Grieving Parents Support Network

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You Are Me

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Tina, personal archive 

and I am You.

The source of our pain might be different, but our hearts ache.
The missing is real, your feelings are real, your pain is real.
I hear you, I hear you when you speak and I hear you when you are quiet and within yourself.
I see you, I see you pull back when the conversation gets too intense, too personal and I see you when you are smiling and trying to follow.
I am standing behind you, always ready to catch you. I know how the floor can move sometimes and you lose your footing. That’s what I am here for and I know you are here for me too.
I will not try to fix you, your brokenness cannot be fixed, you know it and I do too. We are who we are, because of what we have experienced, and that is ok.
We know about the ebbs and the flows, about the waves hitting the rocks, about how hard it is to breathe sometimes, but we do it. We still do it, we wake up and we breathe, I see you do it and it gives me courage to do the same… I follow your lead and then you follow mine. You are me and I am you.
I see you get angry, frustrated and raging and I know it’s a part of the process too. I wish you patience with yourself, understanding and kindness.
It is hard work to do this every day, wake up, breathe and begin a day without a person you love. It takes love and more love every day, to love someone past here and now, past this time, past the physical presence, past physical love. You do it beautifully. Your pain is proof of love, love that still burns for a person that you cannot see or touch.
I love you for who you are.

Relationships

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Tina, personal archive

My father called today. He said it has been a month since we have spoken. He asked about my health, and I get surprised when he does that because there is nothing wrong with my physical health. He uses the specific vocabulary as if referring to my physical well being, but actually asking about my mental state. Half of the time, I don’t know how to answer, I get confused and then I get angry. He is a fixer and he would like to fix this, “the thing about my pregnancy” as he called it today. He does this every time in a way and that’s when our conversation becomes really painful. I feel like a little girl failing to reach a milestone. I know the same question will always pop up, no matter what I say, and I also know that my patience will start running thin immediately after. This concludes my cooperation and willingness to answer any further questions. I am not sure what to do. I usually feel guilty after, but I also feel judged.

I have long learned that my grieving, the pace and progress is being measured and timed by my family without extra insight in what is actually going on or the wish to know about how I am living my life without one of my children in it. That every time I am not my optimal 100% smiling self, these questions will come. They will come but won’t really allow me to feel the way I am actually feeling. I don’t mind anymore but avoid these conversations and that is one of the reasons why they are so rare.

I am sure mine is not the only family that has issues witnessing the pain, being present in whatever form is needed and just listening. I have grieved that too, the support I thought I would have, the relationship with my family, the bond they do not feel for their grandson, the faith in their words that they are there for me and many other things. I know they love me, but not the way I need to be loved. Unconditionally conditioned is what they can do.  And it is ok too. It needs to be ok. And the next time he calls I will say I am fine and continue the conversation until that one question that usually throws me off balance. In the meantime I will focus on navigating all the highs and lows the time in between presents me with and do as much smiling as possible, unapologetically.

 

With Love, Tina

Love Letter

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I am a letter writer. From the first letter I wrote to my first pen friend many years ago, I was a letter writer. I wrote countless letters throughout teenage years and continued to do so far in my 20s, exchanging letters with friends, family, teachers, lovers. I feel like everything I wrote since he has been gone has been one big endless love letter.

 

 My Darling Boy,

Where do I even start, how do I even say?

I miss you. I miss you in the morning when the laughter comes riding on the morning sun, I miss you in the daytime when the chatter takes over the space, I miss you in the evening when we share hugs and kisses, I miss you in the night when the warmth of your siblings finds shelter in my embrace. 

I want to share it all with you, I want to share this world with you. I want to hear you call my name when you wake up, the little stomps of your growing little feet, the giggle when you find me and the sounds of satisfaction when you find safety in my arms.

I want to see your eyes sparkle, your face shine when you discover something new, your mouth form that perfect Tapio smile. 

I want to smell your morning self, the flower that you bring me, the outside air you bring when you run to greet me, your freshly washed hair. 

I want to touch your face, hold your stretched out hand and hold you in a my arms.

Instead, let me show you what I see. Let me share the beauty that is around, the beauty you are sharing with me. 

I will always long for you to run with me through the autumn forest, to watch you make a friend, to dream with you about the future… I will always long to hear your heart beat, to know your smell, to recognize your voice and to know the beauty you are. 

