Alamanda's Place
Child Loss:
Sunday, September 22, 2024
Not My Baby
Sunday, July 21, 2024
Grief Delayed
As I said last time, the fourteenth anniversary of my baby's death came and went at the end of June. We went to Vernal to be anywhere but home on that day because both of my living kids dig dinosaurs, and Vernal is a monument to the dinosaurs found there. It was a four-hour drive. Last year, the day passed by because we were so busy that it didn't even dawn on me that it was that dreadful day until the night came. I thought we were passing through the 28th, when it was really the 29th. This year, I knew it was the 29th, but my mind and heart were still numb. I cried a few tears over the signs on the wall in our lovely Air BnB three-bedroom house we were staying in that mentioned reunions and missing those we love.
But I had forgotten the baby book that punches through my numb haze of the day every year. The next day, I brought it out and shared it will child 2.0 and my husband. Child 2.0 usually passes on being there, but it was good, even if there was no response except in me. I cried, as I usually do.
But the real cleansing tears didn't strike me until the next day when a friend told me about someone she met who had just lost a baby under somewhat similar circumstances. My friend is what we call "a member of the club," the empty arms club. She has had two miscarriages.
The story really struck her because it made her contemplate what it would be to lose a child she had once held. She told me about her experience with something I haven't been through like she has. I had about 17 miscarriages (give or take--I've lost track), one before and the rest after my baby died. Alli was the only rainbow baby I ever had, the only baby I've carried to term after a loss. But she'd given up on hope. She was sure, even after the baby was born and had started to grow, that she was going to lose her at any time. That daughter has recently hit her 21st birthday, and most of that time, my friend was sure she'd lose her. It took me several more losses to accept when I was expecting, I was expecting a loss, not a baby. After my first miscarriage, I was confident my next baby would be born. She was. But Alli was the last one, and I lost her, too. My friend taught me that there's another level of loss I hadn't endured on that level. And it was good to cry together.
Loss takes several faces and has several effects on one's life and one's heart. I used to embrace the five stages of grief, a comforting uniformity of what one can expect after loss. But my own experience shows me otherwise. There is no uniformity, no predictable stages of grief. One can experience multiple emotions at once, or one can experience them in any order or skip several of them. There's no right or wrong way to experience grief, and it can be hurtful to try to force our own expectations on others' emotional responses. Grief is a nightmare, a pain, a wild and uncontrolled ride that takes us out of our regular path and leaves us feeling things we can't predict or expect. All we can do is be there for others and embrace those who are there for us.
Monday, June 24, 2024
Alli's Angelversary Sneaking upon Us Again
'Tis the season to dread the end of the month. Alli would be 14 now had she lived. We'd be sending her to high school in the fall. Wow, that's depressing. Instead, we're once again planning the trip to be anywhere but home on the 14th anniversary of her death. This time, we're planning a trip to Vernal because both of my living kids love dinosaurs. We'll be leaving for that brief trip in a few days.
Last year, we went to Montana. It was a fun trip except that one of my kids forgot meds, which resulted in insomnia and a total emotional breakdown just as we arrived in the ghost town, our destination. It's also hard when our two kids have to sleep in the same room since one snores, and one is a light sleeper. The trip was fun otherwise, especially the stay in the cabin. I even got the days mixed up and wasn't aware the day had passed until it was over. So it was a mixed bag of a trip.
This year, that same child is on better meds, and we're in an Air BNB with enough rooms for everyone. Plus, you know, dinosaurs. So, I'm hoping the distraction kind of trip may help. As long as I don't think too much, I should be okay. Sadly, on days like the angelversary, I almost always think too much.
Monday, March 4, 2024
A New Death Overshadows My Angel's Birthday
I was dreading the approach of my angel Alli's 14th birthday on March 2nd. It often comes with heartbreak and pain that even time and distance don't remove. We look at a baby book of my sweet Alli. It takes us through her four-month life, through the pregnancy with ultrasound images of her, of the kids kissing my belly, of her new, 5 lb 13 ounce, gosling-honking newborn form. Those bright, glorious pictures of her tiny, blue-eyed form take us through our adventures with her, her siblings laying on tummy time with her, her older sister bonding with her, her parents and grandparents holding her with joyful faces. The day at three months when the neighbor taught her to smile.
The pictures didn't show the pain and the heartache we went through with a miscarriage before she finally came. The pictures don't show how much we worked to bring her here alive, with trips every 1-2 weeks from 17 weeks to a hospital 45 minutes away to have a flurry of ultrasounds done to make sure the Kell antibody that plagued the pregnancy didn't suck her dry, as it could have. There's so much of her short time here that the pictures don't show, but they do end with her face frozen in death, her too-tiny casket lying in the ground. They do end with warm letters of condolences. My soul always grows cold when we get to that point. I end our visit with Alli in sobs every time. Then, we eat angel food cake to celebrate her birth. We did that this year, but I just felt numb for all of it. Maybe because it was already in the shadow of a more recent loss. In four more months, we will commemorate her death.
As we often do, we planned to go somewhere for one of her significant dates. I hate to be in my own head on those days. We planned to celebrate our other second child's birthday by heading to a dinosaur museum with friends. A snowstorm made that impossible, which devastated my teenager. The loss of that anticipated event overshadowed Alli's birthday. We were at least able to watch "Jurassic Park" together, which was something. It's been a long time since we all watched any kind of movie together.
But a bigger shadow still overcast the whole thing. Thursday morning, we got the call we knew was coming, My father had passed away. We've seen it coming. He was diagnosed with dementia 10 years ago. Over that time, he went from being a strong, confident man who led his family with an iron fist to a jolly lump on the sofa. He went from being stressed and angry about the burden of adulthood to smiling at everyone, having no idea who they even were but loving them anyway.
