Surviving Another Week - Resources

Some weeks are harder than others. As I near the end of this week, I don't have much to say, because the pain I am experiencing right now cuts too deep for words.

Missing this newborn babe something fierce. Her hat was on crooked, but I couldn't fix it, because my other hand was balancing all the wires and tubes that were attached to my baby girl.

I found a couple of good resources today that are worth reading for anyone who is experiencing the loss of a child.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - an informative blog post from a mother who has been there

Alive Alone - a support group for parents who have lost their only child, or all of their children

These resources reminded me that coping with the death of a child takes years, not weeks or months. It's important to give ourselves time.

Our Butterfly - Part 2

Our family members did so many thoughtful things for Mothers Day. We had a lovely lunch with my parents and a chance to talk about memories of our baby girl.

My husband's family also sent us live butterflies to release in memory of our little butterfly girl. They came  "chilled" in a box - the darkness and cold puts them in a natural hibernation state.

The day of release, we set them in the shade for a while to warm up and wake up.

This area is the new butterfly garden we are planting in memory of our baby girl.

I had plans to create the garden last year, but grief really wears a person out, and I didn't have the energy to do it until this year. Anyway, after just a few minutes in the warm daylight, the butterflies started wiggling in their little box.

My husband wanted to be the one to release them, and I got camera duty. It was a precarious task as they were in between the accordian folds of this lightweight paper.

Slowly, one by one, the butterflies emerged and took flight.

It was actually pretty amazing that most of them survived the trip to our house.

We lost count, but there were probably 10 or 12 butterflies. Only one of them didn't make it, and one had a broken wing, but the rest of them quickly found the rhodedendron bush nearby and had a nice snack before moving on to other flowers in our neighborhood.

Some were a little slow to get moving, and I figured maybe they needed some encouragement, so I lifted them from the ground to help them find the flowers.

The little guy in the picture above was the one with the broken wing -- he wasn't doing too well. This brought back memories of when our daughter was so sick and there was very little I could do to help. It is a frustrating feeling as a mother.

I've grown used to those sudden painful memories that are triggered by little things and have learned to allow myself to remember the pain, to remember the love I had and still have for her, and then to take a deep breath and look forward.

At some point in the grief process, I realized that life is going to keep going, and I have to keep surviving. It is by finding the joy and the blessings in the every day things that I'm able to go on as a participant in life.

For the Childless... and the Motherless

This Mothers Day weekend is turning out to be one of the loveliest we have had all spring here in southeastern Pennsylvania. What a beautiful time to honor the wonderful mothers in our lives who have sacrificed so much. The world literally would not be the same without them.

The beauty of the weekend stands in sharp contrast to difficult loss for many people though. As someone who first struggled with infertility, and later after finally getting pregnant, lost the infant the daughter I loved to a devastating congenital heart defect, I'm sensitive to the many who, like me, may be struggling to get through this weekend.

Some may be motherless due to a devastating loss.

Some may be childless due to infertility, a tragic accident, or an illness.

Others may be estranged from their child or their mother, longing for reconciliation.

I think of the women in countries where there is not enough food to eat or clean water to drink. Women who have watched their children die in their arms, powerless to help them even as their own bodies waste away.

There are so many who are not feeling warm and happy this weekend. This blog post offers some wonderful insights into how we can relate to people in all different circumstances this weekend.

Even as I mourn the missing daughter in my life, I also want to extend blessings to all the mothers out there who are tirelessly caring for their little ones. It's important to take the time to recognize and support these special women.

Here is a Mothers Day prayer to remember families in all different situations which I found to be a wonderful meditation for today.

God our Creator, we pray:
for new mothers, coming to terms with new responsibility ;
for expectant mothers, wondering and waiting;
for those who are tired, stressed or depressed;
for those who struggle to balance the tasks of work and family;
for those who are unable to feed their children due to poverty;
for those whose children have physical, mental or emotional disabilities;
for those who have children they do not want;
for those who raise children on their own;
for those who have lost a child;
for those who care for the children of others;
for those whose children have left home;
and for those whose desire to be a mother has not been fulfilled.
Bless all mothers, that their love may be deep and tender,
and that they may lead their children to know and do what is good,
living not for themselves alone, but for God and for others.
Amen.

