Another angel :***(

This week I got another one of those texts from a close friend...her cousin's baby was born sleeping at 32 weeks and they are looking for resources. I feel so badly for this woman that I don't know, that has to face this unimaginable life changing situation. At the same time I also can't believe that I am seen as this go to expert on babyloss. 5 years ago I would never have imagined this would be my life now. That I have a list of resources on hand for this kind of thing. I suppose it is one of the ways Angel's life continues to mean something - my ability to help others in whatever small capacity. It is so strange though. And it takes a toll. It leads to flashbacks and surfacing of difficult feelings all over again.
All that being said, I told my friend to pass on my contact info and that I am here to talk if and when her cousin wants to. I am a member of this community whether I like it or not, and I have my own support network that is always there for me -- women that are 3,4,5 years out from there loss. It only seems right to be an anchor for others that are not as far along in the journey.
I sent my friend an excerpt of the letter I wrote for the memory box that I donated to the hospital, if she wanted to share it with her cousin....here it is:

I am so sorry your baby is not coming home with you. I know your heart is broken and you may not know how you continue. But I promise you that you will. Also know that you are not alone. You will survive this. You will find a place where it is not as painful and you can cope. It will take time, and don't be rushed to move on or forget. Go at your own pace. All you can do is put one foot in front of the other. You may feel alot of fear and probably the most sadness and pain you have ever felt before. The intense pain you feel now will subside and you will feel some relief from it. The pain of loss never leaves you completely but it will get better, I promise you. You will carry this loss as you move forward but you will feel joy again, in between your grief.

How not to say the wrong thing

This article is so simple and such a good way to look at how to not say the wrong thing! I had many people in my life, even close friends and family, say things to me that made me feel guilty, ashamed, burdened and even more desperately sad than I already was when I lost Angel. If only they remembered "comfort in, dump out."

 

How not to say the wrong thing

It works in all kinds of crises – medical, legal, even existential. It's the 'Ring Theory' of kvetching. The first rule is comfort in, dump out.

(Illustration by Wes Bausmith / Los Angeles Times)

Susan Silk and Barry Goldman

April 7, 2013

When Susan had breast cancer, we heard a lot of lame remarks, but our favorite came from one of Susan's colleagues. She wanted, she needed, to visit Susan after the surgery, but Susan didn't feel like having visitors, and she said so. Her colleague's response? "This isn't just about you."

"It's not?" Susan wondered. "My breast cancer is not about me? It's about you?"

The same theme came up again when our friend Katie had a brain aneurysm. She was in intensive care for a long time and finally got out and into a step-down unit. She was no longer covered with tubes and lines and monitors, but she was still in rough shape. A friend came and saw her and then stepped into the hall with Katie's husband, Pat. "I wasn't prepared for this," she told him. "I don't know if I can handle it."

This woman loves Katie, and she said what she did because the sight of Katie in this condition moved her so deeply. But it was the wrong thing to say. And it was wrong in the same way Susan's colleague's remark was wrong.

Susan has since developed a simple technique to help people avoid this mistake. It works for all kinds of crises: medical, legal, financial, romantic, even existential. She calls it the Ring Theory.

Draw a circle. This is the center ring. In it, put the name of the person at the center of the current trauma. For Katie's aneurysm, that's Katie. Now draw a larger circle around the first one. In that ring put the name of the person next closest to the trauma. In the case of Katie's aneurysm, that was Katie's husband, Pat. Repeat the process as many times as you need to. In each larger ring put the next closest people. Parents and children before more distant relatives. Intimate friends in smaller rings, less intimate friends in larger ones. When you are done you have a Kvetching Order. One of Susan's patients found it useful to tape it to her refrigerator.

Here are the rules. The person in the center ring can say anything she wants to anyone, anywhere. She can kvetch and complain and whine and moan and curse the heavens and say, "Life is unfair" and "Why me?" That's the one payoff for being in the center ring.

Everyone else can say those things too, but only to people in larger rings.
When you are talking to a person in a ring smaller than yours, someone closer to the center of the crisis, the goal is to help. Listening is often more helpful than talking. But if you're going to open your mouth, ask yourself if what you are about to say is likely to provide comfort and support. If it isn't, don't say it. Don't, for example, give advice. People who are suffering from trauma don't need advice. They need comfort and support. So say, "I'm sorry" or "This must really be hard for you" or "Can I bring you a pot roast?"

Don't say, "You should hear what happened to me" or "Here's what I would do if I were you." And don't say, "This is really bringing me down."
If you want to scream or cry or complain, if you want to tell someone how shocked you are or how icky you feel, or whine about how it reminds you of all the terrible things that have happened to you lately, that's fine. It's a perfectly normal response. Just do it to someone in a bigger ring.
Comfort IN, dump OUT.

There was nothing wrong with Katie's friend saying she was not prepared for how horrible Katie looked, or even that she didn't think she could handle it. The mistake was that she said those things to Pat. She dumped IN.
Complaining to someone in a smaller ring than yours doesn't do either of you any good. On the other hand, being supportive to her principal caregiver may be the best thing you can do for the patient.

Most of us know this. Almost nobody would complain to the patient about how rotten she looks. Almost no one would say that looking at her makes them think of the fragility of life and their own closeness to death. In other words, we know enough not to dump into the center ring. Ring Theory merely expands that intuition and makes it more concrete: Don't just avoid dumping into the center ring, avoid dumping into any ring smaller than your own.

Remember, you can say whatever you want if you just wait until you're talking to someone in a larger ring than yours.

And don't worry. You'll get your turn in the center ring. You can count on that.

