Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Ellie

Stillbirth run dedication

What a difference a couple weeks makes.  I feel like it was just yesterday I was running through fields that were gray and lifeless.  And now…the color!  The beauty!  I was honored to dedicate yesterday’s run to baby Ellie.  The scent of flowers – which has been missing during so many dreary months of winter – danced through the air and the color of blooms popped from the landscape.  It was a treasure to hold Ellie tightly in my heart to experience the bold evidence of spring that has finally emerged. 

Sweet baby Ellie was stillborn in July of 2014 and her mom, Melanie, lovingly writes about their story:

My daughter, Eleanor (Ellie), was stillborn on July 25th, 2014, two days after my due date. We arrived at the hospital the day after our due date, only to find out that there was no heartbeat. After 14 hours of labor, our sweet, beautiful, perfect, 8-lb daughter Ellie was born silently into this world. They say it was due to a cord accident. There's not a minute that goes by that we don't miss her and long for her presence, and I know you feel the same way about your sweet Quinn. Thank you for this beautiful gift, in honoring Ellie with us.

I am so inspired by Melanie’s compassion and her desire to help and comfort others.  She writes that she is part of a community of loss sisters that works with nurses, doctors, therapists, and other loss moms, to connect with and mentor newly bereaved parents.  She writes, “In all of our grief, the emotion that hits me the strongest when I meet another loss mom is the overwhelming amount of love - for our babies, and for each other.”

This intense love that connects bereaved parents is eloquently depicted in a quote Melanie shares from the book, Caravan of No Despair: A Memoir of Loss and Transformation by Mirabai Starr:

"Even as I rocked on my knees, howling, I detected soft breathing behind the roaring. I leaned in, listened. It was the murmuring of ten million mothers, backward and forward in time and right now, who had lost children. They were lifting me, holding me. They had woven a net of their broken hearts, and they were keeping me safe there. I realized one day I would take my rightful place as a link in this web, and I would hold my sister-mothers when their children died. For now, my only task was to grieve and be cradled in their love."

The child-loss community is a community that none of us ever wanted or asked to be a part of.  We would certainly trade absolutely anything to disassociate from it.  However, when a bereaved mother falls into the darkness of child-loss, there is a community of passionate, loving, loss-sisters waiting.  They engulf her in their care, thoughts, and help her stand up again and take her first step.  Even in the deep, dark moments of loneliness, let’s remember the loss sisters that have walked this road before us, and now, with us. 

Stillbirth run dedication


About run to heal:
I run to heal.  It’s where I learn to hold my grief in my heart as love.  It’s where I practice putting one foot in front of another.  It’s where I honor Quinn and other babies who are gone too soon from stillbirth, miscarriage, or neonatal death.  In preparation for my first 
Mother’s Day as a parent to both a living and dead child, I asked my friends and community to dedicate a workout to Quinn.  This was a powerful, soulful, and healing experience.  I felt lifted up and loved by the community.  I was humbled that so many people carried Quinn’s spirit with them.  I hope to accompany others on their journey after child loss and hold them and their son or daughter in my heart.  It is an opportunity for me to honor their child and learn their story.  Together, we will learn how to put one foot in front of the other and run to heal.  Dedicate a run here

Monday, April 25, 2016

Nicholas

My heart breaks when I hear of another mother who has joined the baby loss community.  It is not a community any of us wanted or asked to be a part of.

My neighbor informed me of the stillbirth of her colleague's baby, Nicholas.  I wish I knew her story to tell, but I do not.  In honor of baby Nicholas, I dedicated a run yesterday to him:

Stillbirth run dedication - Nicholas

Dear bereaved mom,

As one bereaved mother to another, let me say, my heart is holding you tight.  I’m sorry you know loss in this way and I am sending love and healing your way.  I have so many wishes for you – the biggest one being I wish more than anything you could have brought Nicholas home in your arms instead of in your heart.  I wish you strength and courage as you face the journey ahead.

