son that died over 2 years ago”? These are just a few questions that cross my mind. Yes, writing these out right here, they sound irrational.

When I write about my grief journey, I am not looking for pity, I don’t want others to feel sorry for me, and I don’t want others to feel guilty about their own life. That is not my intention at all.

I have to remind myself daily why I am open about my grief, online.

For my son’s memory.

For newly bereaved parents so they know they aren’t alone.

For  the bereaved parents who grieve silently.

To break the silence of child loss, at any stage.

To help friends and family support the grieving parent better.

The moment Bradley took his last breath and I continued living, I knew it would be my job to make sure he wasn’t forgotten. The weight of that is exhausting at times because truthfully, it sucks. It’s not fair that he isn’t here to tell it. I shouldn’t be the one to tell his story but I am.  I have to continue his story, the short life he lived has to be told. This is his story, our story and I will share his life with who ever will listen (or read).  I love when I get questions from others, even strangers, I welcome them. As a bereaved parent, questions about your child who died are few and far between. No one wants to talk about the loss of a baby because it makes it too real, for them. The silence from others is defining. When I get random questions about Bradley’s life, I eagerly answer because I will gladly talk about my son.

I talk about him not because I am “stuck” or haven’t “moved on” but because he is my son. Plain and simple. He is my son. I am his mother.

I will talk about him until I take my last breath here on this earth. He will not be forgotten.

September 6, 2015 12:05 pm This was the moment where a piece of me was taken when he died, I will never be the same again and that’s okay. That is okay. I have to repeat that to myself almost daily. Reminding my new self that I’m not the same person as I once was.

“Surviving my First Year of Child Loss: Personal stories from grieving parents”

I have been given the honor and privilege to be chosen to be apart of a new book published and created by Nathalie Himmelrich. I am one of twenty-six contributors that have gone back in their early grief and bravely shared their story in memory of their children.

What to expect:

You will read twenty-six unique stories about loss, grief, joy, sadness, healing, love and everything in between. You will feel connected with each one in a different way then the one before. For the grieving parent, you will not feel alone. There are others out there that have experienced this unimaginable loss and they have survived and so will you.

Who should read this book?

The newly Bereaved parents, friends and family of the grieving and any one who wants to read personal stories of loss, love and surviving the depths of grief. This book is for everyone.

Want to read all 26 contributor’s biographies?

http://grievingparents.net/surviving-first-year-child-loss-contributors/

How do I purchase a copy?

Pre-order the book now. Release date: September 2017 (Very soon!)

http://nathaliehimmelrich.com/product/surviving-my-first-year-of-child-loss-pre-order/

Why should I donate?

This is a not-for-profit book. Donations provide copies to hospitals, bereavement centers, grief retreats, doctors offices, and any other not-for-profit organizations.

How do I donate?

No donation is too small. Consider making a donation in memory of Bradley, in honor of his 2nd birthday that just passed (September 2, 2015).

http://grievingparents.net/donate/

Want to get up to date information on the book?

Follow on Facebook- https://www.facebook.com/SurvivingMyFirstYearOfChildLoss/

Final thoughts:

This post was finished today, on the “anniversary” of Bradley’s second year of his death. It is hard to put into words anymore what this life feels like. I tried for so long to get others to really feel what I feel but I later realized that it is just not possible. I remind myself daily that my purpose in life now is to honor and remember Bradley in any way that I can. Being a part of this amazing book is just one small way to honor my son. I hope you consider purchasing this book and/or making a donation so this resource is available to others in their early grief.

Until next time.

Love and light,

Bradley’s Mom

To the Grieving Parent this Holiday Season

It has been awhile since I have been on here. The last couple days I have had a strong pull to write on here.

Writing this on the night before Christmas Eve (and finishing it on the morning of Christmas Eve). This post is mostly for the child loss community, the bereaved mothers (and fathers) community, however you want to categorize us but, anyone can read this and maybe even benefit from it.

