I am taking a brief break from my regularly scheduled chronological-events-blogs to write about perpetual feelings. I want to focus on several of the thoughts and feelings we were having throughout the 3-4 weeks following Stevie’s passing, which include some that still linger. This entry didn’t really fit neatly into any of the other blogs I have posted already, nor the ones upcoming that I am planning for. However, this entry is important and long enough to fill it’s own space versus fit in with the others.
These thoughts and feelings are always around, just under the surface, and typically present themselves when we have idle time and are not preoccupied with social events and day-to-day to-dos.
Blame. I remember my friend that came to visit mentioning “well, you guys are great parents…any great parent is going to blame themselves or at least walk through those thoughts”. I was glad she said that, but it still felt uncomfortable feeling some sort of blame. After all, we were Stevie’s parents and ultimately responsible for her life and caring for her. Not knowing what exactly happened to her still is difficult. Was there anything we could have done differently?
Why us? As much as we try to stay humble, we would also like to think we are good people. Are we being punished for something? Why do bad things happen to good people? Life just is not fair…but man, this is the worst “straw to draw” when it comes to bad luck.
Guilt. Guilt for not being able to save her. Fear of potential guilt for her death. Guilt for doing anything remotely fun….I remember thinking I didn’t even want to play music because that would put me in a better mood – shouldn’t I be mourning the loss of my daughter rather than having fun?
Paranoia and/or panic. This manifested itself pretty regularly at first, and still does on occasion. I recall it was maybe two or three days after Stevie passed, we were sitting in the basement watching television. I found myself staring at Annie (our pitbull) who was sound asleep on the couch…this conviction came over me to make sure she was breathing. It was a panicked feeling, ensuring I saw the rise and fall of her belly. Additionally, I remember waking up in the middle of the night within the week after Stevie’s passing and doing something similar with Jared – I woke up, listening intently for him to breathe. I think most of the latter are understandable, as that’s what happened to Stevie…she stopped breathing. So now I have paranoia about the most minor things. When we went home to Ohio, Jared had gone out to get a haircut, and it was taking him a long time to return. I tried calling him but no pick-up. I immediately panicked and thought maybe he got in a car accident or something. Luckily, everything was alright and the barber was just taking longer than expected. Regardless – things that used to not worry me, now worry me sometimes…I think this is because never in our lives could we have imagined that our daughter would die….and now that we know such awful things like that can happen to us, who’s not to say more awful things could happen to us in the future?
Lack of motivation to do anything. Just trying to get out of bed in the morning was difficult for the first two to three weeks. Jared and I had always known about these feelings through hearing about depression but had never actually experienced them ourselves until now. It really did take a monumental effort to do anything. We found sometimes our feelings would display physically as well – I recall slouching and having really poor posture, looking down a lot while engaging in conversation or walking, and feeling the need to prop my head up in my hands/on my elbows while seated at our dinner table….just to do anything.
Constant reminders that she’s not there. I think many parents understand that when you have a child, you incorporate them fully into your life. Therefore, everything in the past you would have done as a couple now involves the baby. You essentially build your life around your precious child. So…bottles were still on the kitchen counter, formula still in the cupboard, Stevie’s boppy still on the couch and swing still in the living room. We ended up moving all of these items up into her nursery a few days after she died. Then we moved her stroller and carseat under the stairs where we could not see them. Later, certain events would serve as reminders; going back to work the first morning I thought “well, I would be taking her to daycare now”, and for Jared’s birthday I pictured us sharing a cake as a family. We know there are going to be several other events coming up/in the future that will remind us of her.
Other reminders of what we “do not” or “cannot” have:
Whoop journal. This allows you to personalize and track more specific health data (type of diet, alcohol consumption, medications, etc). In my Whoop journal I logged that I was a nursing mother and parenting an infant. So, every morning it would ask me if I “nursed” and if I was “parenting an infant” the day prior. I quickly had to remove those items from my journal.