I dedicated a run to Nicholas this past weekend on Sunday April 24, 2016.  I ran through the beautiful trails in Mercer Meadows, carrying Nicholas’ memory tightly in my heart.  It was the most beautiful, crisp spring day, and it was truly my honor to run for Nicholas.  I was so struck by these bright yellow flowers and loved how they were adding so much color and light to the field.

I wish there was more I could do or say.

If you ever want to talk or cry, please do not hesitate to reach out.

Holding you in my heart,
Jessica 


~~~
About run to heal:
I run to heal.  It’s where I learn to hold my grief in my heart as love.  It’s where I practice putting one foot in front of another.  It’s where I honor Quinn and other babies who are gone too soon from stillbirth, miscarriage, or neonatal death.  In preparation for my first 
Mother’s Day as a parent to both a living and dead child, I asked my friends and community to dedicate a workout to Quinn.  This was a powerful, soulful, and healing experience.  I felt lifted up and loved by the community.  I was humbled that so many people carried Quinn’s spirit with them.  I hope to accompany others on their journey after child loss and hold them and their son or daughter in my heart.  It is an opportunity for me to honor their child and learn their story.  Together, we will learn how to put one foot in front of the other and run to heal.  Dedicate a run here

Friday, April 22, 2016

The Deafening Silence

I was incredibly moved by a short film titled, “The Deafening Silence,” produced by the wonderful charity Abigail’s Footsteps.  The film is powerful, heart-wrenching, and an incredibly honest and accurate insight and voice to stillbirth.  Please view it here: 



There was so much that I identified with.  In particular, these jumped out:

Sean’s words, “It’s going to be OK,” echo the words my husband said, and was he ever wrong.  These words still rattle me and make me shutter.

Just as Louise experienced, hearing the other women in the hospital labor and their living babies’ cries through the walls was excruciating and haunting. 

Louise’s plea for a C-section: I made this same plea and desperation.  However, the doctors made me deliver vaginally, as did Louise.  Still to this day, delivering Quinn was the hardest thing I have ever done. 

Louise’s initial urge to not see her baby: I had this same feeling initially but she, as I did, came around and was delighted to see and care for her baby.  I had actually refused everything at first – to see her, hold her, pictures, footprints, etc.  My nurse arranged for the footprints and pictures anyway, telling me I could never get these back.  I didn’t have to look at them, but at least I would have them if I ever wanted them.  I thought it all would be too painful.  In reality, I would be living the biggest regret if I didn’t come around.  It was incredible to see and hold Quinn and these pictures and memories are the only thing I really have left of her. 

It feels comforting to have a resource that so accurately gives insight to stillbirth. 

I beg you to watch this film and share it with others to give a voice to stillbirth. 

Tuesday, April 12, 2016

Courage of joy after loss

joy after loss

Before my stillborn and miscarriage, I was a genuinely happy and spirited person.  Smiles easily came to my face and laughter rolled off my tongue.  In fact, I have a hard time even looking at pictures of myself before loss because, well…I look so happy.  After loss, that spark to my spirit dimmed and being happy wasn’t natural.  Now that I know death and loss, my once joyous spirit has been replaced with fear and anxiety of more loss.

Since the death of my stillborn daughter Quinn, I have been on a journey to heal.  Part of this journey has been to reintroduce the emotions of joy and happiness back into my life.  Why can’t I be that happy and spirited person that I once was?  I’ve welcomed gratitude and kindness (and how grateful I am for what I do have!), but why not happiness?  Joy seems even further out of reach. 

I had an epiphany when I read the words of one of my favorite people, BrenĂ© Brown, in her book Daring Greatly.  She explains that joy is our most vulnerable emotion.  People are scared to feel joy because they are scared it will be taken away from them – yanked from under them like a rug.  It is common for people to rehearse grief and tragedy in their minds instead of letting themselves experience joy.  She gives the example that things may be going well in someone’s life but instead of enjoying that feeling, he or she often thinks: Oh no, I bet something terrible is about to happen. 

