Archives for April 2018

As the month of April approached this year, I found myself getting so tired and frequently getting sick. I never get sick. I didn’t understand what was happening. Why was I such a mess? I was eating well, exercising; doing everything I could to stay healthy. Yet I was still exhausted and my immune system showed it.

As I gave myself some quiet time to reflect and slow down, I realized how deeply sad I was again. I realized how grief was creeping up on me again as ‘her month’ approached. I mean, I always feel sad but not to the point that it wears me down physically. I remembered how tired and sick I felt in the months after Gianna died and I felt the exact same way right now. But now it was three years later! WHY was I still grieving so intensely after three years? WHY was my daughter’s death still so difficult for me to manage? I was definitely surprised to see myself this way; I never imagined grief would have such a strong hold three years later.

I sometimes wonder if people think, “It’s been three years, why hasn’t she gotten over it yet??” Frankly, I wondered that myself. Seeing myself so affected by grief, especially in a physical way, surprised me. It’s unbelievable the amount of energy grief consumes, and how much time it takes. But I definitely never envisioned it being this challenging as the years progressed. [Read more…]

 

Every year, as I get closer to Gianna’s birthday, memories come to mind that I normally wouldn’t think about because they are too painful. I begin thinking about the last months of pregnancy with her, how excited I was to have her, and then about my horrible labor and her unnecessary and painful death. It all makes me so sad and the waves of grief frequently come crashing over me.

But I also remember so many comforting things during that unimaginable time in my life: the endless stream of visitors while Gianna was in the NICU, the emails and messages of prayers being lifted up for our family, the countless flowers, bereavement gifts, and cards that arrived on our doorstep even from complete strangers, the huge crowd of friends and family that attended Gianna’s wake and funeral. I felt so loved and supported during that time; it is quite humbling and continues to give me hope in humanity. I can’t help but feel grateful amidst my sometimes-crippling grief.

I often wonder what it was like for our friends and family to deal with us during that time. Hearing about a child dying is devastating. Learning that it is a child of a close friend or family member can be soul-crushing and life-changing. I wouldn’t have known what to say to a bereaved parent before my child died. Everything I know about comforting someone who’s grieving I learned the hard way. And I wanted to share what I have learned and the many ways our friends helped us. [Read more…]

It’s been three years since my daughter’s death and I think I do a pretty good job of keeping my grief in check. It seems that I keep all my grief in what I call a “heart shaped-box.” It’s that place in my heart where I keep all my Gianna things: my tears, our memories, my trauma, signs of her presence, my sadness. In a word, it’s where I keep my GRIEF. It’s a sacred, messy box, full of things that cause me pain. But it is HER. It is what I have left of my daughter so it is worth the pain. I think the farther one gets from the death of a loved one, that is how grief becomes. It gets tucked away in our secret spot because frankly, we have to survive and keep on going with life. I know I have times and places where I can take out my heart-shaped box and open it. There are safe spaces where I feel comfortable doing so: at therapy, talking with my husband, when I am alone at home, during my time of journaling, writing, or meditating. But in order to keep up with life, it is easier and almost necessary to keep that box tucked away. It is too emotional and draining to pull it out all the time or to have it staring at me in the face all day.

But then there are times when I don’t want to take out the box, yet it has been opened unwittingly and it is staring me down. Its contents are pouring out all over the place and I have no control of what is happening. I find myself swept up in memories and tears again. Ugh. Why is this happening? Why is something that I had under control now blindsiding me?

This is what I call a “grief burst.” I think we’ve all had a similar experience at the ocean. [Read more…]