I know this holiday season has been hard for me and the anticipation leading up to Christmas and I know I am not the only one.

This could be your first holiday season, having to survive Christmas without your child(ren). Maybe it has only been a few weeks since you said goodbye to your baby. Maybe it has been only a few months. Maybe this is your second or third or twentieth or fortieth Christmas, without your baby. Maybe you never were able to see your baby alive. Maybe you never knew if your precious baby was a boy or a girl. Maybe you were able to watch your baby grow into an adult but they were suddenly taken away from you and you were left to bury your child.

What ever the reason that finds you here, I am sorry.

I am so so sorry you are here.

I am sorry you are living without your child(ren).

I am sorry you had to endure the loss of your child. No parent should ever have to go through that.

I am sorry your baby isn’t in your arms.

And I am especially sorry your arms are empty during this holiday season. With everyone posting family photos gathered around the Christmas tree. Siblings wearing matching pajamas on Christmas eve. A baby wearing their “My 1st Christmas” onesie. It is beyond hard to watch. Imagining what your life SHOULD be like is excruciating. There are really no words to describe what it is like without your children here on earth with you. No one except us bereaved parents will understand the never-ending pain and longing for our children. The grieving of our children is like no other grief. It is a timeless grief, with no ending becuase our love for them is timeless. Love is what keeps us going.

I’m going to be honest with you, I had this whole post planned out in my head and writing it down my words now escape me. I wanted to get out a post before Christmas just wanting to let other bereaved parents to know they aren’t alone this Christmas.

You aren’t alone, you are never alone. I know this baby loss journey can be very isolating. You can’t relate to others anymore. Your view on life, in general, is a little rougher around the edges. The menial things you once cared about, you don’t anymore. Your life is now separated into a “before” and “after”.  The way your life was supposed to play out has been completely turned upside down. It is unnatural to have to  bury your child. It just isn’t suppose to happen, period. And because of all this, you do what you need to do to survive the holiday season.

Whether you don’t celebrate this year or next. Whether you don’t attend any family functions because you just can’t be in a room with a newborn or a pregnant woman. What ever is best for YOU is what is most important right now.

You are a survivor. You are surviving right now. You are still breathing.

You are surviving and that is all you need to do. You do what you need to do to survive each day. Whether that is staying in bed all day or isolating yourself inside your house or deciding to make that trip to the grocery store. You know your heart the best. Give yourself permission to do what you need to do or not do on any given day.

In the early months of my extreme grief I couldn’t see into the future. I couldn’t imagine being able to survive this. I didn’t think I was. And still to this day, there are moments where I go back to that early grief and it almost feels suffocating. Thinking about all that I have endured and I am still here, that is a miracle in itself. Know you are doing the best you can.

I want you to know I am here. I walk alone side of you. You are not alone.  You are never alone.

Wishing you a peaceful holiday.

Love,

Bradley’s Mom

 

 

**Bradley’s Memorial Tree**

I have created this project in memory of Bradley. I have 56 baby names on my tree so far. This tree is dedicated just for those children who aren’t here on earth with you anymore. I am still taking names (and dates are optional) if you would like your baby’s name to be on the tree. Check out my Instagram and personal Facebook page where I post photos and video of the tree and each individual ornament.

 

 

 

Capture Your Grief: Day 3 “What it feels like”

On Sunday, September 6, 2015, from 8:30am to 12:05pm was the start of a living nightmare. From the time the neonatologist came into my hospital room to give us the worst news parents could hear and to Bradley’s last breath, were a blur. I remember the main parts but the details of those hours come and go from my memory.