As he shed the weight of his memory, he shed his anger, his fear, his worry and was just happy to be fed, given Dr. Pepper, snuggled by his dog, taken care of my mother, and entertained by his TV shows. He just wanted comfort. At the very end of his life, my mother could no longer care for him as she had, so we put him in a care facility. He wasn't happy about it, but we didn't have any other choice. And that's where he passed away, a full ten years after dementia set in. He was always difficult, whether the tyrant or the jolly lump, but now, my mom is kind of a lost soul. He gave her purpose, even if the purpose made her miserable most of the time, but now, she's alone.
All of these things have made this last week so difficult. But at the same time, I don't feel it all acutely. Maybe I'm in shock or just burned out from life, but I don't feel any of this as deeply as I'd expect. As anyone would expect. I feel bad for not feeling worse about losing my father. I feel bad about not fully getting to commemorate Alli's birthday and not really feeling what I did. I know these are irrational emotions, but emotion is usually irrational. It is what it is. I do know families can be together forever. That helps with all of this loss. Maybe the upcoming funeral will make me feel anything other than numb.
Sunday, January 28, 2024
A January of Loss
Sunday, December 10, 2023
Burnout for Christmas
When Alli died, I threw myself into work and anything I could do to avoid thinking. Come the holidays, I jumped into as much service as I could think of. We wrote down the nice things we did for other people and put them in a bottle. On Christmas morning, we read back over the service projects we did as a gift to my angel.
Last year, on sleeping medication that did not do me any favors for a year and a half, I crashed and burned out. I got sleep but lost my fire. I didn't have it in me to much enjoy the holidays, let alone help others do so. The fact that the economy turned my income from comfortable to surviving did not help matters. But we still managed to squeeze a few things in, still did a few things to help others.
I got off those meds and onto some that left me able to sleep and with enough ambition to work on jump-starting my writing career. I spent the late summer and fall writing and churning out books and putting them on Amazon, including the first in my novels for kids (Doomimals Book 1) as well as helping my boy get the first of his books out (Misadventures of the Just Us Chickens). We've sold some but are working on figuring out how to advertise. And now, I'm back to burnout between all the writing, a full-time job, and a part-time job.
The holiday used to be so hard because I felt the gaping hole where my youngest child ought to be. Songs about babies, pregnancy, and angels didn't help. Now, it's the burnout, two years running. Burnout is hard over the holidays because everything feels harder. The year has flown by so fast that it doesn't feel like we ought to be doing this all over again. I've slogged through the season so far, not deeply mourning but not excited about the little things. It doesn't help that others in my house feel the same. So, it's with a sense of duty and guilt that I still push myself to do something. I decorated the tree minimally because I was doing it alone. Wrapping is no longer a joy, so I trot out the tired, wrinkled gift bags and shove things in, sans Christmas music.
I'm trying to ignite that holiday spirit by reminding myself of the true meaning, the birth of the Savior. I've been listening to Christmas music, but only the stuff that won't automatically feel stale. Which is hard to find sometimes. Hint: shopping in stores doesn't do it. Pentatonix continually produces more unique versions and styles. The Tabernacle Choir often teams with fun performers like Muppets. Josh Groban makes me happy. Lindsey Sterling and Jackie Evancho are on the playlist for today. I'll be focusing on spiritual Christmas and spiritual songs and messages today. They help to bring in the Spirit and also the true spirit of Christmas. I'm still looking for service ideas on a budget. I know that will help, too, because nothing brings the Spirit faster than helping others. Feel free to share what helps you enjoy the holidays. Maybe something you say will help. I'll survive the holiday. I'd just like to survive it with a smile and maybe some memories that will last.
Sunday, November 5, 2023
Someone Else's Angelversary
Three years ago, toward the end of October, my friend died of COVID. I'm fairly certain I blogged about it then. The other day, I realized we were coming upon her angelversary. My heart bled for her other friends and family, those who love and remember her fondly. She was so young, a little younger than I am now. She had always seemed so strong and resilient. She went through so much, including the loss of both of her beloved parents, legal trouble, housing situations, and so much more. It seemed like she would always be around.
Just under two decades ago, I went into my master's program and was embraced with open arms to a group of friends, including the man who would become my husband. At the heart of that group of friends was Gillaire. She was a firecracker, full of zest for life and love. She loved everyone around her. Other people came and went from that group, but Gillaire was always a constant.
Then, that group of friends moved onto other locations. We stayed in touch as much as we could. Gillaire even came to live with us a couple of times when she wasn't able to find somewhere else. She made our times together fun. That second time she stayed with us, she brought with her a dog for whom she lived. During that time, we worked together on a picture book, "Cali the Silly Frenchie Goes for a Walk." The stunning photography in it was hers. She loved photography, and this book showcased that. As her angelversary crept up on us, I redid that book so as to showcase her photography better. For a few days, you can see a copy for free if you click that link. We had also planned to put together more Cali books but never did. With the permission of her sister, I also put together a set of three books, including the one above, all about Cali, Cali the Silly Frenchie Collection. That, too, is free for now. Afterward, any proceeds will be offered to her sister.
I made a point to get a copy of it to both her sister and her beloved roommate. I was most of all thinking of them as I put these together, as well as of all the people who loved her. It seemed like the only thing I could do to pay tribute to my friend who was so steady and so loyal to everyone who loved her, plus this blog. There were so many. So many who feel her loss even these three years later. Shen she left us, she left a hole in all of our lives. I know she's back with her parents. I know she'll hold Cali again. In the meantime, Cali happily stays with that beloved roommate and seems happy. I'm so thankful I got to have Gillaire in my life. If you know her, feel free to comment here to remember her.