Saturday, October 24, 2009


I am running from these realities as they chase my every move. That is not your life, they tell me. That is not your future. That is what you expected, what you could have had, what everyone else has... That is not for you.

I know there are so many women who face this journey with grace, strength, Faith. I am not one of them. Not because I choose not to be. Who wouldn't rather be a pillar of strength or an inspiration to others? No, I am not one of them because I am hurting, in a way that never leaves, that never allows something beautiful to blossom from all this heartache.

I am hurting when I smile and I tell you “I’m Okay” because I am so sick of being that person, that burden, that disappointment who can’t get her act together. I am hurting when I congratulate you on your pregnancy, or new child. I am hurting when I see couples my age, and think how lucky they are to still be kids with their whole lives ahead of them, but can no longer relate to that naive optimism.

I hate being 29 and feeling like my book has been written. I hate seeing pictures of myself and doing double takes because I don’t recognize myself. I hate that I cannot help but to wallow and question and feel anger at what has happened. I am suffocating beneath memories of the better person that I used to be, of those last happy moments before she was born, of the memories of her life, of the choices, of what she lived through, of all the living she never got to do, of watching her leave, of feeling so much guilt, of wanting to return to normal, of wishing for a baby, of being diagnosed with SIF, of all of it.

I am pathetic. I am stagnant. I am grieving.


  1. Your angel is beautiful. You have every right to feel the way you feel. Remember, there is no rule book written on the grief of losing a child, you do whatever you have to do to survive. Hugs, Nan

  2. No, not pathetic. But yes, to everything else. That is, I'm with you, but we can't think of ourselves as pathetic. I feel it, but it's just not the right word.


  3. You are NOT pathetic, you are hurting a very real and tremendous pain. I know all too well the feeling of wanting my "before" life back. Before the pain, before the ever-aching sense of loss, before the hurt in my marriage, before the loss of innocence and faith. Every time I go out, I feel as if I am protecting a horrible secret inside, a hidden pain. The sense of obligation to say you're fine is very strong because people who have never suffered the terrible loss of their child think you should be "over it" by now. I personally doubt I will ever be "over it". It's my new reality and I hate it just as much as you. There is that vaccuumed out souless feeling inside me everyday that nothing in any amount seems to fill, and believe me, I've tried in so many ways to fill it to no avail. On a more positive note and please just take a moment to believe me here...You are young. Your temporary secondary infertility is just that, temporary. I truly believe that you have many, many years ahead to conceive and to fill your arms and home with babies. I know it's a struggle, I've been there too. I didn't even have my first child until I was thirty-four, the twins when I was thirty-seven. I am going to believe for you, even if you cannot right now, that you will have a beautiful child or two in the next few years. I know it's hard to keep the faith when everything has seemed to go so wrong at times, but I truly believe you are meant to have children. Let us hold you when you're feeling down, let us believe when you have no hope. Sweet Peyton has taught you some beautifully painful lessons about motherhood and through the pain, her life will have taught you so much that will better your parenting journey in the end of it all. I'm so sorry, I know how much it hurts and I wish I could just hug you and tell you that things will work out for you, that Peyton will one day guide her sibling down safely from heaven and into your arms. Hugging you

  4. You are grieving and every single one of those feelings is normal. I know that they hurt like hell, but please know that they are normal and part of this journey that we face.

    I am so sorry... I just am. Wishing you brighter days and sending you lots of strength.

  5. "I hate being 29 and feeling like my book has been written"

    That's SO me (except I'm 24...for two more weeks anyways)! That sentence hits home very hard with me. We are SO young...I can't believe this is what we have to live with (and without) for the rest of our lives. We will forever be "the girl whose baby/babies died" when described by others. It's sickening to say the least.

    And I am sooo jealous when I see couples with babies...because that should be us. And I'm jealous of couples without babies too for having what we used to have.

    Sorry I couldn't be uplifting tonight...just wanted to say that you are echoing my heart in this post. You're not alone.

  6. I just wanted you to know....because it is soooo important that you understand....that you are and have been since I fist encountered you...a perfect inspiration to me. You cannot know how much I admire you. How deeply I feel for you. You, whom I've never met....You....who have lost so much....You....who have given me so much compassion and love...You...a woman who lost her only child, giving me so much tenderness when I lost twins who would have made my family circle filled with 7 boys.