- Courtesy Godweb.org

The Loss of Motherhood

This post could also be titled The Loss of Parenthood or Fatherhood or even Grandparenthood, but it is almost Mothers day, and I wanted to share a quote by C.S. Lewis about motherhood.

If a mother is mourning not for what she has lost but for what her dead child has lost, it is a comfort to believe that the child has not lost the end for which it was created. And it is a comfort to believe that she herself, in losing her chief or only natural happiness, has not lost a greater thing, that she may still hope to 'glorify God and enjoy Him forever.' A comfort to the God-aimed, eternal spirit within her. But not to her motherhood. The specifically maternal happiness must be written off. Never, in any place or time, will she have her son on her knees, or bathe him, or tell him a story, or plan for his future, or see her grandchild.

- C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

I've heard stories of people who had lost a child being frustrated with the condolences that well-meaning friends offer to them. People often make statements like "well, he is in a better place now" or "at least we know she is not suffering any more." To many parents, these kinds of statements are a non-consolation.

For me, it did help to think of my daughter in a better place when she first passed. Her existence was so sub-par during the last half of her life as she lay still on her bed, unable to do all the things little babies are supposed to do. It came as a relief to me that she was free from the confines of her inadequate body. And it did and still does help to think that my daughter has not lost the end for which she was created, as I mentioned in this post.

In the long run, though, it was clear that my "specifically maternal happiness must be written off," as C. S. Lewis so elegantly said. And I would argue that it doesn't matter how many children one has. Even if there are other children in the home, there is a specific joy in that one single child that is lost forever when that child is gone. It is the loss of that child in the present as well as in the future. The loss of all the things that child may have done with his or her life, and the loss of what it would mean to be a mother to that child.

Elizabeth Stone said, "Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." As we approach Mother's Day, which is a bittersweet occasion for those of us who have lost a child, I think this rings especially true. Although, when the child is no longer on this earth, our hearts sometimes feel more like they are wandering around in the emptiness of the universe instead, untethered, lost in a void.

This butterfly visited my back yard today, a sweet memory of her.

Our Butterfly - Part 1

This is the first of what will probably be several posts about butterflies.

I use butterfly imagery a lot on this blog because butterflies are significant to our family. They remind us of our little Liza Jane.

When I was carrying her in my womb and we were learning of her difficult medical problems, a couple of people independently told us that Liza would emerge like a butterfly from a cocoon. That she would surprise us and that she would be beautiful.

At the time I interpreted those words in a specific way. There were other words tacked on to those statements about healing. And I believed she would surprise us by being miraculously healed and made whole on this earth.

That wasn't meant to be, apparently. Our delicate, beautiful little butterfly girl did not last long in this life. After she died, Luke and I took some time to get away. One of the things we did was to visit a butterfly farm in St. Martin, FWI, as a tribute to her. We learned some pretty interesting things about butterflies there.

Butterflies usually only live a couple of weeks once they emerge from their cocoons. During their brief lifespans as beautiful winged creatures, they have one primary purpose: to reproduce. All the lovely show of color that they put on is to help them attract a mate. Male butterflies will dance and twirl around a female, hoping she will choose them. This ritual goes on for a few hours at a time. And if the female rejects the male, he will go off and mope by himself for a while. We actually saw these behaviors at the butterfly farm.

So maybe those people were right about our Liza Jane in a way. She did emerge from the womb like a beautiful butterfly. She was more delicate and fragile than we could have imagined, and her life span was only a few short weeks. And in a way, I think she was here for the purpose to reproduce herself. Her life produced a drastic change in many who came into contact with her, as well as quite a few people who never met her.

Since I've joined some online communities about the loss of a child, I noticed that many other people are reminded of their children when they see a butterfly. It seems to be a common theme among grieving parents, and I think it is a fitting one.

I'll close today with a quote that was on a sympathy card someone shared with us after Liza died. It really meant a lot to me. If you are remembering a loved one today, I hope this will resonate with you too.

"It is not how long the flower blooms, but how beautifully."

- Unknown