I think bereaved parents can especially understand how joy is vulnerable.  In fact, I think this perfectly captures my struggle to let these emotions back into my life.   The vulnerability of joy is exactly what happened to us as bereaved parents.  We made, grew, nurtured, and did everything we could to protect our child.  However, miscarriage – stillbirth – SIDS – whatever the case may be, shredded our hopes and dreams for the future. 

How are we to experience happiness and joy again?  How can we not be scared that any future happiness and joy will be ripped away from us?  It already happened once.  Or twice.  Or more. 

BrenĂ© Brown hits the nail on the head when she connects joy to vulnerability.  As a bereaved parent, letting myself experience joy is one of the most courageous things I’ve done in my healing.  Since I feel so vulnerable when experiencing joy, I don’t think I’ll ever be that spirited person that I once was, but I think there is progress to be made. 

However, as bereaved parents we can take little moments to be brave and courageous, to try to experience joy.  It is scary.  It even feels unnatural.  But, what if we were to lose all joy from our lives forever?  As bereaved parents, we know that nothing can prepare ourselves for grief and tragedy.  Nothing.  So instead of always preparing for the worst, can we honor the lives of the ones we love and lost by being courageous and experiencing joy?  Not all at once of course.  But when you find the moment, let yourself smile, and reintroduce yourself to a moment of joy.  

Friday, April 8, 2016

Evangeline

Run dedication Evangeline
After an unusually cold spring, I was pleasantly relieved when I opened the door, holding Evangeline tightly in my heart, and warm air brushed over my face.  I left the quiet, sleeping world behind me and was met with excitedly chattering birds that welcomed me into the enchanting forest.  I ran through Mother Nature’s playground of newly budded trees and the colors of early spring.  My feet met the damp path, fresh with morning dew and my heart sang in this warmer, light air. 

This morning’s run was dedicated to sweet baby Evangeline who arrived stillborn on January 11, 2016.  Evangeline’s mother, Caitlin, writes:

“I was startled how similar your story was to mine. I arrived at the hospital 10cm on January 11th, 2016 and felt that same chaos. Evangeline was born 8 lb 9 oz and the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. No reason found. I miss her desperately. She would be two months old today and I would love for you to think of her occasionally, as I will think of Quinn, and especially on February 16th, my wedding anniversary. Big hugs.”

Caitlin reminds us how interconnected we are.  Not that it lessens the pain any, but at least for me, it is a huge comfort to connect with someone who shares a similar story.  We also share dates on the calendar - one person’s anniversary of joy may be another’s anniversary of grief.  May this be a reminder to us all of the power of sharing our story and extending our hand.  In the words of Helen Keller:

When it seems that our sorrow is too great to be borne, let us think of the great family of the heavy-hearted into which our grief has given us entrance, and inevitably, we will feel about us their arms, their sympathy, their understanding.
-Helen Keller

This quote says it all.  Our healing is deeply personal but we simply can’t do it alone.  We shouldn’t have to do it alone.  By reaching out to each other we can create a community of love, sympathy, and understanding, which is a powerful healer.  How my heart is warmed to be connected to Caitlin and with so many others who have unfortunately been given entrance to the heavy-hearted family. 

I will think of baby Evangeline and her loving family often, especially when I pass the tree in her photo, where at the base I have a Quinn rock, a reminder that we are all in this together.     

When it seems that our sorrow is too great to be borne

About run to heal:
I run to heal.  It’s where I learn to hold my grief in my heart as love.  It’s where I practice putting one foot in front of another.  It’s where I honor Quinn and other babies who are gone too soon from stillbirth, miscarriage, or neonatal death.  In preparation for my first 
Mother’s Day as a parent to both a living and dead child, I asked my friends and community to dedicate a workout to Quinn.  This was a powerful, soulful, and healing experience.  I felt lifted up and loved by the community.  I was humbled that so many people carried Quinn’s spirit with them.  I hope to accompany others on their journey after child loss and hold them and their son or daughter in my heart.  It is an opportunity for me to honor their child and learn their story.  Together, we will learn how to put one foot in front of the other and run to heal.  Dedicate a run here