Getting to hold him for the first time knowing the only reason we were able to hold him was because we were having to say goodbye, that feeling is indescribable. When the nurse placed him in my arms, he opened one of his eyes for the first time ever. The same thing happened when my husband got to hold him, he opened one of his eyes for the second time. And for the third and finally time, when I held him again, it was the most bittersweet moment that my husband and I shared with Bradley. When we were ready, the nurse took us to a private room. Once we settled into the room, she brought Bradley in, while still on oxygen. She handed him to me for the very last time. I don’t remember how much time had lapsed from when my husband went to get the nurse. The nurse came into the room, removed the oxygen and she left the room. Mike, Zachery and I were left alone with Bradley. During this time, Zachery was bringing tissues to us, wiping Bradley’s nose and eyes, “trying” to feed Bradley the fruit snacks Zach had with him. That part was hard to watch.

The nurse came back 5 minutes later to check his heartbeat. And the doctor came in to officially pronounce him. Hearing them say, ” I’m sorry, he is gone” was excruciating. The immense pain is too much to describe. I couldn’t see into the future at that time. I couldn’t see how I was going to survive this. I remember thinking ” how could I continue to breath and live my life when my second born just took his last breath.”

When we were ready to hand him over to the nurse, she cradled him close to her and told us “I will take good care of him”. That was the last time I saw my baby.

Mike and I then returned to my room. My Mom had taken Zachery with her back to our house.

Returning back to my hospital room was a shitty feeling. I was angry.

My wonderful nurse was so caring and understanding. Her shift had just started about an hour before we received the bad news that morning.

She came in and asked what we wanted to do. Whatever we needed, she was going to take care of. We had just rented a breast pump from the hospital one day prior, she removed it from the room immediately so, we didn’t have to look at it.

She held my hand as I laid on the hospital bed, my eyes glazed over, and told me what to expect in the days and weeks that will follow. She too had experienced a loss roughly 20 years ago. She explained that my milk will continue to come in because my body doesn’t know that my baby died. It will be painful and she gave me some tips on how to dry up my milk. She continued on by warning me of possible triggers: going out in public and seeing women who are pregnant, newborns, babies crying, etc.

After she had done all the paperwork to discharge me, she personally walked us out of the hospital—– Walking through the long hallways out to the front of the hospital to the outside, the warm September sun shining brightly against my tear stained cheeks—I hadn’t seen the sun or been outside in over 4 days. My nurse gave me a warm embrace and whispered in my ear “you will survive this and I hope to see you next time but on a happier occasion”.

There are no words to explain what it felt like to walk out of that hospital with no baby in our arms. Like nothing ever happened. That the last 4 days we had nothing to show for. Mike loaded the car with all the belongings we had accumulated during our stay. We drove out of the parking lot and headed home, without a car seat in the backseat, without a baby.

 

{During the month of October I am participating in Carly Marie’s project “What Heals You”. Each day is a new prompt where other bereaved parents are invited to share their experiences.}

Depending on the day’s prompt I may come to my blog and write or if its short I will post directly on my Instagram 

 

 

Offline on Mother’s Day.

I can’t remember the last time I was completely offline for a day, let alone an hour but that is what I plan on doing for this coming Sunday.

It’s best for my emotional and mental well-being that I not be online on Sunday. I don’t want to see my news feed flooded with everyone proudly posting their handmade presents from their kids or the breakfast in bed their family made them. I don’t want to see what their husbands bought them. I don’t want to see the album of photos posted on Facebook, showcasing their perfect Mother’s Day with their family.

Sorry, if that’s mean but I can’t pretend that stuff doesn’t bother me. I know it shouldn’t, it’s not my life. I can choose to not see those posts and photos BUT its hard when my whole news feed is filled with those. I have come to realize that the only way to not see them, is to not be online.

I am still angry.

I am angry about a lot of things.

I told my therapist the other day that some days I wish I could get a break, that I could go back in time to when life was easy. Not to change the course of history because I will NEVER wish that Bradley wasn’t born BUT to go back to a time when life was simple and uncomplicated. When the hardest thing in my life was only getting 4 hours of sleep because Zach was waking up every 2 hours the night before or the hardest thing when Zach stopped taking his 3-hour long naps in the afternoon which meant no more quiet time for me. Those were NOT hard, looking back.

