Monday, November 9, 2009

The Secret Garden Meeting-October

This month's Secret Garden Meeting poses the following questions.

Where are you at in your grief. Has it been years or just weeks since you lost your baby. How are you feeling. How do you hope you will feel in the future. Have you found any peace at all?

In the beginning the grief was a constant nightmare. For whatever reason, that phase, the phase where each breath is more painful than the last, and just thinking about the next day would bring tears, ceased around eight months. I don't know what the significance of that time was, but I welcomed the way it allowed a little reprieve. Since then, I have remained where I am now, in this stagnant place of frustration, anger, disbelief and exhaustion. I feel totally stuck in the tears and wonder at what could have been. Every once in a while I get this sense like maybe there is some fresh air coming into my life, and then the reality of the situation comes calling again, and I remain chained in place.

There are, of course, breaks in the clouds... moments to get lost in, some that even bring laughter and smiles, but with their highs tend to come fresh lows and I end up smacked back to reality by reminders. My child is gone. They tell me. She is never coming back. Grief can be cruel that way... as much as you might like to, it never allows you to forget. 

It has been thirteen months since Peyton fought her last fight for life in my arms, and I knew at the moment she left that there was no going back to the way life had been. I felt a piece of me die with her. I know that other mothers who have suffered child loss are probably the only ones who can completely understand the depth of meaning in that statement: "I felt a piece of me die." For me, what left was that beautiful, optimistic, naive and hopeful piece. The piece that believed that prayers could bring miracles, and that God would take pity on a defenseless little baby. With my child struggling in my arms, that piece left, and took with it any and all expectations and beliefs that I had placed on the future. It is hard to find peace without that piece.

Often times I find myself in the company of people who tell me they had a sister/friend/cousin/college roommate/acquaintance/co-worker/neighbor etc who went through this type of loss and went on to have 2, 3, 4 healthy children. They were able to find their "happy" again. My greatest hope for the future is to look back on this period with my husband and say,

"Do you remember that, how scared we were, how hopeless it all felt? Look at how far we have come. Look at the joy in our lives. Look at our healthy children. Look at how blessed we are."

In that respect, I guess my hope for the future really is to just be a normal mom.

To visit the Secret Garden and read how other Babylost Mommas have answered this question, please click here.


  1. You are a normal mom now, even though your child isn't with you, you are the best mamma in the world and I'm sure Peyton would agree!! But I also understand what you want for your future, I want the same thing!!
    May God bless you and your family!

  2. Beautiful post. A piece of me died too, when Jenna died. I hold that hope you described for you.


  3. I hope you can look back and say those things too.. I hope we all can.
    You write beautifully and from the heart... thank you.
    Peyton is beautiful!


  4. Oh, I do hope you are able to find joy and peace again. I continue to hold deep sorrow, but there is joy too, deep joy, and yes, moments of peace. Sometimes it is easier to look back and see how far I've come, because looking ahead too far can be daunting.

  5. So beautifully written. I hope ALL those things for you. I can't imagine at all what you have been and are going through. I hold you in my prayers (I hope that's ok) and I sent many, many positive thoughts your way.
    I wish I could tell you-with complete certainty-that everything was going to be amazing for you. I wish I could. I believe that it will! I'll just keep believing.

  6. Such a beautiful post... like the ones that posted before me, I too lost a piece of me, the "old me" the one that could find laughter in anything, that didnt feel the pain when I see others with their children and like you and the others, I too wish to be able to look back one day and remember without the pain. You are in my thoughts and prayers! Peyton is such a beautiful angel!!!!!

  7. What a wonderful, heartfelt post.... We're all with you on this journey. All pulling for you.

    Lea xo

  8. My eyes misted as I read your profile. Our children change us in profound ways. Your Beth is absolutely adorable. I really wish she were here with you today. Hugsssss.

  9. I know in my heart that you will have that. I truly believe it. I don't know if having your rainbow baby will take away all the pain of losing Peyton although it may soften it. She will always be your first, your beloved child and you will always miss her. I wish there was another way. Hugging you

  10. I think of you often. Peyton was such a beautiful baby. Each time I visit your blog her face lights up the room.
    I'm wishing and hoping for you to have the joy you long for.

  11. Like margaret, I truly believe you'll find the sun again.

    (hugs and prayers))

  12. How poignant your words are. So spot on. You describe your feelings so well and as I read along I find myself nodding. I know what you mean. I hear you. I feel where you are. I've been there or am there, depending on the day.

    It sucks when you realize that so very many are there, have been there, will be there. So unfair.

    My wish for you is the realization that your hope will become your joy, for peace of mind, peace of heart, peace of soul.

    Thinking of you.

  13. I am sure you will be a "normal mom" one day. I think that having gone through what you did, will make you a better mom. You will be able to ensure you future children respect others feelings and differences.

  14. Wonderfully said! It is a journey- and look how far you have come already! You are a wonderful mom! Your words say it all- clear as day!

  15. Thank you for popping over to my blog, and for using Gracie's candle room to light a candle for Peyton. Peyton was a beautiful little girl, and although it has been over a year, please accept my deepest condolences. I never had the opportunity to see Gracie open her eyes or take a breath - but the moment I concluded that she had died (even before the ultrasound 'confirmation')I also felt like a piece of me died. I tell my husband all the time that I love him with all of my heart, and always follow it up with 'well, the part of my heart that is left...' Thank you for your blog and for allowing the rest of us to follow your story. Sending you many hugs...

  16. I know exactly when a piece of me died. It was when I handed her over to the funeral director and I had to walk away. That moment was the hardest of my life. You can't get back the piece that died but I think that new things can grow in the space that is left behind and allow you to feel joy again.