Approaching Her Birthday

[Alli's birthday comes again; source]

 Alli would have been 15 next month. She could have been studying to get her learner's permit. She could have been thinking of a crush, hoping for a date. She would have been a fully-formed human looking forward to adulthood. Instead, she's our angel, the first of many. All of the others didn't even make it to birth. She's still fully formed; we just can't see her. We lost her at just shy of four months. For almost 15 years, we have been members of the Empty Arms Club. It's a disconcertingly large club. It's always nice to be understood by fellow members, but I don't wish it on anyone. The dues are too high. I'm thankful to understand how to show empathy and understanding. I know that's one good thing that has come out of the worst time of my life. I just wish I could say that fifteen years have brought true healing. 

[The state of my shattered heart; source]

I truly don't know what healing looks like. I took a course on trauma writing, so I know writing can help. I've read about the five stages of grief, but I've also heard there is no reliable research to back them up. I can pass through most days without feeling the agony of loss, but I'm not sure if this is what's called healing. This is what fifteen years have granted me. When I really face the pain, it almost feels like no time has passed, and I'm in agony again. After watching me break down, my psychiatric healthcare nurse friend recently pointed out I could still use therapy for real healing. She also said the combination of a childhood of abuse, the loss of 18+ babies including Alli, dealing with the fallout of losing Alli--including DCSF attempting to frame us for negligent homicide--and all the other things I've suffered have left me with depression and PTSD. Yeah, pretty sure I'm just surviving instead of actually healing. But therapy costs money. It's never fit in the budget. Maybe one day. But I've always been the most fully functional of all of us. Everyone else's therapy always felt like a higher priority. 

[Research; source]

I did some research early on to find out what real healing is supposed to look like. I read books of child loss for the faithful, but none of them quite encompassed the kind of loss wherein a thought of the child also drummed up months of trauma at the hands of the state nor years of futile striving for a rainbow baby that would never come. I've heard you can tell you've healed when you can reflect on the joys and forget the pain when you look at the person's picture. I'm nowhere near that. Alli's pictures are still hard for me to look at and can even be a trigger. I usually do a pretty good job of not thinking of the gaping, bleeding hole in my chest. However, slight references to child loss or even babies have set me off more than usual recently. Maybe it is because the anniversary is coming up. The anniversaries and birthdays are always the worst days of the year. Maybe it's lack of sleep or an excess of stress. Little things also remind me of my late dad, who died a year ago this month, and my brother, who died the month before my baby did. But worst of all is when something reminds me of my baby.

[Source of Healing; source]

 I also know healing, true healing, comes from the Lord. I've sought that, and I feel like searching the scriptures and prayer have helped a lot. I've sought to understand what brings peace and what brings joy, and it all comes back to a relationship with the Lord. That is a work in process. Maybe one day, all of this will come together to truly heal my soul. In the meantime, I will continue to trudge through life, ignoring the gaping hole in my life and heart, hoping for a healing that may not come until I hold Alli in my arms again. 

Meeting Fellow Travelers

[Pictures of my Angel]

 Most days, I'm fine. I walk through life without thinking, without remembering, without looking at my angel's pictures. They still hurt too much, and it's been 12 years. She'd be 13 in March. I even trudged through the holidays with only a few tears because I just didn't have the energy to think. I'm too burned out from survival. 

[Fellow Travelers: source.]

But then, I meet a fellow traveler, another member of the Empty Arms Club. And I think about how much pain that person must have gone through. Which brings me back to empathy and thinking. And, inevitably, my own pain. 

[Tumult always beneath the Surface: source]

It's always there, just beneath the surface, waiting to plunge outward like a molten lava from a volcano. That ridiculous fairy tale about the five stages of grief gives you hope that volcano will go dormant, that if you can just make it through numbness, anger, and all the other stages, you'll finally reach peace. 

["Stages" of grief: source]

When I first lost my Alli, I heard about the stages of grief and thought they worked like stages of childhood, one after another and done. But then, I read a book that took the whole five-stages bit apart, showed how there as no scientific foundation for it, no studies to prove anything. Just a woman making stuff up to help people as they face their own upcoming death. It slowly got spread and turned into false hope. Even she struggled with it when it became her turn to face her mortality, from what I understand.

[Grief Is more like a Rollercoaster: Source]

But the truth is that real grief is more like a rollercoaster of the most terrible variety. One minute, you're numb, then suddenly, you see or hear or smell or think something that makes you remember how thin the crust over the lava is, that pops it open and brings the pain to the surface again. You may go through all the feels all at once, or you may go days in one place, emotionally, then hop to another. There's nothing stable, predictable, or stage-like in grief. There's no moment when you know it's over. There's no "getting over" it. The only way is through. There's no right or wrong way to grieve. There's nothing anyone can say to make it better. 

[A good hug is magical: source]

Time helps. Self-expression like writing or art or photography can help with healing. Finding someone to wrap their arms around you and hold in the pieces helps as well. What has helped me the most is understanding there's hope for the future, the quiet assurance that I'll see my angel again. If you don't know it's true, I recommend you find out. The Lord suffered our pain, knows our grief on a very visceral level. He will help you through if you seek Him out. This song helps me when I'm struggling. One way or another, find peace and healing. That's all any of us can hope for. 

Another Birthday Come and Gone

[A candle for her birthday-source]

I'm not sure why my angel Alli's birthday passed so gracefully, almost (but not quite) painlessly this time.  I always brace myself for a tsunami of pain that these dates--her birth and angelversary--always bring with them.  I expect the worst.  But this time, I was so busy leading up to and through her birthday, that it mostly just played in the back of my mind.  

[Hairy Baby]

Part of it may also be that I do have babies.  I never got my rainbow baby, the baby after loss.  I only had miscarriage after miscarriage to the point that I lost count.  I think we had somewhere around 15 before I gave up trying.  But I have filled the hole she left behind with fur babies, small, loving, friends that are much easier to acquire than a human baby.  I adore my cats.  I love my older dogs.  But when I think baby, I think of my Pom Bean, who I raised from birth.  He's my faithful, adoring baby who keeps me the busiest.  This really hit home when he was gone for a day to get his baby teeth pulled, and the house got so quiet.  

[Busy-source]

Obviously, a dog or cat cannot truly fill Alli's place.  A human baby couldn't do that, either.  But between working full time plus a side job and helping with my teenaged kids' needs (since they're home much of the time on Zoom) and writing and caring for my pets, I scarcely have the time to think about my loss and pain.  

[Angel Food Cake for the broken heart-source]

The significance of the date really hit home twice: once when I was writing her FaceBook birthday tribute and once when we were throwing Alli's brief angelversary party by eating angel food cake and going through her baby book.  I'm glad we have these traditions, or I'd wonder if something was wrong with me, that I'd forgotten her or something.  I don't know how I could.  It does make me wonder if there's a third reason that the day wasn't so hard: have I healed?  Is that even possible?  I'd like to think I have.  But there are moments that tell me I'm not quite there yet.  I guess I'll know more when her angelversary comes.