A marathon for Quinn

Quinn

Forever alive in my heart

Running to heal after stillbirth

My bereavement nurse placed a blanket over Quinn’s bassinet in the hospital, opened the door, and wheeled Quinn away.  I would never see her again.  That is the last memory I will always have of her.  While waiting to be released from the hospital, I knew I needed to run a marathon.  I needed to do it for Quinn and for me.  I couldn’t get her back, but I could run.  I could run fast and far.  I felt desperate to “do something,” and running filled that hole.  Little did I know that running would put me on an incredible emotional and healing journey. 

In the days after Quinn’s death, it was my goal to get outside once a day.  It was the middle of February, only days after giving birth, and my husband and I walked around our neighborhood once.  That was all I could manage, for the physical pain and emotional turmoil was too great.  The relentless winter was unforgiving, but we did our 20 minute walk every day, through snow, sleet, and wind.  Eventually, I felt ok to walk a little further.  At my 6 week OB appointment, my doctor gave me the ok to start running.  That was all I needed – I was out the next day. 

I started off running 1-2 miles and I was sore for days after.  I pushed through the pain and eventually made it to a comfortable 3 miles.  This 3 mile mark was a huge milestone because I was able to build my long runs off this.  It took about 6 months to complete my training, starting from scratch – literally, barely able to move and walk after the stillbirth of my daughter – to my longest run of 20 miles.

Running has been enormously healing for me and a way to honor Quinn.  Running has given me time for my brain to process the life and death of Quinn, and the future of my life without her.  If it weren’t for running, I wouldn’t have had dedicated time and space to grieve and heal.  When the dark clouds began to suffocate my brain, hitting the pavement was the only healthy response.

Running was especially healing when I returned to work.  My busy schedule had returned, with the routine of work, daycare drop off, dinners, and bedtime.  However, I always knew I would have my daily run to think about Quinn.  Knowing that I would always have time with her/for her was comforting. 

Running has also helped me raise awareness about stillbirth.  I dedicated runs to Quinn and to other stillborn babies to honor their story and family.  I had the honor to dedicate runs to Finley, Chris, and Cerys and share their stories on my blog, Facebook, and Twitter.  Stillbirth is such a secret in the United States, and these stories have helped give a voice to these babies and families who so deserve one. 

I strive to live a big LITTLE life and the marathon was big with meaning to me.  Above all, running is a physical expression of my grief.  I go through periods of wanting to talk and not, wanting to write and not, but through it all I always want to run.  It is the one constant healing tool in my life.

At the starting line, I cried.  I would not be here achieving this enormous personal goal if Quinn didn’t die - but how quickly I would trade her life for this goal.  This was for her.  I can’t bring her back, but I can run this marathon for her.  I wore a Quinn shirt that Josh and Riley wore as well.  The beginning of the course was beautiful.  I felt great and was flying through the course.  I went through a covered bridge and over several other bridges.  Most of the marathon was along a river on the towpath, which made it a gorgeous route.  I ran straight until mile 18, then the pain set-in.  I was not yet recovered from an injured hip and it started to scream with pain.  Brené Brown’s words rung in my head – “dig deep.”  Oh how deep I had to dig, but not as deep as when I delivered Quinn.

What got me through was thinking of my daughter who could not experience this gift of life.  I chose this challenge and I could experience pain because I was alive, and that was a gift. 

I suppose I’ve taken on the challenges this summer of climbing Mount Washington and running a marathon because I knew I could do it.  I am certain that the hardest experience of my life was delivering my dead child.  There will never be anything more painful – emotionally or physically than that.  Having a destiny to live without one of my children makes a close second.  However, I try to live my life to the fullest because I know she can’t.  I do these things for her and in honor of her.  I hope I make my living daughter proud and inspire her to honor her sister in ways that are meaningful to her.