The heaviness of Bradley’s death has been overwhelming in the last month or so. The realization that Bradley really was born and then he died. The realization that this is my life. Where this would be most parents worst fear, the death of their baby, this IS my reality. I have to live with this heaviness for the rest of my life. I have a whole lifetime of living with this a piece of me missing.  The feeling of emptiness, feeling of being incomplete, feeling of never being whole again. Living in two different worlds, the world where my living son, Zach, is and the world where Bradley, my second born, is in now.

The flipping back and forth between the before and after Bradley. My life before Bradley and my life after Bradley.

Have you tried to mother a child who isn’t on this earth? It is exhausting. Some days it is debilitating.

It is exhausting.

It is exhausting leaving the house and having to be out in public.

It is exhausting having to put on a fake smile and having to hold my tongue all the time.

It is exhausting always having to be on guard all the time.

It is exhausting always being ready for that dreaded question any parent who has experienced the loss of a child, “how many children do you have?”. Do you answer truthfully and acknowledge all your children and potentially make the person asking feel awful OR do you answer with a lie because some days it is just easier. Trust me if I could tell everyone the truth, I would! I want to tell Bradley’s story. I want to share the love that I have for Bradley, how deep our love is, that only he and I know exist.

If we are talking about going back in time, I wish I was still in the early days after Bradley’s death. That first week after Bradley died. I would want to stay in that time for the rest of my life. When my chest was sore in the days after his death because of the non stop crying. When my eyes were so swollen, I couldn’t even put my contact lenses in. When I could still smell the NICU  because I was still wearing the shirt that I wore when I held Bradley for the last time. All of these meant that Bradley was still fresh in my mind. If I could, I would stay in that time for a lifetime. For those who don’t know what its like to lose your baby, then you truly can’t understand why us bereaved mothers would want to put ourselves through that torture. BUT it is a small price to pay so you can feel closer to your child. It is all we have left of them. We cling to anything we can. I so desperately search for signs and symbols that Bradley is around, it is what gets me through each day.

Since I wont be online on Sunday. I will tell you what I will do.

I will wake up and go for a run on the trail, like any other Sunday morning. I will come home and eat breakfast. Mike, Zach and I will visit the cemetery. We will come home and spend the rest of the day together just the three of us (four-if you count our dog). That will be our day. I wish things would have played out differently. I wish Bradley was here with us. I wish we were a family of four here on this earth. I wish a lot of things were different. I wish I didn’t have to visit a cemetery to be “close” to both of my children.

And finally, today happens to be 8 month since Bradley left this earth. That will never get easy to write or hear or say. Nothing about Bradley leaving us will get easy. Never.

For those mothers who will celebrate with all your children this Sunday, please remember those Mothers who will not have all their children with them.

Until next time,

Bradley’s Mom.

A letter to my son, Bradley on his 6 month angelversary

March 6, 2016

My sweet, sweet Bradley or as your Dad calls you, “he is big, he is bad, he is Brad”.

I can’t believe I have survived 6 months since you left us. I can’t believe this is my life now. It honestly still feels like a bad bad dream. I still yearn for you. I still grieve for you.

I hope you don’t mistake my sadness for regret. I absolutely do not regret anything that happened. I never have wished that you didn’t exist so I wouldn’t have to feel this pain. Bradley, I would go through all of it over again, again, and again. I would go through the pain of having to make the decision on your life again. I would go through planning your burial and service all over again. I would go through another 6 months of living without you, of grieving you, of loving you and of missing you. And because of all that, I was able to meet you, to hold you, to kiss you, to hug you and to say good bye to you. A millions times over again. The one thing that I will never, as long as I am living, regret is you being born. You and your brother are my biggest accomplishments.

You know what makes me angry is that I am even having to write all this. That I have to live without all my children by my side and others do not.

Every time your Dad, brother and I do something together, you are always on my mind. It never feels complete. You are the missing piece to our family. The family trips we take never feel quite right.

