The toddler got the best of me. I assumed there wouldn’t be a wildflower seed mix packet in the toaster this morning when I heated the Eggo waffles. One must never assume.
A dozen daggers stab me. The lull in conversation when I mention our loss. My SIL asking if she can have the newborn clothes for her healthy, living baby. My friends chatting happily about the future when a huge part of mine is gone.
I want to smother my heart to stop the pain.
I’m still upset about the people who didn’t want to be at my daughter’s funeral because it was hard for 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. It reminds me of Matthew 26:40.
“When he returned to his disciples he found them asleep. He said to Peter, ‘So you could not keep watch with me for one hour?’”
My baby would have been three weeks old today if she had not died the day before her birthday.
What is there to do besides pray for comfort, and stare off into nothingness? This is a pain there are no shortcuts for.
Want to know what a person who experienced stillbirth thinks when your due date has come and gone and they haven’t heard anything? They assume something terrible has happened. If your baby is born, don’t keep that from them for their sake. It is worse than the truth.
My husband and I wrote our little girl’s obituary together, and it posted now. She’s so beautiful, and her life was so lovely, I want to share but don’t want to dox myself.
But just know that it is good. And she is so, so good. And I thank God for her.
She was with me 24 hours a day for 9 months and then suddenly she was just… gone. Every single place I ever went during those 9 months feels hollow and empty now. My heart aches. I feel her absence with all of my being.
Telling moms affected by the formula shortage to “just breastfeed” is the equivalent of telling a wheelchair-dependent person to “just walk” when their chair is no longer usable. It makes no sense.
Eleven weeks ago I was holding the tiny corpse of our beautiful full-term baby girl, covered in blood and meconium, weeping and giving thanks to God for the gift of being her mother. She continues to be such a huge part of my life, though I’ve been without her for this long.
“Mama is dead.”
“We buried a statue.”
“The baby is still in your tummy.”
Mr. Marge is calling the insurance company today to see what child grief counseling services we qualify for. Pray for my living children.
I am shaken by the fact that I attended a funeral for my own child less than a week after birthing her. How did I ever survive that? My breasts were engorged and leaking milk, I was bleeding heavily, I was full of hormones, struggling with PPD, and yet, I did the hardest thing.
I just emailed the school principal to request that my 2nd grader be kept with her two best friends in the fall (instead of split between classes). If I have to be a Karen in order for her to have an easier start to the year after her sister died, that’s what I’ll be.
A friend asked me how long we were able to hold our stillborn baby, and then apologized profusely for doing so.
Don’t ever apologize for acknowledging loss parenthood. Don’t ever apologize for asking questions about a baby who died.
It means you remember. It means you care.
We have been sharing our sadness w/ the 4 yo and giving her space to talk about her experience with baby Mary’s death.
Tonight she used a normal voice for 30 mins — no babbling or baby talk. She told us about wanting to hold the baby.
Thank you for your prayers.
The priest in his homily today said “God sometimes blesses us with the cross.”
Our daughter dying at 40 weeks is not something we will ever understand. But we will continually say “His will be done” with trust and faith in His plan for us. He wastes nothing.
Of course the Sunday I return to Mass after my daughter was stillborn would be the Sunday featuring Mark 5:21-24, 35b-43.
Jesus raising Jairus’ daughter from the dead with the words, “talitha koum,” (Little girl, I say to you, arise).
Mass starts in an hour and 15 minutes.
I’ve cleaned our house from top to bottom (ignoring my craft room and closet). I’ve purged toys and trinkets. I’ve organized all of the things. Did it bring my baby back? No. But I feel a tiny bit better. I am slowly regaining all of my mom strength.
My baby died on the feast of the Sacred Heart and was born on the feast of the Immaculate Heart. So, I feel a special devotion to these two holy hearts. The RBM rep signed off her email w/ “in the Two Hearts” so I asked her about it. God does not disappoint.
Crying, remembering how proud my husband was, holding his dead baby, telling the nurses how “she looks just like our other kids!”
Remembering how he wept during his eulogy as he recalled never having been able to see her eyes.
We should stop calming ourselves with the assurance that the worst isn’t likely to happen, and instead remind ourselves that even if it does God will not abandon us. Life is suffering. Have faith and hope in the midst of it. Take courage.
