stages of grief Archives

The last two years have flown by and yet, as they say, the days have been very long. At this time, two years ago, we were 10 weeks pregnant. It would be three more weeks before we would have another ultrasound, learn we were expecting a baby girl and announce the pregnancy. Our Mary-Linda was on her way. But, having our healthy baby girl in our arms in January of 2018, never happened. In mid-August our Daughter’s heart stopped beating and we delivered her and held her in our arms way too soon. The pain and numbness we felt was like nothing I had ever experienced before. Loss of our daughter and the loss of every dream and hope for her life on earth. It nearly broke us. In fact, it did break us.

We are not the same as we once were. Sometimes I think we battle with past perceptions of ourselves. But, the truth is, we are changed. We are not the same as we were before our daughter was born sleeping. Perhaps we are stronger now, more tender, gentler, more loving, tough?

We are parents of a child in heaven. Our daughter died. And, we lived. It’s hard.

Over the next year, our outward and inward focus was on grieving, healing and figuring out how to move forward. How could we move forward with our baby girl in heaven?

So, we leaned in to God. We leaned in to family. We kept busy with work. That Fall, I wrote five new songs – one, as a cry to God after losing Mary-Linda and four songs during the season of advent. I continued to grieve outwardly, and share my experiences by writing. This really helped the healing process for me and I’ve continued to receive messages from grieving parents telling me how much this meant to them.

Exactly one year after losing Mary-Linda I experienced a chemical pregnancy and I found myself without a traditional job (I have plenty to do with four living children!) I hit rock bottom and yet, all I had to cling to was my family, friends and God. And, I knew peace. Such a strange experience to know a peace that just doesn’t make sense. But, I knew God had this. The very next month, we learned we were expecting again. I had the entire school year, while I was serving as PTO President, to just be pregnant and grow this sweet baby. We had two doctors overseeing this pregnancy. My care was so much better than my previous pregnancy.

What a dream. I didn’t ask for this but the Lord knew what I needed. I needed to be surrounded by love and to care for my baby. And that’s exactly what I experienced. It has not been easy. There have been huge financial burdens on our family but somehow we have always been provided for.

And, that brings me to this moment.

Two years almost to the day since learning I was pregnant with Mary-Linda and I’m holding her baby brother. The relief. The peace. The grateful heart. It’s all there. Delivering a baby with a heartbeat. It was everything I dreamed it would be and so much more.

Warning. This post discusses loss.

Today has been all about guilt and regret.

Over the last couple of days, I have begun to have memories. Memories of times just a few short weeks ago when I was worried. I remember wondering if my baby’s heart rate had slowed. Was it too slow? Was something wrong? I googled “Normal fetal heart rate” and found that my daughter’s heart rate was in the normal range for her gestational age. But, I remember worrying. I let it go, but I worried. When was this?

I took the time to look at my search history today. I guess so I could regret even more. I found that I did the search twice. I searched on Tuesday, August 8th…when my daughter was still developing and alive. And, I searched again on Monday, August 14th…when my daughter’s heart had already stopped beating and I didn’t know it.

I regret googling on Tuesday, August 8th and stopping there.

I regret not calling my doctor and going in for a checkup that week. I don’t know if they would have caught what was happening with my daughter then, but I could have given her a chance. I am not a big worrier. I walk around with a lot of “peace that passes all understanding.” I thank God for that. But, right now, I can’t shake this regret. Not now. I wish I would have given my baby girl every opportunity to live. I can’t tell you that the outcome would have been different.

Chances are, I would find something else to regret, if I would have gone in to the doctor’s office that week.

But, for now. I regret.

I regret that my baby is in heaven and not growing inside her mommy.

I regret that I am sitting in the rocker that we were given 13 years ago to rock all of our babies.

I regret that I didn’t sit down in this rocker once while my Mary-Linda was still with me.

I regret that I didn’t take my children in to see the 13 week ultrasound when Mary-Linda was dancing.

I regret that I didn’t live every moment of this pregnancy like it could end.

I’ve read that it’s good to go through every stage of grief. That it’s good to feel all the feels. The bad and the bad and even the good. I guess what I am doing is “good.” And, I’m talking about it here, because I planned to talk more about my experiences as my baby daughter was growing. I didn’t think it would end up like this. This wasn’t the plan. But, I am still talking, because, as I have sadly learned, we are not alone in this. Many of my dear friends have experienced this and come out the other side. I feel very alone and I feel so much better when I am with someone who listens or shares or just sits with me. I know there is hope for me. Hope for us. We have this beautiful, lovely family full of kids that are home with me because of Hurricane Harvey and who frankly are driving me nuts.

But, this timing must be perfect, because it’s the timing that it is. I can’t change it. And, no matter how much regret covers me, I can’t change that my baby daughter is in heaven. So, for now, I’m super sad.

Meanwhile, I shared a song at her memorial service, which we had for the 6 of us with our pastor at Church of the Apostles Houston just before Harvey made land fall. I recorded it in my living room, after the storm, as a song of hope. You can tell I am in a state of shock still, because I recorded it with no makeup on and didn’t care one bit. One day I will probably laugh about that and regret it too! But, for now, that is not one of my regrets.

In case you didn’t see it and would like a song of hope in your storm. Here it is.

Save Me, Oh God by Rebekah Maddux El-Hakam

Tag: stages of grief

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