We went to Disneyland for your brother’s 4th birthday in December. You should have been there with us. The next day we had cake and sang “happy birthday” to your brother, you should have been there too.

We actually bought annual passes for Disneyland for the three of us. We have gone two more times since then. I can’t help but think that if you were here, we probably wouldn’t have bought the passes. It is because you are not here that we have taken your brother to so many places in the last 6 months. That is the hard part about all this. Because you are not here, I devote all my time to your brother. This isn’t how life was suppose to go. I should be dividing my time between both you and your brother.

It sucks. Life is just unfair. There is no other way to explain all this.

You have missed so much, Bradley. You have missed many afternoons playing outside on the new swing set with your brother. You have missed countless trips to Target. You have missed the millionth time spent  waiting in the car at the Starbucks drive-thru. You have missed watching your brother build his countless LEGO creations. You have missed hearing your brother sing his favorite song from his favorite show, Little Einstein’s every time he watches it. You have missed many memories that we should have shared together. And that hurts my heart.

I am constantly searching for signs from you that you are near. I desperately need those signs in order for me to survive this life. There have only been a handful of times where I would feel you near, its not enough times for me. The first small white feather I found was about a month after you left. This feather was in our backyard near where your brother was playing.

I remember that day because it was the first sign from you that I received. Now when I see small white feathers at random places, I think of you but I don’t see them often enough. I don’t dream about you and that breaks my heart. I don’t see you. I don’t have visions of you. I sometimes feel very disconnected from you Bradley. My whole goal in life right now is to feel you near me and to know you are okay.

Bradley, I am sorry I don’t visit your gravesite that much. The last time we went was Christmas Eve, so almost 3 months ago. It is in the same city where my parents live (your grandparents) so its not like I’m not in the area. Seeing your marker is sometimes just too much for me to handle. It is the realization that you truly are not here with us. On my “better” days, visiting you would just bring me back. I know that is selfish but, it is how I survive these days without you now.

I really don’t know how you have been gone for 6 months. I am still brought to tears when someone says your name or when I tell your story or just when I think of you. I miss you dearly, Bradley. We all miss you. You have such a huge fan club down here on earth, if only you were here to witness the love.

I could write forever when it comes to telling you how much I miss you, how much I love you and everything that we have done without you.

I love you my sweet sweet Bradley.

You are big. You are bad. You are Brad.

Love,

Your Mom.

 

Six Months.

Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Six months.

It has been six months since Bradley was born.

I still can’t believe its ONLY been 6 months but at the same time, it has ALREADY been 6 months. It feels like a lifetime ago but at the same time it feels like it was just yesterday.

We did not have a lifetime of memories with Bradley. We had less than 4 days.

We didn’t have decades and decades worth of photos.

You know what we are left with? A box.

A small 8×8 cardboard box that contains his belongings: a small album of about 8 pictures that were taken by Bradley’s NICU nurse, his hospital bracelet ( and both of our bracelets are now in the box), his bili eye mask, a couple copies of his hand and foot prints and the only physical piece of him; a few strands of his hair that are separated into 3 tiny plastic baggies. That is it.

 

This box is still on our kitchen counter, in the same place it has been since we picked it up from the hospital. Along with all the cards we have received and the pamphlets from his funeral service are in a bag next to the box. That is the extent of what we have as a memory of our son that never came home.

 

Just yesterday I was telling my therapist that tomorrow marks 6 months since Bradley was born. She replied, “that is not that long at all”. She is right. At that moment, I realized she is absolutely right.  Even though it feels like so much longer, it really isn’t.

In these last couple months, I have had better days than not. It’s only because in those “better days” I don’t think of Bradley as much and almost, unconsciously, block the fact that I have another son. And that kills me. It kills me. The fact that the only days where I feel like life is back to “normal” are the days when Bradley isn’t heavy on my mind. That breaks my heart, even more than its already broken. The days where it feels “easier” to forget than remember, those are the hardest of them all. The “better days” where I get caught up in life; I feel joy; I feel happiness; I actually enjoy living this life. In those days, is when I feel immense guilt after I realized several days had gone by where I felt “normal” again. Guilt. Why should I feel happy when my Bradley isn’t here to enjoy this life with me.