I am going to take photos of the baptism gown I spent the last few months crocheting for my daughter today before we drop it off at the funeral home in a few hours. I am sad that this is its ultimate purpose, but also comforted to know that I was able to make her burial gown.
Periodically feeling like I cannot breathe today because that’s just one of the things that happens when your baby was born still and you’re less than 6 weeks post-partum.
I am going to take photos of the baptism gown I spent the last few months crocheting for my daughter today before we drop it off at the funeral home in a few hours. I am sad that this is its ultimate purpose, but also comforted to know that I was able to make her burial gown.
“They will say you did not live,
register you as stillborn.
But you lived for me all that time
in the dark chamber of my womb,
and when I think of you now,
perfect in your little death,
I know that for me you are born still.”
𝘚𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯, Leonard Clark
W/out planning it, we arrived at the shrine in Champion in time for daily mass. The priest began his homily with, “Perhaps someone in your family has died. Perhaps they died very young. Perhaps their death was sudden and unexpected.”
It was no coincidence that we were there.
I spent a couple of hours being completely incapacitated by grief and panic, took meds for the anxiety and panic, prayed a rosary, finally posted two photos of my deceased child to the family photo sharing app, had a damn good cry, and now I’m feeling pretty, pretty, pretty good.
I held it together at mass today until receiving the Eucharist. Even then, I didn’t feel panic or anxiety. I couldn’t stop weeping and I ended up going to sit in the car. But I felt loved. And I felt peace.
After a full evaluation I am being discharged. I am supposed to follow up with my clinic tomorrow. We are giving God thanks that a D&C was not necessary. Thank you all for carrying us in prayer.
The nights have been very difficult. We are at the point where we have decided we need to seek help for me as I process and recover. I ask for your prayers please as we discern next steps and find a solution that works well for me and for our family.
Friend from church who happens to do hair reached out to me offering condolences and let me know if I ever need anything, to just ask.
I asked if she would cut my hair and wax my eyebrows before the funeral and she did it and she wouldn’t let me pay.
I understand why my husband introduces our 2-year-old as “our youngest child” but that doesn’t make it hurt my heart any less.
I just want to remember her, and for people to know she existed.
When speaking to someone who is grieving, resist the urge to put a silver-lining on their suffering for them. They will eventually come to see the light in the darkness on their own. But for now, they just need you to sit with them in the storm.
Being out in public is emotionally taxing. I haven’t really gone anywhere except for medical or funeral reasons since before the stillbirth. I hope to attend mass tomorrow morning with my family.
Pray for me.
Still going through cards from the funeral. A friend wrote this simple phrase in her card, and it touched my heart:
“There is no foot too small that it cannot leave an imprint in this earth.”
My doctor told us today that all of my lab work has come back normal. This means two things:
1.) We will never have answers as to what happened to cause the full-term stillbirth.
2.) The likelihood of it happening again is much lower than if the labs were abnormal.
New cemetery vase, brushes for cleaning headstones, and little decorative butterfly stakes arrived from Amazon today.
“Get in the car, kids! We’re going to your sister’s grave!”
I’m already terrified of losing another baby and my cycle hasn’t even come back yet. What will I do if I actually get pregnant? What will I do if I can’t get pregnant again? Both sound like really hard things. But I’m learning that I can do hard things and live to tell about it.
When someone says “I can’t imagine what you are going through.” What they’re trying to say is, “I have never experienced it, but it must be incredibly difficult.”
When someone says “You are so strong.” What they are trying to say is “I admire the way you are handling this.”
I saw a baby today who was born the same week as our baby. She was wearing those dopey little socks that are made to look like ballet slippers. My husband loves these socks, so I bought some for our baby girl. When she was stillborn we never put them on her. Now I wish we had. 💔
Sister, who told me she appreciates her kids more now because mine died, keeps posting photos with all four of them surrounding her with the caption “Blessed.” I know this isn’t MEANT to be salt in my wounds, but yeah… that’s how it feels.
@Joeinblack
I was having a very difficult time with my toddler at mass. When I went up for communion the priest rested his hand on my shoulder before giving me the sacrament, locked eyes with me, and said, “Thanks for hanging in there. You’re doing a great job.”