I love you. Every day is full of you. Every day is full without you. Every day is completely incomplete, every perfect picture imperfect and my heart forever broken. Even as I write this I cannot comprehend how you once were and now you are not. I need you so much. 

I will always be the keeper of your memory.

I love you, to your shooting star and further,

Mami

His Name

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I guess I chose his name at the time he died. Not at the very moment, even though the moment he died plays in my head over and over… my body let me know, I just was not ready to listen, so my body decided to ignore it too… for a while I lived a happy life with a dead baby inside, with all the planning, with all the dreaming, with all the hope – with a dead baby inside. And a name, a name I wanted to be significant, a name that would spark a conversation, a name that has been called by the wind making its way through the forest for ages gone by. His name.

His name was only mine for a long time, I knew it was his name. I had shared it with my husband a few times, but he took it casually and went on with his thoughts. So I kept it, for myself, for our times where I would just lie in bed and repeat his name to a growing baby, to a dead baby. When his death made itself aware to me, when I got sucked in to a hole of sorrow so deep there was no light that ever made it there, his name still stuck with me. It was the only place where his name was written, my heart, my mind, all over me. I am traumatized by no recognition, not birth or death record – was he ever real? Or is it just a name full of hope paving its way through all my senses?

It took us 3 months to order his memory plate, 3 months till his name would be written and displayed, I cannot describe the importance that holds for me. Just before we entered the cemetery office my husband said; “But we don’t have a name.” Of course we always had a name, when he was alive, when he died, when he was born, when I left him behind, when he became one with the ground and when we visited him without his memory plate existing. He always had a name. That was just the day I started using it every chance I got, I started spreading it around, because that memory plate, no matter the size or quality or price, that was the first form of his name being shown and displayed for others to see. I miss you, God Of Forest.

With Love, Tina

Tina, personal archive

Lesson 3: I’ll Never Be Who I Used To Be

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I’ll Never Be Who I Used To Be

It took me years to realize I wasn’t just grieving the loss of my sweet girls, but the loss of my ‘before’ self. I’ll admit I tried very hard for a long time to get my old self back. I missed her and didn’t want to lose her too. The first step for me was to make peace with the fact that would never happen. Instead of feeling forced to leave my old self behind, I embraced my choice to decide who I’d become. I didn’t have any power to stop Aubrey and Ellie from dying, but I still had power over my own heart. I would never again be who I used to be but that didn’t mean I couldn’t become who I wanted to be. Ten years later I’m proud of who I am and I think my girls would be proud of me too.

Beginnings

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Photo by Tina

These are my thoughts from the early days. There are parts I didn’t think I was ever going to talk about. Parts I felt I needed to hide, because of shame and fear. Grief morphs all the time and what all this change has done for me is that I am open and able to share my whole story as it is. There is still a lot of trauma that I feel about how everything happened, but there is also all the love for this little boy I get to call my son.

My first medical appointment in the pregnancy didn’t really go as planned, there were inconsistencies, the baby was not big enough according to the gestation. But I believed that everything was fine, and 2 weeks later it was as it was later, month in and month out. I remember looking forward to every medical appointment that would let me see my son or hear his strong heart, he was always there just waiting to be heard. He is so loved and was so expected.

I wish I could forget, but I am reliving it over and over… the moment I knew something was wrong, the moment I realized that it was not good news when I recalled and was sure that I knew exactly what the moment was when he died. I wish I would have had myself checked, would insist on being seen by the doctor… when the realization came it was too late already, but I wish I didn’t know, I wish I could forget.

I also wish I didn’t remember exactly how every person that saw me in the hospital looked like… the nurse that admitted me, was short, blonde, wearing white scrubs, she had a white wristwatch and a blue pen behind her name tag… the doctor that did the ultrasound, had mid-long strawberry hair, her face full of freckles, she had two crooked teeth, hands full of freckles and eczema… she was stroking my knee when she said: “Sorry, there is no heartbeat”. I wish I didn’t remember, I wish I wasn’t there.

I wish I remembered what came next, remembered what my thoughts were because the blank space filling that time couldn’t have been it, could it?

I wish I remembered how I got to my room, but I wish I didn’t remember the look of it, a single, with light orange walls, big window, two paintings of fish on the wall, a rocking chair with a blue yoga ball on the seat, a hospital bed, bedside table.

I wish I could forget the sun coming out the next morning, the worst morning of my life. The way the first midwife that day spoke English, with a very strong Finnish accent, but not afraid to talk.