    I have five wonderful children...and you have NEVER berated my yearning for the two sons that died.

    You...with your beautiful daughter that SHOULD be in your arms...Of course part of you has died. Of course this hell of infertility is SO wretchedly unfair to a woman who deserves SO much better from life.

    You are a pillar to me. You are someone I care so deeply about. I come here often...because your words give me strength in their honesty.

    You should know that...because it is true.

    I have fallen so far....sometimes unable to see the smiles on my children's faces...they live..and yet I've died inside.

    We die when we lose our babies...we die too.

    But your heart is so beautiful.

    It is full of life.

    You are doing it sweet are doing it!

    I send my thanks to you.
    for giving me strength when you were already weak.

    Thank you...for being.

  7. A mother's love is never pathetic. There's one very frustrating thing about grief... it has no set time table or course. You feel what you feel because you loved your little girl whole heartedly and without hesitation. There is nothing wrong with that. You need to recognize how strong you truly are. You've come this far and you will find your way to get on top of your grief. It'll take time, and trial and error. But you will do it. **HUGS**

  8. I'm rather new to your blog but I must tell you the way you speak about your grief and the loss of your daughter touches me deeply.

    Though our stories are quite different, I identify with your feelings so much. Your words describe what I and so many others who are suffering from the loss of a child (in my case a grandchild) are or have gone through.

    Hang in there, so many are thinking of you and praying for you.

  9. Honey, you are not a burden. And you ARE a pillar of strength and grace simply because you are breathing and trying to take one day at a time right now. You are grieving and there is nothing wrong with that. Being open with your grief and sharing what hits and when... That is strength.

    Sending you hugs and thinking of your beautiful Peyton right now...

  10. I second everything "Emerging Butterfly" has said. I also admire your strength to be able to articulate your feelings this way. I want to believe that time heals and that the everything that you are feeling (that I have felt for the past 4 months) will become more bearable.

    I was looking back today on the first time I announced Hussein's passing, and you (a stranger) was there reaching out to me.

    You are not pathetic, you are a grieving mother.

  11. Oh honey, everything you are feeling is so normal. you may be feeling pathetic, but you are not.
    I feel all of those feelings too.
    I hate it when people tell me I'm brave, because I don't feel it. so I'll stop myself from saying it to you.
    Maybe we should invent a new word for babylost Mamas who are struggling on, and doing what we have to do.
    Like a previous poster, I'm believing that you will have more children.I'm wishing them for you.
    This job we have of grief is hard.Sending you love.x

  12. Not pathetic. Grieving. I think you are pretty wonderful actually. Very human and authentic. FWIW I don't think your book has been written. It has only begun...xxxxx

  13. Your true friends won't be the ones saying "you should move on". And allow you to cry and grieve. My friend C lost her son to a tragic in home accident 2 years ago. She just delivered a daughter, and still cries over her lost son. In my arms. and I let her. There is no setpoint in time where you "move on" from anything traumatic.

    At 29 you do still have pages, many pages left unwritten, believe me. I married at 29 and thought the world was ahead of me at that age. Now I am 47 and see that, there are still many pages, even 10 years post cancer, that are unwritten that I look forward to. I try and not look back but sometimes it is impossible not to do so.

    hugs honey....

  14. I don't know you, only happened across your profile on Twitter this morning, but I had to drop a note and say that your daughter is BEAUTIFUL and that my heart aches (and tears are flowing) at the raw grief of having your heart ripped from your arms in her death. You are neither pathetic nor stagnant, only grieving. {{{hug}}} I cannot pretend to know what it has been like for you, to hold you in your arms, see her beautiful face, watch her struggle, then say goodbye, but you are more than entitled to everything you are feeling and then some!!!

    jenni (a.k.a. "InfertilityMom")
    Mommy to 3 long-awaited (13-year infertility joureny) miracles here on earth and 3 awaiting us in Heaven (miscarriages)
    author, Hannah's Hope: Seeking God's Heart in the Midst of Infertility, Miscarriage & Adoption Loss

  15. You are NOT pathetic, but yes you are a grieving mommy. You will always be a grieving mommy whether you have one more child or 10. This will always be a part of you, but one day (or so i'm told) how it encompasses you will change. I don't know how that is, or when that happens as I am no where near that. But the pain lessens and the memories become happier versus sad. Again, I don't know how this is possible...but I hope that gives you some hope for the future.