It is a constant struggle.

Do I choose to be happy today or do I choose to think of and remember Bradley today?

I can’t do both right now. I thought I was at the point where I could feel both but, I am not. I can’t feel joy and sadness or gratitude and grief at the same time. I am not there yet. I hope one day my two worlds can live as one. I pray for the day when I can truly feel happiness when watching Zach play outside and hearing his joyous squeals AND at the same time remember the memory of Bradley and not have to choose between the two.

My therapist calls this, “Survival mode”. I am doing what I have to do to get through each day. Some days I will have to not think about Bradley as much so I can be a mother to Zach and vice versa. I may not be the greatest mom to Zach one day but that is because Bradley is heavy on my mind. This is what I have to do to survive at this point and to function as a human being and that is completely OKAY.

 

The thing about grieving the loss of your child is there is no right or wrong way to grieve. There is no specific period of time where you will start to “heal”. There are no rules, there are no guidelines that grieving parents should follow. It is your own journey, you do what is best for you to get through each day.  To wake up each morning and decide, that even though I have been through hell, I will continue living. That it is okay to feel the feelings. It is okay to feel sad, angry, bitter, joyful, guilt and all at once or one at a time. It is completely okay to do what you need to do to survive the death of your child. Give yourself grace ( I am still working on this one).

 

I know I have mentioned that I have been seeing a therapist once or twice before because I am not ashamed or embarrassed that I am seeing one. It isn’t a sign of weakness but of strength and courage. The fact that I had the strength and courage to seek professional help. I was feeling completely out of control, regarding my emotions and feelings. I would get angry very quickly (it has gotten better but still it sneaks up on me), zero patience (working on that as well), have emotional outbursts and just overall very unpleasant to be around. I could feel these emotions inside of me, just brewing, waiting for someone to say something (mainly my poor husband) so I could lash out. My therapist has validated what I am feeling is completely normal and that I’m  not crazy. She gives me the tools to be able to handle my emotions, feelings and overall just being kind and gracious to myself.

Sorry, I kind of what on a tangent in this post, it has been awhile since I wrote out my feelings and for me, personally, it helps me in the grieving process.

Until next time!

 

I hope you never…

I hope you never have to live in my world.

I hope you never know  what it feels like to have to walk down that long hospital hallway, on your way to say good bye to your baby, knowing it is the last time you will see your baby with breath in his lungs.

I hope you are never put in the position to make that choice, whether your baby lives or dies.

I hope you never have to watch your baby die in your arms.

I hope you never have to watch your baby take his last breath.

I hope you never have to decide if you want an autopsy on your baby.

I hope you never have to return home with empty arms.

I hope you never have to decide whether you want your baby cremated or buried.

I hope you never have to pick out an outfit for your baby to be buried in.

I hope you never have to know what it feels like to drive to your baby’s funeral.

I hope you never have to watch your baby’s casket get lowered into the ground.

I hope you never, ever have to know what it feels like to survive the death of your baby.

I hope you never have to raise your only living child without his siblings.

I hope you never have to look down at your scar and be reminded every single day that you SHOULD have a baby in your arms.

I hope you never have to feel what it is like to live this hell. This nightmare that has no end.

I hope you never have to wake up every single morning hoping that everything is back to “normal”.

I hope you never have to feel what I feel every single second of every single day, for the rest of my life.

I hope you never have to endure the day to day reminders and triggers that your baby died.

I hope you never have to know what it feels like to go back into society and feel so isolated and alone.

I hope you never have to live with a piece of your heart missing.

I hope you never have to contact me because now you are a bereaved mother, I don’t want that to be our common bond.

I hope you never have to know what it feels like to have your baby die.

I hope you are never a bereaved mother (or father).