I hope I always remember the pain of labour both physical and emotional… I hope I always remember why I chose to labour and delivery alone, I hope I remember that that was the best bonding experience I could have given us at that time, the only bonding experience.

I need to forget the sound his body made when it hit the metal of the portable toilet I needed to give birth in. I need to forget the thought that if he wasn’t dead then, his head surely cracked open when he hit the metal.

I wish I could forget the calming words of the new midwife when she found me crying, cord still attached on the bathroom floor and told me that delivering my son was what I was there to do, that that was the purpose of the day.

I wish I didn’t know what was the day and time of the news of his death and his birth. I wish I remembered them as happy moments.

I wish I could forget that I didn’t fight for him, that I let them distance me from him, that I let them get into my head.

I wish I could forget I didn’t kiss him, didn’t tell him I loved him…

But I always want to remember how it felt holding him, how light his body was in my arm.

I want to remember how much I loved him and how much I continue to love him every day. I just want to remember that.

With Love, Tina

Lesson 2: True Friends Will Show Themselves

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True Friends Will Show Themselves

Soul crushing, incurable tragedy scares people. It takes a brave person to run toward a grieving mother instead of away from her. I was surprised when the people I thought would stay by my side didn’t and others showed up I never imagined would. It hurt at first, but the love I received from those who showed up well for me was the resin that glued the broken pieces of my heart back together. I decided early on not to hold anything against those who ran away. I saved that energy for my own healing and invested it into the irreplaceable friendships that helped me heal with their devotion and courage. I am forever grateful.

Lesson 1: Borrowing Hope

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In the early years of my grief, I learned to borrow hope. That means, when I just couldn’t see how life would ever be ok again, I looked for others who had been through loss and were now role models of hope and healing. I borrowed from people who had gone before me. I poured over their books, blogs, and podcasts. I examined their lives. I saw hope in the authenticity of their healing. I could always tell the fakers from those truly healing. When you see real hope and healing in someone, borrow it. Borrow as much as you need. Don’t worry, you’ll get the chance to lend your hope and healing to others later on.

Ten Lessons in Ten Weeks After Ten Years of Healing

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It has been ten years since Aubrey and Ellie died. Ten years. I never thought I’d get through ten minutes without them let alone ten years.

For those of you who don’t know my story, my twin daughter died after 7 and 13 days of life in 2008. I was 28 years old with a 2 and a half-year-old son simply trying to grow my family. I wasn’t any different than any other mom I knew and there were no special circumstances to my situation. One day I was pregnant with twins and in a blink, I was in preterm labor for what is still an unexplained reason. My labor was unstoppable and it forced my sweet girls into the world way too soon. They fought as hard as they could but there is a reason babies are supposed to stay in their cozy womb for nine months instead of six and all the advanced medical care in the world isn’t always enough to make up the difference.

Ellie died first on day 7 after her intestine ruptured. Then Aubrey died 6 days later. We chose to remove her from life support after a second brain hemorrhage stole her quality of life. I watched the light go out of her after her sister died and when her brain filled with blood for the second time I didn’t see any fight left in her. I did what every mother never wants to have to do – let go. As I write this I still can’t believe that decision was ten years ago because it feels like yesterday.

That means ten years of crying, of missing them, of asking really hard questions, and waking up every morning having to make the same decision again and again; to keep going. Ten years means a lot of mistakes, a lot of successes, and a lot of transformation. Ten years has earned me the opportunity to offer some wisdom because I’m still close enough to remember but far enough away to see more clearly than I did when my grief was new and my loss was recent.

The bottom line is this; I’ve learned a lot about healing (emphasis on the word healing) in ten years, helpful things that I wish someone would have shared with me. This isn’t a ten-part recounting of my grief. We don’t need any more of that in this community. We all know what grief looks like, we are living it. What is missing from this space are more examples of healing. If healing is possible, we should see it, it should be all around us.

And, in case you are wondering if you can trust me, I can only say this; I have not walked a perfect road and I’ll never pretend that I have. I reacted to my grief in some ugly, destructive ways. I also responded to my grief in beautiful and meaningful ways.  Under all the pain, anger, and disorientation of grief is a fighter with an inexhaustible love for life. This combination of hope and my refusal to give up is what I credit for the healing I have experienced. That and lots of cups of tea.