    Infertility sucks, i've been there and am there. I fear I will never have another baby, I fear I will never hold my rainbow baby. I fear this cloud I am living under will never leave. It sucks. But please know you aren't alone.


  16. You aren't pathetic, you're expressing those true feelings of deep grief and loss. The elders at my parish where George's funeral was lost their babies over 50 years ago and they cried right along with me, sharing their stories and their tears for their own baby losses so long ago. My Grandma cries for her baby Dan, and he should be an old man of 67. I don't think the pain ever truly goes away. I am praying so hard that you have a sibling for Peyton. (((Hugs))) from another sad mumma, who cried so much today at church I'm sure everyone thought I am crazy. It's so hard some days.

  17. Bay-beh!

    I save "pathetic" for the half-wits who have great advantages and fortune and still make other lives miserable.

    Not for you. You will have some happiness, I assure you. The universe doesn't forget people like you. I wouldn't type that if I never made it through the darkest tunnel of my life, and have so much to show for it now.

    I know that life doesn't seem fair, but it will get better. Some roads will be bumpy, and some will contain barriers. But you can take detours or follow longer, less travelled paths. Your happiness may not come tomorrow morning, but it will get here. Maybe not exactly as you plan, but something like it and it will be magical...

  18. As if it's not enough that we have to feel what we feel, with no stopping or contolling it, we then feel the need to apologize for and feel guilty about those feelings. I know what you mean, about feeling pathetic (which you are not). I look at others who have lost and they seem so much stronger, I feel like the weak link. Especially in my family. But I'm trying not to apologize for my greif. I am entitled to it, as are you, for as long as we need, however we need. It is what it is, and if we could change it, we would.

    There is no map for greiving. I wish there was, so I could follow it and see how much farther I have to go on this most difficult journey. You've been through hell, my dear. And, as someone rather indelicately put it to me, " goes on." You have many years ahead of you, and I know it is difficult picturing your life without your daughter in your arms, watching her grow...It is the ability to continue living when a huge part of me is dead that eludes me. Becoming a shadow of oneself is depressing. We are different now. This terrible thing that has happened changes us, and becomes part of who we are now, and helps shape who we will become. It is so hard gettting used to living in a new skin, one nobody would ever choose to be in.

    Before I had a child, I used to hate when people tried to encourage me, saying I would have a child someday, when it felt like it would never happen. Who can see the future, really? I know it's hard, discouraging, frustrating, emotional, sad, unfair. Just don't give up. You're already a fighter, like your Peyton. She is pulling for you.

  19. The fact that you can be so honest about what you feel and recognize that, shows how strong you really are. You are not afraid to face your feelings and accept them as grief and that takes more strength than you could ever understand. I still find myself pretending so I don't have to face those feelings...
    I am sending hugs your way and hoping that tomorrow is a better day.

  20. But you are also honest, smart, and beautiful--and most importantly, you don't sweep who you are under the rug, pretending to be otherwise. You embrace that and you grieve and hopefully, you will not always be in this space, but you will always take with you those enormous strengths.

  21. hi... it is heart breaking to read your pain... may the AlMighty GOD shed another light of hope in your life that will last for an eternity....

  22. I think you are far from pathetic. We can't choose how we face grief and deal with it. We all have our own unique experiences with it but we can also relate to each other. I know I have hurt through the things you have mentioned, but I tell others I am ok. I do it to spare others.

  23. Wait, what's wrong with being pathetic? Why shouldn't you allow yourself some time to feel that way? (I know I did & still do.) The hard part of feeling all your feelings is the embarrassing and unlovely ones, but those are just as important as the strong, beautiful-looking ones. And maybe not as unlovely as you think. Hang in there. Maybe go look at the first year of posts in my blog if you want to see some more weakness and pathos. But the worst thing you can do to yourself is try to live up to anything. This is not an easy process: it takes as long as it takes.

  24. I don't think you're pathetic at all. You have a beautiful, injured soul and it hurts - it hurts so much. I wish I could do more than simply pour words onto a screen for you. I wish I could turn up on your doorstep with warm casseroles and crusty bread and a readiness to listen to you talk about your beautiful baby girl. We may not be able to do that but we are here, listening and grieving alongside you.

  25. You are DEFINITELY NOT pathetic. We do not choose grief and it's our every right to grieve as long as we want to. You're just being very honest and real and I love that in you.

    ((hugs and prayers))