Susan Silk is a clinical psychologist. Barry Goldman is an arbitrator and mediator and the author of "The Science of Settlement: Ideas for Negotiators."

Ageless Love

I saw this poem on SOBBS and it really touched me. Our love for Angel is ageless and infinite....our souls will be connected to her soul for eternity.


Ageless Love

Ageless and timeless is the love we shared, this child and me. And though I never heard her laugh, I'd feel her kick with ecstasy. She never saw a lovely field, or viewed the beauty of a rose. She never felt the warm soft wind as the gentle breezes blow.
...
And though she may have missed a lot, still there is so much that she had. She had the gift that some kids miss, a wonderfully loving Mom and Dad. For a few short months she shared our lives, as we prepared for her each day. To provide for her a joyful home, where she could love and learn and play.

 And though she never saw our home, or enjoyed her little room, to make her feel so warm and safe, God chose a Mother's womb. And although the time was oh so short, amid our emptiness and tears, we know she has eternal life and endless love that started her.

Carry you inside that beauty

The Bereaved Mother - repost from Still Standing Magazine

the woman standing in front of you at the checkout line on the verge of tears because she just dropped the jar of pickles,
the cashier who seems she could care less about her job, but had to return to work much too soon after her loss,
the woman at work who tells you she doesn’t want any kids but isn’t telling you that she’s been trying for years only to have suffered numerous miscarriages,
the woman who cries in her car because everyone in real life has grown tired of trying to ‘fix’ her pain,
the woman who finds herself jumping out of airplanes, skydiving, making spontaneous road trips because she wants to squeeze life for everything it’s got, because she knows how short time could be,
the woman at marriage counseling trying not to lose her husband too,
the woman at the tattoo parlor for the first time ever, craving a way to stay connected to her departed child,
the woman at the altar, praying a broken prayer through tears and running mascara,
the woman who wonders everyday if she will lose her other children too,
the woman who laughs to hide her pain,
the woman who hides in the bathroom at social events because something about trivial conversation is nauseating at best,
the woman who no longer recognizes herself in the mirror,
the woman who strangely feels empty and empowered all at the same time,
the woman who feels like she can conquer the world, because she’s got nothing to lose,
the grandmother who shares her losses with you, only after you’ve lost a child,
the mother of young children whose hands are constantly full of cheerios, goldfish crackers and dirt, who is always being told by others how full her hands must be, but thinking to herself ‘not full enough’.
the woman ‘addicted’ to social media because she has finally found a community that understands her pain, and her new normal,
the woman you don’t recognize anymore,
the woman who is dancing and singing out loud, not afraid to make a fool of herself,
the woman who looks broken even when she’s smiling,
the woman who wears her heart on her sleeve,
the woman who bears her grief silently, and puts on a mask for her outside world,
the woman who make a drastic career change, what seems like to the rest of the world, on a whim,
the woman who can’t seem to put two sentences together,
one of the bravest women you will ever encounter.
The bereaved mother has lost more than most people will lose in a lifetime. Consider her pain, speak gently to her, and know that grief changes you for a lifetime.
The bereaved mother is all around you.

Losing my religion

My grandfather passed away last week.  Funerals are never easy, and for me, it triggers my own grief and loss.  His funeral mass was held in a Catholic church, as that is the faith of my family and what I was raised in.

During the mass the priest went on at length about how wonderful heaven is...I understand he did this as a way to bring our family peace about where my grandfather is now....and frankly maybe he wants us to buy our ticket to heaven by being good Catholics.

But then he started talking about these stories of children dying and going to heaven, and how they were better off.   In one story he said that the child "came back to life" and then said that when asked, the child said he would rather be in heaven then here with his family. I was so angry listening to this. I just sat there shaking my head.  Listening to this sermon, it made me not want to set foot in a Catholic church again.

After the anger passed I just felt sad.   How could it be better for Angel to be in heaven-  that she would actually choose that over being with her mom and dad?  The sermon made me feel more isolated and alone with the feelings of child loss.  I felt that familiar feeling again, like no one understands.   Jeff said later "what can you expect, he hasn't ever had to face this kind of loss." 
It is so true --- this man speaks only from theory, not real life experience. He is not authority on the grief a family feels when they lose a child.
I want my daughter here, not in heaven. Nothing could be better than her in my arms and having her outlive me, in my opinion.

Here, missing you

We are back in our 2nd home, Jamaica, for the third time since Angel's death. I was looking forward to being here again and also curious and a bit uncertain of the emotions it would bring forward in my heart and mind. You see, this is where we escaped to just after she died. This very same country, this very same resort, this very same beach. I come here and in a strange way I feel close to her and I feel a lot of old emotions coming to the surface. At the same time I feel stronger, and I know I am a different person than the first or second time we came. In a lot of ways I have come to a place of acceptance as best as you can after your child dies. It isn't something you ever want to accept per say but I suppose I am adjusted. To the new normal and who I am now. A woman who carries a burden on her heart. A woman who in the last 18 months has felt her share of being absolutely worn out with life. What I find here in a lot of ways is the same as that first time and second time.....a sanctuary of sorts. Where I can gather my thoughts and take a step back from life and almost take a time out. Be taken care of. Be thoughtful and peaceful. And in a way selfish. Take care of me, as I still desperately need it often.
Right now my grandfather is slowly dying. He will soon cross to the other side to be with Nona and my baby girl. I think of that alot right now. I think of those on the other side and wonder what they see, think and feel about what goes on without them here. I wonder if they shout things like "what are you thinking!!" Or "how could you do that!!" Or "I miss you" or "I wish you knew I am with you."
Being here reminds me of the fine balance between life and death. Being here reminds me that they are closer than we know.
I am here missing you sweet girl.