So, can you trust me? Maybe not with a houseplant (I seem to kill every plant I’ve ever had in my care), but with that tiny spark in you that wants to believe that healing is possible even though grief is crushing every ounce of hope out of you? ABSOLUTELY. You can trust that if I can heal, you can too.

So, for the next ten weeks, I’ll post one lesson a week, recounting the epiphanies that impacted my healing most. I hope they have the same impact on your healing.

Questions? Please reach out to me in the comments. I’ll do my best to help anyway I can.

May We All Heal – How to share yourself

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May We All Heal starts tomorrow! I’m so honoured to host the 4th MWAH creative (and FREE!) healing event in the name of the Grieving Parents Support Network.

Welcome Share Your Grief MWAH 2018May We All Heal – what is it?

If you’re new, you might like to read the detailed information about MWAH on the event page and the information specific to this year.

Our theme this year is ‘Share Your Grief’ because I believe it is so important both for your own grieving and healing, as well as for the people surrounding us, to hear YOUR grief story. Through the prompts, we will be able to highlight different angles and perspectives.

Notice to Family and Friends

Sharing – yes or not?

Sharing yourself, to most of us, is a vital part. Child loss is a very isolating experience, both through the emotional intensity, the taboo of the topic and the misguided myths circulating in society. Those often leave the bereaved confronted with unreasonable expectations (in themselves or from others) of what healing means and in what time frame it should be completed.

Whether you choose to partake on your own, with your own private notebook or whether you’d like to share yourself with a wider audience is your personal decision. We just know from participants testimonials that the aspect of community that resulted from sharing, commenting and conversing with others played a huge role in their healing.

If you decide to share, you might like to share this notice to family and friends, so they know what to expect and why. Add your personal words and let them know how they can best support you during the MWAH project month. Click on the image to see a bigger version and then save it to your device.

How to share

There are two main avenues which you can choose to share: Instagram (IG) or Facebook (FB).

Instagram (IG)

May We All Heal IG profile

Advantages:

  • IG is an image-based social network (pictures and videos)
  • you can add a comment, usually not too long otherwise you’ll run out of space and need to copy the rest in a comment
  • MWAH has already a great community, due to the fact that’s where it started to be shared
  • if you choose to also share on FB, you can do that in one step by sharing on IG and enabling FB sharing (only possible onto your own personal and professional pages)

Disadvantages:

  • you might need to learn and understand a new social network
  • IG doesn’t provide the option of groups as FB does, therefore each person posts on their own profile
  • taking part in the community aspect means having to follow other individuals rather than just being able to read and comment on what they share in the May We All Heal group

If you know how to use IG, simply add the hashtags #mayweallheal and #MWAH2018 and make sure to follow @mayweallheal (event profile, mainly used during the event) and @mymissbliss (Nathalie’s and Grieving Parents Support Network’s profile, used all year around).

Also, if you normally have your IG profile set on private, consider making it public, at least for the duration of MWAH. It just easier for people to see what you’re sharing and comment.

If you haven’t used IG before, and want to try, follow these steps:

  1. download the app on your smartphone
  2. create an account
  3. search @mayweallheal under user and follow them
  4. start sharing

You’ll learn IG by doing it, it is really very intuitive.

Facebook (FB)

Advantages:

  • FB is the more widely knowns and used social network
  • you can add a comment, usually not too long otherwise you’ll run out of space and need to copy the rest in a comment

Disadvantages:

  • harder to control who sees things, unless you use the private and closed May We All Heal group
  • FB heavily limits what you get to see on your newsfeed, so you need to actively go to the May We All Heal group

I’m going to assume that you’re on FB and know how to use it. 

May We All Heal peer support group

If you haven’t already, you should follow the following pages:

We will use the May We All Heal group to share because it’s a private and closed group. This means that only members can see and read your posts. So, if for whatever you prefer your friends on FB not to be able to see what you share, this is the place to share. You can however not directly post there from IG.

Share in the comments

Sharing on the MWAH peer support group page

In order for this to work, we need to create some structure on how you all share on the group page.

In the image, you can see an example from last year’s event. We will post a daily lead image with the prompts in the May We All Heal group.

IMPORTANT: Please ONLY post your images and words underneath that daily lead images. This way, all the contributions to a specific prompt are together in one place and not scattered over the newsfeed of the group. Individual posts get lost, clog up the feed and due to that fact will be deleted. 

 

 

 

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