Pump app. This is an app I downloaded on my phone to keep track of how much milk I was pumping. I actually kept this until I donated my milk.
The Bump app. This is another app I had downloaded on my phone to prep me for motherhood, tell me about how large Stevie was when she was still in utero, and provide milestones she was reaching each week once she was born. The morning of the day she passed away, she had turned 8 weeks old, and I actually read to her all the things she would accomplish at her age, and I also told her about how many things I knew she would accomplish in the future. Oy…what a gut wrenching thought now. Anyway - this freakin’ app would not give up! I deleted it, but they still sent me emails pretty frequently and I had to “unsubscribe” at least 10 times.
Targeted ads. The dreaded targeted Facebook advertisements. I was getting them constantly just scrolling through my feed – mainly for maternity clothing, breastfeeding bras and tops, and baby sleep training. I still get them pretty frequently.
Fellow friends either pregnant or with small babies. I hate to mention this, but it was really difficult to see other families, even my own friends, with their own infants. I will admit I had feelings of jealousy and anger. I am not proud of these feelings, and am still obviously happy for our friends, but these feelings were just another part of my grieving process. I found I am not alone in these feelings though, as many mothers in our support group expressed similar thoughts.
Your life changes COMPLETELY…and for forever. Man, it is really hard to describe this. For the parents reading this, you understand how quickly your life changes when you have your first child. Everything is different. Kind of like what I mentioned above – you build your life around your newborn. And that time is so precious. Life is so full of change and surprise, but also full of indescribable happiness and love. And then for us, when we lost Stevie, we lost all of those feelings and changes in a matter of a few minutes. And now…are lives are changed forever….again. Just thinking about the level of change and flip-flop in emotion throughout this traumatic event really blows my mind.
I bring this up because a woman in our group mentioned it last week. She said “literally every aspect of your life changes…whether for better or worse, every single thing is different” – and it really resonated with me. I will give you an idea of how everything has changed:
You kind of have to relearn everything and/or learn new things. Relearn how to live as just a couple again. Relearn how to approach social events in case there are other parents with small babies there. Learn how to have tough conversations about your child. Learn what types of things trigger your emotions.
I really felt honored to be a mom. I felt like I was part of an elite crowd, and so proud of myself for surviving labor. Now I am not sure what I will say if anyone ever asks me if I am a parent.
Things that I historically may have thought were difficult are now no longer difficult. Nothing is as hard as experiencing this trauma we are going through.
I will apologize right now to the doctors, nurses, and pediatricians involved in our future children’s lives. That paranoia thing I spoke about above? You better believe we will be paranoid as hell with the next pregnancy, birth, and life of the next baby. I honestly do not think I will sleep the first 8 weeks of the next child’s life.
No longer will we ever not do something because we were “tired” or we “didn’t have time” or “put it on the back burner”. Life is clearly too short. We only have this life to live…and we do not want to miss one single part of it.
One Positive Thing (actually, Two!):
I re-qualified in my crew position on the RC-135 Rivet Joint (the aircraft I fly on) this week! When I was pregnant with Stevie, I elected not to fly since it was my first pregnancy and I did not want to risk anything (despite there being waivers available for pregnant flyers in the military, so long as it is not a high-risk pregnancy). During that time, I lost my qualification. When I returned to work, I was very anxious about getting back in the jet – I really wanted to, but I had no idea if my body was going to let me perform. My memory and central nervous system are absolutely fried from this trauma, so I was unsure if I would ever be able to operate again at an acceptable level. But, I did it! I am so happy to be back in the air!
I also received the engraved Aspen leaf below from the Mother’s Milk Bank of Denver that I donated my milk to. They send mothers who have lost a child the Aspen leaf as a gift of appreciation and recognition of their lost child. This Aspen leaf is for me, and then another one is made and placed on a tree in the Perpetual Grace Memorial Grove in Denver. Supposedly, the Aspen tree is thought to be immortal because of it’s ability to clone itself and due the intricate and timeless root network they build underground. Pretty neat-o!
