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. 

I've Had My Three

[Deaths in threes--source]

Why is it that death often comes in threes?  Maybe it's a cliche.  I'm thankful it's not a hard-and-fast rule of the universe, but it has happened to me over the last month.  Last time I remember such a crop of funerals was 2010, the worst year of my life when my father-in-law, my brother, and my baby died within months of each other.  Events like this bring those dark days back. This wasn't that bad only because I wasn't that close with any of the parties.  Even so, each one felt like a new punch to the gut.  I don't attend funerals, but I had to go to two in the last three weeks because I promised to transcribe the services for the sake of the families.  

[Funeral 1-source]

First was Camille Ashby, on which I blogged last time.  She'd been my friend for over a decade before her multiple brain tumors robbed her of speech then functionality.  She was wonderful, hardworking, and so loving.  Her widowed husband and at least one of her boys I talked to felt a sense of relief at no longer having to carry the burden, even as they deeply felt her loss.  I talked to her daughter for quite a while, and she felt lost, like she'd lost her best friend.  Each person experiences loss in their own way.

[Funeral 2-source]

Second was Rebecca van Uitert, my Wonder Woman mission companion, and her beloved husband.  They died in a car accident in Hawaii, leaving behind four young, adopted children. They also left a hole in their community because they were so active in serving people.  Her funeral was in a separate part of the state, so I didn't make it.  It had been several years since we saw each other.  But she really changed my life.  She taught me how to teach, how to serve, and how to follow the Spirit to know how to show love. She was just so young and vibrant.  

[Funeral 3--source]

Third was my husband's buddy in this area, RJ Rucker.  He, too, had a lot of health problems, but his wife was optimistic he'd pull through a broken leg like he had through cancer, gout, and so many other health problems.  But it was not to be.  His body just gave out, and he, too, left a hole in his family's heart where their wonderful, loving, chatty grandpa used to be. 

[Like a ship in a storm--source]

It's at times like this I can't help but remember my losses, that my angel Alli's birthday is coming up in a few days.  She would have been 12.  I'm so thankful each of us knows that our family will be complete when the Lord comes again.  As Camille's daughter pointed out, having faith in the Lord is like being a ship in the storm.  It helps you stabilize in the storm, so you're not so lost.  You're still weathering the storm.  It's still no fun.  But there is hope for the future for all of us, a hope for the healing of our broken hearts when we're all back together again.  

Express Your Grief

[self-expression: Source]

Once upon a time, long before I had a real reason, I took a class on trauma writing.  In that class, I learned about the importance of finding a way to express your grief.   When I had just lost my brother then (a month later), my baby, I found bottled up emotions were bound to explode at the worst possible times.  Some people turn to unhealthy forms of self-medication and sometimes even self-destruct if they don't have some way to express their pain.  Some people do both self-expression and unhealthy self-medication.  If self-medication feels like a valid option, it's time to turn outward to a professional for help.  However, if you feel like you can do okay working with your pain, I recommend finding some form of self-expression as a means to processing grief. 

[Writing=love Source]

This could take the form of writing  as with poetry, memoir, blog, journal, letters to the loved one, true experience encoded in fiction, or any other written form. When I lost Alli, I frequently wrote poetry whenever my emotions spiked for whatever reason.  It gave me a place to process what I was feeling inside.  Most of those poems will (thankfully) never be read by anyone else.  But they were there for me when I needed them.  I wrote out the worst of my pain in journals that only descendents may ever read (assuming they can make out my scrawl--there's a reason I type more than I write long hand.)  I would sometimes write letters to Alli or my brother, telling them how much I miss them.  I have at least one novel waiting to be edited that features a mother losing her baby, which is my encoded experience.  Obviously, I also blog.  I highly recommend writing privately if you can't handle the idea of your words being read or publically if you think others can find help and hope with your words.   

For example, here is an unpolished poem I wrote the day after she died:

06-30-2010

Pain

Blinding, numbing

Burning like a volcano

And clouding out everything

From my vision.

Everything tastes like dirt.

I choke it down to fill the emptiness

But the real emptiness remains.

Everything I see, touch, think about

Links back to chubby toes,

Chunky little legs

Soft little cheeks,

Bright blue eyes

Staring at me from around the breast,

Peach fuzz across the soft head,

Round little bum

Aimed at me for a change

Preparatory to eating.

Where are you, my angel?

I long for you.

My every thought is for you,

Wondering how yesterday could have gone

If I’d have been just a little more careful

With your fragility.

My only comforts,

Your older brother and sister,

Your daddy

And above all knowing one day

You will fill my arms again. 

This poem heeds few poetic conventions, but it did capture my pain with imagery you can feel.  You don't have to be a great poet to write in ways that express your pain.  

[My baby, as an infant and as an angel]

Self-expression can take the form of any kind of art such as sculpture, painting, sketching, or anything else.  I had noticed while Alli was alive that she could have been a twin to my boy.  When I lost her, I first drew a picture of a baby picture I had of her.  I then took an older picture of my boy and turned that image into a girl.  That is how my baby probably looks as an angel.  I keep those pictures by my bed with the photos.  You really don't have to be a master artist to draw or paint or sculpt something that is a tribute to your loved one.

[Source]

You may also consider music and dance as forms of self-expression.  My nephews both write music to their beloved mother, about whom I blogged recently.  I have no talent for music, but if I did, I'd probably put some of my poetry to music.  You can find many dances on shows like "Dancing with the Stars" dedicated to lost loved ones.  You don't have to be a master dancer to dance out your loss and pain. 

[source]

It's true that some people prefer to bottle emotions up inside or pretend it never happened.  But for many people, expressing their pain and working through their grief process and into healing is a helpful thing to do.  I recommend you find a way to express yourself if you haven't already.  If you'd like, you can share what you make here.  If you don't want to share, do it for you.  You'll feel better when you do.