I felt SEEN.
Newborn photos on the timeline and all of a sudden I can’t breathe.
Lord, you are close to the brokenhearted. Draw close to me now. My heart is shattered.
Crying to my husband because I’m worried that when I die my surviving children will not want the small collection of our stillborn baby’s things. Worried they will get thrown away. And that crushes me.
A mom acquaintance recognized me at the library and asked “How many of your kids did you bring with you today?” and apparently that was enough to trigger the waterworks.
Me: I brought all of my living kids with me.
Her: Oh no… I’m so sorry.
Parents love to talk about all of their children—even the ones who have died. Please remember them, acknowledge them, grieve for them with us. I promise you that any pain you bring to the surface was already there, you just couldn’t see it.
My baby is no less a part of my life now, in death, than she would have been in life. My constant reminders of her guarantee that she is always with me even if I don’t hold her in my arms. It is painful because there is still separation, but there is also still so much love.
A clueless student from my Alma Mater called me today to do a survey re: how I use my degree. 3 questions in I told her, “I’m sorry, I just had a stillbirth. I don’t want to do this.” Her response? “I’m sorry to hear that. Is there a better time when I can call back?”
I thought I was a crazy person for still feeling my baby kick even when she has been dead and buried for weeks. But one of the books I read said that’s actually common for moms whose babies die. So it is NORMAL, which means I am also NORMAL even though everything feels wrong.
A friend came over today whose son died when he was 18 months old. He would have graduated this year. We laughed and wept together and shared stories about our children, both living and dead.
God has blessed me with my children, and with those who share in sorrow.
I can’t hear the Salve Regina chanted any more without weeping uncontrollably.
We listened to it on a loop for an hour while we visited her body at the funeral home.
It was sung at her funeral mass as we processed out with her tiny casket.
I am in pain and I am fatigued. I’ve left a message for my doctor and now I am back in bed. I don’t know what will happen next. But I am trying to resign myself to whatever comes, and to entrust myself to God’s loving mercy.
Anyway, husband and I are going to an event this morning that focuses on miscarriage, stillbirth, and infant loss, and I’m already imagining all the ways it could possibly make me feel more isolated and alone.
Send prayer requests for me so I can focus my sad on something good.
I’m still in pajamas and I haven’t showered but I changed the toddler’s poopy diaper and I don’t feel miserably sad or panicky so I’m counting today as a win. Already a huge success and it isn’t even noon. I’m truly amazing. Best mom. Deserve an award. Everyone so impressed.
You cannot baptize a dead person.
Our friend’s baby who was born two days after we buried our stillborn daughter is being baptized today.
I don’t even know how to describe how I am feeling.
Ex utero humans can—and often do—have relationships with in utero humans. It is a healthy, normal reality that born people and unborn people share connection with each other. (🧵)
We are meeting with my doctor today at 12:15 CST if you would kindly pray. Hospital and clinic settings now fill me with anxiety, so I ask for prayers for peace and for discernment.
The nights have been very difficult. We are at the point where we have decided we need to seek help for me as I process and recover. I ask for your prayers please as we discern next steps and find a solution that works well for me and for our family.
Intentionally separating a mother from the infant she carried in her womb without grave reason is a tragedy. Surrogacy is an abomination and a sin against the biology that bonds us. Ask me how I know.
Staying up late reading and NOT having a panic attack because my baby is dead: priceless.
And it isn’t as hard to focus on the words any more. We’re gonna make it.
I just took an antihistamine to see if that helps my mind and body calm down. We found out on a Saturday that she had no heartbeat, I was induced and gave birth to her that same day. Even if I don’t remember, my body does: Saturdays are never easy.
I was not wrong about emotionally taxing. I attended mass with my family and then husband dropped me off at home where I fell asleep and napped for 5 1/2 hours.
Being out in public is emotionally taxing. I haven’t really gone anywhere except for medical or funeral reasons since before the stillbirth. I hope to attend mass tomorrow morning with my family.
Pray for me.
2 weeks ago my heart broke as I beheld her in all her perfection, knowing she was not mine to care for and love on this earth.
𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘵𝘩 𝘐 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘦𝘥…
𝗝𝗲𝘀𝘂𝘀 𝗜 𝘁𝗿𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝗬𝗼𝘂.
I took a shower in the hospital the day after I gave birth to my baby. Weak and grieving and blind (I can’t see w/out my glasses), I saw some string hanging from the curtain rod. I grabbed it and pulled it closer so I could see what it was.
A tiny brown scapular.
I haven’t gone around people, really, since my baby died and tbh I’m terrified about having to answer people’s questions about when I had her and how she is doing. I feel like it will break me to have to say it out loud. I am hoping the funeral helps.
I saw 4 babies in person today (3 at the clinic, 1 in my home). I HELD 1 of those babies. And in the past ten minutes I have been able to see photos of newborns without dying or freezing up.
❤️❤️❤️
The side effects suck but the meds are working. God is good and merciful.
I invited some fellow moms and their children to join us at the cemetery after playgroup today, and seeing all of my daughter’s would-be peers and playmates aggressively decorating her grave with little multicolored butterflies really warmed my heart.
I went out of my comfort zone a bit today and talked to 6 people. And I survived it. And it felt good. So praise to Jesus and give me a pat on the back, I’m making progress.
Boy howdy are my tweets depressing. So anyway, my sister posted a photo of her daughter holding my brand new niece with a caption about how obsessed she is with her and now I feel like I’m dying. Someone hose me down with ice water or something, because I’m ngmi today.
It comforts my heart to hear of people touched by our daughter and our story. We have had a few priests who, upon reading my husband’s eulogy, have requested permission to use it in writing their homilies.
My little one is drawing others closer to Jesus.
I need a grief cheerleader. Someone to be next to me and tell me I’m doing a good job while I deal with every parent’s worse nightmare. Bonus points if they also encourage me to get off the couch. I cannot make myself move today.
I’ve started taking the things people say that are poorly phrased and inadvertently hurtful, and envisioning what they were trying to say instead. Looking past the words to the heart of the person reaching out.
In this house we talk about death a lot. So if you haven’t explained it to your kids yet, then perhaps a play date with us is not for you. We are a Memento Mori people.
I want to see children,and babies, and pregnant mothers at my daughter’s funeral on Friday. I want to remember that there is still so much joy in the world.
I can mute every baby-posting account on Twitter but I can’t mute the family taking maternity photos in the park, or the newborn being worn in a carrier at mass, or my SIL having a baby girl sometime next month. And that’s okay. It’s just another part of the harsh reality.
Me: so this lady runs this non profit and she bought me things on my Amazon list.
Husband: there’s this YouTube series where this guy and this lady review tv/movies to see if they’re kid-okay.
Yesterday we realized it’s the same lady.
@MrsRuvi
—> renaissance woman.
I took a bath and had a good cry last night, and was able to fall asleep faster than I have in the past week. So this is 100% true. Reserve time to grieve so your grief doesn’t keep you up all night. It is important to make time or the time will be taken from you. BE SAD!
“If you really take the time and energy to cry, to think about your baby and your loss, to really feel the pain, then you can also feel relief from holding these powerful emotions inside.”
- 𝘌𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘺 𝘊𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘭𝘦, 𝘉𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵
New cemetery vase, brushes for cleaning headstones, and little decorative butterfly stakes arrived from Amazon today.
“Get in the car, kids! We’re going to your sister’s grave!”
Worried I’ll have a panic attack if I hold a newborn.
Worried if I hold a newborn it will erase my memory of her.
Also, desperately wish I could hold a newborn.
I took St. Maria Goretti as my confirmation saint because I was stunned by her capacity to forgive when injured by such a grievous sinner. St. Maria Goretti, pray for me, that I might forgive as radically as Christ forgives.
I haven’t looked at photos of my baby in over a week, and the heaviness and pain of losing her hasn’t been as difficult for the past few days. I really want to look at the photos but I know that’s probably going to change how I’m feeling, and I’m not ready for it yet.
Mom life.
Apparently stillbirth and post-partum depression wasn’t enough. I’ve got post-partum endometritis that may/may not be getting better with antibiotics and I’ve already anxiety-spiraled into thinking I’m probably going to need a D&C and will inevitably be rendered infertile.